Louise M. Gouge (13 page)

Chapter Thirteen

C
atherine had not expected Lord Winston to come calling every day, but when he did not visit early in the week, or even on Wednesday when Parliament did not assemble, she began to doubt his interest. Nor had she been able to speak with Mr. Radcliff, for Lord Blakemore kept his secretary very busy these days. How could her plans go forward if the gentleman in question had not fallen in love with her after all?

On Thursday, Lady Blakemore summoned Catherine. “Fetch your bonnet, my dear. We shall visit Lady Winston.”

“Yes, my lady.” Catherine’s heart lilted as she hastened to obey.

Perhaps the baron would be at home, as well. Even if he was not, his mother and sister would surely report that she had been there. That should garner some attention from him. Catherine’s only concern about the visit was for the dowager baroness and her daughter. She could not deliberately cause either of them pain, any more than she could hurt her own loved ones.

The carriage rolled up in front of Lord Winston’s Grosvenor Square town house, and Catherine’s pulse began to race. She could only attribute it to her longing, no, her
interest,
in seeing the baron.

These past nights as she had struggled to find sleep, she could see his winsome smile, his gray-green eyes bright with interest in
her,
his anxious attempts to learn how to laugh. Her heart warmed as she recalled the delightful way he teased his sister, just as she teased back and forth with Lucien and Isabella. And she admired his nose, of all things, narrow at the bridge, and in profile an attractive triangular shape that seemed to point him toward a promising future.

But sleep would not come until she reminded herself that his ambitions for his own career had destroyed the prospects of her brother and sister. When a gentleman like Papa was ruined, his entire family suffered ruin with him. With Napoleon defeated, Papa might have gone to Paris with King Louis to become a part of the new French government. Or if he preferred to stay in England with Mama’s people, he could continue his good work in managing her Norfolk estate, where everyone who lived nearby loved him. Lord Winston had also destroyed all of those possibilities.

While the brownish-gray brick exterior of the baron’s town house looked much the same as the others in Grosvenor Square, its austere interior lacked the interesting furnishings that would make it homier or a place where one would wish to entertain. But then, Catherine supposed he was far too busy ruining other people’s lives to attend to such matters.

“Lady Blakemore, Miss Hart, I do hope you will forgive my son’s inattention to his home.” Lady Winston seemed to be reading Catherine’s mind after she joined them in the large drawing room. “The late Lord Winston did not care for what he called ‘fripperies’ when it came to furnishing this house. And of course, it has not been lived in for six years. James has been here only since January, so he has not had time to make improvements, only repairs.” She laughed in her musical way. “And of course, the poor dear would have no idea how to decorate.”

“Gracious, no, Mama.” Miss Beaumont flounced into a brown leather chair beside its mate, where Catherine sat. “He would doubtless turn it into a somber replica of the House of Lords. Or a stable.”

Catherine laughed with the others, but she also felt a surprising twinge of sympathy for the baron. She had been employed by the Blakemores long enough to know that entertaining the right people was an important part of any gentleman’s political career. Lord Winston needed a wife to take charge of this house and make it more presentable. If it were hers to decorate, she would know exactly what to do. She would begin right here in this plainly furnished drawing room, re-covering these sturdy chairs in a floral brocade and exchanging those dark brown velvet drapes over the tall front windows with something bright and airy.

What was she thinking? This would never be her home. Furthermore, she scolded herself, Lady Winston could no doubt manage quite nicely when it came to making improvements for her son.

As all the usual niceties were spoken among them, Catherine noticed the formal way in which the baroness spoke of her late husband. Nor did any sadness dim her bright blue eyes as she mentioned him. One would almost think she was speaking of some ancient English lord or king rather than the father of her children. How different from the warmth Catherine had noticed between her parents and between Lord and Lady Blakemore.

Lady Winston had put off the black mourning gown she wore on Sunday in favor of a gray silk dress with black piping around the long sleeves and high neckline. Even in gray, her complexion glowed with a warmer, healthier tone, and Catherine imagined she would look quite lovely in brighter colors.

The butler brought an unadorned black china tea set, and the baroness supervised while Miss Beaumont served, making sure each of their guests had a beverage to her liking.

“I have not yet decided whether Sophia should make her debut this Season.” Lady Winston addressed Lady Blakemore, but she also included Catherine with a glance. “What would you advise?”

Catherine had hoped the topic would not come up, for she still felt uncertain about her own place in Lady Blakemore’s regard. But after their shared merriment with these ladies last Sunday afternoon, how could she claim that shyness prevented her from being launched into Society? She should have thought of that when she so heartily took part in the games and teasing. How difficult it was to remember all the lies and misinformation and how they might affect upcoming situations.

For once, Miss Beaumont did not interject her own thoughts in answer to her mother’s question. Instead, she sat forward in her chair and looked anxiously between Catherine and Lady Blakemore as if her entire success in Society depended upon their responses. That desperation suggested to Catherine that the girl was too young, but she would never say so.

“My dear,” the countess said to the young lady, “Her Majesty will not have another Drawing Room this Season, and it is important for young ladies to be presented to her before they make their debuts. Otherwise, no one of importance will consider them officially
out.
”

A pout formed on Miss Beaumont’s plump lips, but she quickly and admirably forced a smile. “Yes, of course. I have often thought what an honor it will be to meet the queen when my turn comes.”

Lady Winston’s eyes misted, and she gazed off across the room. “Indeed, it is an honor. When I was presented at court twenty-five years ago, His Majesty had not yet become ill, so he attended the ceremony, as well.” Her voice broke slightly on her last words.

“Ah, yes.” Lady Blakemore seemed caught up in the same sort of wistful memory, for she too grew pensive.

Catherine could not speak for the lump in her throat. When King George had been in his right mind, he had been a fine monarch and more than welcoming to émigrés like Papa during the French Reign of Terror. Now that his son, the Prince Regent, ruled in his place, it seemed to give wicked men like Lord Winston license to do as they pleased.

“What is this?” The baron appeared at the door and strode across the room. “Four ladies in my drawing room, and not a sound of chattering to be heard.” His gaze landed upon Catherine and intensified, as if he had found a lost treasure.

While the other ladies laughed at his comment, her heart seemed to jump into her throat. She struggled to subdue her giddy emotions, for she must not forget that this man was her enemy. Forcing other thoughts to the forefront of her mind, she was pleased with his timely entrance. Now she need not worry that the subject of debuts would be renewed. And from the way he looked at her, she could see that her other worries had been ill-founded. The baron was smitten, and she would find a way to use his regard to her advantage.

Even as she thought it, a sad chord reverberated within her. How she wished she could be free to return that regard. How she wished that he actually
was
the good man that he seemed to be instead of a wicked, scheming liar.

* * *

The instant he saw Miss Hart, Winston’s pulse began to race. At first, she appeared pleased to see him as well, but then she frowned and looked away. If she did care for him, no doubt she had been taught to hide her feelings until he declared himself. Despite his growing feelings for her, he was certainly not prepared to do that, not after knowing her for just over a week. Still, not seeing her for these past few days had been difficult while he worked on his secret projects, which he hoped would delight her. Now that they were completed, he had left the Lords’ Chamber early today planning to put on a fresh suit and visit her at Blakemore House. But here she was in his own drawing room. What a pleasant surprise—no, an absolute delight—to find her here.

He bowed over Lady Blakemore’s hand first, then her fair companion’s.

“How is your wound, Miss Hart?” He would not neglect to inquire about it until it was entirely healed.

“I thank you, sir, it is well. I am able to wield this spoon without difficulty.” She retrieved her hand from his grasp and lifted the implement from her teacup, giving him her most charming smirk. “And my pen.”

“Ah, very good. I look forward to another of your delightful poems.” He hoped his tone held exactly the right degree of gentle sarcasm. If the young lady’s laughter was any indication, he had succeeded. Greeting Mother and Sophia, he then chose a chair beside Miss Hart. “I see that all of you have had your tea.”

“Another cup, Llewellyn.” Mother signaled the butler with a wave.

These past few days, Winston had noticed how readily the old man took orders from her, far more quickly than he did for Winston. After Father’s death, Llewellyn had been a rock for them all in managing many important details. Winston had hoped he would prove helpful in restoring this town house. But the butler seemed to passively begrudge him his service. Since Mother’s arrival, his attitude had improved, but only for her. The situation confounded Winston.

“My darling James.” Mother interrupted his thoughts. “What has brought you home so early in the day? Should you not be in the Lords’ Chamber reviewing some important law that Commons wants to pass?”

All of the ladies focused their attention on him, and he tugged at his suddenly tight cravat. Just as her question suggested, he had deserted his post. Father had never missed a single hour of a single session during his long tenure as Lord Winston—that is, until his final illness. The urge to acquit himself proved too strong, for he would not wish for Miss Hart to find him negligent in his duties.

“You have found me out, madam. I stole away in the midst of yet another round of arguments against Wilberforce’s proposed law to protect younger climbing boys. When the vote comes up, I am for it, of course, but I do not believe we have much hope for its passing.”

“Such a shame,” Lady Blakemore said. “At Blakemore House, I absolutely refuse to let the smaller boys climb into those narrow spaces, no matter how much the chimney requires cleaning. That is what those circular brooms are for.”

Winston had not meant to start a discussion on the topic, but the countess and Mother began to bemoan the general ill-treatment of small children of the lower classes, with each giving examples of some tragedy or another. While they chattered away, Winston focused on the young lady who sat primly by his side.

“Miss Hart,” he said softly, “I have two surprises for you, and I hoped we might take a carriage ride this afternoon so that I can reveal them.”

“Surprises?” She tilted her head in her charming way. “What—”

“Oh, yes, do take us out, James.” Sophia clapped her hands and bounced in her chair. “I have been wondering if you intended to make Mama and me prisoners in this gloomy house. Oh!” She slapped a hand over her lips. “I mean, oh, it is a very nice house, but—”

The other ladies appeared to struggle against laughing, and Winston could only be grateful for their generosity. Once again, Lady Blakemore declined to give his impulsive sister a set down.

“I have no idea what you mean, imp.” He could not resist teasing her. “Why would anyone call this house gloomy when you are here?”

His sister rewarded him with a giggle.

“A carriage ride will be lovely.” Miss Hart gave him a beguiling smile. “As will surprises,” she whispered.

“Shall we all go?” Mother spoke lightly, but her eyes implored him with the same fervor as Sophia’s.

At once he knew his fault. He had neglected the poor dears in favor of his secret projects, and now he must make amends. “If Lady Blakemore is willing, I should be honored to escort all of you to Green Park, where we can partake of the refreshment sold by the famous milkmaids.”

“I would be delighted.” With the countess’s approval, the expedition was launched.

While Winston quickly changed clothes and ordered his new landau brought around from the mews, the ladies saw to their bonnets, spencers, parasols and gloves. They filed out through the front door and were met by a brilliant sun that seemed to add its approval of their plans. As he had arranged, Winston signaled the footman not to open the carriage door.

“Why, Lord Winston.” Miss Hart hurried to the landau and reached out to touch the new decoration. “You have added your family crest. How beautiful. This
is
a lovely surprise.” She traced the red griffin and green laurel wreath resting on the shiny black shield.
“‘Confortare, Integritatem et Victoria.’”
She read his family motto emblazoned in gold across the top. “
Courage, integrity and victory.”

Her sidelong glance and approving smile caused a minor disturbance in the vicinity of his heart. He quickly cleared his throat.

“I would not have thought of it without your suggestion.” The crest would do for now, but he would wait until they were alone to give her his other surprise.

“Exactly like the crests on the old Winston carriages,” Mother said, while Sophia proclaimed the work exquisite.

“Winston, it is no small thing to proudly display such an historic emblem,” Lady Blakemore said. “Your crest goes far back in English history, and no taint has ever been attached to your family’s name.”