Scandal at the Dower House (17 page)

‘They what?’

‘A masked ball in a private house, with invited guests only, is acceptable,’ he said slowly. ‘But at public affairs one does not know who might be there, anyone with the price of a ticket.’

Olivia looked unconvinced. ‘I think that’s odiously toplofty! Why should we mix only with the
ton?
I like being with some of the villagers at Brooke Court, they are friendly and helpful.’

‘Our own people are different, we’ve known them all our lives. But there are some unscrupulous characters at public masquerades.’ He paused for a moment, and then decided it would do no harm to frighten her a little. ‘If they knew you had expectations from Grandmama, for example, or that I am your brother, they might attempt to kidnap you and hold you for ransom.’ Or worse, he thought, but it would destroy all Olivia’s new-found confidence to spell out the other dangers. At private functions she was safe, protected.

‘Oh. Then of course I won’t ask to go,’ she conceded. ‘Perhaps we could arrange a small masked party here, after my ball, then?’

He was happy to agree.

‘Have you met anyone interesting?’ he asked, wondering if any of the young men had attracted her notice.

‘Oh, yes. But can you guess who is in town? Lady Brooke, Catarina. She is staying with a Mrs Pearce, who used to be at school with her. Lady Mortimer and I went to have tea with them, and their cook had made some delicious cakes. They weren’t from Gunter’s, and some I had never tasted before. I think one was a Portuguese receipt Cat — Lady Brooke had taught her.’

For a few moments Nicholas was incapable of speaking. Catarina was here, within his reach, and they were likely to meet. How should he behave towards her? Did he wish to renew his offer? He was undecided. He still longed to possess her, but did he wish to have her as his wife?

‘Are they coming to your ball?’ he asked finally. ‘Have you sent invitations?’

‘Oh yes, and I have also asked Mrs Pearce’s brother-in-law, George Pearce. He is in the 10
th
Light Dragoons, the Prince’s own regiment, and he looks so smart in his uniform. And Nicholas,’ she said, giggling slightly, ‘I think he is in love with Catarina. He could not take his eyes from her, and when he was leaving he held her hands for far longer than he did Mrs Pearce’s.’

Nicholas had a great deal to consider when Olivia left him to go with Lady Mortimer to purchase new evening sandals. Catarina was here in London. He would meet her soon, and she apparently had a new admirer. The thought infuriated him, and eventually decided him that he wanted Catarina sufficiently to make her an apology and an offer.

* * * *

Catarina meanwhile was attempting to deflect another offer. Sir Humphrey had arrived in Hill Street that afternoon in a barouche, and she had been forced to drive out with him. Delphine had, she learned with disquiet, accepted the invitation on her behalf.

‘You have to make your refusal firmer,’ her friend admonished. ‘If you decline and make it absolutely clear you do not wish him to repeat his offer, perhaps he will go home and you will be free of him.’

‘And perhaps not. Delphine, you do not know the stubbornness of the man! I can refuse him a score or more times and he will still regard it as maidenly reticence.’

‘Well, talk about George all the time. I could see young Olivia’s eyes grow even bigger when they were here, and he was ogling you so blatantly.’

Catarina giggled. ‘He was behaving like the lover in a ridiculous farce.’

‘I will get him to ride in the Park and meet you there. If that does not signal to your ancient Sir Humphrey that his suit is hopeless, nothing will, until you become betrothed to someone else.’

Not at all sure that meeting George in the Park would deter Sir Humphrey, who seemed to have grown in his own self-esteem as he became older, Catarina joined him in his hired barouche with great foreboding. It was a staid conveyance, and she longed to be driven in a high-perch phaeton, such as she saw the young men and their fortunate companions enjoying. Might she regard him more kindly if he provided her with that pleasure? She shivered at the thought. Though he was a competent driver in the country, she had never seen him drive anything but a gig or, occasionally, when the roads were dry and easy to negotiate, a curricle. But all his horses were sluggish, far from excitable. He would never be able to control high-spirited teams with the same skill as was shown by many of the more sporting young men.

They reached the Park in a steady trot, and for the first round Sir Humphrey confined his remarks to news from Somerset, and comments on how life in London was becoming more unpleasant.

‘I shall be glad to return home,’ he said, and paused. ‘I shall be even happier, my dear, if you will consent to become my wife and come with me to prepare for our marriage. I envisage a simple ceremony, conducted by the Reverend Eade. As a widow you will not wish for a great show, or to spend months preparing a trousseau. From the many new gowns I have seen you wearing up in town I assume you have been shopping, and have sufficient. Nor is it as though we were setting up home together. I imagine that between us we have everything of a household nature that we need.’

Catarina had been attempting to break into this flow of eloquence, and at last, when he paused for breath, she was able to speak.

‘Sir Humphrey, you go too fast. I have not, and will not, ever, agree to become your wife. I have already refused you once, and it distresses me to have to listen to you when there is no hope. Please take me back home now.’

She could swear the coachman’s shoulders were shaking, and she could not blame him. Without waiting for Sir Humphrey’s order he turned the barouche towards the Park entrance, and just at that moment George Pearce rode up and saluted them.

‘My dear Lady Brooke, what a surprise to meet you here,’ he sang out, winking outrageously at Catarina. ‘It was such a pleasure to dance with you last night, and I am looking forward to doing so again, tonight and many other times.’

Catarina smothered a grin. They had been to no ball on the previous day, nor was one planned for tonight.

‘Mr Pearce. Sir Humphrey, may I introduce my good hostess’s brother-in-law, George Pearce. He has been so assiduous in escorting us ladies around town. Mr Pearce, Sir Humphrey Unwin lives in Somerset, and was a good friend to my late husband.’

The men bowed coldly to one another, and Catarina was startled to detect the creak of corsets from Sir Humphrey. He had been growing corpulent over the past few years, but she had never suspected him of the vanity which would make him adopt such a fashion.

George rode alongside for a while, chatting eagerly to Catarina about mutual acquaintances, and occasionally, seeming to recall Sir Humphrey’s presence, tossing a few remarks to him. Then he bowed, brazenly lifted Catarina’s hand to his lips, and took his leave, again reminding her she had promised to reserve the waltz for him that evening.

‘H’m. Just the sort of fortune-hunting scoundrel I wish to protect you from, my dear lady!’

Catarina stiffened. ‘George Pearce has an independent fortune, and I like him. I consider him a good friend, Sir Humphrey, and would be grateful if you do not abuse him.’

They drove back to Hill Street with him keeping an offended silence. Catarina hoped she had done enough to prevent future proposals, but she was sorry if he had been hurt, for he had been a good friend to Walter. He allowed the footman who came out of the house to assist her from the barouche, merely nodding farewell, and ordering the coachman to drive on before she had gained the house.

* * * *

Lady Mortimer received on Tuesdays, and Nicholas was sitting with them when Sir Humphrey was announced. After paying attentions to the ladies, Sir Humphrey moved to sit next to Nicholas.

‘My lord,’ he said, ‘may I have a private word with you?’

‘Something to do with Marshington Grange?’ Nicholas asked. ‘Let us go to the library.’

When they were seated and drinking glasses of wine Nicholas looked enquiringly at his visitor. ‘How may I help you, Sir Humphrey?’

‘It’s about Lady Brooke. I fear she is getting into unsuitable company,’ Sir Humphrey said. ‘When I drove her out yesterday we were accosted — I put it as strongly as that — by some whippersnapper who thought, because he wore some fancy uniform, that he could insult us both with impunity. Why, the fellow was making love to her right under my nose!’

Nicholas suppressed a smile. He had only met Sir Humphrey a couple of times, but had put him down as a rather pompous provincial. He discounted Sir Humphrey’s wider assertion, but nonetheless the intelligence that Catarina seemed to have acquired an admirer, and a military man at that, caused him some unease. Was it at all possible this man was someone she had met in Portugal? Was their acquaintance of long standing? Could that be why she had stayed in Lisbon for so long? Was this why she had come to London?

‘Who was the man?’ he asked.

‘He called himself George Pearce. He’s some connection of the friend Catarina is staying with, but he’s an impudent dog.’

‘Lady Brooke is of age, independent, able to choose her own friends,’ Nicholas said. ‘I do not see what it has to do with either of us.’

Sir Humphrey huffed for a moment.

‘I can see I need to put my cards on the table. I have expectations that Lady Brooke will soon become my wife.’

That did startle Nicholas. Why, after so many years with Walter, would Catarina want another elderly husband? It was not for acquiring another wealthy husband who might be expected to die long before her. From what he had heard Sir Humphrey’s fortune was modest, as was his estate. He would benefit more from such a marriage, if he acquired Catarina’s much larger fortune.

His throat was dry and he had to clear it before he spoke.

‘Has she accepted you?’

‘Not yet, but as you know, ladies are reluctant to be brought up to scratch. They like to keep us in suspense. However, I’m not the sort of man to be put off by a couple of refusals, and I’ve no doubt she’ll come round to it in time. But as a member of her family, or rather of Walter’s, I would be grateful if you would drop a word in her ear that consorting with fellows like George Pearce will harm her reputation. She would listen to you.’

Nicholas very much doubted it, and he was tempted to throw Sir Humphrey out of the house. How dare the old reprobate even think of offering for Catarina. The only welcome information was that she had twice refused him. Catarina was no coquette, she would not refuse a man simply to tease him. But George Pearce might be a different matter. Suddenly he was certain he wanted her for his wife. He must capture her before she was stolen from him.

‘Come back to the ladies,’ he suggested, managing to avoid making any promises to speak to Catarina on Sir Humphrey’s behalf.

An hour later he was condemning himself for taking the man back upstairs, for Olivia had, hearing he was a neighbour at Marshington, issued an invitation to her ball in a few days’ time.

* * * *

Catarina, back in Hill Street, fumed, but she had to laugh when she told Delphine what had happened.

‘George was superb, but I felt rather sorry for Sir Humphrey. He was quite out of his depth.’

They spoke no more of the encounter, and Catarina became absorbed in deciding what she wanted to wear to Olivia’s ball. As a widow, she felt she ought to wear something sober, and she told Delphine she had no intention of dancing, but her friend ridiculed the suggestion.

‘My dear Catarina, you do not, I hope, intend to wear a train and a turban and sit for the entire evening amongst the dowagers, do you? That would be a wicked waste. And you’ve danced at other balls. It would be noticed and remarked upon, cause gossip and speculation. I intend to dance, and I am determined to capture your handsome new Earl for at least one.’

There was no stopping Delphine, and Catarina was persuaded to wear her most attractive gown, of rose silk, low cut and with tiny sleeves, with deeper shaded embroidery and rouleaux decorated with silk roses round the hem. With it she had beaded satin slippers and white silk gloves. She wore the diamond parure Walter had given her when they were first married, which she had had few occasions to wear and which reflected the colour of the gown in a million shimmering gleams. To her surprise she had received a posy of white rosebuds from George, and she smiled as she pinned it onto her gown. It was a new experience for her to have a handsome young man pay her such attentions, and even though she knew they were both playing a part, it was enjoyable and gave her courage to face the inevitable meeting with Nicholas.

They set off for the ball early, Delphine predicting a crush of vehicles converging on Grosvenor Square. Catarina, waiting for the carriages to disentangle themselves and disgorge their passengers outside Nicholas’s house, thought it would have been much faster for them to have walked, but when she said this to Delphine, the latter laughed.

‘In these pumps? Catarina, they would be ruined before we had walked half way. By the dirt, if not by being worn through.’

At last, after what seemed like an hour of waiting, they drew up before the portico and were handed down by a liveried footman onto a red carpet leading to the open front door. Other footmen lined the path, keeping back the crowd of people who, Delphine whispered, always gathered outside houses where Society balls were taking place.

‘Some of them look as though they are starving!’ Catarina exclaimed. ‘They are thinner even than Dan was.’

‘Who is Dan? Never mind, tell me later, we haven’t time now.’

Lady Mortimer and Nicholas were at the top of the stairs, flanking Olivia, greeting their guests. Olivia looked enchanting in a white silk gown, gently ruched all down the skirt, embroidered only with white flowers. Her dark hair was cut in the latest style to frame her face, and she was wearing a delicate gold chain with a heart-shaped gold locket. She had shown Catarina the locket, opening it to reveal miniatures of her parents, and Catarina thought how sensible of her, or perhaps it was Lady Mortimer’s influence, to wear only simple jewellery.