SoundsofLove (22 page)

“And here I thought you spent all your time chasing skirts.”
Cathryn laughed lightly, and Julian wished to hear the sound as often as
possible.

“We could read them together.” He glanced at the other
couple. “Aristophanes’ comedy is still very apropos. It would make for a lively
evening.”

“Unlike the
Digenis
,” Violet muttered and Julian’s
head snapped around.

“You’ve read the
Digenis Acritas
aloud?”

“Cathryn and Geoffrey did.” Violet waved her hand. “It was
not a lively evening.”

Cat flushed. “I’m sorry, Vi. We had already begun when you
came to us.”

Julian glanced at Rune and saw that he shared his
astonishment. Both men shrugged as Julian asked, “Which translation?”

“Oh, no, we weren’t translating it. We were reading it
aloud, in Greek.”

Violet made a face. “I nearly jumped out the window of their
parlor.” She turned to Rune. “Do you speak Greek?”

“I can read it, a bit.” He shook his head and stared at
Cathryn. “You speak Byzantine and ancient Greek?”

“My father is a Greek scholar, as was my husband.” She said
it calmly, as if that explained her astonishing accomplishment, and she failed
to mention the more obscure dialects she had obviously mastered. “I meant to
ask you, Julian, which translation do you have at the copy maker’s?”

“It’s only a decoy, truly.” He flushed at having to admit
his meager effort. “I wrote to my brother-in-law, Wallace Garretson, at
Cambridge. He sent what little he had, and Giles dug out my old school essays
from Eton and Trinity on the Acritic songs.” He wished this were more
impressive. “I pieced together about fifty pages the best I could and asked the
copy fellow to duplicate it eight times in one text, so it will be about the
right length.” He shrugged. “I only meant to have something to show, in case we
needed a document to destroy.”

“That’s brilliant,” said Cathryn as she leaned over to kiss
his cheek. “Very clever indeed.”

Her sincere appreciation melted the worst of his tensions. “I
didn’t know you spoke Byzantine Greek, or I would have shown it to you before I
sent it off.” He made a mental note not to underestimate her again. She proved
more remarkable with each encounter.

“I’m certain it will be perfect as a prop, should we need
one.”

“It won’t fool the duke.”

“Not for long, but we must use our wits, my lord, now that
we are engaged with these wily men.” Cathryn echoed Fiona’s words and Julian
laughed.

“Engaged, betrothed, fiancée, marriage,” Violet muttered.
Julian shot her a quizzical look. “Words, my lord. I collect groups of words,
it’s how I devise my puzzles.”

Cathryn laughed again. “You should see our word lists.” She
faced Rune. “Perhaps you could publish a book of them, as a writer’s aid.”

Violet nodded. “We have lists of colors, smells, tastes,
flowers, and emotions.”

Cathryn took up the refrain. “Time, food, gender, travel,
and common foreign phrases.” She laughed. “Even words coined by Shakespeare.”
She winked at Julian and his heart swelled with pride. “For four years, we have
been scouring our dictionaries for additions.” Relief flooded him when she did
not tell the story of challenging him at the Philological Society meeting.

“I think all writers would want such a reference book,” Rune
said, and everyone agreed.

“Cat’s been working on interjections and onomatopoeias,” Violet
added. “I brought your journal.”

“No, Violet, please,” Cathryn protested. “It’s been weeks
and I don’t like showing my work without reviewing it first.”

“I’d like to see it,” Julian said with a gentle squeeze of
her hand. “Show me, please.”

Cathryn softened beneath his touch. “As you wish.”

He’d been wrong about his desire being sated, because
hearing her say those words made his cock swell.

Violet retrieved a green leather book from her reticule and
handed it to Julian. He opened it to Cathryn’s neat cursive and glanced at the
first few entries.

Ah interjection used to
communicate relief, delight, regret, or contempt

Aha interjection used to
articulate triumph, surprise, or derision

Ahem clearing one's throat

Ahoy interjection used in
hailing a ship or sailor

“Very clever, Cathryn. I imagine novelists will be
particularly interested in this reference.”

She had a page for each letter of the alphabet and he
flipped to the middle to look at M.

Moan a long low inarticulate
murmur

Mum not wanting to speak

Mumble to speak indistinctly

Munch to chew steadily

Murmur subdued continuous sound

Mutter to speak almost inaudibly
with closed lips

Murr a new word to describe the
sound ‘mmm’

“I prefer your definition of murmur,” he said as he glanced
down the list.

“Yes, Johnson’s was ‘to grumble, mutter, complain,’” she
said. “I prefer a more neutral accounting.”

“Well done, love.” He scanned the other pages and realized
this had taken her many hours.

“You can see where your first gift was especially
appropriate,” Violet added. “For two women who love words as we do.”

“Mrs. Burns will be happy to see
murr
added to your
list,” he said idly as he continued to enjoy her choices. Something struck him
as odd and he glanced at Cathryn. “When did you last work on this?”

“I’m not certain.” She reached out for the book.

Did he sense defensiveness? “You said it had been weeks.”

“We’ve all been terribly busy,” offered Violet. “I’m certain
it’s been weeks.”

His ears pricked. Something smelled rotten here. “You didn’t
learn of Mrs. Burns’ request until the 24
^th
.”

“Mrs. Burns’ letters have been coming for months,” said
Violet offhandedly.

“You correspond with Melina Burns?” The deception shook him
to the core, and now Cathryn avoided his eyes. This was no trivial oversight. There
had been ample opportunity to mention this previously.

Violet gave Cathryn a remorseful look, which was returned
with obvious discomfort. Julian’s ire rose several degrees. He looked a fool to
be so deceived, and he hated looking the fool.

Cathryn took a deep breath before she responded. “Yes, she
first wrote me last spring, when her letters to you went unanswered. I’m sorry
for the oversight. I meant to tell you sooner, but the subject never came up.”

That was a load of horse manure. She had withheld this important
information on purpose, and he needed to let her know that was unacceptable.

Before he could speak, her eyes narrowed and she faced him. “Why
did you hold on to her correspondence until nearly October?”

He tilted his head, as if to deflect the remark. “Touché.”
Why had he delayed bringing Melina’s request to the society? Like Fiona, she
made his blood boil—for a variety of reasons he preferred to ignore.

He reached for his glass and took a drink of sherry before
he confessed the simple source of his discomfort, “I believe Melina Burns is
Fiona’s lover.”

Cathryn and Violet both gasped, and Rune’s jaw slackened.
Julian’s jealousy had survived two decades intact. Being beaten to Fiona’s
affections by a woman had emotionally devastated him for years, and each
encounter with his beautiful opponent brought guaranteed new humiliation.

“My interactions with her have been…unusual. She
is…outrageous, much like Fiona.” The room was still as he took another drink,
wishing he could shift the conversation in another direction, wishing he had
not disclosed his deepest wound, wishing yet again that he had never been
bested by such a woman.

Cathryn touched his arm and reminded him that these people
knew little of his history. “You said she
is
Fiona’s lover. Do they still…?”

He had no proof, but the facts were clear. “Fiona visits her
a few times per year, without fail, and rarely brings my father. They bathe
together.” The Gorham baths had played a part in his fantasies for as long as
he could remember.

“Dear heavens,” cried Violet. “You said her misdeeds were
behind her.”

He didn’t like Violet’s outbursts, much preferring Cathryn’s
calm demeanor. “I said she has no interest in molesting children, and what she
does in her distant junkets is no reflection on her capacity for charitable
acts.”

Cathryn intervened. “I agree with Julian. Her swordplay
lessons to the children very possibly saved my life.”

All thoughts of deception and humiliation vanished as he
faced her, overcome with gratitude for her lovely presence when she’d been
nearly taken from him. “I look forward to thanking the children.”

Her bright smile dispelled the dark clouds that had
collected over his head. “I understand you’ve been sending new gifts every
hour.”

He wanted to make her proud, and he and Millman had enjoyed
the task. He returned her smile and his sense of calm reappeared. “Not every
hour, and only sensible items.”

“Well, in two days we’ll attend their performance at the
poorhouse, and then we’re off to Gorham House.” Cathryn shook her head
slightly. “From poverty to decadence—it will be quite a hectic day.”

“Master Aubrey has turned her classes over to her assistants
for the next week,” said Rune. “Is she going with you?”

Julian shrugged, but the thought turned his stomach. Cathryn
and Fiona were becoming too friendly, bonded by violent encounters and
heartening displays of support. Fiona knew him too well; he wasn’t certain he
wanted Cathryn wielding the same power quite so soon.

Julian’s grim recollection of the dilapidated poorhouse was
wiped clean the moment he saw the new windows and fresh paint on the renovated
building. With a swell of pride, he squeezed Cathryn’s hand. “Well, this is
more the thing, isn’t it?”

“It’s a vast improvement, Julian. You’ve done a great
service to these people.”

Rune added from across the carriage, “All the city’s
poorhouses are reporting massive donations following your accounting, Cathryn.
It took courage to speak out as you did, but witness all the good it’s done.”

“Thank you, Rune. I believe Julian and I are an excellent
team,” she responded with a charming smile.

Julian wanted to sweep her away and show her exactly how
good they could be together. He was falling in love with her, and he could
barely contain his emotions. Soon he would tell her, and complete their bond.
He only need endure an hour of the children’s gratitude before he could rush
Cathryn away to Gorham House to plumb delectable intimacies in decadent depth.

His side barely pained him as he stepped out of the carriage,
and he was grateful again for the shallowness of the wound. Reaching up to help
Cathryn down the steps, he returned her broad smile. “You look especially
beautiful this morning.”

“You bring out the beauty in me, my lord.” She leaned close
to him as they waited for Violet and Darbonne to exit the coach.

“Are you suggesting I look beastly?” he joked.

“Lady Sibley, Mrs. Pickering, what a pleasure to see you.” A
tall, thin older woman in the drabbest dress Julian had ever seen charged
towards them and pumped Cathryn’s hand vigorously, then moved on to Violet.

“Mrs. Fry, may I present Lord Julian Ahlquist, Earl of
Trenchford.”

The dowdy matron turned and grasped Julian’s hand with a
steely grip. Her pale blue eyes clouded as she spoke with a rush of emotion
that touched his heart. “My lord, I am at a loss to express the depth of my
gratitude.” She stared at their clasped hands and seemed to realize her breach
of etiquette, because she released him and dropped into a deep curtsy. “My
lord, thank you for all you have done.”

“Please, Mrs. Fry, I am the indebted one—your children saved
my future countess.” He helped her rise. “I suggest we call our tallies even
and save our thanks for the one true Lord.”

“Amen, Lord Ahlquist, but I fear today you will be overrun
by appreciation.” She gave him a dingy smile. “I will try to contain myself,
but I can’t speak for the others.”

She turned to Rune, and Cathryn finished the introductions, “And
this is our dear friend, Mr. Rune Darbonne.”

Mrs. Fry extended her hand. “Mr. Darbonne, a joy to meet
you. Thanks to you, as well. Mrs. Aubrey said you provided the horses for
today’s performances.”

“At her suggestion, yes.” The tall man grinned. “It’s
nothing, really.”

“Horses?” Julian tucked Cathryn’s hand into his arm and
followed the matron to the front entrance.

“I have no idea.” Cathryn shrugged ignorance as she greeted
the boys holding the doors. “Good morning, Henry and Andrew. You both look very
fine today.”

Julian nodded his acknowledgement to the lads, but his
attention was drawn to the interior, where a row of grinning children lined
each wall. Boys and girls alike each held a wooden sword tip to the ground, and
when the visitors crossed the threshold, the swords rose in a clattering salute
and formed an honor guard for Julian and his party to pass between.

The hardness in his heart over the events of the past days
softened as he escorted Cathryn through the stand of swords and accepted thanks
from each child. They all appeared clean and happy, although many bore scars of
past abuse or neglect.

Mrs. Fry urged the four visitors into the large common room,
which had been transformed into a theatre of sorts. Dining tables lined the
walls, with plain wooden benches placed on top of them in a long row. A sturdy
box acted as the step up to the tabletop, and he noted that Cathryn seemed very
accustomed to such lack of refinement. He settled into the seat of honor and
determined to enjoy himself. After all, he wasn’t often lauded, and his
glorious ladylove was by his side.

A parade of children approached and he roared with laughter.
Each rode a fine stick horse with red, blue or white cloth streamers. “I see
the cavalry has arrived,” he said to Cathryn and the others. He noticed Violet
holding Darbonne’s arm and wished Cathryn closer.

As if reading his thoughts, she scooted slightly and leaned
into him. “I believe the residents are being presented to you.”

A young man in a tattered suit stepped forward and bowed
before he introduced himself. “Lord Ahlquist, I’m James Connolly, father to
Jimmy.”

Cathryn whispered, “Jimmy’s the one who saved me.”

Julian’s throat tightened at her words, and he took a deep
breath to steady himself. He was not here to relive his failure to protect her,
he was here to honor those who had done his job for him. “Pleased to meet you,
sir. Where’s your son?”

Connolly stood tall and proud. “He’s Wellington today, my
lord. Mrs. Aubrey has him in the back.”

“Wellington? Ah yes, Waterloo is today’s reenactment.”

“Yes, my lord. Before we begin, my lord, we have a small
gift for you and Mr. Darbonne.”

Two teen-aged girls came forward bearing black bicornes with
large white plumes. Julian removed his top hat and set it by his chair,
replacing it with the bicorne and feeling instantly ready for a bit of fun.

“A splendid gift, Mr. Connolly.”

The Irishman looked pleased by the response and accepted
Darbonne’s thanks before he said, “Thank you, my lord. I should like to
introduce some of our residents to you, if you please.”

One by one, hundreds of poorhouse inhabitants filed passed
and bowed or curtsied, as Connolly introduced them by their full names. Most
thanked him for some personal kindness his acts had brought to them—a wool
blanket that soothed a sore shoulder, a dry bed after a night of rain, the rats
gone from the pantry, the full belly, the warm feet, the beautiful roses.

He had always been generous, but he had never seen the face
of his charity. Now that the reality of their circumstances were hitting him,
he vowed to do more. All told, he’d invested less here than a fine racehorse
would cost. Cathryn would be an excellent countess for a man of his charitable
inclinations, and he found himself watching her as much as he did the crowd.
She knew many of the residents and spoke lovingly to each. He said primarily, “you’re
welcome” and “it was my pleasure”. The youngest children and the cripples were
the most heartrending, but he managed to get through the procession without an
embarrassing display of emotion.

Cathryn and Violet fared less well and both soaked two
handkerchiefs during the half hour. A trumpet sounded the call to battle and
the room quieted. That was Wellington’s cue, and he strode onto the battlefield
on his cockhorse and reared back the chestnut head. Young Jimmy Connolly played
Wellington with all the seriousness of a Shakespearian actor as he handled his
wooden steed. “Whoa, Copenhagen, we have a long day ahead. We have a Corsican
outlaw to outwit, and we will do it here, at Waterloo.”

A red-coated lad came forward and stood in front of the sign
Mont St Jean
, facing Wellington.

Cathryn whispered, “Tommy led the charge against Hedges.”

Julian was amazed that such a small boy could have defeated
the baron, when Julian had failed twice. It was a humbling moment.

Wellington spoke in a loud clear voice. “Ah, Lord Uxbridge.
Even though you stole my brother’s wife to replace your own, we must each do
our duty in this campaign against the outlaw Bonaparte. I give you my right
flank to oversee.” Wellington turned his backside on Uxbridge and walked away,
causing Julian to wonder if the double entendre was deliberate. With Fiona as
playwright, the biting humor was likely intentional. The crowd twittered in
amusement, and he joined them. Wellington continued to speak as he moved off
stage. “Come, tonight we must dance at the Duchess of Richmond's ball and calm
the fair citizens of Brussels. Later we will defeat the small man.”

The two actors trotted off to polite applause. A moment
later, a tiny, black-haired, navy-clad Napoleon entered in front of
La Belle
Alliance
, taking an exaggerated double pinch of snuff before proclaiming in
a juvenile voice, “
Mon Dieu
, it is too wet to fight this morning. I
think I shall take a rest.”

He sat gingerly in a chair piled with several cushions. An
attendant came to his side to ask, “What should we tell the reporters?”

“Tell them we have won, for victory is sure this day.”
Napoleon reached for another pinch. “I shall drive Wellington to the sea.” He
closed his eyes while the attendant fanned him with a newspaper.

To the north, Wellington entered with four other soldiers. “It’s
time to rally the troops,” he cried.

Slowly, young troops with wooden swords flooded the large
theatre—red to the north and west behind Wellington and Uxbridge, followed by a
slower trickle of blue to the south near Napoleon, who had just begun to move. “We
can’t wait for the Prussians. We must engage the French ourselves,” Jimmy
yelled as he led the charge. The red and blue streamers flew at each other from
across the large hall. Wellington rode the line and barked encouragement, but
the battle wore on without a clear victor.

Napoleon had a large pillow tied to his stick horse, and his
attendant helped him on and off the awkward contraption. “My empire for a new
arse,” he yelled as he climbed off the horse for the fifth time. The crowd
roared with laughter, and the actor waited until he could be heard before
crying, “I can’t see the battle—what’s going on?”

“We are winning, Excellency.” His tall attendant yelled over
the din. “Wellington is doomed.”

“There’s no need to engage our right flank—we can win
without them,” predicted Napoleon loudly, to the cheers of the crowd.

Swords clattered and small bodies continued to fall
theatrically.

“We will lose to Bonaparte without more men,” implored
Wellington as he rode the falling Allied line frantically. With a dramatic
flair, he reared his horse and cried, “Give me sunset or give me Blucher.”

Prussian Field Marshall Blucher raised his white feathered hat
and a trumpet sounded behind him, rallying the group of boys with white
streamers. “Charge!” he yelled, and he took off at a gallop into the top of the
raging battle. The blue streamers turned and ran when they saw the new troops
arriving. Napoleon’s aide helped the emperor onto his horse and both retreated
off stage to loud jeers.

With the victory won and Napoleon vanquished from the theater,
Wellington shook hands grimly with Blucher. He then faced the audience and said
loudly, “It has been a damned serious business, the nearest-run thing you ever
saw in your life.” He glanced at the moaning soldiers strewn about him and
shook his head gravely. “Next to a battle lost, the greatest misery is a battle
gained.”

Julian watched him trot slowly off the stage escorting an
injured Uxbridge, and he felt tears forming in his own eyes. Cathryn dabbed her
eyes between her enthusiastic applause. Rune leaned over and spoke with a thick
voice. “Should we help the wounded?”

“Excellent idea.” Julian stepped off his platform and tapped
a fallen body on the shoulder.

“Thank you, my lord,” the lad said with a small smile as he
accepted Julian’s offer of an outstretched hand.

The boy’s hand felt like a doll’s, and Julian realized it
had been years since he’d touched a child. The frailty of the thin limb
awakened a protective streak he’d rarely acknowledged, and he resisted the
instinct to offer a comforting embrace. A vision of holding his own son flashed
before him as he released the boy with a somber smile. “Thank you, lad. You
fought well.”

The sea of small bodies stayed still until someone touched
them. One by one, he and Rune helped raise the silent dead and heal the
whimpering wounded. A minute later Cathryn and Violet were beside them, also
involved in resurrecting the troops.

It was an eerie task, and parents joined the group in
subdued tones to hug their sons after the battle. Once the army was revived,
Mrs. Fry appeared and suggested that Cathryn show the guests around while the
main room was prepared for the meal. “Yorkshire pudding and sausage, Lord
Ahlquist. Mrs. Aubrey says it’s your favorite.”

“Indeed it is.” Or was. It had been a decade since he’d
eaten such common food.

Following Cathryn down long whitewashed hallways, past busy
kitchens and dark private dormitories, he soon found himself in her small
classroom. His nerves sounded the alarm when he realized he stood where Hedges
had nearly raped her. His arm tightened around her. “Would you give us a moment
alone, please?” he said to Violet and Rune.

“Of course.”

As the door closed behind them, he took Cathryn’s face in
his hands and kissed her lightly. “I want to make this place right for you,
love, but I don’t know how.”

“You’ve done very well,” she whispered.

“And you are everything I could want in a woman.” He kissed
her again and forgot where he was. Even the terrors of the past week faded.
Only Cathryn and her sweet lemon-scented hair existed. He nuzzled her neck as
he whispered, “I’m falling in love with you, Cathryn.”

She stiffened in his arms for a moment, and then she went
nearly limp as she whispered back, “I’m falling in love with you, too.”

His spirit soared, and he hugged her tightly before
releasing her. “I’m very glad to hear that.”

She clung to his arm. “And I believe you just vanquished the
demon in this room.”

* * * * *

Cathryn was floating on a balmy river of good feelings as
they left the city. Julian’s love cocooned her and she felt nothing could ever
harm her again. Her triumphs in the London press, the goodwill of the queue of
women, Violet and Rune’s friendship, and the outpouring of gratitude from the
poorhouse residents added to her optimistic outlook. Everything was going to be
fine. No judge in the country would force her to marry Hedges, and she would
become Julian’s bride.