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Authors: Caroline Warfield
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Sylvia rose, the panic on Catherine's
face brought Will to his feet. "We needn't be formal among family,
gentlemen. I suggest we join the ladies for after-dinner
refreshment." And buffer Catherine from Sylvia's company.
Conversation in the withdrawing room did not
go as well. Sylvia's control started to slip, and something in the
room bothered Lord Arthur.
"You were right, Chadbourn. Sometimes, a man
has to face his demons," the old man said. "But if this room were
mine, I would strip it of its furnishings and change it
completely."
Catherine looked suddenly wary. She put a
hand on her father's arm. Lord Arthur, however, appeared lost in
his own thoughts. "This is where I told m'father I planned to wed
my Mary."
Stunned silence greeted that
announcement.
"He disapproved," Will said, and immediately
regretted it, when Lord Arthur went on as if he hadn't heard.
"Beat me over the head." He pointed to a
finely carved side chair next to the folded card table. "There used
to be two of those. He broke one over my shoulder. Dislocated it. I
never saw him again."
Lord Arthur looked around at the company and
blinked. "I am sorry, Your Grace," he said to Sylvia, who had gone
pale as a ghost. "Old history."
"Chadbourn, I… I feel poorly. I need to lie
down," the duchess said, rising unsteadily to her feet. Will
wondered, fleetingly, what ghost Lord Arthur's description of
violence had resurrected, but he took her elbow to assist her.
He stopped and addressed Lord Arthur. They
had come this far; he couldn't let it drop.
"Why? What did he have against your lady?" he
asked.
Perhaps it was his use of "lady" to describe
Mary, but Lord Arthur seemed to stand a bit straighter. "Believed
the disgrace would 'taint' the family, as if we didn't have worse
blots on our family escutcheon, as if my Mary weren't a treasure
that would enrich any family."
Will opened his mouth to ask more, but Sylvia
sagged against him.
"Come, girl, we'd best leave," Lord Arthur
said to Catherine. "I hope you feel better, Your Grace. I'm sorry I
upset your evening." Lord Arthur bowed correctly, but left the room
without pausing.
Catherine looked at Will, perplexity and
sorrow in her expression.
"We'll talk later," he said.
***
Catherine desperately wished that "later"
meant in a year or two. She wished, at least, that Will would give
her a week to think about his sister's distress, to recover from
her father's revelation, and to steel herself against the perilous
attraction she felt every time he came close. He gave her no such
time.
The big bay trotted down the lane, raising
dust and Freddy's hopes. For weeks now, the earl had arrived by
phaeton with Charles. Today, he came alone.
"Where can we talk?" he asked without
preamble, while Freddy happily led Mercury to the meadow for "a
gentle walk."
"Alone?" she asked. She shouldn't be alone
with him. She couldn't.
"Catherine, I won't hurt you. I won't—" He
broke off with a curse and led her to the tool storage closet in
the barn.
She tripped along next to him, and her
thoughts raced.
He closed the door and pulled her into a
fierce kiss, before putting a hand on each arm and setting her
carefully away.
Trapped between a desire to slap his face and
a sharper desire to throw herself into his arms, Catherine crossed
her arms around her waist, as if to protect herself.
Will ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry.
That probably doesn't help my cause, but I thought of nothing else
last night." He took a steadying breath.
"I won't be your mistress," Catherine burst
out, unable to hold the thought in.
"What? Of course not! What do you take me
for?"
"I take you for an earl who has family and
friends among the highest ranks in England, who knows full well the
place of a baseborn daughter of a country squire. But, Will, I
can't do it." She searched his eyes, begging silently for
understanding.
"Aren't you getting ahead of me? What I need
first is a friend, a friend and a partner."
"What do you
face brought Will to his feet. "We needn't be formal among family,
gentlemen. I suggest we join the ladies for after-dinner
refreshment." And buffer Catherine from Sylvia's company.
Conversation in the withdrawing room did not
go as well. Sylvia's control started to slip, and something in the
room bothered Lord Arthur.
"You were right, Chadbourn. Sometimes, a man
has to face his demons," the old man said. "But if this room were
mine, I would strip it of its furnishings and change it
completely."
Catherine looked suddenly wary. She put a
hand on her father's arm. Lord Arthur, however, appeared lost in
his own thoughts. "This is where I told m'father I planned to wed
my Mary."
Stunned silence greeted that
announcement.
"He disapproved," Will said, and immediately
regretted it, when Lord Arthur went on as if he hadn't heard.
"Beat me over the head." He pointed to a
finely carved side chair next to the folded card table. "There used
to be two of those. He broke one over my shoulder. Dislocated it. I
never saw him again."
Lord Arthur looked around at the company and
blinked. "I am sorry, Your Grace," he said to Sylvia, who had gone
pale as a ghost. "Old history."
"Chadbourn, I… I feel poorly. I need to lie
down," the duchess said, rising unsteadily to her feet. Will
wondered, fleetingly, what ghost Lord Arthur's description of
violence had resurrected, but he took her elbow to assist her.
He stopped and addressed Lord Arthur. They
had come this far; he couldn't let it drop.
"Why? What did he have against your lady?" he
asked.
Perhaps it was his use of "lady" to describe
Mary, but Lord Arthur seemed to stand a bit straighter. "Believed
the disgrace would 'taint' the family, as if we didn't have worse
blots on our family escutcheon, as if my Mary weren't a treasure
that would enrich any family."
Will opened his mouth to ask more, but Sylvia
sagged against him.
"Come, girl, we'd best leave," Lord Arthur
said to Catherine. "I hope you feel better, Your Grace. I'm sorry I
upset your evening." Lord Arthur bowed correctly, but left the room
without pausing.
Catherine looked at Will, perplexity and
sorrow in her expression.
"We'll talk later," he said.
***
Catherine desperately wished that "later"
meant in a year or two. She wished, at least, that Will would give
her a week to think about his sister's distress, to recover from
her father's revelation, and to steel herself against the perilous
attraction she felt every time he came close. He gave her no such
time.
The big bay trotted down the lane, raising
dust and Freddy's hopes. For weeks now, the earl had arrived by
phaeton with Charles. Today, he came alone.
"Where can we talk?" he asked without
preamble, while Freddy happily led Mercury to the meadow for "a
gentle walk."
"Alone?" she asked. She shouldn't be alone
with him. She couldn't.
"Catherine, I won't hurt you. I won't—" He
broke off with a curse and led her to the tool storage closet in
the barn.
She tripped along next to him, and her
thoughts raced.
He closed the door and pulled her into a
fierce kiss, before putting a hand on each arm and setting her
carefully away.
Trapped between a desire to slap his face and
a sharper desire to throw herself into his arms, Catherine crossed
her arms around her waist, as if to protect herself.
Will ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry.
That probably doesn't help my cause, but I thought of nothing else
last night." He took a steadying breath.
"I won't be your mistress," Catherine burst
out, unable to hold the thought in.
"What? Of course not! What do you take me
for?"
"I take you for an earl who has family and
friends among the highest ranks in England, who knows full well the
place of a baseborn daughter of a country squire. But, Will, I
can't do it." She searched his eyes, begging silently for
understanding.
"Aren't you getting ahead of me? What I need
first is a friend, a friend and a partner."
"What do you
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