Louise M. Gouge (16 page)

Winston’s hair, curls and all, seemed to stand straight on end. He lifted a silent prayer of thanks for this opening and prayed for guidance. “That seems dreadfully harsh, dearest.” He spoke lightly and sat back in his chair to feign mild curiosity. “Whatever could you have said to warrant such treatment?”

But his insides twisted with fear over what her answer might be.

Chapter Sixteen

M
other struggled to control her tears. Once composed, she said, “When we married, I knew he was a severe man, but he seemed to enjoy my merry ways. But in time, I could see I made him uncomfortable. He would not attend parties and in time forbade me to attend them. I could not even visit friends or have my own
at home
so that other ladies could visit me. This dark, dreary town house became my prison.”

Her voice had progressively risen in pitch, and she stopped again to gather herself. “One day when you were six years old and still at home in Surrey with your nursemaid, he refused to permit me to attend a ball in the company of your kinswoman Mrs. Parton. I—I told him he was a cold, cruel old man. He had enjoyed his youth and was cheating me out of mine.” She sniffed crossly. “Though I earnestly doubt he ever enjoyed his youth, because I do not believe he knew how to enjoy anything.” Looking away, she bit her lip. “Oh, there I go again.”

Her gaze settled once again on Winston. “He refused to forgive me for the insult and straightaway ordered me back to Surrey. Even when I told him we would have another child by Christmas and I needed to be with him, he refused all my entreaties.” Another sob escaped her. “And all I wanted was to attend one last ball.”

Winston could think of nothing wise or comforting to say in response to her confession, so he gently pulled her into an embrace. As he did, a calm melancholy settled over his shoulders and flowed into his innermost being. Mother might have spoken unwisely, but she had not been a faithless wife after all. A better man than his father would have remembered the disparity in their ages and would have forgiven her youthful affront, would have delighted in her energetic gaiety instead of shutting her away from the world all those years. What a terribly long time for her to pay for a childish rant. Such treatment was nothing short of spiteful.

Mother was right. Despite his upright behavior, despite his constant reciting of Bible passages, Father had been a cold, cruel man to her. Even in his last days, when she faithfully sat at his bedside and tended his needs, he had granted her no kind word or glance, at least none that Winston had observed. Nor had he himself ever received such approval. Unlike the loving, forgiving heavenly Father of whom Mr. Grenville had spoken several days ago, the late Lord Winston was ever the stern patriarch utterly lacking in compassion, even toward those whom he should have loved. Try though he might, Winston had never pleased him, nor ever would he have been able to, no matter how courageous or noble his actions.

The thought startled him, for he had never before questioned anything Father said or did. He swallowed hard and ran a hand over the worn leather arm of his chair. He should get down on his knees and beg Mother’s forgiveness for doubting her character. But she had no idea about his suspicions, so the apology would only cause her pain, as Father had.

How could he have ever thought ill of her? Never in his life had he observed anything in her but purity and kindness and a steadfast devotion to Father during their long, unhappy marriage.

Edgar. He had put the suspicions in Winston’s mind. But why? And to what purpose?

Mother sat back and retrieved her handkerchief from him to wipe away the last of her tears. “Now you understand why I will never address you as Winston, for that name does not bring me joy, even though I must bear it myself. But do not think I shall call you by whatever name you choose for your new title.” She laughed in her girlish way, gladdening his heart. “You will always be my dearest James.”

He clasped both of her hands and brought them up to his lips. “Are you not the clever one, dearest, keeping the secret about my advancement all this time? You see, you are not so impulsive after all.” Her sweet smile rewarded him more than he could have imagined.

Later, as he lay abed considering Mother’s unwitting revelation of her true character, a new sense of freedom bathed his soul. In fact, he felt entirely more sanguine about women in general. Since beginning his quest, instead of seeking a wife whom he could love for her own charms, he had sought to please his implacable dead father by choosing someone from the right family. Yet he continued to be drawn to Miss Hart, whose family remained a mystery. While he could not be certain the lady returned the favor, he would continue his pursuit, for his heart demanded it. And on the morrow, he would let nothing stand in his way of asking Lady Blakemore more about her lovely companion.

His last thought before surrendering to sleep was a prayer of thanks that the lady he married would never be subjected to Father’s scorn and censure.

* * *

“Mr. Radcliff.” Catherine whispered as loudly as she dared as her friend passed by the door of Lady Blakemore’s suite, his head held high and a grin on his thin, pale face.

He stopped and gave her a sideways glance, then looked up and down the broad hallway. Apparently satisfied no one had observed them, he hurried into the room and shut the door. “Zounds, my dear, where have you been? I feared perhaps Winston had stolen your heart and swayed you from your course.” His sly grin—almost a smirk—did not reinforce the concern in his words, and an uneasy sensation filled her chest.

“I—I thought you had deserted me.” She studied his pale eyes, wondering at the change in him. Her plans to confide in him about her torturous conflict over the baron now seemed ill-advised.

Before doubts could settle too deeply into her thoughts, however, he patted her hand and gave her a paternal smile. “There, there, dear girl, all is well. Superb, in fact. You have heard about your enemy’s advancement, of course.”

“Yes, but why is this superb?” She could think of no reason that this gentleman would wish for a scoundrel to gain a higher rank.

He chuckled. “All the farther for him to fall, of course. The Prince Regent will regret elevating him, and he will have no friends, no influence.” His smirk returned briefly, but then he grew solicitous again. “Has he declared his affection for you yet?”

“Goodness, no.” Catherine had never been the object of any gentleman’s affection and often doubted that she could ensnare the baron’s devotion. Not when her temper threatened to expose her every other moment she spent in his company. “Would you not say it is much too soon?”

“But you must secure his heart, my dear.” Mr. Radcliff leaned close to her, and she had difficulty not taking a backward step to avoid the scent of his strong bergamot cologne. “All of our plans depend upon your success.” A slight hiss accompanied his words, sending an unpleasant shiver down her back.

This would not do. Everything about this interview grated upon her nerves. “Mr. Radcliff, why have you not spoken to Lord Blakemore about Lord Winston’s lies? He is responsible for the baron’s elevation, and you could have stopped him.” She spoke somewhat more harshly than she had intended and immediately regretted it.

His eyes widened briefly, then grew red while his shoulders slumped into a pose of dejection. “Oh, if only you knew, Miss Hart. How could I, an aristocrat forced to earn my living as a lowly secretary, speak against my own cousin without seeming to covet his position?” He sniffed softly. “The good earl is a jolly old fellow, but he is also a fool.”

Although
fool
sounded a bit too much, Catherine could not entirely disagree. As fond as she was of the earl and countess, they did seem a bit naive at times. Perhaps their hearts were so pure and good that they could not imagine evil dwelling in their friend Lord Winston.

“I must go.” Mr. Radcliff put his hand on the door latch. “Do all that you can to win my cousin’s affections, my dear. As I said, all our plans depend upon it.” He scurried out the door, leaving Catherine to wonder how on earth she could accomplish her assignment.

The answer came straightaway. She would be nothing but agreeable in Lord Winston’s company, no matter what thoughts stirred her anger.

* * *

“Without qualification, Miss Hart comes from an excellent family.” Lady Blakemore spoke quietly to Winston, although they were alone in her large drawing room.

The tension in his chest disappeared. “Then you do not object to telling me who they are.” He had awakened with the confidence that such a refined, engaging lady must come from good stock, but knowing for certain now put to rest the last of his concerns.

“We do not speak of her connections because of the French war. Although Napoleon has been defeated, he still has many supporters in France and even some here in England. Until the Bourbon throne is secured, it would not be wise.” The countess glanced over her shoulder. “We have not even told
her
that we know who her family is, so you must promise not to discuss this with her.”

“What? Why?” He felt foolish for questioning this good lady. Perhaps he should have spoken to the earl. Was Miss Hart a French noblewoman whose family had escaped the Reign of Terror? A princess? Someone far above him? This answered everything about her changing moods. She must live in constant fear. “Before Napoleon’s defeat, how could keeping such a secret be wise when Miss Hart has accompanied you out into Society? At any moment, she might have been discovered.”

“My dear boy, secrets are not always a bad thing, as you will learn in your diplomatic career.” Her casual demeanor showed he had not insulted her. “Have no fear. One day all will be revealed. In the meantime, do not delay in claiming her hand, if that is your intention. Once her identity is known, she will be besieged by suitors.”

Remembering how Lord Melton had admired Miss Hart, Winston was now filled with a sense of urgency. “Yes, of course.” His pulse began to race, and he glanced toward the door, wishing the object of his pursuit would put in an appearance. “May I have the honor of taking her for an outing this afternoon, if it pleases her? Mrs. Parton mentioned a tea garden, the White Rose.”

The countess gave him a broad smile. “Of course. The White Rose has lovely flowers, gardens and entertainments, and their crumpets are beyond delicious. Perfectly reputable, I assure you.” She patted his hand. “Do promise you will say nothing to Miss Hart about what I have told you.”

“As difficult as it will be, I will not.”

“Very good. You will do well in diplomacy.” She stood and started toward the door. “I shall fetch her straightaway.”

“Wait. Please.” Winston jumped to his feet as a new concern filled his mind. “Is there someone I should speak to before I reveal my interest to her?”

Lady Blakemore laughed. “No, my dear. Blakemore and I have served as her guardians, whether she knew it or not, and we approve of you without reservation.” She patted his cheek and then strode toward the door as if the future of England depended upon her mission.

Winston paced across the red-and-gold Wilton carpet, noticing for the first time how bright and airy this drawing room was. The light colors not only made it appear larger, but also more welcoming. His town house should have that same atmosphere. He had given Mother leave to redecorate, but if Miss Hart became his wife, she must have that honor. Should the ladies disagree, he would have a sticky matter to sort out. Had he inherited his mother’s impulsiveness after all? He chuckled to himself. What did it matter if he had? Life was growing increasingly bright, and nothing could quash his happy temperament.

“Well, well, Winston.” He turned to find Edgar behind him, seemingly out of nowhere. “Or should I say Lord Dearbourn?”

“Edgar.” Every cheerful thought vanished. “Where did you come from?” Had he used the servants’ entrance?

“Never mind me, Dearbourn. You are to be congratulated on your advancement.” Edgar beamed and held out a hand to Winston.

He reluctantly shook it. “I thank you, but I will not be Dearbourn, if I choose that name, until my investiture.”

“Ah, but that is a mere formality.” Edgar’s grin grew wider, if that was possible. “The Prince Regent has signed the letters of patent. No one can take the title from you now.”

“I suppose not.” Winston’s chest tightened again. “Just as no one can displace you as my heir.” He had not meant for his words to sound peevish, but somehow they did.

Edgar wilted like a weed in the sun. “Only a son of your own, which I would welcome as surely as I welcomed my own son’s birth. Why do you think I look forward to your marriage?”

“Forgive me, cousin.” Winston said the words, but found he did not mean them, not after Edgar’s insinuations about Mother...and his disparaging remarks about his son, Marcus, in the past.

“Oh, no matter.” He waved a hand carelessly in the air, then waggled his eyebrows in a significant way. “I wish you happiness in regard to Miss Hart. Do enjoy your outing to the White Rose.”

“So now you approve of the lady?” He narrowed his eyes. “How did you know about the outing?”

“Lord Winston.” The object of his pursuit entered the room and walked toward him with a grace that stole his breath. Her beautiful dark brown hair was swept up into an elegant profusion of curls, and her rose-colored walking gown brought a blush to her ivory complexion. “How nice to see you.” She extended a gloved hand, and he bowed over it.

“Miss Hart.” His words came in a whisper. “You are a vision. Isn’t she?”

He turned back to Edgar, but his cousin was nowhere to be seen. Anger and uncertainty cut through his joy. Where had the man gone?

“To whom were you speaking?” Miss Hart eyed him playfully. “Lord Blakemore’s ivory figurines?” She tilted her pretty head toward the display on a side table.

The mystery would have to be solved later. He would not permit Edgar to ruin this day. Instead, he bowed again to Miss Hart and laughed. “Only to myself, dear lady. Would you do me the honor of accompanying me for a carriage ride?”

“The honor is all mine.”

As he escorted her toward the door, he glanced back to see if Edgar had hidden behind a settee or large chair. But the room was utterly devoid of other occupants. With no little difficulty, Winston shook off the peculiar feelings churning through him and forced himself to look forward to his day with Miss Hart.

* * *

At the front door, Catherine donned her bonnet with the help of her new lady’s maid, hired just this morning. The woman had accomplished what no one ever had, curling her straight hair. Once the task was completed, Catherine had gazed in wonder at her reflection in her bedchamber mirror. What an artful abundance of curls. At the time, she had decided that if this new style did not win Lord Winston’s affection, nothing would. When she had walked into the drawing room, his admiring gaze suggested she was well on her way to victory.