The Sometime Bride (36 page)

Cat’s lips twitched. She might understand the Wrexhams of the world, but Amabel Lovell was a new experience entirely. “Gordon Somersby has a very odd memory if he recalls that ancient news,” Cat said with a deprecating gesture, “yet ignores my outrageous behavior in the park earlier this week.”

“
Oh, but he said Lieutenant Audley and he might not have seen you otherwise. Just think how tragic it would have been if they had not heard you. How could you have found them in a city the size of London?”

Catherine eyed her new acquaintance with interest. Short golden curls framed a heart-shaped face whose open countenance betrayed not only intelligence but a gentle good nature. Catherine rather thought she herself had once been as sunny and open as this charming young lady, but after the French occupation of Lisbon a mask had come down, hiding fourteen-year-old Catherine Audley from the world. And sunny? When had her naturally ebullient disposition disappeared? To be replaced by this icy wall of calm which so seldom cracked to reveal the woman inside? Was it with her father’s beating? That fateful night before her wedding? When Blas left that last time? When her father died?

“
I would be ever so grateful if you could help me,” Miss Lovell was saying. “My papa says gentlemen wish to discuss hunting or horses. The Corn Laws,
The Rights of Women
, even the mention of a novel will frighten them faster than a flat purse. Of course, I suppose I don’t really have to worry,” she offered a bit doubtfully. “I am practically betrothed. A long-standing family arrangement which, I take leave to tell you, I am most happy to honor. You won’t see me running away like those silly chits in novels. Anthony is quite splendid. Handsome, and
so
charming.”

Miss Lovell peeked at her mother who frequently scolded her for her enthusiasms, but that lady was immersed in conversation with several other ladies who frequently met in the drawing rooms of London’s political families. Providing a musical background was Miss Flora Hawley, singing a group of country songs, accompanied her sister Adelaide.

Amabel leaned closer, confiding to Cat, “Mama has warned me not to wear my heart on my sleeve. You see, I have been too young for Anthony to take much notice of me, and he may not come up to scratch. That is why I wish so very much to have someone who can help me know how to go on. Mr. Somersby says you are ever so sophisticated and know exactly how to talk to men.”

Cat was suddenly aware she was enjoying herself. Between the satisfaction of Lord Wrexham’s open admiration and the friendship being offered by this vivacious girl only slightly younger than herself, she was beginning to feel alive again. “Tell me about your Anthony,” Cat encouraged.

“
He is Anthony Trowbridge, a younger son,” Miss Lovell confessed. But the younger son of a duke—Marchmont, you know—so he is quite well fixed. His father has given him one of his smaller estates. It is some distance away - in Derbyshire. I fear he has become so enamored with farming that he seldom comes to town. His father and mine did the grand tour together and hatched this betrothal scheme over a vast number of bottles one night in Venice. Long before either was married, of course, but for some reason they never gave it up.”

Amabel suddenly clapped a hand to her mouth, eyes widening at the immensity of her
faux pas
. “What an idiot you must think me, rattling on like this. I have not even offered you my condolences. Please forgive me.”

After Catherine’s reassurances, Miss Lovell plunged straight on. “Mrs. Perez, do you have any children?”

When the gentlemen entered the drawing room some time later, Gordon Somersby and Lieutenant Audley headed with alacrity toward the two young ladies still ensconced on the window seat, deep in conversation. And yet, within minutes, the two young men discovered their prize had been winkled out from under their noses. Catherine was now seated on a love seat at the opposite end of the room. Where, both young men noted sourly, her companion, the Earl of Wrexham, was favoring her with the anticipatory smile of a predator about to devour his prey.

“
That was well done, my lord,” Catherine approved. “I have not seen such an outstanding maneuver since Wellington left Portugal.”

“
The prize was well worth the effort,” Wrexham murmured, lifting her hand to his mouth for a kiss which he daringly placed on the inside of her wrist. Catherine, shocked by the flash of physical response which shook her, snatched her hand back into her lap.

Lord Wrexham felt a surge of satisfaction. For a moment he had managed to disturb the young lady’s remarkable façade of sophistication. “That is quite the most stunning mourning gown I have seen,” he continued smoothly. “Surely not the design of a London modiste?” While casting his highly appreciative eye over his dinner partner, he had not failed to note the unusual design of her high-collared gown of soft black silk.

“
I asked Madame Helène to copy a gown of which I am particularly fond. The original design,” she added meaningfully, “was by my husband.”

The earl’s mouth turned up at one corner. Light sparkled in his gray eyes. “I do believe you are trying to tell me something,” he murmured.

“
That I am not available for dalliance,” said Cat plainly, her eyes steadily holding his. “But I am much in need of a friend.”

The earl considered her thoughtfully. “I am not at all sure either of us would be wise to embark on the precarious adventure of friendship, for as you must know that is only a small portion of what I desire from you.”

“
Then I must remain alone, my lord.”

Wrexham, no one’s fool, caught the loneliness and regret in her voice. But, above all, the integrity. The lady meant what she said. Inwardly, he groaned. There was, however, some slight hope. The earl knew his own worth—his vast consequence as well as his wealth. To coax a lady so young and lovely from her mourning was a challenge which mightily intrigued him.

“
Very well,” he agreed. “Friendship it is.”

Chapter Nineteen

Shortly after breakfast the next day, Clara Everingham went in search of Blanca Dominguez, finally locating her in the sunny morning room which overlooked the rear garden. As usual, Blanca was bent over her embroidery, diligently adding to the drawer full of pillowcases, silken bellpulls, slippers, undergarments and handkerchiefs she was decorating for Christmas gifts. The relatively small room, enhanced by the sparkle of the sun through the double doors to the garden and the coziness of a cheerful fire in the grate, was a haven of quiet contentment.

With a heartfelt sigh Clara lowered herself into a comfortable chair next to the sofa where Blanca was sitting. “Catherine seemed to enjoy herself last night,” she ventured, keeping a close eye on Blanca’s serene features.

“
I believe you are correct,” Blanca agreed, holding her embroidery hoop up to the light to check the delicate white-on-white stitchery.

“
She has such charm and wit. Yet, many time since she came to us I have thought she seemed . . . unnaturally quiet, even . . . unhappy.”

“
She was most certainly not unhappy to see Mr. Somersby. Nor her cousin the lieutenant,” Blanca pointed out as she threaded fresh white silk through her needle.

Clara’s smile was rueful as she pictured the scene in Hyde Park. “No, that she was not,” she agreed mildly. “And I was pleased to see her warming to Amabel Lovell last night. An excellent connection.” Lady Everingham paused, choosing her words with care. “But frequently Catherine seems closed off, as if nothing and no one can affect her. There are a few marvelous moments of animation, and then she is gone again. As shut off as if she were one of those glorious mums out in the garden, separated from us by a wall of glass. Beautiful but untouchable.”

“
But the doors may be opened, the flower touched,” said Blanca calmly.

“
But not by just anyone, I fear.”

“
Ah, no,” Blanca agreed, laying her embroidery aside. “Only Blas has that power.”

“
She loves him that much?”

“
À corps perdu
. I fear she is like her father. There will be only one great love in her life.”

“
Thomas?” Clara had heard a great deal about Thomas Audley, but certainly nothing which indicated he had but one woman in his life.

Blanca’s eyes were fixed on the garden, but what she saw was the Casa Audley. With all its joys and infinite sadness. “Elspeth, Catarina’s mother, was the love of his life. No one could ever take her place.”

“
My dear . . . “ Clara’s words dwindled to a halt, her social poise shattered by what this admission must be costing Blanca Dominguez.

“
They are very special men,” Blanca continued, “Thomas and Blas. And much alike. They love with great passion, but nothing, absolutely nothing, is allowed to get in the way of their duty. Men like that are greatly needed in this world, but they are not easy to live with.”

Clara shut her eyes. No one could understand that better than the wife of Sir Giles Everingham. “You believe Blas will come back to her then?”

“
I try to make myself believe it, but there is something secretive about him. He is like a chameleon who changes his coat with every situation.”

“
You do not like him?” Clara asked in surprise.

“
I do not trust him,” was the brief reply.

Some ten days later the ladies were enjoying what had become an almost daily visit from Captain Audley and Gordon Somersby when the card of an unexpected morning caller was presented to Lady Everingham by Rankin, the butler. “Ailesbury!” Captain Audley exclaimed. “Oh, lord, Cat, forgive me if I play least in sight! A more pompous, puffed-up, boring as–ah–gudgeon than the head of the house of Audley cannot be found. Come all the way from the country to look you over. Lydia must be in a rare twit you might steal her thunder. And won’t you just!” he added with considerable relish.

“
Hush!” hissed Dona Blanca as Rankin announced the Earl of Ailesbury.

Archibald Courtland Audley, first cousin to both Thomas Audley and William’s father, General Sir Quinton Audley, regarded the other occupants of the room with the superior mien of a man who is fully aware of his own consequence, though perhaps a trifle doubtful of the social standing of those around him. He made his formal bow to Lady Everingham, deigned to accept the introduction to his startlingly beautiful young relative and her foreign chaperone, and to Mr. Somersby who was not known to him. “Well, William,” said the earl, weighting each word as if his sentences were crafted of gold, “I did not expect to find you here. I believed you to be laid up with the fever.”

Catherine was left with the impression that William had been audacious indeed to rise from his sickbed without the earl’s permission.

“
I leave for the Peninsula just after Christmas, my lord.”

“
Returning to Wellington, are you? Well, that is all right then. I am confident you will bring honor to the family, my boy. And if you should see your father, render him my felicitations on a job well done at Pamplona.” Ailesbury rocked back on his heels, looking down his nose at William with the benign superiority of his exalted rank. “And now, young man, I fear I shall have to ask you to take yourself off, for I have come a long way to speak with your cousin Catherine and bear greetings from Lady Ailesbury and Lydia.”

Refusing to be routed, Lieutenant Audley inquired, “What? No greeting from Edmund, my lord?”

“
Do not be absurd, William. You are well aware that Norwell is safely tucked up at Oxford. Naturally, he
would
have sent his greetings if he had known I was to be in London. Now off with you, young sirs,” he added with a forced attempt at joviality. “I wish to be private with cousin Catherine.”

When the two young men had made their hasty farewells, Lady Everingham asked if Lord Ailesbury wished to be completely private with his young cousin. He tut-tutted and allowed that although it might be proper for the head of the family to be private with a married lady, though of tender years, he fancied he had nothing to say which might not be said before all three ladies. After this ponderous judgment, the earl settled himself into a chair next to Catherine.

Cat, well aware she owed her father’s family her most polished manners, turned the full force of her smile on Lord Ailesbury, only to discover her noble cousin was regarding her as if she were some unknown creature dropped from the sky. Or more like—as she later confided to Bess Fielding—crawled out from under a rock. Accustomed to nothing but blatant admiration from even the most stiff-necked and monogamous of men, Catherine found herself speechless.

“
I do not understand,” declared the earl a bit querulously, “why your father should not have left you in my charge. I am, after all, his own first cousin and head of the family.”

Catherine’s gaze flew to Lady Everingham. Was it possible this pompous nobleman was not even aware of the implied insult to his hostess? She could scarcely tell him that Thomas Audley had said he’d be damned before he’d let Archibald and Malvinia Audley have any say over his daughter’s life. Clara Everingham’s bosom heaved dangerously, her mouth flattened into a grim line.

Catherine reaffixed her smile. “Surely, uncle, you are aware my father worked for the government for many years. It was only natural he should ask his colleague Lord Everingham to look after me during the few short months until my majority. I am certain he felt your good wife was quite occupied with her own two children.”