Louise M. Gouge (11 page)

Mr. Hodgson chuckled. “We are blessed to add you to our congregation.”

“I thank you, sir,” the baron said. “And I thank you for a very fine message. If all Christians would obey the Lord’s admonitions regarding revenge, what a better place this world would be.” He turned to two well-dressed ladies behind him. “Mother, may I present Mr. Hodgson. Vicar, my mother and my sister.”

The vicar bowed to them. “Lady Winston. Miss Beaumont.”

While they exchanged pleasantries, Catherine studied the baron’s family. Of medium height and elegant carriage, the baroness did not look old enough to have a son in Parliament. Her unlined face was framed by blond curls pushed forward by a black satin bonnet. Miss Beaumont, dressed in yellow and her eyes wide with liveliness, caused a stirring of jealousy, not for her beauty but for her innocence. Six months ago, Catherine had enjoyed that same cheerful disposition before her world was shattered by this girl’s brother. Their presence complicated her plans, for her revenge would harm them as well as the baron.

Trembling inside, she struggled to appear calm as she moved toward the Blakemores, who had descended the several steps of the church. Perhaps as surprised as she at the baron’s appearance, the earl and countess stood watching the scene with interest.

At last Lord Winston donned his hat, and he and his family stepped out from under the portico into the sunshine. Catching sight of her, he smiled. “Miss Hart.” He glanced beyond her and bowed. “Lady Blakemore. Blakemore.”

“Good to see you here, my boy.” The earl shook Lord Winston’s hand as if they had not seen each other in a month.

Introductions were made all around. Lord Blakemore offered his condolences on the baroness’s loss and stated that the late Lord Winston had been a fine gentleman. The countess and baroness announced their long-ago acquaintance, which they were eager to renew.

“You must come visit me,” Lady Winston said to the countess. Her eyes darted to her son. “That is, with your permission, Winston.”

He drew back a little at her question and frowned. “But of course, Mother. Lady Blakemore is always welcome in my...our home.” He gave Catherine a slight bow, and his gaze softened. “And Miss Hart, as well.”

“Oh, Miss Hart.” Miss Beaumont practically skipped to Catherine’s side. “Did you make your debut this year? You must tell me all about it. Winston has not yet told me whether he will sponsor my debut, but if he does, we shall need all the advice we can gather. Mother has not been to London since before I was born, so she has no idea what the latest customs are. You will help us, will you not?”

For the first time in her life, Catherine experienced utter mortification. Although she was fully worthy of having a debut among the
haute ton,
she had never aspired to such a spectacle. Had never wanted Papa and Mama to announce to the world that they were offering her up like some show horse to be auctioned off to the wealthiest titled bidder. And now, with Lord Winston and the Blakemores staring at Miss Beaumont askance, with pretty, uninformed Lady Winston gazing at her daughter with a delighted smile, Catherine could find no words with which to explain that she was a mere companion. But worse than her own embarrassment, this sweet young girl would be devastated by her faux pas in front of the earl and countess.

Chapter Eleven

W
inston’s heart ached for dear Sophia, but he could find no words to repair the damage her error had caused. Even he knew that one did not call attention to a companion, or any employee, or suggest that she should be elevated to aristocratic privileges. The poor child’s face fell, and she stared around the circle, eyes wide with fright, as if searching for someone to explain her faux pas.

“I—I...” Miss Hart, bless her, gave Sophia an uncertain smile, elevating the lady considerably in Winston’s regard. She clearly wished to console his sister, but seemed to have the same trouble as he did in not knowing what to say.

Lady Blakemore’s laughter rang out, perhaps a trifle too loudly for the front of a church where other parishioners milled about. “Why, my dear girl, not every young miss is as lively and outgoing as you are.” She reached out to pat Sophia’s cheek, prompting from the girl a small, hopeful smile and forestalling the tears on the brink of falling. “Our Miss Hart is quite shy, you see, and she could not be persuaded even to attend a ball with us until last week, so one doubts she could ever endure the rigors of a debut.”

Miss Hart nodded soberly, and Winston wanted to thank her profusely for her sweet humility. And he would forever be grateful for the countess’s generosity. In this small company, it would have been her duty to correct Sophia. He had seen more than one older lady deliver a cruel set down to some green young girl and crush her spirits.

“Oh. I see.” Sophia was now all kindness and benevolence. She clasped both of Miss Hart’s hands. “Why, as pretty as you are, Miss Hart, I am sure you would be all the rage.” Her brightest smile now returned. “I have never been afflicted with shyness, but—” She blinked and once again searched the group to see if she had made another blunder. “I mean to say...”

Annoyed with his own social ineptitude, Winston could no longer remain silent. “No, dearest, no one would ever accuse you of being shy.” To his delight, she rolled her eyes, while everyone else chuckled in a kindly way. “But we love you all the more for your—what did Lady Blakemore say? Your liveliness.”

“And with that all settled,” Blakemore said, “I propose that you all join my wife and me for a midday repast. You and your family are free, are you not, Winston?”

Nothing could have pleased him more, but he would not gush out his feelings like dear little Sophia. Instead, he gave Mother a slight bow. “Your decision, madam.”

She beamed her delight. “Of course we are free, sir.”

With all the enthusiasm of a party of picnickers, they scrambled into their carriages, and orders were given to the drivers. While they rolled through the streets of Mayfair toward the mansion, Winston considered Lady Blakemore’s warm welcome to Mother when they were renewing their acquaintance. As generous as the countess was, he doubted even she would be so kind to a lady whose character bore some stain, even from years ago. On the other hand, Edgar had sent an urgent message early this morning advising Winston not to permit Mother to renew her acquaintance with Lord Morgan or even to socialize in the same circles with the known rake. He had not explained any further. Whom could Winston believe?

Since meeting Miss Hart last week, he had been concerned about her family’s standing in Society. Now he was beginning to worry about how his own measured up.

* * *

Seated in the carriage across from Lord and Lady Blakemore, Catherine wished it were proper to give her employer a daughterly embrace, but words would have to do. “My lady, how kind of you to rescue Miss Beaumont from embarrassment.” And Catherine, as well. But she doubted a companion should expect such a defense. “Nothing else anyone might have said could have so graciously smoothed over the situation.”

“Tut-tut, Miss Hart.” The countess waved her hand dismissively. “One never wishes to see anyone embarrassed, especially young ladies new to London.”

“Of course, she will have to be told the truth about my position.” Catherine’s face warmed as she spoke, and she pulled up her fan to cool herself. It would not be her responsibility to inform Miss Beaumont. “Should she misspeak to the wrong person, she will be mortified beyond repair. I mean to say, she should know that I am your companion, not your protégée.”

“Tut-tut,” the countess repeated. “I cannot imagine why. I do not recall announcing to anyone that you are my employee. Let them think what they will. We do not owe anyone an explanation.” She turned to Lord Blakemore. “I do believe Mr. Hodgson’s sermon may be listed among his best, do you not agree, my dear?”

“Indeed, my dear.”

The couple fell into a discussion of the particulars of the vicar’s message, effectively dismissing the subject of Catherine’s place. As disarming as their acceptance of her was, she could not grow careless and presume upon their kindness. Nor did she have any idea of how to behave from now on.

As grateful as she was to the countess, she could not be pleased with Lord Blakemore’s invitation to Lord Winston and his family. Now she would be in their company for hours, and with each passing minute, she could imagine herself loving Lady Winston and Miss Beaumont more and more, even as she loved her own mother and sister. How could she befriend them and then grieve them by destroying Winston?

Yet why should her own family suffer while they all blissfully celebrated debuts and balls and countless “at homes,” the latter of which did nothing more than spread gossip couched in the innocuous French phrase
on-dits?
Well, there would be plenty of gossip once she exposed the baron’s lies about Papa.

Perhaps she should wait until the end of the Season, after his family returned to their country estate. After all, she had yet to secure his affection, and that was essential to her plans. If only she could speak to Mr. Radcliff, she would ask him if she should be friendlier to the baron now rather than remaining aloof the better part of their time together. But that gentleman apparently attended a different church, for she had never observed him worshipping at St. George’s. Even if he did, she would not have been able to secure an audience alone with him without drawing attention.

With her back to the driver, she could see Lord Winston’s carriage following behind, and when they made a turn into the half-circle drive to the mansion, Lady Winston and Miss Beaumont became visible to her. Catherine waved, and they returned the same.

Just as when Catherine had ridden in his landau, the baron had given the place of honor to his mother and sister so they could have a better view of the oncoming scenery. Too bad he had not shown the same measure of kindness toward Papa, a gentleman whose social standing exceeded his own.

The carriages rolled up under the white-columned portico at the front of the mansion, and the entire party alighted. At the front door, Catherine paused to watch Lord Winston hand his mother and sister down. He must have felt her eyes upon him, for he turned toward her and smiled in his winsome way. Her traitorous lips returned the smile, and her traitorous heart skipped a beat. How would she ever be able to maintain her aloofness over the next few hours when her own emotions betrayed her just as surely as Lord Winston had betrayed Papa?

* * *

“Why, James, your hand is shaking.” Sophia followed his gaze toward Miss Hart. “Have Mama and I arrived in London too late to make a match for you?”

“My hand is not shaking. What you feel is my new landau bouncing upon its excellent springs.” Winston made certain his sister’s feet were firmly on the ground before he tweaked her nose. “And I have not made a match, imp. A smile is not a proposal.” He had forgotten how she often could read his thoughts. Somehow he must redirect her thinking. “And it is Winston to you, miss. How will you ever succeed in London Society when you call people by the wrong name? Everyone knows that the moment a gentleman attains his title, his former mode of address is no longer used, not even by family.” At least, Father had always required everyone, even Mother, to use his title rather than his Christian name.

“Oh, dear.” Her eyes widened, and her teasing grin disappeared. “You must help me, James...Winston, or I shall bungle everything.”

“I shall do what I can.” He gave her a grave look, and she wilted a little more. Yet after all of his own social missteps, he could only attempt to advise her. “The first lesson is that you must not be so impetuous. In our home village, everyone loves you for your merry and agreeable disposition. But in London, young ladies new to Society are expected to be more reserved. You must think before you speak.”

“Oh, I shall, Ja—Winston. I shall.” Her sober nod and threatening tears deeply moved him.

When they were children, he had always given her a reassuring embrace to soothe away her tears. Now, with the others watching, he could give her only an encouraging smile. “Everyone will love you here, too, Sophia. At least, anyone worth knowing.” He was not certain that was true, but he could not continue to torment her with doubts. Offering his arm, he led her toward the large front door of Blakemore House and was gratified to see Miss Hart watching him, approval written across her lovely countenance.

* * *

As Catherine watched Lord Winston’s gentle manners toward his sister, she could not ignore the warmth flooding her heart. Try though she might to dismiss her feelings, she
was
developing a
tendre
for him. Mr. Radcliff would say she was forgetting her purpose for being here, that she was being disloyal to Papa. Yet how could she not admire such a kind gentleman? He treated Miss Beaumont with the same brotherly affection that Lucien showed toward Catherine and Isabella. As dangerous as it might be to her own heart, she would be friendly to him today and endeavor to secure his deepest regard. Perhaps Miss Beaumont would be her ally in the scheme.

Well into their luncheon of cold meats, cheeses and a variety of fruits, Lord Blakemore sat back in his chair at the head of the table and gave Lord Winston a sober look. “Well, my boy, has Miss Hart succeeded in teaching you the value of wholesome laughter?”

Seated between the two gentlemen, Catherine eyed the baron and smirked.

He returned a wide grin. “She did, sir, with the help of a small boy. Miss Hart, would you care to relate the story?”

“Oh, no. I fear I would not be able to speak for laughing.”

He reported the entire episode in the park with all the proper pauses and inflections of a seasoned storyteller. Everyone at the table laughed until their eyes watered.

“Why, James,” Lady Winston said, “I had no idea you had such a fine wit.”

James?
So, that was his Christian name. Glad to have that bit of information for further use, Catherine noticed Miss Beaumont’s widened eyes.

“But, Mama, you must not call him James. He has informed me that everyone must call him Winston now.”

“What utter nonsense.” Lady Winston gave her son a mischievous grin over her teacup. “I shall address you as I always have.”

Still chuckling from the story, Lord Blakemore laughed aloud again. “I wish you good luck in getting your mother to change her habits, my boy. Mine called me Gerald until the day she died, God bless her. When she spoke of Blakemore, it was always in reference to my father, even after I had sat in Parliament for nearly twenty-five years.”

Lord Winston’s face reddened slightly, but he did not lose his smile. Instead, he leaned forward and stared at his sister across the table. “Very well, then, imp. Since Mother will not support me in this, you may also call me James.” He glanced at Catherine, and her heart jumped into her throat. Never had he looked so charming or so kind. “I shall grant the privilege only to very special friends.”

She could only assume that he meant this as an invitation to her, but she clamped down on her eagerness to accept
and
the giddy feelings filling her chest. “La, what will happen next? Shall we all now have leave to address every duke and lord and lady by their given names? Why, the entire English aristocracy, even England herself, will crumble away under the weight of such laxity.”

While the others renewed their laughter, Lord Winston shrugged off her rebuff with good humor. “Ah, well, we must not have that.”

“Now that England is safely secured,” Lord Blakemore said, “how shall we entertain ourselves this afternoon? A carriage ride in Hyde Park? Perhaps we shall encounter little Lord Westerly, and he can give us more French lessons.”

“Oh, no, my dear,” Lady Blakemore said. “Every tradesman on his day off will be there trying to sell us something. How they do take advantage of Society when we all should be relaxing on the Lord’s day.”

Disappointment clouded the faces of Lady Winston and Miss Beaumont. The mother quickly regained her composure
and
her smile, but the daughter came near to pouting. Catherine could easily see Isabella reacting in the same manner. These ladies seemed particularly eager to be out in Society, yet if anyone else noticed their plight, no one mentioned it.

“Ah, yes, my dear,” the earl said. “I had forgotten how annoying the tradesmen can be on Sundays.” He eyed Miss Beaumont. “Young lady, what would you advise for our afternoon entertainment?”

Her pout vanished instantly under his scrutiny. “Oh, there are so many things I should like to do. Perhaps someone could teach me how to play charades. Father never permitted us— Oh!” Staring at her mother, she clamped a hand over her lips and blanched.

“Never mind, child.” Lord Blakemore’s gaze became paternal, as it often did when he spoke to Catherine. His kindness reinforced her opinion that he would never do anything improper, despite Mr. Radcliff’s concerns. “As I have told your brother, the late Lord Winston was a gentleman of the highest honor but sadly lacking in humor. If your mother agrees, I believe an afternoon of charades would be just the thing.”

Against her will, Catherine traded a look with Lord Winston and was delighted to find that his eyes twinkled with the same eagerness she felt for the game.

* * *

Winston had never enjoyed himself quite so much as he did in this company. Lady Blakemore’s inclusion of Mother went far in lessening his concerns about her character. Somehow he would find a way to discover why Father had forbidden her to return to London all those years ago. But that could wait. Today was filled with too many pleasant surprises, and he would not permit any clouds to darken his enjoyment of another afternoon in Miss Hart’s company.