Imitation of Love (6 page)

“You can speak in front of Andrew. He
knows about Jimmy’s association with the Captain.”

“Yes, when he helped the Captain. A few
times he came back injured and I nursed him. Why were you fighting a duel?”

“Some young fool made an offensive comment
about Mrs. Somerson,” said Mr. Oakley, appearing to choose his words carefully.
“So, of course I had to defend her honour.”

“Of course,” said Catherine, her heart
dropping. “Who was it? All the young men here tonight seemed very polite.”

“Anyone of them can turn when he’s had
too much wine,” said Mr. Harrington. Catherine noticed that neither of them
answered her question. She opened the medicine chest and took out some bandages
and a bottle of medicinal alcohol.

“Let me see,” she said. Forgetting for a
moment who she was dealing with she pulled up Mr. Oakley’s shirt, to see that
he had a deep cut in his side.  Mr. Harrington then helped him remove the shirt
completely, so that it didn’t get in the way. “You were sword fencing?”

“Yes. I’m very impressed you can tell a
sword wound when you see one.”

“I’ve told you. I used to help Jimmy a
lot. I thought the usual way to duel was with pistols.”

“It’s up to the duelists which weapons
they use. Ouch.”  Oakley winced as Catherine cleaned the wound with the
alcohol.

“Don’t be such a baby,” she admonished.
“If you can’t stand pain, you shouldn’t be fighting duels.” She concentrated on
making sure there was no dirt in the wound. “I think I may have to put some sutures
in this.”

“You can do that?”

“Jimmy taught me.”

“He obviously relied on you a lot.”

“Yes.”

“Most women would be fainting about
now,” said Mr. Harrington with a note of admiration in his voice.

“I’m not the swooning kind,” said
Catherine, smiling.

“That much is certain,” said Mr. Oakley.
“Dear Lord, woman, do you have to be so brutal?”

Catherine had started putting the first
suture in without warning him. “I always found it best not to warn Jimmy when I
was about to start. He’d make such a fuss about it otherwise.” She did wonder
if she’d been a bit too rough with Mr. Oakley. She just couldn’t get it out of
her mind that he could have died, defending Phoebe Somerson’s honour. He was
not an old man, but he was definitely too mature to be involving himself in stupid
duels. She wondered how someone who had been so brave in the war, and was
clearly an intelligent man, had lowered himself to such childish antics.

“You’re disappointed in me,” he said
with the perception that always unnerved her. Mr. Harrington had left the room
to find some wine, though Catherine suspected he was rather squeamish.  Suddenly
alone with Mr. Oakley, she became more aware of the fact that he was naked from
the waist up. His torso was that of a sportsman, lean and hard, without an
ounce of spare fat. She made a point of looking only at the wound. To see the
rest of his torso was far too disturbing.

“I’m sure it’s none of my business,” she
said, as she inserted the next suture.

“Damn it, Catherine, your prodding with
that needle suggests otherwise. Could you try and be a little kinder?” He took
a deep breath. “I apologise, Miss Willoughby. I shouldn’t swear like that in
front of you.”

“You should have heard the things Jimmy
used to say,” she said, with a smile. “Believe me when I say that I am
unshockable.”

“Really? Be careful, Miss Willoughby,
another less honourable men might see that statement, coming from someone with
such innocent lips, as a challenge.”

“And would you fight a duel for me if he
did?” The moment she said it, she wished she hadn’t. It was asking for
something to which she had no right.

“I’d kill him long before we reached the
dueling ground.”

She looked at him, startled by his
savage tone, and for a moment was lost in his deep blue eyes.

“I thought you said you were
unshockable,” he said in a husky voice.

“What happened to the other man?” she
asked, turning her head, afraid that if she looked at him any longer, he would
know how she felt about him.  “He’s not dead is he?”

There was only a momentary pause before
he said, “No, he’s quite well.”

“So you lost the duel?”

“Make up your mind, Miss Willoughby,” he
said, grinning. “You’re either disappointed with me for fighting the duel, or
disappointed with me for losing. You can’t have it both ways.”

“I’m just glad you only lost the duel
and not your life. Especially for such a trivial reason.”

“You don’t think Mrs. Somerson’s honour
worth fighting for?”

“It seems to me that if a woman has to
call on a man to defend her honour, she must have behaved in a way that brought
it into question.”

“No wonder Jimmy called you Cat. Those
claws are quite sharp, aren’t they? Well, I’m glad. It shows you’re not as
different to other women as I thought you were.”

She ignored him, but had the grace to
feel ashamed of her cattiness. She hoped that he wouldn’t realize it was down
to her jealousy of Mrs. Somerson. “You should be alright now,” she said, as she
finished bandaging his wound. “I’ll leave you and Mr. Harrington to your wine.”
As she spoke, the man in question returned to the room with the wine and three
glasses.

“Are you sure you won’t join us, Miss
Willoughby?” said Mr. Oakley in rather more tender terms. “You look pale and as
if you’re about to fall down.”

“I’ve told you, I’m not the swooning
kind.” She wished she was not the crying kind, because at that moment she was
struggling hard with the emotions he evoked in her. The idea that he could have
died filled her with horror. Not because it would leave her and Alyssa without
a benefactor, but because to lose him would be a pain she could not bear.

“I’ve been ungrateful,” he said gently.
“Especially after you’ve done such a good job of patching me up. Thank you.”

Catherine said goodnight and curtseyed
to both men.

“Catherine…” She’d reached the door when
he spoke her name.

“What is it?”

“I’d rather none of our guests knew
about this.”

“I shan’t say anything to anyone.”

“Well, you’d be a rare woman indeed if
you kept it completely to yourself.”

“I think,” she said, “that despite all
the time you’ve spent amongst women in society, Mr. Oakley, you don’t really
know us at all.”

Catherine went back to her room, and
after she had changed out of her bloodstained nightdress, had to shift Alyssa
across the bed.

“Where have you been, Cat?”

“I went downstairs to get a drink,
dearest. Go back to sleep.”

***

The following morning at the breakfast
table, Catherine half expected the talk to be of the duel. She felt sure that Mr.
Oakley would tell Mr. Somerson how he had defended her honour, and that the
lady would want everyone to know. Instead the talk was about the miraculous
escape from France of one of Mr. Oakley’s friends.

“I heard from my valet, who heard from a
friend who’s come up from London this morning. Bertie Carter managed to get
across the channel, but it seems some of the blighters followed him over, and
tried to attack him at a coaching inn,” one of the young men was saying in
excited tones. “Luckily the Captain turned up and saw them off. But imagine,
Frenchies on British soil. They must have wanted Carter back badly.”

“That’s probably because his father is
in the government,” Oakley suggested. “They see the sons of noblemen and
diplomats as perfect bargaining tools.”

“I’ve heard that Bertie might have had
some secret information,” said the young man.

“I hardly think Bertie Carter is capable
of such a mission,” said Mr. Oakley.

“I don’t know. They say he’s friends
with the Captain.”

“Thank God for The Captain,” said Mrs.
Somerson. “They say he’s very dashing and handsome. Oh, you mustn’t get
jealous, Xander.” Mr. Oakley had shown no signs of being so. “You know how I
feel about you.”

“Yes, but they say he was hurt,” said
the young man. Most of the table were more interested in the story of Bertie
Carter’s escape than Mrs. Somerson’s declarations of love. “One of the
Frenchies stuck the Captain with his sword.”

“Do we have to have such bloodthirsty
discussions at the breakfast table?” said Mr. Oakley.

“It’s enough to put a man’s mind off his
eggs.” As he spoke, Catherine tried to catch his eye, but he pointedly turned
away from her to talk to Mrs. Somerson.

She put her hands into her lap, to hide
the fact that they were trembling uncontrollably.

Things that she’d seen and heard out of
context now took on new meaning. She remembered Mr. Harrington saying that Mr.
Oakley had been ‘busted down to Captain’ for insubordination. How could she
have been so stupid not to recognise that Jimmy’s adoration for Mr. Oakley was
much the same as his adoration for the Captain? It wasn’t a matter of Mr.
Oakley and the Captain as separate entities in her brother’s life.

It was the same hero worship for the
same brave and noble man.

Chapter Five

As she struggled to regain composure,
whilst the other guests chattered around her, part of Catherine felt terrified
for Mr. Oakley, whilst the other part of her was ridiculously happy that he
hadn’t been fighting some trivial duel, but had actually been defending his
friend against the French. Bertie Carter, whoever he was, must have sent word
that he was in trouble.

She had so many questions she wanted to
ask Mr. Oakley, but she also understood he would not want to hear them. He had
a view of women as being prattlers and he would expect her to be the same. But
she also wanted him to know that not only would she never betray him but she
might also be able to help him with his important work. Jimmy’s death must have
halted some of the Captain’s activities if he needed to find someone
trustworthy to forge new documents.

She was broken out of her reverie by the
conversation at the breakfast table which had turned to King and the fact that
he was holding a parade before Easter.

“Will we be in London then?” asked
Alyssa. “I should love to see it.”

“Yes, I see no reason why we can’t leave
a little earlier,” said Oakley. “In fact, Andrew and I have to leave in the
morning on Court business. I’ll make sure my house in London is ready for your
arrival in a few days.”

“You’re leaving?” said Mrs. Somerson,
with her customary pout. “But Xander, I’ve hardly seen you since I arrived.
Perhaps I should return to London.”

“Don’t cut short your visit on my
account,” said Mr. Oakley. “I’ll be far too busy with His Majesty to entertain
you all. Why don’ you stay on here, and travel down with the Miss Willoughbys
and my aunt on Wednesday?”

Mrs. Somerson looked as if she’d rather
do anything but. “Whilst I’m sure their company will be delightful.” She said
it in the manner of someone who’d just been offered a dead cat for her
breakfast. “I too have things to take care of in London this week. Lord
Granchester has invited me to dinner on Tuesday evening.” She gave Mr. Oakley a
look that was at once pathetic and comical.

“I’m sure you’ll enjoy that very much.”
He put down his napkin and stood up. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going
riding. Does anyone wish to join me?”