His Lordship's Chaperone (8 page)

“How old? Do you mean her age?”

“Yes, dear, her age.” The Duchess gazed at him with
great concern. Perhaps placing Catherine under foot was not close enough for
him to take notice.

Robert rubbed his chin. One would think he was
puzzling strategy for the war instead of stating his opinion. “I haven’t given
it a thought, really.”

“Humor this old woman and do so now.”

“Mother, I really don’t know,” Robert replied with
equal impatience. “I never thought to inquire.”

“Inquire? How impertinent! You do not ask a lady
her age. Have you no sense at all?”

Although weak, he attempted a reply.

Again the Duchess cut him off. “To notice would
mean you would have to see her, look at her.” She could have well imagined he
had spent all that time in Catherine’s company and not taken any notice of her.

“Certainly I’ve looked at her, Mother.”

“Really …” She bobbed her head, waiting for him to
elaborate. He didn’t and she asked, “What color is her hair would you say?”

“Her hair? Well … let me see …” If he did not
answer these questions correctly, Haverton knew serious trouble loomed ahead.
“Let me see …” He tried to think of something to say. “It’s not dark, but it’s
not light, either.”

“Not dark, but not light. What color do you suppose
that is, dear?”

“That would make it somewhere in between.” His
reply sounded weak, even to him.

“How clever of you.” She raised her hands to the
sky. “I’ve raised a blessed genius.”

He’d botched that one. Her immediate praise
obviously meant he had been completely off.

“Since she has this in-between hair color how would
you decide her age?”

Mother was going back there, was she? “Well, if I
were to hazard a guess.”

“Yes?”

“I would have to say that she’s not exactly old.”
What was he going to say? What would appease his mother? If he knew, he’d say
almost anything to make her happy. “Nor would I venture to say she was exactly
young.”

“Not old and not young,” the Duchess repeated
unamused. “At least you’re consistent in your obscure description of your
chaperone. One hopes she doesn’t get lost because you could never pick her out
of a crowd.”

“Why on earth would Mrs. Hayes get lost? I assure
you I intend to provide transportation—”

The Duchess’ blistering glare stopped him in
midsentence.

Haverton would not be intimidated, not even by his
own mother. “I must object at your treatment, Mother. Mrs. Hayes—”

“Her name is Miss Hayward!”

“—is little better than a servant. I do not know
how old she is, nor do I care, really.” He flopped into a chair and sat with
both his arms and legs crossed.

“Perhaps you should.”

There were certain times such as this when he felt
as if he were still ten years old and had never grown up. He stood when his
mother rose to greet Mrs. Hayes. The chaperone curtsied and, if Haverton wasn’t
mistaken, moved not so much toward his mother but more away from him.

“And how are you this morning, Miss Hayward?” The
Duchess gave a respectful, wide smile, the impressive one she reserved for
those of her rank and above.

“I find that I am more fatigued than usual, Your
Grace.”

“London parties will do that to you. Are you ready
to leave?”

“Yes,
Your
Grace.”

“Let us be on our way then, shall we? You will
excuse us, won’t you, Robert?” Her Grace gestured Catherine out of the room,
and turned back to her son. “Do give serious thought about what we’ve been
discussing, dear.”

Sinking into his chair, Robert answered with a
groan.

It had been a good ten minutes since the Waverly
carriage pulled away from Moreland Manor. The Duchess shifted in her seat and
smiled at Catherine, with her usual warmth. “Why is it you allow my son to call
you Mrs. Hayes?”

“I’m afraid that correcting him is an endless task.”

“He is so stubborn.” By Her Grace’s expression,
Catherine guessed it was a difficulty she had to deal with over the years. “He
gets these things into his head.” She tapped her own with two fingers. “Where
he gets that from, I cannot imagine.”

“I don’t mind, really. Mrs. Hayes sounds more
respectable, don’t you think? Especially for a chaperone.”

The Duchess smiled. “I am glad you are not bothered
by his disregard of your proper name.” She glanced away for a moment, and
whispered, “Perhaps it will all work out better in the end …”

“Excuse me?” Catherine hadn’t quite caught
everything Her Grace had said.

“It’s nothing. Tell me how you enjoyed your evening.”

In her embarrassment, Catherine studied the twisted
strings of her reticule.

“Come now, do not be shy. Remember, you must answer
me honestly. There are no set rules for your position therefore we must always
be truthful with one another.”

Her Grace had the right of it. There was no one in
all of England who chaperoned a man. As little as he cared to guide and discuss
what should be proper conduct, he had not. Catherine was given simple
instructions. She actually welcomed the Duchess’ intervention in this matter.

“You’ll think me quite foolish, Your Grace, but I
have never seen such splendor in all my life.”

Her Grace lifted her chin, and regarded Catherine
through her lowered eyelids. “Was I mistaken about Haverton and the ladies?”

How was Catherine to tell the Duchess? Her son had
attracted every female within eyesight—theirs not his. “I’m afraid that you may
have underestimated his difficulties.”

“Is that so? How interesting. Do go on.”

“You see, I followed Lord Haverton to the garden. I
thought he might have wanted to be alone but he hadn’t asked me to remain
behind. It was a bit awkward at first. I felt as if I were intruding on his
privacy. It wasn’t until a short while later that I understood why he had
insisted I keep him in sight at all times.”

“What happened?”

“At first, his lordship was alone. Then a young
lady appeared, seemingly from nowhere. Thinking back on it, I suppose she must
have been hiding there, waiting for him all along.”

“Really?” The Duchess straightened in her seat.

“As it turns out the young lady was unchaperoned.”

“Yes, I see.” The Duchess hadn’t envisioned that
her son was actually prey. If she had heard this tale from a man she might not
have believed it. “Please continue.”

“The young lady behaved very … well, her behavior
was most … lacking what I would consider a proper lady’s behavior.” Catherine
glanced from the Duchess back to her folded hands. “It was very awkward when I
had to intervene. Lord Haverton praised my actions and assured me I behaved
within complete accordance of my duties.”

“And what was the reaction of the guests when they
discovered you were Haverton’s chaperone?”

“They thought it humorous at first. All of them
laughed but then there were several gentlemen who exclaimed that it was a
brilliant idea.”

“Did they?” The Duchess touched a finger to her
cheek in a very thoughtful manner. “Once we arrive at Madame Suchet’s we shall
hear the latest on
dit
. Let’s not let on that you are
Robert’s chaperone. We’ll keep our ears open and our lips sealed.” Her Grace
glanced out the window and patted Catherine on the arm. “Ah, here we are now.”

Once inside, the Duchess made the introductions.
She referred to Catherine as Miss Hayward and no more. No mention of her past,
no mention of her connection to the Duchess and no mention of her current position.

Madame Suchet’s maid brought tea. Catherine poured
while the Duchess had private words with the seamstress.

“The other dresses can wait. The evening gowns
cannot,” Her Grace decreed, heading toward Catherine.

“She may choose from the collection of ready-made
gowns,” Madame Suchet replied. “There are several very fine gowns that, with
some small alterations, can be ready in a day or two.”

“She must have one by tomorrow evening. There can
be no misunderstanding about that,” the Duchess stated firmly.

“But of course. As you wish.” Madame Suchet pulled
out her tape and gestured for Catherine to stand on the box. The modiste
hovered around Catherine, taking measurements and marking in a notepad.

In the momentary silence, the conversation from the
next room drifted in.

“The Marquess of Haverton has hired a chaperone for
himself!” a voice boomed from the room next door.

The Duchess sat positively motionless, holding her
tea cup suspended in midair.

“It was astounding. I would not have believed it
had I not seen it for myself,” a second voice commented.

A red-faced Madame Suchet dashed to the door and
latched it, much too late. “
Pardonez-moi
, I do not
wish to cause you any embarrassment.”

Catherine and the Duchess exchanged glances. At
that moment, she had a peculiar feeling Her Grace was more concerned with what
harm the gossip would do to Catherine than to her son.

“What’s that they’re saying about Lord Haverton?”
the Duchess asked the modiste.

Madame Suchet’s wide smile broke into a hardy
laugh. “I am sorry,
Your
Grace.” She covered her mouth
to staunch her outburst and took a moment before continuing. “It is the tale
fantastique
.”

“Really?” Her Grace leaned forward with interest.
“Oh, dear, and last night I had the bad fortune to attend a different affair. It
seems I have missed all the excitement. Would you be so kind as to enlighten me?”

“It has been this way all morning. The patrons can
talk of nothing else when they come in.” Madame Suchet hesitated but after a
few moments continued. “I believe half the Town’s hopes are crushed. They say
your son has hired a chaperone for himself.”

“Really? That silly boy.” The Duchess gasped as if
this was the first she had heard of the amazing news. “What an astonishing
story.”

“It cannot be true.
C’est
impossible!”

“I cannot say what convention Haverton has chosen
to dispense with this time. He is his own man, after all.”

If Catherine had not known of her involvement
herself, the Duchess’ innocence would have sounded completely believable.

“And he paraded his chaperone in front of his
gentlemen friends as he would a race horse,” Madame Suchet announced.

Catherine gasped and met Her Grace’s concerned
gaze. It’s not what happened at all but how was she to tell the Duchess that?

“I have also heard, from a reliable source, that he
has challenged all the ladies of England to try and ensnare him.”

“That would be very foolish,” the Duchess
commented, feigning unconcern. “It certainly does not sound like my son.”

“I have it on the best authority that he has taken
his most daring flirting to the dance floor.” Madame Suchet straightened and
stared wide-eyed at Catherine. “Can you imagine? For all to see!”

And Catherine thought he was taking a break from
picking up fans.

Madame Suchet finished her measurements and brought
out the collection of ready-made gowns she had spoken of earlier. All the gowns
were exquisite, spanning the colors of the rainbow. One was dark rose, the next
a pale yellow, then a mild green, followed by a dark blue and finally a soft
lavender. The Duchess pointed out those which she felt were appropriate,
leaving the ultimate choice up to Catherine. She had a very hard time making up
her mind until Her Grace announced that they would take them all.

“Have the green one ready for tomorrow night,” she
requested in a tone of authority.

Another hour was spent choosing styles from fashion
plates and the next selecting appropriate fabrics for each style.

“I shall make sure the green gown is sent to
Waverly Hall tomorrow afternoon.”

“Excellent,” the Duchess remarked.

In the privacy of the coach, Catherine finally
asked, “I do not wish to be rude,
Your
Grace, but why
did you have my gowns sent to your home?”

“Can you imagine the scandal that would have
followed if Madame Suchet learned that you resided at Moreland Manor?”

“I’m afraid I had not.” Catherine caught her lower
lip between her teeth.

“The women of the Town are not known for their
flattering praise. I think it might be best if we let your position remain a
mystery for the time being, do you not agree?”

“I think that might be the thing to do.” Catherine
blinked. “I cannot believe everyone would be talking of such trivial matters.”

“Trivial? You have no idea.” The Duchess did not
know how she could explain further and simply sighed. “My child, you do not
understand the workings of the ton.”