A Lady of Hidden Intent (34 page)

Carter heard the clock chime midnight. He sat in front of his bedroom fireplace, and the loneliness he experienced was so intense it nearly caused physical pain. Catherine was out there somewhere. Somewhere far away from his care and watchful eye.

The flames danced in the grate as the logs shifted. Carter stared at the fire, but it was Catherine’s face he saw.

“I cannot even imagine life without her by my side.”

He remembered their first meeting. Her outlook on life had seemed sweetly naïve. But life had hardened her. Now all he wanted for her was the best. He wanted Catherine to have hope—to know true happiness. And he wanted to love her and to have her love him in return. He knew she felt a great deal for him—he could tell by her response to the kiss they’d shared. But he knew, too, that she was afraid. Afraid of the future and of what sorrows might yet betray her hope.

Running his hands through his hair, Carter stood and went to the window. “I promise you, Catherine,” he whispered against the frosty pane, “I promise I will ease your suffering. I will help you in every way possible, and I will love you always.”

Tomorrow he would go to her—he would find her—and if he had anything to say about it, he wouldn’t come home without her.

“Oh, Father, please help me,” Carter prayed. “I want so much to see her safely returned. To see her father set free. To see her happy . . . even if that happiness cannot include me.” But the very thought was like a knife in his heart. “But, please, let her love me.”

A light knock sounded on his door. Carter startled at the sound. He had no idea of who it might be. “Come in.”

The door opened and Winifred peeked inside. “Happy New

Year, brother.”

“Happy New Year. I thought you were with Lee.”

She smiled and her joy lit up the room. “I was. He kissed me at midnight and then departed. Then I came up here to see you. Are you all right?”

Carter wasn’t sure how to answer. “I doubt I will be all right until I see Catherine again—until I convince her of my love for her and hear her consent to be my wife.”

Winifred came to stand behind the fireplace chair. “I think once she knows what you’ve done for her father, there will be little difficulty for her to believe in your love for her. You’ve put aside your own interests and needs to see to hers. What woman could ask for more?”

“I just want her happy. Of course I want justice served, but more than anything, I want to see her smile—a smile she feels all the way to her toes. Just as you do when I mention Lee’s name.”

Laughing, Winifred came from behind the chair and crossed the room to where Carter stood. She took hold of his hands. “And I want to see you as happy as I am. I have prayed for you, brother dear. I have prayed that God would prosper your business and send you a wonderful mate. I believe He has already accomplished both things. I feel certain once Catherine knows the truth of her father’s freedom from prison, then she will feel free to turn her heart toward you and the future.”

“I pray you are right.” Carter leaned forward and planted a kiss on his sister’s forehead.

Catherine looked at the blank piece of paper and tried once again to start her letter to Carter. In her heart she wanted to tell him how important he’d become to her—how much she missed him now that they were far apart. But the words sounded trite. With each salutation she considered, she felt even further from accomplishing her task.

How can I just tell him that I love him? How can I spill the past in all its ugly truth across the pages of this letter, and then conclude it so neatly with my adoration and ardent desire to be his wife?

The blank page seemed to mock her.
How dare you believe in love when there is so much uncertainty in your past and future?
Guilt washed over her. What if Carter thought her less worthy of his attention and affection when he knew the truth of what had happened to her father? Worse still, what if he believed her father truly guilty? She could never love a man who would openly condemn her father for actions that were not his own.

With a sigh, Catherine deserted the empty paper and went to her bed. The revelry had long since quieted downstairs and one by one the partiers had gone to bed. She blew out her lamp and eased onto the bed.

“Maybe tomorrow the words will come to me,” she whispered into the darkness. “Maybe tomorrow . . . my heart will speak for itself.”

CHAPTER 26

C
atherine sat at the dining room table of the boardinghouse and considered again what she might write to Carter. The house was otherwise empty. Selma and Dugan had gone with Mrs. Samuelson to share in some of the local festivities, while some of the men were off to work and others had gone out to enjoy the day. Catherine had offered to remain behind to watch over the house. There was soon to be a room to let, and Mrs. Samuelson had already placed an ad. She didn’t want to miss a potential renter, and Catherine had happily volunteered to fill in for the duty. But so far no one had come and everything remained calm and still.

The silence was actually a welcome relief. Life at the sewing house had always been fraught with noise and anxiety. The work load was also much lighter compared to Catherine’s previous job. While sewing and repairing clothes for the men in residence took time and effort, it was nothing compared to the long, tiresome hours Catherine had spent working for Mrs. Clarkson.

The brass knocker clattered against the front door, momentarily startling Catherine. She left thoughts of letter writing behind and went to answer the door. Finding Carter Danby on the steps was the last thing she ever expected, but even as she stared into his eyes, stunned, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world that he should be there.

Without a word he took her in his arms and held her. Catherine didn’t resist. A sense of relief poured over her. It left her warm and peaceful inside. He had come. He had come for her.

His hand gently cradled her head while his other arm went around her back. Catherine melted against him, wrapping her arms around him. Tears came to her eyes. She loved him. She truly loved him.

He pulled back as if reading her thoughts. Smiling down at her, Carter reached up and wiped away a tear. “I have missed you, Miss Newbury.”

She stiffened at the sound of her own name. Fighting to calm her fears, the past rushed at Catherine in a bevy of images she couldn’t force into order. She had so eagerly wanted to tell Carter of her past and explain the truth of why she couldn’t tell him how they first met, but now that he was here, the truth seemed so hard to speak.

“Come. I need to speak to you,” Carter said. He gave her a little nudge to push her back into the vestibule. “I should have told you about this long ago.”

He led Catherine to the sitting room. “Sit here,” he told her and motioned to the well-worn settee. “This will take a bit of time.”

Catherine wanted to speak but didn’t trust herself. She sat as instructed and focused on spreading her gown in an orderly fashion around her.

“I know who you are, as you must have guessed by now. I remember your party in Bath and the dances we shared. I’ve known it since visiting New York in November. All Mrs. Samuelson had to do was mention your name and it all came flooding back. You were so young and charming then.” He smiled. “But you’re a beautiful woman now, and the weight of the world disguises that young girl’s innocence.”

Catherine started to comment, but Carter held up his hand. “I know, too, that you were the lady behind the mask at my mother’s masquerade ball.” He gave her a rather roguish grin and shrugged. “I couldn’t help kissing you and would happily do it again, but perhaps that should wait until I complete my explanation. If I offended you then, I apologize. I have never taken such liberties with a woman, and never will again.”

“I knew it was you,” Catherine whispered. “I would not have allowed the kiss otherwise.”

“I know,” he said, sobering. “Winifred told me. I felt horrible after imposing that kiss upon you, but as I considered the matter these last few days, I felt certain that it must have been received with the same fervor and desire in which it was delivered.”

Catherine felt her cheeks grow hot and looked away. “I acted in a wanton fashion.”

He laughed, and in the empty house it seemed to echo all around her. Catherine’s glance shot back to Carter. “You laugh at me?”

“I laugh at such a silly statement. You were no more wanton than I. We are two people in love. It is that simple. Deny it if you must, but the truth of it will stand.”

Catherine said nothing. She couldn’t deny it, but to admit such a thing would mean declaring her heart before she was ready.

Carter didn’t wait for an answer but merely pushed ahead. “I digress. I have known for some time about your circumstance— about your father and the wrongs done him.”

“You know? But how? Did Captain Marlowe tell you?” Catherine asked. Her heart beat wildly as anxiety coursed through her body.

“I made it my job to know. I wanted to know more about you so I put Leander on the job. He began to seek out information on when you had come to Philadelphia and where you had come from. Once we knew about the Samuelson boardinghouse, we made a journey here, as you know. At least you know about our trip to New York City.”

“Yes. I suppose I do.” She shook her head. “I honestly had no thought of your coming here on my account. Mrs. Samuelson mentioned it, and . . . well . . . I’ve been trying to write you a letter.”

Carter took the seat beside her and took hold of her shaking hands. “Catherine, please know that I only wanted the best for you. Captain Marlowe wouldn’t even speak to me until I convinced him that I cared deeply for you—that I wanted to make you my wife.”

She couldn’t speak. The words stuck in her throat. Carter was here—beside her—holding her hands. The very thought of it was more than she could comprehend. “What . . . what did . . .

Captain Marlowe say?”

“He told me about your father. About his being imprisoned.”

“He was falsely accused!” Catherine declared, pulling her hands away. “He’s innocent. Father would never have traded in slaves. It was all Finley Baker. He’s the only one who profited from it.”

“I know,” Carter said soothingly.

“If you know, then you also realize that you must say nothing to anyone. If it were to be revealed that my father was found guilty of slave trading, my reputation and future would be ruined. ”

“I cannot make that promise.”

“Please. I left Philadelphia for that very reason.”

“But you are as innocent as your father. You did nothing wrong and no one holds you accountable. The authorities already know about this matter. They have for several weeks.”

“What?” Catherine could hardly believe what he was saying.

“How could you have involved them?”

“I’ve been working with Leander to see your father set free.

Judge Arlington has also worked with us, as well as Captain Marlowe.”

“You’ve what?” Catherine could scarcely believe what she was hearing. Could it even be possible?

Carter looked at her rather sheepishly. “I wanted to make you happy. I wanted to help. I have friends in England—the duke of Mayfield has been particularly helpful.”

“His Grace?”

Carter laughed. “Yes. He was one of my sponsors while in England. I have to say I found him to be quite without pretension or airs. My uncle lives in England part of the year. He is good friends with the duke, as well as with Lord Carston. Both proved to be useful in our pursuit to see your father set free.”

Catherine’s hand went to her throat. “And is he . . . is he free?”

“I believe so. Last word I had, they had managed to get him released to the duke’s personal care. We are hopeful that he will soon be cleared of the charges, his record expunged, and his properties returned to him.”

Tears streamed down Catherine face. “I don’t know what to say. I cannot imagine better news. It’s been five years, and I’ve yearned to find a way to help him.”

Carter put his arm around her. “I know. I wish that we might have met again sooner.”