Louise M. Gouge (14 page)

He bowed in her direction, more to hide the foolish pride that must show on his face than to thank her. Yet he had done nothing admirable to deserve such praise other than to be born. “I thank you all. Now, shall we go?” He spied the Blakemore carriage and had a thought to prolong his time with Miss Hart. “Lady Blakemore, since we may be out for some time, may I suggest that you dismiss your driver? I shall see you and Miss Hart safely home.”

To his delight, the countess gave her consent to the idea.

The ladies looked to him to designate their places, and of course he invited the countess and Mother to take the seat of honor facing front. Without being told, Sophia wedged in between the two ladies, leaving Miss Hart to sit beside Winston. Her charming blush, accompanied by a slight smile, revealed that she did not object to the arrangement.

Toby clucked to the horses and slapped the reins on their haunches, and the excursion began. Straightaway, Winston’s heart lightened. Perhaps this would be just as enjoyable as entertaining Miss Hart alone, for now he felt almost at a loss for words regarding his other surprise.

The trip to Green Park would take at least a half hour due to the many turns and heavy traffic so characteristic of midafternoon. They passed several other lords who, like Winston, should have been in their seats in the Lords’ Chamber but were taking advantage of the sunny day.

“I say, Winston,” a gentleman called out from a passing barouche. “May I have a moment?” He ordered his driver to stop.

Winston had no choice but to tell Toby to pull to the side of broad Regent Street so they would not block traffic. But when he saw who had hailed him, his stomach turned. This was the man about whom Edgar had warned him. He glanced at Mother, but her openly curious expression showed neither alarm nor recognition.

“Morgan.” Tipping his hat, he stood up in the carriage, only now spying a disreputable-looking young woman beside the viscount. Instantly, he regretted stopping. “How may I be of service?”

The gray-haired rake laughed. “Why, can you not guess, sir? Must I beg for an introduction to these charming young ladies crowding your carriage? I have plenty of room in mine if you would like to share.”

“Indeed he may
not
be introduced!” Lady Blakemore barked with uncharacteristic hauteur. “Away, Toby!” She waved her hand impatiently at Winston’s driver.

Toby cast a questioning glance at Winston, who nodded first to him and then to Morgan.

“Good afternoon, sir.” Winston replaced his hat and sat down, trying as he did to shield Miss Hart from Morgan’s view as Lady Blakemore was shielding Sophia.

As their carriages rolled in opposite directions, Morgan merely laughed and said none too softly that old crones should not be ruling England.

“Gracious, can you imagine the nerve?” The countess fanned herself furiously. “A rake like that daring to ask for introductions to decent Christian ladies.”

Mother and Sophia looked at her with identical and supremely innocent expressions.

“Oh, my.” Mother gripped Sophia’s hand. “We are so grateful for your intervention, Lady Blakemore.” She looked at Winston. “Of course, I know you would not have introduced us, James.”

“No, of course not.” Winston studied her beautiful, beloved face and could detect no guilt, no deception there. What had Edgar meant in his note warning him not to permit Mother to become
re
acquainted with Morgan?

Chapter Fourteen

“T
his milk is supremely delicious.” Miss Beaumont dabbed her lips with a serviette. “I should like more, but two cups have entirely filled me.”

Catherine managed to drink only one cup of the rich, creamy beverage, but it was so tasty that she must remember one day to bring Lucien and Isabella here to partake of the treat. That day seemed closer now that she was more certain of Lord Winston’s regard.

He stood slightly apart from the ladies and leaned against an oak tree enjoying his drink. When he noticed Catherine looking his way, he smiled and lifted his cup in a salute. A thin white mustache coated his upper lip, enhancing his youthful appearance, and Catherine’s heart skipped. If he were closer, she would be tempted to dab it away. In any other circumstances, she would willingly surrender to the warm affection trying to grow within her, especially when he looked at her in that charming manner. Nor could she discount the way he had gallantly postured his broad shoulders to protect her from that horrid Lord Morgan’s improper stare. Such a simple gesture, but one that had made her feel valued and protected. Always, always, she must remind herself of his crime against Papa.

The baron had mentioned another surprise, yet seemed to have forgotten it. Curiosity almost got the better of her. What would they all think if she imitated Miss Beaumont and skipped over to his side to beg him to reveal his next scheme? Of course, she would not, and yet the impulse tormented her. Mr. Radcliff would advise patience, so she calmed herself with the knowledge that soon she would achieve her purpose.

“You must visit us, Lady Winston.” With a glance at Catherine, Lady Blakemore seemed to include her in the “us” of her invitation, a more frequent and puzzling mode of reference. Was the countess merely continuing to cover Miss Beaumont’s erroneous assumption regarding Catherine’s position? That hardly seemed likely, for rank and position were of supreme importance to both Lord and Lady Blakemore. Every time she found the courage to ask about it, however, someone or something interrupted her.

“I would be delighted beyond words.” Lady Winston’s radiant countenance reinforced her assertion. “I have been away from Society for a very long time, and I fear everyone I knew has forgotten me. With your friendship, perhaps that can be overcome.”

“But, my dear, why did you not accompany your late husband for the Season all those years before he took ill?” Lady Blakemore asked the question Catherine had thought too improper to pose.

“Shall we go?” Lord Winston strode across the space from the tree to the landau, his milky mustache gone and his blond eyebrows bent in a dark frown. “I’ll warrant that you ladies have had enough of this heat.”

Had he meant to interrupt and keep his mother from answering? How very odd. Even Lady Blakemore gaped at him briefly, yet offered no rebuke.

Despite that awkward moment, the drive home was pleasant enough, with Miss Beaumont entertaining them all with an unending stream of questions. How often did they see the Prince Regent? Did he attend all the balls? What was that thick redbrick building over there? Did they call their homes “town houses” because that was where everyone lived when they were in town? Catherine could not fault the girl for her enthusiasm, for she herself had once been excited about the prospect of coming to London. Yet when she had come, the gravity of her mission weighed too heavily upon her for her to enjoy much of anything.

“James, do take Sophia and me to your house before going to Lady Blakemore’s.” The baroness gave her son a sublime smile that seemed to say more than her words.

“But, Mama, I want to see Blakemore House.” Once again Miss Beaumont’s boldness proved she was unprepared to be out in Society, at least to Catherine’s way of thinking. But if the other ladies agreed, they did not say so.

“Not today, my dear. We must not overdo.” Lady Winston’s gently spoken words nonetheless held sufficient authority that her daughter did not argue
or
pout.

Catherine hoped she would remember that exact tone to use with her own children, should she be so blessed to have some one day.

* * *

“Take us home, Toby.” Winston could have kissed Mother for her clever manipulation of the situation. Sweet Sophia never knew when to stop chattering, and he was eager to reveal his other secret to Miss Hart without his sister’s interference.

Once his family had been delivered to the town house, proper adieus had been said and the remainder of the party was on its way to Blakemore House, he could not keep from sighing rather more loudly than he had intended.

“Now, now, Winston.” Lady Blakemore laughed. “Your sister is delightful. Do not begrudge her that youthful enthusiasm.”

“You are too kind, madam.”

This was the perfect opportunity to ask Miss Hart again whether she had a younger sister or brother. If so, perhaps she would commiserate with him, which would advance their friendship. And of course, he would learn something more about her. Yet in light of his next surprise for her, he would postpone such questions, for it might reveal much about her family.

In the hope that Lady Blakemore would invite him in, he reached beneath his leather seat as stealthily as he could, retrieved a package and hid it in the inside pocket of his jacket. Neither lady appeared to notice, for they did not question him.

“Of course, you must come in for tea.” Lady Blakemore did not disappoint him or give him the opportunity to decline. Once he handed them down from the carriage, she looped an arm around his and urged him toward the front door.

He glanced over his shoulder at Miss Hart, whose bright eyes and smile seemed to indicate she had not yet tired of his company, either. Last week, when he had taken her for their first and very eventful drive, he had been concerned about Society’s view of the length of their outing. Today, Lady Blakemore’s insistence on his staying was sufficient approval to cast aside his worries.

* * *

Before they even took their seats in the drawing room, Lady Blakemore announced that she required a lie down if she was to manage attending a party with Lord Blakemore that evening. Catherine bit back a protest that no such party was written on the countess’s schedule. If her employer wanted to play matchmaker, that would work right into Catherine’s plans.

“Do not think you must leave, Winston.” Lady Blakemore gave his shoulder a maternal pat as she passed him. “The footman is here by the door, so all will be proper for you and Miss Hart to enjoy a nice chat.” Without giving him a chance to respond, she swept out of the room with more energy than one would expect from a lady requiring a lie down.

Lord Winston’s well-formed face creased with concern. “I do hope Lady Blakemore is well.”

“Perhaps she merely wants to avoid overdoing.” Catherine sat down and waved him to a chair several yards away.

After a moment of hesitation, he chose a closer one. Catherine’s foolish heart skipped a beat as the scent of his bay-rum cologne reached her. Its heady fragrance had teased her the entire afternoon, and now there was no breeze to alleviate its pleasing effects. If she were free to love him, if he were truly the gentleman he presented to the world, his always-pleasant scent would be an important factor in winning her favor.

“I must admit I’m happy to have a moment of your time.” He reached into his black suit jacket and retrieved the brown paper package he had placed there during their carriage ride. How charming he had looked as he tried to keep her from noticing his actions. Surely this was the surprise he had mentioned. Once again her heart skipped.

“I have taken your suggestion and purchased this book.” He removed the twine and paper to reveal a brown leather copy of
Sense and Sensibility.

“Oh, my.” Catherine jolted at the revelation. She had not expected him to remember the book or to care in the slightest that she had advised him to read novels. “This is indeed a surprise, Lord Winston.”

A rather foolish grin spread over his face, like a child who had pleased his tutor. No, rather like a gentleman who had pleased his lady. And indeed, she
was
pleased.

“I sent for it this past Monday and have been reading it ever since.” He shrugged in a charming way. “I even read it while in my seat in the Lords’ Chamber when the opposition grew tiresome in their rants.”

“You did not.” Catherine leaned back in her chair and laughed heartily at his confession. “Not in front of your fellow lords.”

“Oh, but I did.” Now he smirked. “And you would be surprised at how many peers noticed and told me that they had read this book and others written by the same author.” Another shrug. “Of course, they are convinced that only a gentleman of great intelligence and education could have written them.”

“Tsk.” Catherine shook her head in annoyance. “Do you agree with them?”

“Not at all. I find that ladies are not only witty and insightful but entirely much better company all around.” He sat back, a slight smile on his finely sculpted lips. One would have to be blind not to notice the esteem in his gentle gaze.

Catherine swallowed hard, trying without success not to welcome his kind regard. She could not help but enjoy his admiration, but she must not return it. “W-well, then, what did you think of the story?”

If he noticed her stammer, he was too much the gentleman to say so. “Brilliant. Entirely enjoyable. And, as you said last Wednesday, filled with insights into human nature.”

For a moment she could not speak. No gentleman, not even Papa, had ever valued her thoughts or recommendations to this degree. “Please, go on.”

“Very well.” He sat forward and opened the book. “Where shall I begin?”

Only then did Catherine notice slips of paper sticking out from the pages. He had actually bookmarked it. Once again, her traitorous heart beat faster.

“Hmm.” She scrambled to think of a question that would reward his good opinion of her intellect. “Where indeed? If we are examining human nature, then we must discuss the characters. Which one do you find the most interesting?”

“I had not thought to mark any one of them over the others. Rather, they are altogether a finely woven garment.” A shadow crossed his eyes. “However, I would say that Marianne, with all of her impulsiveness, troubles me. I see my dear, innocent Sophia in her and worry that my sister will likewise fall for some man’s flattering attentions. As for Willoughby, he is an utter scoundrel. Should any man treat Sophia thusly, I would thoroughly thrash him.”

“But you will never permit that to happen.” She pictured him, sword in hand, its exposed tip pointed at some hapless suitor’s chest. “You will protect her just as you shielded me from Lord Morgan’s view this afternoon.” Her heart warmed at the memory, and she could not manage to cool it, not while sudden hot tears of gratitude spilled down her cheeks.

“My dear Miss Hart.” He set the book on an occasional table, moved to the chair beside her, took her hand and brushed his thumb across her damp face. “It was my privilege and honor to shield you.” His green eyes shone with an ardor she had never imagined she would receive even in her most sublime girlhood dreams. Then his gaze moved to her lips.

Her heart raced madly. Would he kiss her? Most irrationally, she wished he would.

The footman cleared his throat, the sound of it holding a slightly menacing hum.

Lord Winston blinked, grinned sheepishly and sat back in his chair. “There is another matter in the book that disturbed me.” He spoke lightly, as if they had not just been rescued from a terrible impropriety.

As guilty as he in the matter, Catherine inhaled deeply to recover herself. “And that is?” The words came out on a breathy sigh, and heat rushed to her cheeks.

This time, Lord Winston had the grace to ignore her discomfiture. “I cannot think well of Edward Ferrars because of his secret engagement. He was living a lie, which no gentleman should ever do if he expects to be highly regarded. I simply cannot tolerate a liar.”

As if cold water had been dashed in her face, Catherine’s mind and emotions cleared, and her giddy, girlish sensibilities yielded to good sense. “Neither can I tolerate a liar.” She stood and strode away from him by several paces, then spun back to face him. “No matter how he justifies himself, such a man deserves no sympathy or happiness.” If she sounded as strident to him as she did to herself, he would simply have to cope with it.

Ever the gentleman, he jumped to his feet. “Clearly you no longer speak of our book, Miss Hart. I am grieved to think that anyone has lied to you and caused you harm.” He lifted one hand in an invitation for her to return to her chair. “I would gladly hear your story.”

She could only turn away and clench her jaw. If she confronted him now, unprepared and with heightened emotions, she might ruin every possibility that Papa’s reputation could be restored.

Lord Winston sighed softly. “Perhaps you could confide in Mr. Grenville. He is a true man of God. I must warn you, though, that for your own sake, he will advise forgiveness, whatever the circumstances.”

Without responding, Catherine forced herself to move back across the room and reclaim her chair.

“Dear lady, I fear I have tired you. We can return to our discussion of
Sense and Sensibility
at another time.” This time, the tenderness in his gaze failed to breach the stone wall now surrounding her heart, even when he gave her a teasing grin that enhanced his boyish appeal. “But I must tell you that Sophia has been begging to read the book, so we may have to include her in the conversation.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Do promise me you will speak with Mr. Grenville.”

“Perhaps that would be wise.” It was also the last thing she would consider doing.

* * *

All the way home, Winston tried to reason out what had happened in his conversation with Miss Hart. Once again he had failed to win her trust. Once again she refused to confide in him. What could have happened to fill her with such anger? Or had she been so mortified over their almost kiss that she now would feel uncomfortable in his presence? He certainly felt a large measure of shame for it.