The Fugitive Heiress (2 page)

Dambroke paused on the threshold and lifted his quizzing glass. Thus, her attention was drawn first to the deep-set ultramarine eyes, then to the firmly chiseled features and sun-darkened skin; but, from the top of his carefully disordered locks to the tips of his glossy Hessian boots more than six feet below, the earl was a fine figure of elegant masculinity. There was not a wrinkle or loose thread to be seen. His snowy cravat was stiffly starched but simply tied, his collar points were of moderate height, his dark blue coat fit snugly across broad shoulders, and buff stockinette breeches complemented every rippling muscle in his legs when he moved. His jewelry included only a gold watchchain with a single fob and the Dambroke signet worn on the third finger of his right hand. She knew him to be twenty-seven and, despite the quizzing glass, Catheryn decided approvingly that this man was no fop.

She did not move from her place near the mantle, nor did she take her eyes from him. If he expected to stare her out of countenance with that chilly, rather aloof gaze, he would be disappointed, for she was made of sterner stuff than that. Dambroke seemed to recall himself and turned sharply to his patently interested butler, letting the glass fall. “Refreshments, Paulson,” he ordered in a pleasantly deep voice. “Uh … ratafia and biscuits, I think.”

Catheryn chuckled, interrupting the butler’s dismissal. The earl turned quickly enough to catch sight of the decided twinkle in her eye as well as her still twitching lips. His eyebrows lifted in silent query, and she made a sterner attempt to control herself. “Forgive me, my lord,” she said, “but you do not seem the sort of gentleman who would relish ratafia. I am certain you would prefer Madeira or port, and I myself should much prefer a glass of lemonade.”

His own lips twitched responsively, so perhaps the gentleman possessed a sense of humor. He stifled it, however, and moved toward her, speaking over his shoulder. “See to it, Paulson.” The door shut softly and Catheryn sank into a belated curtsey. “Shall we be seated, Miss Westering?” The words were uttered crisply, more like a command than a suggestion, as he led her to a comfortable chair in the window and seated himself in its twin. A low buhl table stood between them. “Paulson must have told you that my mother is expected momentarily, but perhaps, in the meantime, I may be of service.”

A slight frown disturbed her features at this subtle insistence, despite her specific request to the butler, that she must have come to see his mother. “My business is with you, my lord, though I should be pleased to meet her ladyship, of course. However, perhaps I impose altogether. I’m certain you don’t even know who I am.”

He smiled faintly. “On the contrary. I believe you are the granddaughter of Sir Cedric Westering, my grandfather’s late cousin, and that you have come to London from somewhere in the neighborhood of Bath.” Catheryn was amazed till he went on blandly, “I am head of the family, Miss Westering. It behooves me to know its various members.” Her eyes narrowed as amazement shifted to suspicion. “Have I said something wrong?”

Demurely, she gazed at her folded hands. “No sir. Only, you’re doing it much too brown—as my grandfather would say.” She peeped at him from under her lashes.

This time the smile was rueful but warmer than before. “You are perceptive. I’m forced to admit that Mr. Ashley, my excellent secretary, was present when Paulson brought word of your arrival. I have him to thank for my knowledge.”

Catheryn smoothed her skirt carefully, grateful for the pause made necessary by the arrival of their refreshments. She could usually size people up quickly, but the earl presented something of an enigma. Though he seemed to maintain an aloof dignity, there had been those brief, encouraging flickers of humor. Paulson set a tray containing glasses of lemonade and Madeira as well as a plate of small, delicious-looking cakes on the table, effectively breaking her train of thought. He then executed a bow rather deeper than the one with which he had greeted her and inquired whether there would be anything further. Dambroke waved him away.

Catheryn took a small sip of her lemonade. Then, drawing a resolute breath and setting the glass down, she looked directly into the blue eyes opposite her own. “Lord Dambroke, I must thank you for your kindness in acknowledging a relationship that is distant at best, for, quite frankly, I have come here hoping to take advantage of it.” She paused, looking away, seeking words. “Oh dear, I knew this would be difficult. Perhaps, after all, it would be easier to present my case to your mother.”

“Is your case so desperate then?” he asked gently.

“Not … not desperate. Only uncomfortable. I’m afraid I’ve run away from home.” Seeing that he looked shocked and not a little severe, she felt herself plunging into unknown waters. “I know I ought to have written first, my lord, but I was afraid you’d misunderstand and insist I let myself be guided by my aunt and uncle.”

“Are you not afraid I will say the same thing now, Miss Westering? I must tell you,” he added sternly when she stared down at her hands once more, “that my first reaction is to hear no more of this but to send you packing instead. My butler informed me that you brought no maidservant. Am I to infer then that you traveled alone all the way from Somerset?” She nodded, still looking at her hands. “Good gracious, child! ’Tis most unseemly! What were your relatives about to allow it!”

She looked up gravely. “I believe I explained, sir, that they did not exactly allow it. And I could not bring my maid, for she is actually in my aunt’s employ and would have apprised her of my plan. It was difficult enough to rouse Bert. I am not a schoolgirl, my lord.”

“And who, if you please, is Bert?”

Catheryn smiled. “His name is Bert Ditchling, sir, and he was my grandfather’s estate manager. He’s been my groom since we removed to Caston Manor. I know such a change of position must seem strange, but it is not. Bert was raised at Westering. When Grandpapa gambled away the better part of his lands and fortune and had to release most of his servants, Bert refused to go. For several years before his death, Grandpapa suffered from the gout and was unable to leave his bed except to sit sometimes in a chair, and he came to depend entirely upon Bert. After he died, Bert refused to abandon me—his words, sir—and my uncle was kind enough to allow him to accompany me to the manor. I might add that Bert agrees with you wholeheartedly on the subject of my journey to London. I have been forced to endure his scolds all day.”

“Knowledge of where my duty lies gives me the feeling that you should endure mine as well, Miss Westering.” She looked at him anxiously, and he added more mildly that he would endeavor to restrain himself. “You speak kindly of your uncle. I confess a curiosity to know what necessitated this flight.”

She blushed. “It was not entirely my uncle, sir, but also his son, who believes himself in love with me. I don’t know what ails the man, but it’s rather wearing.”

Though she had hoped to provoke it, his laughter was nonetheless surprising, softening the stern countenance and bringing the glimmer of a twinkle to his eye. “I beg your pardon,” he said, hurriedly recovering himself, “but you look so woebegone. I’ve never seen a woman react in such a way to the admission of a man’s love for her. Pray forgive me.”

The color in her face became more pronounced, but she smiled. “Not very becoming of me, is it. I’m afraid I am not as conscious as I should be of the honor Edmund does me, my lord. It seems quite ridiculous. I cannot love him and have no wish to spend my life buried in the country. But that is not all, sir. There is more.” He raised his brows again, and she proceeded to explain the matter of Uncle Daniel’s money. When she finished, Dambroke was broodingly silent for some time.

“The matter interests me,” he said finally, “but I do not understand precisely what you expect me to do.”

Catheryn took a deep breath, cakes and lemonade forgotten for the moment. “I am not certain exactly how matters stand, sir, but Edmund said the money must stay in trust until I am twenty-five or until I marry, with my uncle as trustee. As I said, I have no wish to marry Edmund, but with my uncle holding the purse strings, I shall have little opportunity to meet anyone else; and, eventually they may wear me to the point that I shall accept Edmund against my better judgment. I need someone to support my case, and I hoped you might oblige. I should like very much to set up housekeeping in London for a time, to see the sights and, perhaps, to partake of some of the pleasures. I should be perfectly willing to accept your guidance in order to go about the thing properly, and I do not necessarily aspire to the heights. But I should like to experience life beyond the West Country and perhaps have a chance to meet someone suitable to marry. If my uncle could be persuaded to loosen his hold on my fortune at least to the point of granting me an allowance, I’m certain I could contrive to five within it. You wield a good deal of power, my lord, or so I have heard. If anyone could convince him, it would be yourself. I could never hope to do so unaided.”

She waited expectantly, hoping she had struck the right note by appealing to him as a man of power, encouraged by the fact that he did not instantly refuse her. When he spoke, he seemed to choose his words with care. “You tell me you are no longer a schoolgirl, Miss Westering, and yet your behavior indicates that you are not very old. No doubt you have acted in haste and without forethought. Since you admit that your relatives treat you kindly, it would be improper of me to do anything other than restore you to their care. Whatever else I decide, they must certainly be informed at once of your whereabouts.”

Inwardly burning at his rebuke, Catheryn reminded herself that true resourcefulness meant not giving up at the first sign of defeat. There were always other notes to strike. She straightened her shoulders, shedding the demure for the self-sufficient. “My lord, I am of age. Perhaps I have not behaved with all due propriety, but I am determined upon my course. Since you can do nothing to help me, I should be very grateful if you will recommend a reliable man of affairs who would at least look into the details of the trust for me.”

“You misunderstand me, Miss Westering,” he countered smoothly. “I am not casting you off. I will certainly do all I can to help you protect yourself against an unwanted marriage and to see that your fortune is not used as a weapon against you. I’m not entirely convinced, however, that your uncle has any such intention. You cannot speak of his kindness on the one hand and accuse him on the other, you know. The matter must be properly investigated. You may trust me to see to it. As for allowing you to set up housekeeping in London, I shall certainly do nothing to further such a scheme. In that, you must be guided by your relatives.”

Though grateful for the half loaf, she would have debated the last point had not the sound of voices in the hall arrested his attention. “I believe you are about to meet my mother, Miss Westering.”

The doors flung wide and Elizabeth, Dowager Countess of Dambroke, hurried into the room with silk skirts rustling. She ignored her son, who had risen to his feet, and passed straight on to Catheryn. The countess was small and round and, though nearing the middle forties, still very pretty. Dressed in yellow with pale blue ribbons, she carried a light shawl over her arm and wore a frivolous lace cap with matching ribbons perched upon her soft brown curls. The cap ribbons fluttered as she approached, and the total effect was charming. Though rather awed by her ladyship’s entrance, Catheryn had stood up automatically when Dambroke did and now proceeded to make her graceful curtsey. Immediately the countess’s two soft hands stretched out to her.

“Come, come, child! Stand up and let me look at you. I am Lady Dambroke, you know.” She raised Catheryn to her feet and, gazing straight into the dark eyes, demanded, “But who are you, my dear? My servants informed me only that Dambroke has been closeted for more than half an hour with an unknown girl. I had quite given up hope of his ever falling in love, I must tell you. And here he is inviting you to visit with never a word of it to me!”

C
ATHERYN BLUSHED FIERY RED
and the earl interrupted hastily. “Mama, this is Miss Catheryn Westering, granddaughter of the late Sir Cedric Westering, my grandfather’s cousin.”

“Yes, yes, Dambroke, but how did you meet her and why have you never mentioned her to me before?”

The humor of the situation struck Catheryn as she watched the earl try to bring things into focus for his parent. “I met her here today, Mama. She has run away from home.”

“How shocking!” The countess surveyed Catheryn more closely. “But how fortunate that she should choose to run here and at this particular moment!” Catheryn stared at the pair of them. Her ladyship seemed to be attempting a sort of silent communication with her son. He only looked grim. “Surely,” she insisted, “it’s the very thing! But come, child—Miss Westering, did you say?” Catheryn nodded, smiling shyly, too bemused to speak. She found her hands clasped tightly, and two bright blue eyes twinkled into her own. “You must come with me at once and tell me about yourself.”

“Mama! Miss Westering belongs with her relatives. I have already explained to her that she must return at once.”

But her ladyship seemed not a bit cast down by his harsh tone. “Nonsense, my dear. She cannot leave at once. How absurd! Order a bedchamber prepared for her immediately. She certainly cannot leave before morning, and perhaps we shall contrive to keep her for a short visit.” Noting his stern look and rigid jaw, her ladyship was moved to entreaty. “You must see, dear, that she is the answer to a prayer.” It was clear that he did not see. “Dambroke, only consider Tiffany!”

“I have considered Tiffany more than enough for one day, madam. Where is she, by the way? I thought her to be with you.”

“Oh no. She does not like Letty Mearing, you know. She was upstairs when I left, rather indisposed, poor dear.”

“Sulking in her room, you mean,” retorted Dambroke in exasperated tones.

“Very likely.” Her ladyship was unconcerned. “Nevertheless, she is quite cast down and needs a distraction. Miss Westering may be the very thing.”