Louise M. Gouge (8 page)

Why had he brought up the subject of reading? And why was he trying so hard to please her when she appeared to care little for his company? Once they made a turn around Hyde Park and had some refreshment, he would take her back to Lady Blakemore and be done with it.

* * *

Catherine measured the seconds, the minutes before speaking. From Lord Winston’s furrowed brow, she could see he was discomfited. While her natural inclination was always to speak soothing words to any other person in distress, she had to force herself not to console him.

Why did she have such kind thoughts about this wicked man? The answer came to her straightaway. Because he was devious and had duped everyone into believing in his nonexistent integrity. Well, two could play the game. She could be devious, too. She even had a Scripture verse from Matthew’s Gospel to silence her concerns.
“Behold, I send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves: be ye therefore wise as serpents, and harmless as doves.”
She would play the wise serpent in this charade, but she would be anything but harmless once she had cajoled the baron into making a confession. Only briefly did she admit the verse did not truly apply in this situation.

After several minutes of pretending to admire the tree-lined streets and houses with window boxes filled with bright red or purple geraniums, she offered him a smile. “Where are my manners? You asked if I like to read. Now it is my turn. Do you like to read?”

He brightened so quickly that she would have laughed had her stomach not been knotted with guilt.

“I do, but these days I have little time to read for pleasure. However, upon your recommendation, I shall certainly look for your
Sense and Sensibility
.”

She measured out a slight smile and an agreeable nod, after which followed an awkward pause that she refused to fill.

At last he cleared his throat. “Perhaps to be in compliance with Blakemore’s instructions, we should begin our lessons. You have been charged with teaching me about humor.” The eagerness in his expression lent a youthful look to his handsome face.

Her feminine sensibilities responded with a wildly racing pulse she could not rein in. Oh, why could this man not resemble an ogre? How much easier to hate him if he were hideous to behold or had loutish manners. But he
appeared
to be perfect in every way. “Ah, yes,” she breathed out, hoping he would not notice her discomfort. Or if he noticed, would not realize he was the cause of her reaction to his very masculine presence. “But perhaps we can combine reading and humor.”

Interest lit those eyes, more green than gray in the sunlight, so piercing yet so unseeing of who she truly was. “How so?”

“First permit me to ask you, do you read Shakespeare?”

“Of course.” He grimaced, apparently realizing how harsh his retort had been. “I do not intend to sound arrogant, merely to indicate that every English gentleman with any schooling at all has read Shakespeare.” A thoughtful frown crossed his brow, and Catherine could not deny he was every bit as handsome when not smiling. “However, my father encouraged me to read the history plays rather than the tragedies and comedies.” He emitted a rueful chuckle. “As you may have already surmised, I was reared in a rather sober house.”

Once again sympathy welled up inside of Catherine. Her home had been a merry haven. That is, until this man had destroyed their joy and safety.

“Well, then.” She managed to sound a bit tutorial, much like her childhood governess. “My first assignment for you is to read the comedy
Much Ado About Nothing.
The repartee between Beatrice and Benedick is a perfect example of the humor to be found in a duel of wits.”

“Hmm. How interesting.” His expression grew grave. “I will do as you ask, but please be advised that I have two objections to that particular play.”

“Indeed?” Catherine searched her memory for any flaws, but could think of none. “Pray tell, what objections?”

“The jests between Beatrice and Benedick are sarcastic and cruel, striking at the very heart of their opponent. I would never speak thus to a lady and would think very little of a lady who spoke thus to me.” He paused as though considering his next words. “Then in the matter of the love match between Claudio and Hero, the count is entirely too quick to believe evil about his beloved. Should I ever love a lady, as he claimed to love Hero, I shall trust her with every secret of my soul, even with my very life.”

For a moment, Catherine could not think, could not speak, could not even breathe. Was this not the very thing she hoped to gain? His absolute trust? But while Shakespeare’s Hero was the very picture of innocence, Catherine had only vengeful intentions toward this gentleman.

“Ah, here we are.” Lord Winston’s mood brightened again as the carriage rolled between the posts of Grosvenor Gate and into Hyde Park. “If you are thirsty, shall we try those strawberry ices again? I seem to recall that last time yours was spilled before you could finish it.”

“Yes, I thank you.” She gave him a weak nod, although she could not anticipate any pleasure in the cold refreshments, not when icy prickles of guilt were cutting deep into her soul.

Her only thirst was for revenge, but guilt struggled against vengeance within her, and only one could have preeminence. How she longed to leap from this carriage and run all the way back to the sanctuary of her home in Norfolk, there to reclaim the life that had been stolen from her family. Instead, she must spend the afternoon with the very man who stole it. How could she manage to keep up her charade?

Chapter Eight

N
ow that their conversation had improved, at least somewhat, Winston decided he had been wrong about Miss Hart. She had no special dislike for him, but was merely anxious about entering the park so soon after being attacked. She said nothing, but the distress on her lovely countenance clearly announced her struggle. He considered whether to take her home now or ride on as planned. She would benefit from getting back on the horse, so to speak, but he had no right to force her. Still, unless she became agitated, their excursion would continue.

To his satisfaction, Miss Hart stayed close by his side as he purchased their refreshments from the same vendor. Today the old woman had only lemonade, and her clotted cream had gone sour, so they must endure plain tarts.

“Never mind about the cream.” Miss Hart regarded the tart as if it were a feast. “I am certain it will be tasty.” She glanced back toward the landau. “If you are going to leave your driver in the sun, Lord Winston, you must purchase refreshments for him, as well.” Her dark eyes gently chided him.

Annoyance shot through him, but he bit back a protest that he always took care of his servants. After all, Toby always knew he was welcome to find shade for himself and the horses.

“Your thoughtfulness puts me to shame, Miss Hart.” Winston dug another coin from his waistcoat and gave it to the grateful vendor. “Take something to my driver, will you?”

“Aye, milord.” The old woman hobbled away to obey.

“There. Happy now?” He gave Miss Hart what he hoped was a teasing smirk.

“Mmm-hmm,” she said around a mouthful of tart, adding a nod for emphasis.

After they consumed their repast, he offered her his arm. “Shall we view the river?”

To his surprise, she nodded again without hesitation, and he came close to cheering. She was managing her fears remarkably well. He retrieved his cane and her parasol from the landau, then, arm in arm, they strolled beneath the trees.

“The foliage is uncommonly lush, is it not?” What a foolish thing to say. He had never before spent a summer in London, so how would he know how uncommon the lushness was?

“Due, no doubt, to this dreadful heat.” She waved her fan furiously, loosening that same strand of hair from her bonnet and draping it across her cheek in the most enchanting way.

Once again he felt the urge to brush it aside. Instead, he pointed the tempted hand toward the well-tended marigold beds, where yellow, gold and orange blooms formed circular patterns. “How clever of the gardeners to plant the flowers in such artful designs.” Another foolish observation. Every flower garden he had ever seen was planted thusly.

“Indeed. And see how those children and their dog are cavorting in the river to escape the heat.” Her fan moved so rapidly, he thought she might injure her wrist. Was she frightened for the children’s safety? Or her own after last Wednesday’s attack?

“Have no fear, dear lady.” He nodded toward the crimson-coated soldier standing nearby. “The sergeant is keeping a watchful eye on them.”

“Ah, yes, and so is their governess beside him.” She peeked out at Winston from beneath her parasol in the most charming way. “I wonder whether his woolen jacket or her black dress makes the wearer hotter.”

Her winsome gaze was sufficient to cause warmth to creep up Winston’s neck. “Hmm. I cannot guess. Black does absorb the heat, perhaps as much as wool.” Were her remarks meant to be hints? “Miss Hart, are you suffering from the weather? We can leave at any time you—” Her impish grin stopped him. So she was deliberately being contrary. Very well. Two could play the game. “Or we could join the children in the water.”

Gasping, she stiffened, and alarm sparked in her eyes. “You would not dare.”

“What?” He gaped at her briefly before catching her meaning. “Great mercy, Miss Hart, do you think I would throw you in the river? I was merely recalling my happy boyhood hours spent swimming in the lake at my family’s estate.”

“Oh.” She relaxed against his arm and sighed softly. “Of course.”

“I would never harm you. You must believe me.”

Her troubled gaze melted his insides into porridge. Who had harmed her that she could not bring herself to trust him?

And how did a gentleman keep from losing his heart straightaway to such a lovely lady? That was one of many lessons Father had neglected to teach him.

* * *

As they continued to stroll among the trees, Catherine forced herself to smile. “Of course,” she repeated. “You are a gentleman, and you would never harm a lady.” She slowly turned her smile into a smirk, a ploy she found very useful, for it never failed to discomfit Lord Winston. “After all, Society frowns upon such behavior, and gentlemen prefer to own spotless reputations, do they not?”

As she hoped, confusion filled his countenance. Then understanding lit those green eyes, and against her will, her heart dipped.

“Ah.” He stopped beside the gnarled trunk of a linden tree and crossed his arms. “Now you mock me. Is this my first lesson in humor?”

She gave him a careless shrug. “But you are not laughing, so perhaps not.”

“Forgive me if I do not find it amusing. Mockery is the twin of sarcasm, and I have already made known to you my opinion of such set downs. Which, I must repeat, abound among my fellow lords during every debate in Parliament. I will never understand why gentlemen cannot speak plainly and honestly with their peers. Let good sense reign in every matter rather than having a gentleman attempt to defeat an opponent through attacks upon his character.” He began walking again, and she fell into step beside him on a well-trodden pathway.

How could he speak of character? Of honesty? Was he truly blind to his own evil actions? With no small amount of difficulty, Catherine mastered her temper and her tone to keep from ruining everything. “Perhaps such attacks are justified if that opponent does not own the spotless reputation I mentioned a moment ago.”

He pursed his lips and stared off toward the road, where numerous carriages conveyed well-dressed members of the
ton
on their afternoon drives. Some of them studied Catherine and Winston briefly, but to her relief, none stopped or called out. “Even then, when the disreputable lord takes his seat in Parliament, honor should be imputed to him, for God himself has placed him there, as the thirteenth chapter of Romans instructs us. It is the responsibility of the lord’s peers to encourage the betterment of his character.”

“Indeed.” Again she tried to quench the flames of anger roaring up within her. “What an admirable sentiment.” And how despicable that he should mention the Almighty and Holy Scriptures, for it made his crimes even worse.

Yet when he gave her a gentle smile, the flames of her anger died away. How easily she could love the gentleman he pretended to be.
Oh, traitorous heart, he is your enemy!

“But not in the least amusing,” he said. “And we have been instructed to discuss humor.”

“Yes, of course.”

They strolled quietly for a while, her arm resting upon his. Catherine decided she would let her escort bear the responsibility for their conversation. Yet as her discomfort grew, he seemed to relax more and more with every step they took in silence, whether in the shade of the willow trees or along the open pathway.

At length, the baron stopped. “Miss Hart, I must confess I have no idea how long a proper outing should be. You may have noticed, as I have, that we have drawn a small amount of scrutiny from passing carriages. I should not wish to generate gossip, especially after last Wednesday’s—” he winced, a charming, apologetic gesture “—incident. Shall we return? Or I can hail Toby from here.”

“Not at all. I have missed my long walks in—” She clamped her mouth shut. She had almost mentioned Norwich, the town near her home where she, Mama and Isabella often shopped. “—the park near my home.”

“Would I be overstepping if I were to ask where—”

“Oh, look. A kite.”

Catherine broke away from him and scurried between carriages to cross the roadway toward the grassy center of the park. There the two children from the river raced over the wide lawn, attempting to catch the wind with a red diamond-shaped kite. Close behind the little boy and taller girl were the governess and sergeant. A hot gust of wind suddenly lifted the kite and yanked it away from the boy, and both the squealing children and their guardians raced to catch it. Catherine ran after it as well, but it was Lord Winston who leaped into the air in a graceful bound and caught the tail, just barely, and pulled the toy back down to earth.

Laughing with delight, the children arrived to reclaim the runaway, while their adults slowed to a walk and arrived somewhat breathless.

“Here you are, my boy.” Lord Winston gave the child a kind smile. “What a fine kite you have, but I do think it requires a longer tail.”

“I say,” the small lad chirped, “what a brilliant rescue.” He appeared to be no more than seven years old, but his bearing was surprisingly mature. “I must reward you, sir.” He beckoned to the girl. “This is my sister, Lady Anne, and I am Lord Westerly.” From the manner of his introduction and no correction from his governess, Catherine surmised that the young lord was an earl or perhaps a viscount whose father was an earl. The boy watched his sister curtsy, then turned back to the baron and Catherine. “You may present yourself.”

The baron had the grace not to laugh. Instead, he bowed in all seriousness. “No need for a reward, sir. I am honored to assist you. This is my friend, Miss Hart, and I am Lord Winston.”

The boy reached out to Catherine and gave his own proper bow over her hand. “Mademoiselle du Coeur.”

She gasped. “Why, I...” Who was this child? How did he know her real name?

“Non, non, mon petit.”
The governess, a fair young French lady of perhaps five and twenty years, moved up beside her charge. “Not
Coeur.
Not
Heart.
” She traced the figure of a heart in the air with both hands. “
Mademoiselle’s
name is
Hart,
like a deer. Is that not so,
mademoiselle?
”

Catherine nodded as her stomach settled back into place.

“Ah.” The boy did not appear embarrassed by his error, even when Lady Anne giggled beside him. He looked up at the baron, his blue eyes exuding sweet innocence. “And is Miss Hart your dear, Lord Winston?”

The baron coughed and swallowed hard, and his eyes started to water. But Catherine could not determine whether he was embarrassed or holding in a laugh. She was having difficulty with the latter, from both relief and delight. What a charming child! Never mind that she would not be dear to Lord Winston once he learned of her true identity. Nor did she wish to be.

“Mais non, mon petit.”
The governess spoke in a musical voice that held not a hint of scolding. “Again we have the confusion. A hart is a deer.” She made gestures with her hands like a deer bounding over a field. “
Monsieur,
eh, my lord, I am most grateful to you for rescuing Lord Westerly’s kite. I am his governess, Mademoiselle Renaud.”

“Your servant, madam.” As he lifted his hat to her, his mass of blond curls was tousled by the wind, once again emphasizing his youthful appearance.

Little Lord Westerly eyed his governess.
“Les chevaux de monsieur sont très frisés.”

Mademoiselle Renaud blinked and frowned in confusion. The sergeant coughed. A gurgling sound very like strangled laughter escaped the baron. Catherine’s knees almost buckled from holding in her laughter.

“Ah.” The governess’s expression lightened. “
Je comprends.
I understand. You wish to say the gentleman has very curly hair, not horses.
Cheveux, mon petit. Cheveux.
” Mademoiselle Renaud caressed her charge’s cheek with a gloved hand. “
Cheveux,
hair.
Chevaux,
horses.
Oui?
” She eyed Lord Winston. “And we must not make such personal comments about people,
oui?
”

“Oui, mademoiselle.”
Clearly in charge of the expedition, the little lord bowed again to the baron. “You will excuse us, sir?” He reached out to shake his hand.
“Hors d’oeuvres.”

Apparently that was too much for Mademoiselle Renaud, for she gripped the young earl’s shoulder.
“Non! Au revoir. Au revoir.”
With blazing eyes and flaming cheeks, she bent down to stare into the boy’s eyes. “You must not make these mistakes.” To the baron, she said, “You will forgive,
s’il vous plaît?
”

“Of course. I had my troubles with French myself when I was his age.” He bent down and whispered none too softly, “And I prefer
hors d’oeuvres
myself.”

The boy and his sister giggled, the governess sighed and the sergeant chuckled.

After their adieus, Lord Winston seemed in a hurry to make his departure, for he took Catherine’s elbow and urged her at a fairly rapid pace in the direction of the waiting landau. Alert to his duty, Toby began to drive the horses, and they met many yards from the children and their guardians.

“That...that was...” Wiping away tears with his linen handkerchief, the baron leaned against the side of the carriage and fell into a fit of laughter, pressing one hand against his chest as if he feared it would explode.

“Indeed, it was.” Catherine released her pent-up laughter until her stomach ached. What a harmless and wonderful and innocent situation. How long had it been since she had enjoyed such a hearty laugh?

The question sobered her. She could count exactly how long. Six months had passed since Mr. Radcliff arrived at her home and warned Papa that Lord Winston had produced letters accusing him of a plot to assassinate King Louis. All laughter ceased in the du Coeur household on that day, and at the memory, her present laughter ceased, as well. Still, she struggled to catch her breath and regain her dignity.

Lord Winston’s guffaws slowed to a chortle. At last he exhaled a final chuckle. “There, now.
That
was highly amusing.” He gave Catherine a triumphant grin. “Miss Hart, we have found the secret. The best humor originates accidentally from human frailties or childish innocence. No one is injured. No one is shamed.”