The Honorable Heir (10 page)

He reached out with some notion of stopping her, but let his hand fall. If she wanted to use tea as an excuse to get away from him, the disgraced officer, than he would not stop her.

She rang the bell. As she gave her orders to the footman who appeared, the doorbell chimed.

Estelle stopped playing mid arpeggio and sprang to her feet. “Florian is here.”

Tristram glanced at her face, glowing as though electric lights burned behind it, and felt a groan rise in his chest. She had fallen for Florian, who possessed no prospects and less money without the jewels. That Estelle was an heiress made the situation worse. Her parents would never approve after Catherine’s experience.

He needed to find the jewels and get Florian back to England and out of harm’s way—or rather, keep Estelle out of harm’s way. Yet how could he continue to call on Catherine if she now rejected him?

He turned just as Florian came into view with Ambrose right behind him.

“Look what the cat dragged in.” Florian gestured behind him. “A veritable throng to comfort you, Tris.”

He wasn’t gesturing solely at Ambrose. Two more people reached the point where the steps opened into the conservatory.

Pierce and Georgette Selkirk.

Chapter 10

The custom of raising the hat when meeting an acquaintance derives from the old rule that friendly knights in accosting each other should raise the visor for mutual recognition in amity. In the knightly years, it must be remembered, it was important to know whether one was meeting friend or foe. Meeting a foe meant fighting on the spot. Thus, it is evident that the conventions of courtesy not only tend to make the wheels of life run more smoothly, but also act as safeguards in human relationship.

Emily Price Post

T
he sight of Georgette—as bright as the sunshine melting snow from the roof—sent a shock wave of guilt racing through Catherine. Here she was ready to beg forgiveness for the past, a goal she had striven for nearly since she left America, and yet she had kissed one more of Georgette’s beaux not a half hour ago. Given warning of Georgette’s arrival, she might have run away to hide her shame.

Instead, she stepped forward to extend her hands in welcome. “You chose a cold day for making calls.” Not an auspicious greeting. “I mean... That is—”

Georgette interrupted with her sparkling laughter. “We just got back from the city, and I needed a guarantee that neither Mama nor Grandmama would want to stir from the drawing room fire.”

The two of them stood a dozen feet apart, eyeing one another, while the others watched the tableau unfold. Georgette looked as young and golden as she had five years earlier. Her complexion and hair glowed in the lamplight. Her well-cut gown emphasized the lithe lines of her form. Best of all, her smile was as wide and warm as it had been all their years of friendship.

Wishing she were wearing something finer than a dark gray walking suit with only the narrowest bands of lace to adorn her collar, Catherine took the first step forward. Georgette mirrored her actions. They met in the center of the Persian carpet to hug, neither speaking, neither moving. Tears pooled in Catherine’s eyes. Georgette had come to her when she was the wronged party. She tried to say something appropriate to the moment, but her voice would not come, blocked by too many words she had considered saying over the past five years.

In the doorway, a footman gave a discreet cough.

Catherine stepped back, indicating the need for fresh coffee services on the low table between the sofas. The servant’s presence gave Catherine time to compose herself and dab at her eyes with her handkerchief—no, Tristram’s handkerchief. When she pulled the linen away, Georgette was seated facing the lake, where Tristram had been. He had joined the others on the other side of the room. Estelle reigned there, dispensing coffee and tea and making everyone laugh.

Georgette perched on the edge of the cushion, her cheeks damp but her smile firmly in place. “I always loved this room.”

“It’s my favorite.” Catherine took up the coffeepot. “Though I suppose I should have asked if you prefer tea now.”

“Coffee. But no sugar. I get plump if I’m not careful.”

Catherine smiled. “I find that difficult to believe.”

“It’s true. If I didn’t walk miles a day on these hills or play tennis, I would look like a snowball in a white dress.” Georgette accepted the coffee cup with its generous dollop of cream. “I rather overindulged myself with sweets after...” She trailed off. Her gaze flicked to Catherine, then down to her coffee.

“After I eloped with your fiancé?” Catherine opened the door as wide as it could go. Her hands shook, and she left her cup on its saucer.

Across the room, Florian was trying to play Estelle’s banjo, while the others groaned and laughed.

Catherine took a deep breath and plunged in. “Georgette, this is still likely not enough to make up for the humiliation and pain I caused you and your family, and I have to tell you that he wasn’t worth a moment of your grief. He wanted nothing more than the money. He wasn’t the least interested in me once that ring was on my finger and my dowry in his bank account.”

“So I heard.” Georgette turned her blue eyes fully on Catherine. “People from here visited London and sometimes saw him. Apparently he acted as though he barely remembered your name.” She set her cup on the table and leaned forward. “At first, I thought it was the least you deserved. I couldn’t bear to go out in public for weeks because I hated the sympathetic looks. And a few young men...” Her cheeks flushed. “They thought they could take advantage of my jilted state, if you understand what I’m saying.”

“I do. I encountered those same sort after I was widowed.”

They exchanged sympathetic glances, a fragile camaraderie starting to take hold.

“He took me to that moldering old house of his,” Catherine continued, “then left for London, where he stayed most of the time.” She plucked at the smooth wool of her skirt. “But all that doesn’t make up for what I did to you in luring him away. And I, well, I beg your forgiveness for putting such a shallow desire for a title before our friendship.”

Speech delivered, Catherine sagged back against the sofa cushions and waited for a sense of relief, of the peace that had eluded her for over five years. Instead, she felt worse than she had before.

Lord Tristram’s voice, clear and smooth, though no louder than the others, rang through her head, winding her insides like a seven-day clock. Her apology to her friend meant almost nothing, because of what she’d allowed to happen with him.

Georgette remained silent. So silent, the conversation of the others began to falter. Then, when Florian’s inexpert plucking of the banjo strings was the only sound in the conservatory, she grasped the silver tongs, dropped a lump of sugar into her coffee and began to stir. “Carry on.” She spoke without looking at the others.

They burst into a cacophony of conversation.

Georgette fixed her attention on Catherine. “At first, I hated you. I rather hoped your ship would sink in the middle of the Atlantic.”

Catherine flinched, but wasn’t truly surprised. She expected she would have felt the same in reverse.

“Then when I heard all wasn’t like a fairy tale for you,” Georgette continued, “I thought it was what you deserved and thought if he’d married me, he wouldn’t have treated me that way. Rather arrogant of me, isn’t it?” She laughed, sipped some of her coffee and grimaced. “Why did I put sugar in this?”

“Old habit?”

“Bad habit.” Georgette nudged her cup toward the center of the table. “I forgive you, Catherine. I forgave you a long time ago. At first it was just what I knew was the right thing to do, and then it was genuine, what I knew the Lord wanted from me.”

“Thank you. But why—Georgette, I have to ask—why have you never married? Surely you haven’t been pining for Edwin.”

“Not Edwin. A man who will take me away from all this.” She swept her arm in an arc. “I am so weary of seeing the same people at the same parties year after year. When I go into the city, I want to attend the less savory theaters, those productions the immigrants put on. I want to go to Coney Island in the summer and take a boat from the city to Lake Erie. Lord Bisterne represented all that to me. He would take me away to another world.” For a moment, her eyes shimmered like a summer sky, then the light died. “But I’m stranded here in Tuxedo Park most of the time with a mother and grandmother who are more bitter over my broken engagement than I ever was.”

Catherine sighed on behalf of her friend. “What will change things?”

“Perhaps if I marry another title?” A half smile played around Georgette’s lips.

Catherine knew instantly to whom her friend was referring, and her heart sank.

Surely if she truly wanted to mend fences between the families and stop old Mrs. Selkirk’s vicious tongue, Catherine would be happy for Georgette. She and Tristram seemed to be getting along well. But an elephant seemed to be sitting on her chest.

“Should I be congratulating you?” she asked.

Should she scorn him for kissing her while Georgette believed they had an unofficial understanding?

Across the room, he now held the banjo and Estelle was showing him how to position his fingers.

“If you played any instrument at all,” she was saying, “this might be easier.”

“He used to play the piano,” Florian said.

Just one more thing Catherine didn’t know about him.

Eyes lowered, Georgette leaned toward Catherine. “It’s a little too soon, but I do have expectations. He is handsome and kind and, most of all, interesting.”

“Yes, quite,” Catherine murmured.

“Back in England,” Georgette continued, “he works to help men wounded in those two wars the English have been involved in lately. Something like the Boer War in China?”

“South Africa. China was the Boxer Rebellion.”

Georgette shrugged off details. “Lots of men come home wounded and don’t have a way to support themselves other than small pensions. Some don’t even have homes, so he and other former military men raise money to help them learn trades or get back to their old ones.”

“So I understand.”

“He won’t say, but I think he’s come over here to raise money for his cause because his father might not give him his inheritance.”

So Georgette suspected the same of him as Catherine did. Had he kissed Georgette as well, to ensure he caught at least one heiress?

“I don’t know any details,” Georgette continued, “but there is something about him having incomplete business and his father being angry with him for leaving the military service.”

So she didn’t know about the court-martial.

“I should think it’s his duty to his country to serve,” Georgette said, “but he was wounded, so perhaps that makes continuing to serve difficult. It doesn’t matter since if he marries an heiress, he won’t need to concern himself with a bit of money from his father. Marrying to help dozens or hundreds of men recover from the war is so much more noble than merely restoring an old house.”

“Indeed it is.” Catherine glanced out the windows to where the wind was whipping the tree branches into a fury and clouds quickly replaced the blue sky. The lake lay still and flat beneath its layer of ice as snow began to fall.

Catherine suddenly longed to be out there chasing those flakes with the wind yanking back her hood and tugging the pins from her hair. She wanted to howl with the elements even though she was getting what she wanted—a renewal of friendship with Georgette, which was the first step to reconciliation between their families. She should be ecstatic. She wanted to weep over how she couldn’t continue a dull existence in Tuxedo Park knowing Georgette was in England with Tristram, working at his side, loving him...

Catherine moved to the sofa beside Georgette and they began to fill in details of the missing years between them. Georgette wanted to know all about life in an English country house, and in Europe. Catherine acknowledged that her life hadn’t been complete misery. She had acres of garden to restore and running her own household was rewarding. European society was generally dull, but the sights were spectacular.

Georgette filled her in on details about their school friends. “Susan Lassiter went to college, if you can believe it,” Georgette confided. “Someplace in Ohio. Oberlin, that was it. She is now studying to be a doctor at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore.”

“That’s astounding. Her parents let her?”

“She inherited money from her grandfather and her parents couldn’t stop her. But they sold their house here in the Park right after she left and spend their summers in Bar Harbor and winters in Boston. I think they’re ashamed of her.”

“I’d be proud of my daughter for elevating herself above shallow pursuits.”

Catherine wondered about her own life, spending her days doing nothing more than planning what to wear to the next social gathering, trying to keep Estelle from thinking about running off to join a band or Ambrose or Florian, or sitting by a fire with her needlework while others gossiped around her. Once she wanted nothing more than to be the most popular girl at a ball and to marry a title. Once she got those, she realized she needed more, if only she knew then what that was.

She knew now. She needed Tristram, meaningful work like his charity, the freedom to care about him without ruining relationships between the Selkirks and VanDorns again.

“Susan wants to be a missionary,” Georgette said. “She writes to me now and again, and sometimes I am inspired to seek something more than this life we are so privileged to have. But now that I’ve met Lord Tristram, well...” She laughed. “I’ve decided perhaps that is where the Lord wants me to serve others—at his side in the London slums.”

“That’s noble of you. I helped nurse some of the children on the estate a few years ago when there was a measles outbreak. It was exhausting, but rewarding.”

“Perhaps we could work on something together, beginning with your mother’s annual tea. We will buy a ticket and come this year. I’ll make Pierce and Tristram come, as well. And for now...” Georgette rose. “I had better go home before the weather gets any worse. Grandmother predicted this, which is why we came home today. With Lord Tristram out here, she didn’t want me stranded in the city.” She glanced his way and blushed.

Catherine looked away, her face as cold as Georgette’s looked warm. “Thank you for coming.” She couldn’t look at her old friend. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”

“Of course you do. I would be in the wrong if I didn’t give it.”

They embraced again, and Georgette departed with her brother and admonitions to the Englishmen not to tarry and get stranded. Pierce was too polite not to bow to Catherine, but it was little more than an inclination of his head. He, apparently, was not ready to put the past behind him.

Ignoring the protests of the Englishmen and Estelle, Catherine crossed to the windows and flung open one of the casements to feel the blast of icy air in her face in lieu of a walk.

Despite Tristram’s maintaining his part of their bargain, she couldn’t uphold hers. Georgette wanted him, and Catherine couldn’t risk damaging that friendship and the potential for softening the hearts of the older Selkirk ladies by the appearance of Tristram paying her particular attention. At the same time, if she couldn’t see him and convince him of her innocence, her name might never be cleared and her family would suffer.