Evelyn Richardson (17 page)

“I agree with you that you have every right to be angry with me, and even more right to throw me out, but please, let me explain something to you. Many years ago, I, er, knew a young woman who made the unfortunate mistake of allowing herself to fall under the control of a most selfish and forceful man. He was older and far more experienced in the ways of the world than she and she was a spirited and intelligent girl so intent on escaping one confining and stifling situation that she fell into another that turned out to be a great deal worse than the one she had quit. Blinded by his superior experience and masterful ways, she failed to recognize his many defects and gave her trust to someone whom she would otherwise have avoided, someone who was inferior to her in almost every way.”

His
face grew grave as he paused for a moment, remembering. “She suffered a great deal of distress as a result of this rash mistake and, though I was ultimately able to be of some assistance in extricating her from her situation, it was not until after I myself had been the unhappy witness to all the misery that can be visited on one person by another, especially if that person is an older more experienced man who is taking advantage of a younger, innocent woman.

“Since that time, I have been bound and determined that no woman of my acquaintance would ever suffer such a fate, whether she was a duchess or a scullery maid, a close relative or the barest of acquaintances. Imagine what I felt, then, when I learned of young Foxworthy’s interest in Arabella. It
was abundantly clear to me from the outset that he cared nothing for her, and even more clear that he was a self-centered boor with no thought in his mind beyond his own pleasure and convenience. It was also equally obvious that Arabella was attracted to him by his undeniable good looks and by the possibility of escape he offered from her mother’s nervous timidity and helpless ways and that she would not pay the slightest heed to any advice offered to her by interfering and well-meaning relatives. Therefore, the most practical solution to the problem seemed to be to remove her from the young man’s sphere of influence.

“I admit”—he acknowledged Catherine’s incredulous expression with a rueful shake of his head—“that the conclusion I arrived at was completely erroneous and the choice of action I selected was quite possibly the worst I could have picked. But you must realize that I found myself at the
point nonplus
: And however misguided my actions, my intentions were good. At least I did something. I know my instincts were not wrong. That young man is after Arabella and he will ruin her life. He must not be allowed to. That is why I did what I did.”

“Now”—he finally removed his finger from her lips—“you may say whatever you wish to say to me, but I hope that at least you will understand my reasons for doing what I did.”

Catherine drew a long shuddering breath. She never wanted to see this man again, never wanted to give him the opportunity to hurt her ever again, but her innate honesty forced her to acknowledge the accuracy of his assumptions. “Your sentiments do you justice, my lord, but not your actions. I quite agree with you that young Foxworthy has designs on Arabella, that he is a brute, and that Arabella is dangerously foolish. Any idiot could see that. And any idiot would try to put a stop to such an improper and clandestine relationship. However, any idiot would have the wit to inform the headmistress of the establishment to which he was entrusting his niece of the impending threat offered by the situation instead of leaving the headmistress to sort it all out for herself and deal with the situation as best she could. And it has been dealt with, sir, no thanks to you. Arabella has seen young Foxworthy for the very selfish young man that he is, and it is most unlikely that she will entrust her happiness to someone who clearly does not give a farthing for it.”

She looked Lucian squarely in the eye. “No, my lord, I may honor your reasons, but I do not honor your actions, nor do I appreciate your lack of faith or trust in me. Now, as I said before, if you do not leave, I shall. Nor do I ever wish to see you again. Arabella is no longer in danger, and I feel certain that all other matters pertaining to her education can be attended to by your agent or your secretary, so I bid you good evening.”

And before Lucian could do anything to stop her, Catherine snatched her arm from under his and ran down the path and into the house, leaving him to make his way back to his horse and ride slowly, despondently, back to Bath.

He had never truly entertained the notion that he would be able to reestablish their friendship, for he knew her proud and independent nature. Still, he had hoped against hope that his explanation might at least have softened her a little toward him. He supposed that in a way it had. She had acknowledged the soundness of his thinking, but that, when he longed for so much more, was no consolation at all.

Chapter Nineteen

Once she was inside, all Catherine’s anger and the injured pride that had supported her through the entire unnerving encounter vanished. She closed the door to the garden behind her and collapsed against it as she fought to control the sobs that threatened to overwhelm her.

Why had he not left her alone to think of him as a completely insensitive meddler? Why had he insisted on offering a sympathetic explanation for his behavior that made it harder for her to dismiss him from her life forever?

Too exhausted and discouraged by the emotions of the day and depressed by the prospect of a life that little more than a month ago had seemed to hold a good deal of promise but now stretched emptily before her, she waved away her maid who had come to take her bonnet and pelisse and went straight to bed without supper. Surely all she needed was the forgetfulness of sleep. Surely things would look better in the morning after she had had a chance to rest.

* * * *

But the next day was, if anything, worse. Eager to return to the distraction of work, Catherine would take nothing but a cup of chocolate before hurrying back to the academy. But when she arrived, it was to be greeted with the news that a messenger from Lord Granville had just delivered a letter for her.

Nerves already on edge after the events of the previous day, Catherine found her hands shaking so badly that she could barely open the letter. It was brutally brief and to the point. In essence, Lord Granville, along with claiming ownership and control over everything she had once held dear, now threatened to take over the academy. Having at last discovered that her great-aunt Belinda had died on the very same day as her husband and having ascertained that no separate trusts had been set up especially for Catherine, Lord Granville was claiming this inheritance as part of the Granville estate. Therefore the academy belonged utterly and completely to him.

“No,” she whispered, dropping her head in her hands as waves of despair washed over her. Too numb to think, too helpless to do anything, she sat there as the world collapsed around her. What was the point of doing anything, of fighting for anything, when ‘Ugolino’ was determined to take it all away from her?

“The Countess of Morehampton,” Biddle announced from the doorway.

“Oh.” Catherine looked up to see Olivia’s mother, exquisite as always, in a peach-colored carriage dress hovering behind the butler. She had completely forgotten that it was the day for the countess’s weekly visit to the academy.

“My dear, I am interrupting you. Shall I go to Olivia and return another time?” The countess spoke with the easy familiarity of one who was not only a regular visitor, but a friend as well.

“No.” Catherine sighed. “You are not interrupting anything at all. It is just life as usual.”

Quick to hear the savagely sarcastic note in Catherine’s voice, the countess looked at her searchingly, her dark blue eyes full of concern. “Not ‘Ugolino’! What, again? Will that man never… Well, never mind. What is it this time?”

“He is claiming ownership of the academy.”

“What? How can he? The presumption of that man strains all credulity.”

“He insists that because Great-aunt Belinda died the same day as Granville died I was still married to Granville at the time I inherited. Therefore, everything I inherited from her became Granville’s and thus became part of his estate, which, unless it was specifically designated as being in trust separate from his property and set aside solely for me, which it was not, all goes to ‘Ugolino’.” Catherine sighed again, more deeply, this time.

“But that is preposterous! You cannot let such a thing happen. You cannot allow that man to ruin your life any more than he already has. You must get yourself a lawyer.”

“No lawyer will stand up for me against Lord Granville,” Catherine protested wearily. “Any lawyer will just insist, as everyone does, that I should be thankful to be a widow whose income is sufficient to insure her comfort. He will tell me to enjoy my charming lodgings and be glad than I can afford a carriage.”

The countess frowned thoughtfully for a moment, and then a sly smile crept over her face. “I know just the man. Though he read for the bar, he does not practice. Instead he offers counsel to those in need, counsel so clever that it has eventually saved many a life from ruin. Furthermore, he is a gentleman of rank who will not be the least intimidated or impressed by Lord Granville.”

“But why should he care about me?”

“Because he is a man who abhors injustice as intensely as most men abhor a bad-tempered horse.” She saw Catherine’s skeptical expression. “It is true. I myself can vouch for his willingness to risk his reputation, even his life, for those unfortunate enough to find themselves at the mercy of someone who has power over them. I see that you are still unconvinced.” The countess leaned forward, her face glowing with an intensity Catherine had never seen. “Then let me tell you a story.

“Years ago, before I was the Countess of Morehampton, I was an actress, a good actress, too,” she added with a small, proud smile. “But even though I was a good actress, I would never have become a great one, I would have languished in the provinces without the tutoring and encouragement of Mr. Delahunt. He was the owner of a small traveling company that toured the Midlands. It was he who recognized my talent and tutored me in my craft. And it was he who eventually took me to London, hauling me from one theater to another, putting me before one manager after another, until at last one of them gave me a chance to prove myself. Prove myself I did. From then on, it was only a matter of time—and a good deal of work on my part, I might add—until I became known among the
cognoscenti
. I worked constantly and studied hard, and though Mr. Delahunt was instrumental in my eventual success, I earned it.

“And I was grateful to him for what he had done to encourage me and put me in the way of opportunity. Naturally enough, we became, ah, intimate. After all, what young girl, fresh from the provinces, could resist the allure of an older, more worldly man who was willing to devote himself to the management of her career? But as my success grew, instead of sharing in what he had created, instead of enjoying it, he became jealous of it and of me. He also grew mean and made spiteful, threatening remarks about the career that was now beginning to bring us wealth as well as acclaim.

“Though I was much admired, I stayed true to him and we lived together for several years. We even had a little girl, for I thought that a child would prove to him that he was everything to me. In time, however, he even grew jealous of her and the affection I lavished upon her. All my efforts to make things better were to no avail and things went from bad to worse. He began to drink and to beat me—not so that any marks would show, of course, for he was very careful to do nothing that would affect my career which was now supporting all of us.”

“Finally I could take it no more. I told him that I and my little girl would leave him if he did not stop. He laughed in my face and declared that as my husband he was in charge of all my money. I could go nowhere without it, and he had it all. When I protested that I was not his wife, never having married him, he laughed again and told me that since we had been living together for years and shared a child, in the eyes of the law we were man and wife. I had no family to turn to, no friends outside the theater, and those I did have were afraid of a man who still retained some of his influence in that world. So, finding myself completely in his power, I remained.

“He grew worse and worse, and in my desperation, I offered to send our little girl away, thinking that perhaps if I were to focus all my attention on him, it would make him less jealous. He at last agreed to that and I sent her away with her nurse to live with the nurse’s family in the countryside. It broke my heart, but I hoped that it would help keep me alive. I was right to do so, because when she left the beatings stopped—for a while at least.

“But then I was given the part of Portia in
The Merchant of Venice.
The audience adored me, the world was at my feet. I had become everything he had said I could be, but it only infuriated him all the more.

“By this time, several wealthy men were beginning to take an interest in me, and strangely enough, that did not infuriate him so much as my artistic success did. Men admiring a beautiful woman was only the natural course of things and had nothing to do with my skill or talent; however, my popularity with the audience and the critics had everything to do with it, and that he could not bear.

“He even encouraged me to be friendly with these wealthy admirers, said it was another way for us to make more money and keep us in contact with wealthy patrons who could help him begin his own theater. I did not care for this, but I did his bidding and played the charming companion to these men.

“There was one among them, however, who stood out above all the rest. He was a man of wit and intelligence, someone who appeared to be more interested in my talent than my person, in talking to me rather than in making love to me. We became friends and soon, perceptive man that he was, he became aware of the fact that I was not only unhappy, but that I was afraid of my mentor.