Bluestocking Bride (19 page)

When she spread her hands on the great leather- topped desk in the library, however, she was far from certain that she had any right to search the contents of
Rutherston's
desk, and she stood looking at it irresolutely for a moment or two.

He had said, she remembered, that there should be no secrets between husband and wife, and she thought it highly unlikely that anything of a private nature would be concealed in such a public place, especially as
Rutherston's
work desk was in his office, his sacrosanct space where no one ever dared venture in uninvited. This settled the matter in Catherine's mind, and she opened the drawers one by one, reaching her arm deep into the recesses, her fingers groping for the telltale wafers.

In one of the drawers, her hand grasped something hard, far at the back, and she gave it a tug in an effort to retrieve it, but it snapped back out of her fingers. At the same moment, she caught the sound of a faint click, and she watched mesmerized as a small, shallow drawer slid open at the side of the desk.

Catherine leaned over to gaze with heightened interest and saw in the hidden recess a slim blue velvet box emblazoned with the name of the same prestigious
jeweller
in Bond Street who had supplied her pearl necklace.

"Catherine?"

Stricken with guilt, she whirled around, but when she saw that it was only Henderson, she let out her breath with a shudder of relief.

"Adrian," she breathed, then, on a more urgent note, "Where is Richard?"

Henderson moved toward her, curious about her stricken look and her fearful question.

"He's with Norton still, so don't look so conscience-stricken! Your guilty secret is safe with me, my lady. Did I catch you red-handed?"

She flushed scarlet to the roots of her auburn hair.

"Ho, ho!
Catherine," he teased, "what have we here?"

"I came upon it by accident. It's a secret drawer in Richard's desk. No, don't touch anything!" But he had already retrieved the blue velvet box and was in the process of opening it.

"Oh, Adrian, please put it back. We have no right." She looked with agitation at the library door, as if expecting to see
Rutherston
framed in the doorway at any moment.

"Well, well! This must have cost his lordship a small fortune!" Her interest was caught by Henderson's words, and Catherine looked down at the open box and gazed with stupefied wonder at the most dazzling diamond necklace that she had ever beheld.

Henderson slipped the necklace out of the box with his long, thin fingers and held it up to the window to catch the light, and the cool, glittering rays of the morning sun were caught and reflected from it like drops of water hanging from a melting icicle.

"It is perfection itself," Catherine breathed in awed tones.

"If you like that sort of thing," said Henderson brusquely, replacing the diamonds in their slim box and sliding them back into the hidden recess with a click. "I did not think you cared for beads and baubles."

"Why not?"
asked Catherine
, diverted.
"Because I don't wear them?
Well, that is because, kind sir, nobody has ever given me any to wear."

"In that case, my dear Lady
Rutherston
," he said ruefully, "I must apologize for spoiling what I am sure was meant to be a delightful surprise for you!
Pity that I am such a curious creature, but there it is.
You had better forget all about them, Catherine, until
Rutherston
hands them over, and if you want to save my skin, I'd be much obliged if you would receive them with as much surprise and awe as you can muster."

"If those lovely gems ever fall into my hands, Mr. Henderson," she replied lightly, as she slipped her arm in his to lead him out of the library, "the task you have set me will be very easy to perform. But in the meantime, I intend to forget that I ever found them, and you may be sure that Lord
Rutherston
will hear nothing of this indiscretion from me. And now, kind sir, would you take pity on two abandoned ladies and have tea with us?"

But Catherine could not forget, and couldn't help wondering who was meant to have the exquisite prize, even though she was fairly confident in her own mind that
Rutherston
had purchased it for her. He had given her pearls for her nuptials, a necklace she knew to be matchless, but she did not think her gems were comparable to the darling diamonds, and since she had worn pearls since she had been in the schoolroom, she was eager for something that would proclaim to the world that she had come of age—no longer the rose in bud, but in full bloom.

Her birthday was three months away, but it hardly seemed likely that
Rutherston
had purchased her present so far in advance. It came to her suddenly that he meant her to wear the diamonds for her portrait, and the more she thought about it, the more reasonable the explanation appeared to be.

She resolved that
Rutherston
should never know that she had behaved in such a vulgar way, letting her curiosity get the better of her. Such conduct, she knew, would be inexcusable in his eyes, and the thought brought a flush to her cheeks. She could not but admit that his conduct was everything that was pleasing. He could be the most charming, thoughtful man when he wanted to be.

And if
Rutherston
was aware that his wife looked at him with a. more softened expression than usual, he put it down to the delightful intimacy that had grown between them in the last three weeks.

Catherine's life with
Rutherston
in London was very different from their life in the country. She saw much less of him, even when they attended the same receptions and parties, for it was not thought good ton for a wife or husband to monopolize each other's company, and it seemed almost obligatory, at any time of the night or day, for a gentleman to spend some time in one or other of his many clubs in St. James Street in the exclusive company of other gentlemen. When Catherine would have protested that they spent so little time together,
Rutherston
reminded her reasonably that they were in town at her choosing and she had only to say the word and they would remove to
Fotherville
House. As for Henderson's painting her portrait,
Rutherston
informed her, he could do that just as easily on their estate.

But Catherine had no wish to leave Lucy so near the end of the Season, and thought that she might tolerate the lack of
Rutherston's
attention for the month or so that remained. It was not town life that she held so much in dislike, but only her husband's absence from her side. And when, for some reason,
Rutherston
could not escort his wife and her sister to their various functions, he called on the services of his most obliging cousin, Mr. Norton, and the ladies were not deprived of any of their pleasures.

The preliminary sketches for Catherine's portrait began almost as soon as they returned to town. Henderson came every afternoon at a time when
Rutherston
was usually about, and Catherine was amused at first to see how the two of them treated her as if she were an inanimate object, like a dressmaker's dummy on which to peg silks, satins, and velvets, turning
her this
way and that to catch the light.

The one contretemps between husband and artist occurred when
Rutherston
expressed the desire that Catherine's throat be encircled with pearls for her portrait. Catherine felt a pang of regret at her husband's words, and heard nothing of the argument that followed. She was bitterly disappointed, since she had hoped to flaunt the bewitching gems at the last soiree in Carlton House before the prince regent retired for the summer to Brighton.

It seemed unreasonable that she should wait three months for her birthday present, but she would not dare let
Rutherston
know that she had the least idea of the existence of the precious necklace. Her conduct had been reprehensible —inexcusable, and she had no wish to come under the freezing glare of the proud Marquis of
Rutherston
.

Shortly after arriving in London, Catherine had been received in Green Street by her mother-in-law with an open display of affection and pleasure, and she was relieved to see that the dowager marchioness bore her no ill will for her former impertinence.

Since
Rutherston
felt himself under a moral obligation to spend much of his time at the House or at Court when in town, Catherine had fallen into the habit of waiting on her mother-in-law most afternoons, as well as on her aunt in Mount Street, where Lucy still lived. Everyone seemed to think that she and
Rutherston
would want to be on their own in Berkeley Square, but in point of fact, Catherine was , lonely much of the time, as even Norton had vacated the house and was sharing rooms with a friend in Jermyn Street.

One afternoon, she called in at Green Street only to be informed by the butler, Styles, that her ladyship was out, but that her grace, the Duchess of
Beaumain
was at home to visitors, and since Catherine could think of no reasonable excuse for making her escape, she allowed herself to be announced.

Rutherston's
sister, older than he by a couple of summers, was a taking woman until she opened her mouth to speak. There was no malice in her, but her conversation was a stream of inanities, which her tongue idly articulated as every stray thought happened to flit through her head. Nor had she been compelled to cultivate that sense of discretion that guards against an unruly tongue, since her place in the Social Order put her far above the touch, or censure, of those mortals of a lesser station in life who bore the brunt of her fatuity.

His grace, Duke Henry, a man addicted to all forms of sport and whom
Rutherston
referred to contemptuously as "that blockhead," never seemed to see anything remiss in his consort's want of delicacy, and the stringent restraints that had been imposed on the duchess in her youth by her mother, the present dowager marchioness, had long since been thrown off.

As Catherine listened with half an ear to the ramblings of her sister-in-law, who prattled with motherly pride and affection about the latest exploits of her four growing sons, she wondered how soon she could make her excuses without appearing to be
impolite,
when she became aware the duchess was regarding her with a look of expectancy.

"I beg your pardon,
Jane,
I didn't catch what you said."

"I remarked,
m'dear
, that you have been married to
Rutherston
more than a month now. I remember how pleased
Beaumain
was when I presented him with an heir nine months almost to the day of our marriage."

There was no mistaking the meaning of the duchess's words and Catherine flushed, more in anger than embarrassment, and returned her sister-in- law's gaze with a glare. The duchess, unabashed, patted the younger woman on the hands held tightly clasped in her lap.

"You
must't
find fault with me for my curiosity, my dear.
I was a
Fotherville
before I was married, you know, so I am an interested party. We have all been waiting for
Rutherston
to set up his nursery this long age past, so another month or two don't signify." She chortled with mirth, casting an appraising look at Catherine's trim figure, and Catherine tilted her chin in that way, singular to herself, which should have warned the duchess that she was preparing to do battle.

"What a fortunate circumstance it was, then, that dear Richard decided to get married before obliging you in your dearest wish." There, thought
Catherine, that
ought to depress the pretensions of the silly woman.

"What? Oh, there was no fear of his not getting leg-shackled. Of course, Mama knew well enough that
Rutherston
had been leading a ramshackle existence since his come-out. Stands to reason he would— nothing to stop
him,
was there? And those high-flyers he kept!" Her grace chuckled at some amusing memory. "
Beaumain
said that he was getting into petticoat scrapes long before he went up to Oxford, but that I do know Mama knew nothing about."

These unsolicited reminiscences about
Rutherston
were beginning to give Catherine the queerest feeling, as if she had opened her husband's private correspondence and was reading it surreptitiously. She was on the point of rising to leave when the duchess's next remark riveted her to her seat.

"Once he gave Mama his solemn promise that he would marry in his thirtieth year, of course, he had a free hand. Nobody interfered after that.
Beaumain
said that
Rutherston
would weasel out of it somehow, but I knew he wouldn't. A
Fotherville
never reneges on a promise! But you could have knocked me down with a feather when I heard that he was chasing you all over town."

With a supreme effort to disguise her mounting outrage, Catherine repeated tersely, "Richard promised that he would marry in his thirtieth year?"

"That was Mama's doing. Told him straight what was due his
Name.
Didn't have to—he knew it himself." Again the duchess chortled in her peculiarly horsey way, and Catherine found the sound offensive to her ears. "He was only five and twenty when Mama got that promise out of him. I daresay five years free of his family's interference seemed like an age to him then." This last remark was accompanied by another horsey neigh.