Evelyn Richardson (16 page)

“No. All is not well, and there is no use your pretending…”

“Uncle Lucian! I did not expect you. If I had known you were planning to visit, I would have been waiting for you.”

If Catherine had not been so intent on retaining her air of calm hauteur at all costs, she would have laughed outright at the dumbfounded expression on the marquess’s face. “Apparently your uncle was not expecting to see you here, my dear. You must give him a few minutes to recover from his astonishment.”

Her acid tone was not lost on Lucian, who flushed uncomfortably as he fought to overcome feeling like some raw schoolboy called into the headmaster’s office.

“Not expecting to see me? Why not?” Arabella’s eyes widened as, the picture of innocence, she took the chair next to her uncle.

The silence that ensued while Lucian struggled to frame a reply was deafening. “Er…your mother sent for me. She was, ah…rather concerned for your welfare,” he said at last.

“Mother? But why is she worried? I am quite well, and only last week I sent her a letter telling her so.”

‘That is just it. Nothing appeared to be amiss, but then young Foxworthy disappeared and…”

“Foxworthy?” Arabella echoed. The silence fell again. Clearly both women were well aware of the implications of Lucian’s response, and just as clearly neither one of them was the least bit inclined to help him out with his explanation.

“Your mother assumed that his disappearance had something to do with you.”

Again, his explanation met with blank stares.

“Ah, it was rumored that he had left for Bath, and his father, who was naturally surprised by this unexpected departure, called on your mother who then sent for me.”

It was Arabella who broke the silence this time. “And, assuming the worst, you came chasing after me as though I were a naughty little girl. I am old enough to think for myself and to look after myself.”

“You are nothing but a girl.”

“And I believe that you were close to my age when you ran off with the upstairs maid,” Arabella exclaimed triumphantly, if a little irrelevantly. “How can you sit in judgment on me when Charlotte Partington says you have had countless mistresses over the years?” she continued, warming to her theme.

“It is not the same thing, and you know it.”

“Furthermore, everyone knows that you came to choose this place for me because Lady Granville is one of those mistresses and she asked you to see what could be done because she did not like having her name connected with trade.”

“That is enough, Arabella.” Lucian had at last gotten control over himself. His voice was as cold as ice and there was an air of deadly calm about him that made it clear to even the most casual observer that he was barely keeping his anger in check.

Abashed by her own boldness, Arabella cast a timid glance at her headmistress, who nodded at her pupil reassuringly. “You may go now, Arabella. The Marquess of Charlmont is just leaving.”

Arabella rose quickly and, without a backward glance at either her uncle or Catherine, fled the room, leaving the two of them to confront one another.

The tension in the room was palpable as, white-lipped, they glared at one another across Catherine’s desk.

“Catherine, I…” Lucian was the first to break the silence.

“I said, you were just leaving, my lord.” If Lucian’s tone had been icy, it was nothing compared to Catherine’s.

“But please, I must explain…”

“There is nothing to explain. You proved yourself duplicitous ten years ago. There was no reason for me to believe that you would grow any less so over time. I am only surprised that you, who used to possess the values and opinions of a man of superior nature, should so easily accept the values and opinions of such a silly peagoose as Lady Granville. Now, if you refuse to do the gentlemanly thing and leave when you are asked to do so, then I shall.”

He caught her by the wrist as she swept past him. “No! Wait! Catherine, you must hear me out! Yes, I came to the academy at the behest of Lady Granville. She is well aware that she is not looked upon with favor by the most fashionable members of the
ton
, and she was sick with worry at having her name… Well, never mind that. But I had no idea that it was you who were in charge of this establishment. If I had known that, I would never have agreed…”

“You fail to get my point, Charlmont. Whether or not you trust in my abilities to run an excellent educational establishment has nothing to do with the matter. That a man I thought was intelligent and principled should turn into such a gullible fool, that is the issue.”

“It was not my mind that was involved in this case, but my heart.”

Too late, Lucian realized his mistake.

Catherine’s lips curled into a derisive smile. “Exactly. And here I thought that a man of your vast experience would be immune to the ploys of a pretty woman. But once a fool, always a fool.” She wrenched her wrist from his grasp.

“I meant that I felt sorry for her, not that I cared for her.” Lucian struggled helplessly to retrieve his position.

“Oh, I did not for a moment think you cared for her. You never did care for anyone but yourself. You were that way when I first met you, and as far as I can see, you have not changed in the least. Good day, my lord. You may show yourself out.” Head held high, Catherine sailed to the door, opened it, and, without pausing for an instant, closed it firmly behind her.

Then, chin still set at a defiant angle, she crossed the hall to a deserted classroom, closed the door behind her, locked it, and burst into tears.

Chapter Eighteen

Left alone to enjoy the full effect of his own blindness and stupidity, Lucian could do nothing for several minutes except stare blankly after her and nurse the sinking feeling that the door Catherine had shut behind her was a door closing on the rest of his life.

Not since he had received the news of his brother William’s death at Waterloo had he felt so helpless, so alone, so despairing. In fact, that gray existence, filled with the corroding conviction of the meaninglessness of life, had continued to cling to him from the day he had heard William had died until the day he had walked into this very office and discovered that Catherine, his Catherine, was Lady Catherine Granville. Over time, to be sure, his despair over the loss of William had lessened in intensity, but it had not been until he had seen Catherine again that he had begun to hope that the sense of meaninglessness might disappear forever and he might still find hope for happiness in his life.

Now that hope was gone, and he himself had destroyed it. He had destroyed it with his own blindness, his own lack of faith, and his own distrust. What a fool he was! Only twice in his life had he found someone worth believing in, someone whose honesty he could admire, someone whose integrity was unassailable, and twice he had tossed that away through his own rash actions.

Slowly he made his way to the door and opened it. There was nothing to do now but return to London, which held even less appeal for him than it had the last time he had left Bath.

As he started to open the door, he caught a glimpse of skirt whishing by and, hoping against hope, he wrenched the door open, even as his consciousness was registering the color of the skirt as gray rather than the pale yellow sarsnet that Catherine had been wearing. He tried to catch himself, but it was too late, and he nearly collided with the mathematics instructress.

“I beg your pardon—Miss Denholme, is it?”

Margaret’s initial expression of annoyance softened. She had little use for men in general, especially those whose jackets fit to such perfection and whose cravats were so exquisitely tied that it was clear they had little time to think of anything more serious than their outward appearance, but she was impressed in spite of herself. The Marquess of Charlmont had seen her only once, and at that time her name had only been mentioned in passing, yet he remembered it. “Yes.”

“I…I wonder if you could be of some assistance to me.”

She looked at him in some surprise, her eyes surveying him cautiously from behind her spectacles. “Perhaps.”

If he had not been so overwhelmed with his own bitter self-recriminations, Lucian might have been amused by her less than forthcoming reply. Unlike their fashionable sisters, the females at Lady Catherine Granville’s Select Academy clearly relied on their own intelligence to guide them through life and therefore reserved the right to make their own judgments. Quite obviously Miss Denholme’s decision as to whether or not she would accede to his request had everything to do with the nature of the request and nothing to do with the person making it, regardless of his title, his wealth, or his exalted position in the world. It was as novel as it was refreshing.

“I wonder if you might tell me where I might find Lady Catherine.”

Miss Denholme’s finely arched brows rose at what she obviously considered an intrusion into Catherine’s privacy.

Lucian smiled apologetically. “You are quite right in thinking that I have just been speaking with her. In fact, I at first thought when I caught a glimpse of you that you were she.”

Margaret gave him a pitying look. “She is wearing yellow. I never wear yellow.”

“Ah.” He was silent, wondering what precisely he was to make of this highly irrelevant piece of information. “Naturally not, and you are quite right to avoid it. Gray is clearly far more becoming to a woman of your delicate complexion.”

A faint blush crept into her cheeks and her gaze wavered ever so slightly.

Taking advantage of her momentary confusion, Lucian pressed his case. “Now, though it pains me to do so, I must admit that Lady Catherine is thoroughly and justifiably annoyed with me. I wish to offer her my utmost apology for having upset her, but knowing her to be a woman of singular determination—somewhat like yourself, I suspect—I am well aware that she will deny herself to me should I attempt to speak to her. Therefore, I must catch her unawares, and to do that, I need your help. Not…”—he held up a placating hand—“that I would ask you to betray her trust. I would simply ask you to tell me where I might happen to encounter her. Believe me, I must see her. I must apologize for having misjudged her. I must make her understand that I… Well, never mind. But please, if you would be so kind, tell me how I may find her to say that I am sorry.”

It was the words please and sorry that did it. So few men in general, and handsome ones with an air of authority in particular, ever used these words that Margaret found herself warming to him in spite of her natural distaste for fashionable gentlemen. Besides, he seemed to be so upset and so genuinely convinced that the fault was his. Such honest contrition should most definitely be given all possible encouragement. It was one of her father’s cardinal rules and she was not about to break it now.

“Very well.” She sighed. “But that is all I shall do. Lady Catherine lives in the dower house, just past the gates of Granville Park. She usually leaves here an hour before twilight so that she can walk in her garden before sundown. However, she will not take kindly to any interruptions.”

“I know.” He shook his head ruefully. “But at the moment, she will not take kindly to me, no matter how I approach her. And now,” he bowed low over her ink-stained hand, “I am greatly in your debt. If I can be of any assistance in procuring you the latest mathematical treatises or secure you copies of the Royal Society’s Transactions, I shall be happy to do so. You only need to let me know, and whatever you wish is yours.”

Margaret’s eyes gleamed appreciatively. Here was a gentleman who truly knew how to please a lady. She was beginning to understand why Catherine’s face wore that special look whenever the Marquess of Charlmont’s name was mentioned—“Thank you, I shall. But mind you,” she added fiercely, “do not upset her further. She has had too many people upsetting her lately.”

“I shall try.” He knew Catherine’s prickly independent nature well enough to know that he could not promise such a thing. “And I thank you. Lady Catherine is exceedingly fortunate in those she calls her friends.”

Another quick bow and he was gone, taking the stairs two at a time in his eagerness to repair the damage he had done.

Buoyed up with renewed hope and filled with a restless energy that was in need of an outlet, Lucian hired the best hack the White Hart could provide and rode off in the direction of Granville Park even though it lacked at least an hour and a half until twilight. He rode past the gates to Granville Park and well beyond what he identified as the dower house, through the village of Granville itself, before turning around and heading back to the dower house.

Luckily enough, he was just coming over the rise of the last hill before the dower house when he caught sight of what had to be Catherine’s carriage turning into the drive. Digging in his heels, Lucian urged his horse to a gallop so that he was just able to catch up with the carriage as it rolled to a stop in front of the wisteria-covered portico.

Hastily dismounting, he tied the reins to a convenient post, hurried to the door of the carriage before the coachman had time to descend from the box, and opened the door, holding out his hand to help Catherine down before she even knew what was happening.

In fact, her hand was in Lucian’s before she realized that it was he and not John Coachman who was assisting her. “You!” She tried to snatch her hand away, but she was no match for a desperate and determined gentleman.

Since Catherine was not about to sacrifice what little dignity she had left or risk losing her balance by putting up a struggle while poised on the step of the carriage, she allowed him to help her down. But by the time her feet were both safely planted on the ground, he had drawn her hand firmly though his arm and was leading her toward the rose garden just visible at the side of the house.

Too stunned to speak at first, Catherine let him lead her down the gravel path; however, after they had gone a few paces she opened her mouth to tell him precisely what she thought of unwelcome gentlemen who accosted women on their very own doorsteps, but he laid a finger firmly on her lips.