Lord Romney's Exquisite Widow (7 page)

Catherine had responded immediately that she would be by sometime within the sennight. After having Cook prepare a rather full basket of jams, breads, scones, and sweetmeats, she left quite early at eleven o'clock that morning to guarantee she could return in time to rest for a bit afterward before their evening preparations to go out began.

As it was Thursday, her stepdaughter-in-law intended to spend some time making rounds to more than a few women. It seemed the perfect excuse to allow Sophia to visit her friends without putting anyone out. There were only so many unfamiliar people’s homes Catherine could go to before she could feel the beginnings of the headache coming on. There was nothing more tedious than listening to several women blather on about the exact same things and people and fashions as the last three calls before them.

Mrs. Darell was a pleasantly plump sort of woman, who laughed a little too loudly and whose shrewdness seemed to make one squirm at times. But overall, she was a gentle sort, who cared greatly for those around her. She had a prodigious soft spot in her heart for her dear friend, the late Countess of Huntingdon, and was wont to extol over her aptitudes as anyone else, but thankfully, she did not do so for very long this time. Instead, she and Catherine had a rather nice tête-à-tête.

In fact, if she were not careful, Catherine would be revealing all the sad and terrible details of her own life to the woman, yet she found she was able to leave the place politely just short of an hour with her tears and dignity intact. "I promise I will be along again soon," Catherine said after slipping into her kid gloves and kissing the older woman's cheek. "It has been a wonderful coze. Thank you for thinking of me."

"Not at all! Not at all!" Mrs. Darell smiled, her wrinkles wreathing about her face. "See that you do come again. I still have yet to discover about this rascal Lord Hamson, whom I have heard so much about."

Catherine froze while buttoning her pelisse in the front room of the widow's home. "And how could you have heard such a name as Lord Hamson? And why would you suppose it would have anything to do with me?"

"Oh, p'shaw! Do not play coy with me, young lady. Even now, I see the redness in your cheeks. Ah-ha! I shall discover this secret as soon as I am able, and then you must come and confess the whole of it to me."

Clearly, Mrs. Darell had little to do and much more time than she needed, for why would anyone wish to know such things of a mere acquaintance? Let alone someone of such odd relation as Catherine was to her friends and family. She sighed and smiled a little. "I honestly have not one notion what you are speaking of, but I cannot deny you the splendor of settling upon a secret and finding its darkest parts. Though I must warn you, I fear you will be greatly disappointed with any secret of mine." Catherine chuckled, squeezed the lady's hand, and then said simply, "I will have the butler see me out. Thank you again for your invitation. We shall do it again sometime."

With the close of the door of the house behind her, the dowager countess took a deep breath while climbing into her awaited carriage and then marveled at how fast word traveled amongst the
Ton
.

However, she mused as she reached the new earl's home, the rest of the afternoon was cleared for whatever enjoyment she wished. No more gossip, no more uncomfortable questions—merely peace and quiet.

Yet it was not above a quarter of an hour, while she rested in the upstairs library reading some sort of decadent fluff of a Gothic novel, that the butler rapped upon the door and disturbed her.

CHAPTER TWELVE:

"There is a Lord Hamson here to see you, my lady," Chaffney said. "Are you at home?"

Catherine attempted not to groan as she closed the book, her finger still marking her spot. "I wish I could say I was not at home, but I know this man. He will continue to pester us all for several days until I agree to see him. ’Tis best to get this sort of thing over with now, I suppose."

"Very good, my lady. Although I should caution you, he appears to have brought a gift."

What madness was the man up to now? She removed her finger from the book and set the volume upon the nearest table. "Very well. Show him into the drawing room."

"Perhaps not, my lady."

She blinked. "Whatever do you mean by that?" Then she chuckled. "Why, I have never seen you look so uncomfortable, Chaffney. What has happened? What is it about this particular present you have not told me?"

"I fear, my lady, that he has brought you something that is not considered a proper gift. Not at all the thing."

Her brows rose as she imagined all sorts of very improper presents. "Are you to leave me in suspense?"

Chaffney cleared his throat. "My lady, I am afraid to mention that it is in a large basket with a blanket over it, and moves around much like a baby."

Good heavens! What could the outrageous lord be about? Catherine stood up. "Well, perhaps we had best bring him into the upstairs parlor in case the countess comes home earlier than expected. Send down for tea, and let Lord Hamson know I will be there presently."

Chaffney bowed. "Very good, my lady."

Catherine took another flight of stairs and made her way to the guest rooms. They had nicely situated her in a cheerful pink-and-white room, with a large wardrobe and four-poster bed. With the nursery above her, she could hear her step-grandson's little rambunctious feet as he played with his nurse. Catherine could not help but smile. She might never know the beauty of having a child of her own, but she had her dear Joshua's hugs and kisses and never-ending sunshine to make up for it.

Just this morning, she and he had played a fun game of soaring hawks. They flapped their arms and dashed about the room, make-believing to be birds of prey as they leaped upon the little toys strewn about the nursery. She and his nurse had often used the game as an exercise to get him to clean his room, swooping down, collecting the toys, and safely depositing them in the chest or shelves where they belonged. However, this time, as his room had already been cleaned, Joshua quickly dispersed several toys about the floor, and the two of them giggled as they tidied the nursery back up.

How she longed for an endless gaggle of her very own children. It was one of those secret longings she craved most, yet did not have the heart to reveal to anyone. Nevertheless, having her own children was one thing, and being gifted a baby was something else entirely. Certainly, Chaffney was mistaken . . .

She changed from her frothy morning gown into a much more serviceable gray muslin—something that could withstand whatever Lord Hamson had thought to bring her—and headed back to the less-formal family parlor.

"My butler said you have brought me a baby!" she announced as she walked over to Lord Hamson and held out her hand. "Clearly, the basket is large enough. However, I am not sure how to respond to such a gift, if it is indeed an infant."

Lord Hamson bowed over her hand and came up with a mischievous gleam in his eye as he attempted a faux pout. "And what if you have just dashed my very expectations? Whatever am I to do with the babe now?" He held the red cloth-covered basket close to his chest and wrapped an arm around it. "You were my last hope."

Catherine shook her head and allowed a small grin to form. "And what tomfoolery would ever allow you to suppose I would take such an outlandish gift from you, you reprobate? Now come and show me what you have brought, for the movements under that blanket have me more curious than ever before."

"Alas, my lady, you wound me," he exclaimed, presumably attempting to keep up the charade. "I have searched night and day for help with this particular scamp, and have no one to turn to but you. Will you not have a change of heart and consider accepting the thing before I show it to you?"

"What sort of black-guarded nonsense is this?" She put her hands on her hips. "Now, out with it. What are you hiding in there? Whatever it is, it is most definitely becoming distressed. Do you not hear the muffled noises within? Let it out so it can breathe properly, and stop frightening the poor thing."

"Very well." Lord Hamson turned his back to her and then said over his shoulder, "But if you are to know the truth, I must warn you now, I have brought this as a peace offering."

"You brought a peace offering? For what?" Though she knew perfectly well why, it was best to hear it all from him in its entirety so she did not accidentally jump to even more conclusions of her own.

"Because I am a knuckleheaded rat who deserves whatever fate has decided to throw his way." He slipped the red cover off and then turned to allow the most charming of all gray kittens to peep his head out of the basket and mew most adorably at her.

"Lord Hamson!" She had not one notion go through her mind except for perhaps to note just how adorably the kitten's fuzzy ears had the blackest of tips on them, or how exceptionally pretty its blue eyes were. "Wherever did you find him?" she finally asked, her fingers itching to clutch the tiny thing to her. "I cannot believe you have had him hidden away in that basket this whole time. The poor thing must be scared out of its wits."

"Here. Mayhap you will be able to appease the pitiable fellow." He collected it by the scruff of his neck, its short white legs tucking near to his chin forming the tiniest of balls, before plopping it into Catherine's eagerly awaiting hands.

The warm, sweet ball of fluff scurried up her arm and snuggled into her neck as Catherine giggled at the sudden tickling sensation. "I cannot believe you have brought me a kitten for a present."

Lord Hamson grinned. "He seems to like you very much."

Indeed, the little guy purred profusely into her ear. Its soft fur felt like little strands of silk beneath her fingers. Oh, how she had always longed for a kitten of her own. Something to curl up in her arms while she read a book and keep her company on rainy days.

"Are you pleased, then?" he asked. Those worried eyes of his tugged a bit at her heartstrings.

Her heart flipped and then began to beat strangely fast. "Yes, though you did not have to do such a thing."

"Oh, you are wrong, Lady Catherine. I most definitely needed to do just this. I have wounded you with my immaturity and pride, and for that, I shall never forgive myself. I thought for a long time about what gift I should present to you. Do you not remember those nights when you revealed how much you have always longed for a cat of your own? How your father despised the things and found them only useful to keep mice out of the barn, and how you used to—"

"How I used to sneak out at night and feed the barn cats the table scraps before my father or cook found out."

He chuckled. "Yes." Then his gaze connected to hers once more. "Have I ever told you how fond of that girl I was?"

Her racing heart nearly tripled in speed. "Nonsense. You never knew me then—only later, when I was much more dignified."

His serious expression belied the teasing tone of moments before. "Nay, you were the liveliest and passionate girl I had ever known. So gay and full of life, and truly endearing. You sparkled, my dear. How could I not have fallen in love with such a cheerful sprite?"

Oh, how her cheeks reddened. Why had he never spoken such words to her before? "Lord Hamson?"

"George, my dear. It was George all those years ago—let us not have parted ways so much that it is never to be George again. I know I do not deserve such familiarity, especially with how I treated you earlier, but I wish it. I yearn for that time again, that time before I made a blunder of everything."

Her breathing stopped altogether. In fact, every part of her refused to move an inch. What in the world was he saying?

"Please forgive me, Miss Catherine Poleton, the ever-beautiful Dowager Countess, Lady Romney. Please understand that we men are mere mortals to the angels who live amongst us. There are days when we wish ourselves buried meters beneath the dirt for our foolish, insensitive ways. My heart had been stupidly hardened for a brief moment, believing the worst of what society bespoke. Since then, my foolhardy actions have only come to haunt me day after day until I could come up with the courage—nay, the boldness, the levity, the rightness—to apologize for being the disgraceful monster you have come to know."

He took a deep breath and then continued, "I am not that man you were acquainted with a fortnight ago. I am not the man you were forbidden to know more of four years ago." He shook his head. "I do not know what man I am as of yet. However, I know who I am not, and I know desperately who I wish to become."

She rested her cheek on the warm, fuzzy body she cuddled. "And who is that?"

"The man who deserves you."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN:

George watched as Lady Romney processed all he had revealed. He did not rehearse his speech, though with such vulnerability displayed on his part, he wished that he might have. Truthfully, he had no need to. As he told himself before he came, he must speak from the heart or he was not worthy to ask for any form of forgiveness.

"George?"

She spoke his name. He inhaled slowly, relishing the chance for them to move forward as dear friends. "Yes?"

"What of Miss Hemming? Are you not to be engaged soon?"

"As I said before, I cannot conceive of it. Not when you are here. Not when I finally have a second chance to truly apprehend my mind and to begin again."

She worried her lip, her teeth tugging on the bottom one until he felt pulled to kiss it better. "I am not the same girl, either. I am not sure how much of her exists any longer. My marriage, while simple, was not easy on me." She stopped then. He could tell she desired to say more, yet he did not want to press her.

"Forgive me. I understand that the years have been hard for each of us. We have gone our separate ways, and no doubt each learned and lived and loved."