No Man's Bride (2 page)

Ten years later

O
n hands and knees, Catherine backed into the doorway, surveying the shining floor of the drawing room. She’d just spent three hours dusting, sweeping, mopping, and polishing, and she was finally done. She sat up, feeling her back twinge in protest. The muscles in her arms and legs were on fire. No matter. She was finished. She was free.

She could spend the rest of the afternoon curled up in her bed, reading a book or even sleeping. Sleep sounded like the best option at present. She was so tired. She’d been up since dawn helping with the laundry, cooking breakfast, and straight
ening the mess her father had made when he’d come home drunk the night before.

With a sigh, Catherine rose, hefted the heavy pail, and lumbered down the stairs. The house was unusually quiet today. Neither of her parents nor her younger sister was home. Not that she missed them. She preferred days like this, but all the peace and solitude did give her pause. She wasn’t used to it, and she knew it wouldn’t last.

Going through the kitchen, Catherine went out the back door and poured the dirty water into the yard. The sheets on the clothesline were almost dry, and she checked the sky to make sure the rain would hold off another hour or more. Satisfied, her clean linen wouldn’t be drenched in the near future, she set the pail by the door and went wearily back up the steps.

That was when she heard them. Her mother, her sister, and her father. They were talking and laughing, making their way up the stairs to the first floor. For a long moment, Catherine hovered in the kitchen, wondering how long she could hide down here. How long would it be before they missed her? She bit her lip to ward off a rueful smile. Probably as long as it took before they wanted something.

“Catherine Anne!” She heard her father call in his booming voice.

Well, she had known it wouldn’t be long.

And she knew better than to tarry. She scampered out of the kitchen and was almost to the
drawing room before her father bellowed again. “Yes, Father! I’m here.”

She opened the door and was poised to give a quick curtsey, when she saw the mud. There were two sets of boot prints tracking mud across her clean, polished floor. One track led to her father, seated on the couch, one muddy boot dirtying the upholstery. The other boot was smaller, daintier, and it led to the chair her sister occupied.

“Where were you?” her father asked, sitting up. “Where’s the tea?”

Catherine gaped at him. Normally, she would have rushed to bring the tea, but she couldn’t stop staring at the mud tracked across her clean floor.

“What’s wrong?” her father finally asked. “Why are you just standing there like a patient in Bedlam?”

She pointed to the floor. “The mud. I just—”

“Oh, who cares about the floor?” her sister Lizzy said, waving Catherine’s concern away. “You can clean it up later. I have news.”

But Catherine didn’t want to clean it up later. She’d be folding the linen later, then helping the cook with dinner, and probably darning her father’s socks if her mother had her way. At this rate, she was never going to get any sleep. “But I spent all afternoon polishing the floor, and now it’s dirty again.”

“Do you know where we’ve been all day?” her mother said, ignoring Catherine’s complaints, as usual.

Before going on, Mrs. Fullbright glanced carefully at her husband. Catherine doubted she even realized she did it, but she continually checked his moods and sought his approval before speaking or acting.

Catherine sank onto a footstool at the far side of the room. “Where have you been?”

Certainly not here, helping to clean the house.

“We have been at Lord Valentine’s.”

Catherine nodded blankly. The name was familiar, as familiar as the name of any of her sister’s beaux. She had half a dozen, and they changed as often as Lizzy changed her hairstyle. Valentine was supposed to be some sort of political prodigy. At the tender age of thirty, the man was already a leader in Parliament. Catherine did not have time to follow politics, but her cousin Madeleine did, and she called Valentine a true reformer.

Whatever that meant.

And if he really was a prodigy and a revolutionary, why was he interested in her insipid sister, who had not a thought in her head but which hair ribbon would look best?

“Do you know why we were at Lord Valentine’s, Catherine?” Lizzy asked.

“No…” But she had a bad feeling. Her family had identical looks on their faces: like they’d just robbed the Treasury and gotten away with it. “Why?” she said drawing the word out.

“To sign the betrothal agreement, silly!” Lizzy cried. “I’m betrothed to Lord Valentine!”

Catherine blinked and then ducked as Lizzy jumped up and twirled around the room.

“I am going to be the Countess of Valentine.” She rushed toward Catherine and grabbed her by the shoulders. “And one day, dear, poor, ugly sister, I will be the Marchioness of Ravenscroft. It’s practically royalty!” She released Catherine and stood with her hands on her hips. “So what do you have to say about that?”

Catherine opened her mouth to speak, but somehow “No, please God, no” didn’t seem the right response, so she closed it again. It was a good thing, too, because her father was watching her, his gaze shrewd.

“I’m sure you are pleased for your sister.” He dropped his muddy boots on the floor.

Catherine managed to nod. She was pleased. She couldn’t think of anything better than having her sister out of the house.

Except that the privilege would come with a price.

“You know what this means, don’t you?” Her father’s voice was ominous. Or perhaps it just sounded that way because she knew what he was going to say. He’d been saying it since she was a child. Elizabeth was his darling, his pride, his joy, his ticket to wealth that the position of second son had not afforded him. But there was one thing standing in the way of his Elizabeth’s success: Catherine. It was an old-fashioned rule, but Edmund Fullbright was an old-fashioned man.

The older daughter must marry before the younger.

“You’ll need to marry before your sister’s wedding,” he told Catherine. “Do you have anyone in mind?”

Catherine shook her head. She wasn’t socially adept like her sister. She wasn’t pretty like her sister. She didn’t flirt like Elizabeth. She knew no men; none except her father, and he was more than enough.

“You’ll need to attend the Beaufort ball tonight then,” her father instructed.

“But Father, I—”

“No whining, goddamn it!” He stood, and all three women shrank back. “You’ll go, and you’ll smile, and you’ll flirt, and you’ll find a husband.” He crossed the room, until he towered over Catherine. “Because if you don’t, I’ll find one for you.”

“Maddie! Maddie! Where are you?” Catherine rushed down the gravel walk leading to the Earl of Castleigh’s stable. She knew all the noise she was making would probably scare the horses, so she tried to calm herself. A moment later, she was running again. “Maddie!”

A dark head popped out of the stable door. Madeleine Fullbright’s blue eyes grew wide with alarm. “Catie, what is it? What’s the matter?” She rushed forward, catching Catherine just as she propelled herself into her cousin’s arms.

“You have to help me. Lizzy’s getting married, and my father is forcing me to go to the Beaufort ball, and if I don’t find a husband, he’s going to find one for me, and I just know it will be to some horrible brute he finds on the street and pays to take me off his hands.”

“Whatever are you talking about?” Maddie said, easing Catherine onto a bench. “Take a deep breath. Calm down.”

Normally this was a comforting place for Catherine. She loved horses and loved to ride, though she rarely had the chance. But just now, she wanted to be alone with Maddie, away from the eyes and ears of the stable lads and the grooms, moving in and out of the building. “Maddie, can we go inside? Please? I need to talk to you in private.”

“Very well, but only if you promise to calm down. You’re scaring me.”

Catherine made a show of taking a deep breath and forced a smile. “All better. Can we go now?”

“Fine.” Rising, Maddie untied her apron, and Catherine helped her pull it off, then the two linked arms and walked up the path and into the morning room of the Castleigh town house.

Though she’d been in the house a thousand times or more, it never failed to impress Catherine. The gleaming marble staircases; the polished wood floors that clacked under her old, worn boots; the sunlight streaming through the huge windows and dappling the richly painted
walls with light. She loved to run her fingertips over the velvet and brocade furnishings. The heavy, sumptuous fabrics cushioned her hands and made her feel like a princess, if only for a little while.

A servant appeared with tea almost as soon as Maddie and Catherine took their places on their favorite window seat, and Catherine took a moment to savor the feeling of being waited on. Maddie, used to the little luxuries around her, folded her legs underneath her and leaned back against the casement. She wore a pale blue morning dress and a sheer fichu tucked inside her bodice with a collar that floated over her dainty shoulders and collarbone. The morning sun glinted off her chestnut hair, highlighting the strands of auburn and gold woven throughout.

Her blue eyes were the color of a robin’s egg, her peach skin flawless, and her figure petite but voluptuous. Catherine was well aware that though she and Maddie had been virtual twins as children, they no longer resembled one another. As Maddie had grown, she’d taken their shared features and chiseled and refined them. Catherine had just grown taller and heavier. Her figure was curvy without any trace of daintiness. Her skin was olive, almost tan. Her hair did not curl like Maddie’s. It was dark brown, almost black, without any other shades threading through it. Her eyes were still the color of mud.

When Catherine looked in the mirror, which
was but rarely, the only things she liked about herself were her eyebrows and her mouth. Her eyebrows arched nicely, contouring her face and eyes. Her mouth was wide and perpetually rosy. She had a nice smile and all her teeth. It could have been worse.

“Now start over,” Maddie said after the tea had been poured. “Lizzy is engaged?”

“Yes, and I’ve been ordered to find a husband, too. Tonight, if possible.”

“Goodness!” Maddie put her arm on Catherine’s. “What’s the hurry?”

“The old threat. My father swears he won’t marry Elizabeth until he’s got me out of his house. Those were his exact words, by the way. Maddie, I’m worried that my father might do something rash,” Catherine said, lowering her voice.

Maddie leaned closer so that her cup of tea steamed between them. “Like what?”

“Gamble me away the next time he plays faro all night or kidnap some brute off the street and force me to marry him.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Maddie laughed and sat back. “He won’t do anything of the sort. My father wouldn’t put up with it, and if Uncle Edmund so much as tries, you’ll be welcome here any day.”

Catherine smiled to reassure Maddie. How could her kind cousin, with her idyllic house and her ideal parents, understand what it was to live
under Edmund Fullbright’s roof? Sweet, naïve Maddie was incapable of understanding that escaping Catherine’s father was near impossible. He would be rid of his daughters on his own terms or none at all.

“I hope you’re right about my father, Maddie, but just in case he turns out to be a wee bit more nefarious than you believe, I want to stop the marriage between Valentine and Elizabeth. I need your help.”

Maddie shook her head. “That would not be very nice. I don’t like Lizzy very much, but that doesn’t mean I want to ruin her match.”

Catherine tried very hard not to roll her eyes. Maddie was too good. “Maddie, I’m not trying to stop it forever. I just need to buy myself time.”

“Time for what?”

“To think of a way to escape.”

“Escape! Catie, be reasonable.”

Catherine put her arm on Maddie’s. “Maddie, I just need your advice. That’s all.
Please
.”

Madeleine gave a resigned sigh.

Catherine decided to push her advantage. “I know you don’t approve, but help me this once. You move in Society far more than I do.” This was a gross understatement, but Maddie had the grace not to say so. “How can I halt the engagement?”

“It will be difficult.”

Catherine clasped her cousin’s hand. “Maddie, please!”

“Oh, very well. Perhaps if you could keep them apart…”

“That’s better.” She squeezed Maddie’s hand.

“When will they next meet?”

“Tonight at the Beaufort ball.”

“You shall have to keep Lizzy from attending.”

Catherine raised her brows. “I thought you knew Elizabeth better than that.”

“You’re right. She is a bit headstrong.”

Catherine snorted.

“Very well, then,” Maddie said, ignoring the snort. “You must attend as well and—”

“
Me
attend? No, you have to help me avoid that.” Just the thought of all those people crammed together made her hands clammy.

“Catie, there’s no other way. Besides, you know you need a bit of confidence, and this will be good for you. While you’re there you can keep Lizzy away from Valentine.”

“How?”

Maddie threw her arms out. “I don’t know. Tie her up and hide her in the bushes.”

Catherine nodded, impressed. “That might work.”

“I was only joking, Catie,” Maddie said in a warning voice.

Catherine gave her a placating smile. “I know.” But she was inwardly thrilled at the new plan. It might even be worth braving the ball.

She was off to a good start, and she would be able to buy herself some time. But she still needed
to talk to Josie. Josie would help her escape. And she needed to talk to her soon, or it would be too late. She suspected her father had already concocted a devious plan, one not even his brother, the Earl of Castleigh, could prevent.

Q
uint Childers, the Earl of Valentine, heir to the marquessate of Ravenscroft, strolled from the floor of Parliament flushed with success. He stepped outside, lit a celebratory cheroot and, staring up at the bleak London night, began to smoke. MPs swarmed out behind him, many of his fellow Whigs pausing to slap him on the back and congratulate him on his latest victory, and Valentine congratulated them back.

The reform bill he had slaved over, the bill he had written, revised, and pushed through the House practically on his hands and knees, had finally passed. It was a complicated bill, but the bottom line was that there would now be more
aid for the poor of England. Quint felt like a new mother.

“Going to the Beaufort do?” the new Earl of Westman asked, pausing beside him.

“Hmm?” Quint stubbed out the cheroot and watched Westman lift his arm to hail a passing hack. Westman was about the same height as Quint and an imposing figure. The hackney driver swerved to stop at the corner.

“The Beaufort do. Are you going? If so, we can share this coach.”

For a moment, Quint had no idea what Westman was talking about, and then it came to him in a rush. Elizabeth. The Beaufort ball. He had told her he would be there at eleven. He pulled out his pocket watch, glanced at it.

“Damn!” It was after midnight.

Westman raised a brow at him. “Is that a yes or a no?”

“It’s a yes, but goddamn me. I had no idea it was so late.”

The two men started down the steps. “Arguing a bill like the Valentine-Cheswick Reform Act can make a man lose his sense of time. I watched the debate. Your efforts were well worth it, I’d say.”

“If only the ladies would take your view of things.”

“Women take an interest in politics? What kind of country would this be then? But I see your predicament. You are late for an engagement.”

“Very late.” It was so late, in fact, that he dared not even return home to change his clothes.

The roads were crowded and blocked with the carriages of the
ton
scurrying to this rout or that soiree, and the journey to the Beaufort ball took the better part of an hour.

The time in the hackney gave Quint plenty of time to think how to apologize to the beatific Miss Elizabeth Fullbright. They hadn’t been engaged more than two days, and already he had disappointed her. Damn! He could not afford to lose her as he had so many other suitable ladies.

He was an intelligent man, and it wasn’t like him to make the same mistake over again. But here he was, once again, allowing his work to get in the way of his wooing. He should know by now that no lady liked to feel as though she ranked second to public policy. And wasn’t Elizabeth Fullbright at the ball, feeling that way right now?

He would not lose her. He needed a wife, and not just any sort would do.

His wife should be an intelligent woman. She had to be able to entertain his political friends. Her conversation, the habits of her mind, her wit and vivacity, would be on display for all.

In addition, his wife should be charming. Society would be her playground and her classroom. She should be at ease with all classes and sets; however, her background must be impeccable.
He did not care about money. He had money. But his wife’s family had to be respectable. Quint would brook no scandal.

And, finally, his wife had to be beautiful. Quint had noticed that men with beautiful wives generally went further than those married to less attractive ladies. Quint intended to go far—all the way to the post of prime minister.

Love did not fit into Quint’s notion of marriage. His mother and father had not loved each other when they married—the idea was preposterous. But they were quite fond of one another now, and Quint was certain that, given time, he would come to love Elizabeth and she him.

The hack finally stopped, and he and Westman went inside the ball, parting after the butler announced them. Immediately Quint began to search for Elizabeth.

One problem with his list. The women who fit its criteria were usually in high demand by other men as well, and many of those gentlemen had far more time to attend the theater, musicales, and the routs the
ton
hosted than a man such as he—a man concerned with the welfare of his country—had at his disposal.

No wonder he had been eager to secure Elizabeth. Now that they were betrothed, no other man could touch her. She more than met the requirements on his list, and though several rumors concerning her father—his activities, morals, and
scruples—gave Quint pause, the fact that Edmund Fullbright was the brother of a wealthy, powerful earl eased Valentine’s worries. Most importantly when it came to Elizabeth, she had accepted his marriage proposal.

Still searching for his lovely intended, Quint accepted a glass of champagne from a passing footman and then stopped the servant to ask if he knew where Miss Fullbright might be.

The footman did not, but he promised to inquire and return with the information. Quint nodded and sipped his champagne, at the same time watching the dancers on the floor of the ballroom.

He was surprised Elizabeth was not dancing. Certainly she could not want for partners. Then just as Quint emptied his glass, the footman reappeared. “Are you still looking for Miss Fullbright, my lord?”

“Yes.”

“No one has seen her, sir. You might check the terrace. Through those doors.”

“Thank you.” Valentine slipped the man a shilling and arrowed for the terrace. But when Quint stepped outside, he found the balcony empty. It was early April, and there was a chill in the air. Not many ladies would brave the cold on a night like this. Frowning, Quint surveyed the area more carefully. Had the footman been mistaken or—

The bushes at the far end of the balcony rustled,
and then two hands appeared on the balustrade. There was a grunt and then a head and shoulders appeared, and as Quint stared in amazement, a girl hauled herself up and onto the stone railing. She swung her legs over and then leaned down to brush her skirts off, as though she did this sort of thing every day.

“I can’t decide if you’re a cat burglar or a guest hoping to make a fabulous entrée.”

The girl’s head snapped up. “Who are you?” she said, taking a step back.

“Who am
I
?” Quint chuckled. The interloper had courage. He pulled out a cheroot. “I’m a guest with an exceedingly conventional entrance. No match for you. I came in through the front door.”

She backed up again until she was flush against the stone banister. “So did I. I was only in the bushes because”—she glanced over the side as though looking for an inspired excuse—“because I lost something.”

“Did you find it?” Quint lit the cheroot.

“No.” The bushes below her heaved and swayed. “I mean, yes. I don’t require any assistance.”

“Well, you might if you don’t step away from the banister.” Quint walked toward her. “It sounds like there’s something down there.”

She immediately stepped in front of him, blocking his view. “Why do you say that?”

Something grunted, and a branch below cracked. Quint raised a brow. “Because I bloody
well hear it, that’s why. Now step away before you’re hurt.”

She shook her head and continued to block him. She was a tall woman, barely a head shorter than he, and he could not see past her. “I’m afraid I cannot do that,” she said. “I cannot move unless—unless you come with me. I couldn’t live with myself if you were hurt by that—dog.”

The dog made a very human grunting noise. The woman was obviously daft. She was either truly afraid for him or didn’t want him to see what was over the railing.

Quint craned his head one last time. What was she hiding? Her lover? All he saw was darkness.

“Very well, I will retreat if you will,” he said, giving in. He moved back, and she followed. “I came outside because I was looking for Miss Fullbright.”

“Oh!” She paused midstride. “But
I
am Miss Fullbright.”

But the woman looking at him was not Elizabeth at all. In fact, she was a poor substitute for his intended. Whereas his Elizabeth was petite and fair with a fall of blond curls and big blue eyes, this woman was tall and olive-skinned with hair so dark it was black. Pieces of that hair fell haphazardly over her eyes so that he could not determine their color, but he saw no resemblance whatsoever to his betrothed. Perhaps she was so daft she was now impersonating others?

“I must be mistaken. Did you say you were Miss Fullbright?” He could see no harm in giving her the opportunity to rectify her erroneous claim.

“I did. Who are you?” she asked. She swiped a strand of hair from her face and when she did so, Quint caught the resemblance. Her eyes were not the brilliant blue of her sister’s, but they were the same shape, and she looked at him with the same mixture of skepticism and curiosity.

“Forgive me,” Quint said and bowed. “You must be Miss Elizabeth Fullbright’s sister.” Damn it, but he could not remember her name. Claudia? Cordelia—no, that was the mother. Calista?

“And you must be Lord Valentine,” the girl said. Then, to his amazement, she looked him over. She studied him from head to toe as though he were a piece of meat at the butcher’s shop or a bolt of muslin she wanted for a dress or—he flexed his hands as her gaze traveled back up again, pausing for a moment on his groin—as though he were a prostitute in a line of them, and she was choosing her partner for the evening.

The gall of the woman, and he had heard she was shy and insular. How wrong that report had been!

“Congratulations on your impending nuptials,” she said when her eyes were back on his face. “Though I feel I should offer you my sympathies instead.”

The bushes behind them rattled savagely. “Perhaps we should retire farther away.” She indicated the far corner of the terrace. Quint would rather have stayed and observed what other suspicious movements the bushes made, but she was already moving.

When they reached the appointed spot, she perched on the balustrade. Behind her were the dark lawn and the misty lights of the city. The breeze whipped up, trailing loose strands of her hair over her shoulders. He caught the faint scent of peaches on the wind, and then it was gone.

“Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Lord Valentine.” She stuck her hand out, and he shook it almost automatically. “Once again, my condolences on your engagement. Good night.”

Quint recognized the dismissal, but he was not ready to go. Not by far.

“Madam,” he said, “you offer condolences. I believe the accepted practice is to offer felicitations.”

He watched her straighten her shoulders and had the distinct feeling she was bolstering her resolve as well. Good God. Was it that much of a burden to wish her future brother-in-law a happy marriage?

She looked up at him. “I do not wish to overstep my bounds—”

“Oh, no. You must speak now.” He waved her onward. “I insist.”

“Very well. How well do you know Elizabeth,
sir? What I mean to say is, have you known her long?”

“A month, perhaps a bit less,” he answered. “I met her at the start of the Season.”

“I see. And have you had an opportunity to talk much with my sister?”

Quint drew his cheroot and watched her through the fragrant smoke. How did one define
much
? He had spoken with Elizabeth enough to know she would make an acceptable wife. That did not require extensive conversation, though. He would have plenty of time to know all her thoughts and opinions over the years of their marriage.

Quint doubted the young upstart before him would appreciate the efficiency of his selection process. He was willing to wager she was the romantic sort. Finally, he said, “You are certainly full of questions tonight. And I had heard you could be timid.”

She blushed at that. He saw the color in her cheeks even in the dim light. The woman was a mélange of contradictions—bold one moment, bashful the next.

“I admit, I am not usually so forward, sir, but I cannot help but wonder how well you know my sister. Have you spoken with her much as opposed to”—she waved her hand as though searching for the words—“just looking at her?”

Quint was speechless for a moment, unable to predict the direction of her questions. It was a bit
unusual for an orator as great as he to find it difficult to gauge his opponent’s intent, but he had no idea at what Elizabeth’s sister—Camelia?—was hinting.

Quint stubbed out his cheroot and decided a direct approach might be best. “What are you suggesting, Miss Fullbright? If you are implying there has been anything improper between us—”

“Oh, good Lord, no!” She laughed then as though the statement were the most preposterous thing she had ever heard. “I simply wondered how well you knew Elizabeth. In short, sir, I wondered if you knew what a
wicked shrew
she is.” She raised her voice on the last and seemed to say it to the balcony at large. She looked back at him. “I can see by your look that you do not.”

Immediately Quint schooled his face into the unreadable expression he used when a political opponent made a point that was technically correct but which Quint had no intention of granting him. “I fear I am at a loss for words, Miss Fullbright. Your sister is a very sweet girl, and I cannot imagine why you would disparage her so.”

The girl muttered something that sounded like, “I’m sure you can’t,” and then she smiled at him. “I’m only trying to save you from a dreadful mistake, Lord Valentine. You seem a nice enough man.” At this she looked him over again. “Intelligent, handsome—though your hair is a bit long—and I would not want to see you shackled
to such a
horrible witch
as my little sister.” Again, she seemed to say this to the terrace behind him, and Quint swore the bushes at the other end rattled at her words.

He made to speak, but she held up a hand to silence him. And then, perhaps sensing this would not be enough to quiet him, she rose from the banister.

Knowing who she was now, he could not help but judge her against her sister. He had been right in thinking her the taller of the two. She must have a good five inches on Elizabeth and was at least thirty pounds heavier. But it might be more, as her dress was too big for her, and she wore a wrap pulled like a shield about her.