More Than Charming (17 page)

She gave him a nod of acceptance.

“Pray tell me, then, Catherine,” he began, his voice controlled. “Why was he in here with you?”

“I’m not at all certain,” she said. “He told me that he wanted—”

“I know just what the bastard wanted,” James growled. “You’re my wife, damn it, and I won’t have you meeting other men behind my back.”

“James, I didn’t meet with him. He followed me in here.”

“Never mind.” He turned away from her in an obvious attempt to rein in his anger. “Ah, hell,” he muttered. “I don’t know what the devil’s wrong with me.”

If she didn’t know better, she might believe he was jealous. But how could that be? He didn’t love her, let alone marry her of his own free will.

She touched his arm. “Don’t fret about it, James.”

He looked at her in confusion, then drew her into his arms. “Catherine.” He kissed her hair, her ear. “Forgive me for my outburst.”

She couldn’t resist him. He smelled so good and his hands felt so right on her, especially after Waltham’s pawing. If only he loved her.

“Why don’t we go downstairs, love?” James asked. “Perhaps you would like to play a game of cards?”

Catherine smiled in genuine delight. “That sounds lovely, husband.”

He took her hand and led her from the room.

She thought she saw a flash of color in one of the doorways as they passed, maybe an impression of blond hair. Was Waltham hanging about? She wouldn’t think about him again. She had her husband to herself today and would focus on that. For as long as it lasted, in any event.

Two days later, the guests took their leave of Chesterfield. James and Catherine stayed on for another week however, at Lord and Lady Chester’s insistence. James and Chester hunted in the mornings while Constance and Catherine passed the time gossiping and working on their needlepoint. Without the others in attendance, the two young women were free to speak of whatever was on their minds. Lady Joan and her mysterious illness were discussed quite a bit between them, leaving Catherine with the distinct impression that Constance was as troubled by it as she.

One afternoon, three days into their extended visit, the four of them sat in the parlor sharing a pot of tea.

“What a pleasant morning’s hunt today, eh, Roberts?” Chester said. “I so like it when there’s a frost in the air.”

“Quite pleasant, Chester.” He sat beside Catherine. “And how was your morning, love?” he asked her. “Did you get any work done on that little hanky?”

Catherine slanted a look at him. He and Chester both teased the women mercilessly on the amount of chatter heard whenever the two of them were together, their work all but forgotten in their laps.

“Yes, husband.” She laughed.

He draped his arm comfortably over her shoulders and gave a little squeeze.

“Roberts.” Chester set down his cup. “I nearly forgot to ask a favor of you.”

James straightened and looked at him expectantly. “What can I do for you, friend?”

“I’d like your opinion on some purchases I’m contemplating,” Chester said. “Perhaps you could come into the study?”

“Certainly.” James stood and looked down at Catherine. “If the ladies will excuse us?”

Constance and Catherine both nodded their assent, and Chester turned to exit the room. James kissed Catherine lightly and followed his host into his study.

Catherine watched him go, a small smile on her face. She turned back to find Constance regarding her closely. “What are you looking at?” she asked, a bit embarrassed.

Constance shrugged, a small smile lifting the corner of her mouth. “You appear quite taken with your husband, is all.”

Catherine bristled at the innocent comment. “I . . . I’m, um, fond of James, yes.”

Constance laughed. “Fond of him?” she repeated. “You love him. Admit it.”

Catherine opened her mouth to protest, but shook her head instead. “You’re right,” she said in a small voice.

Constance’s brow furrowed. “If I didn’t know better, Catherine, I’d think you’re troubled by that fact.”

Catherine looked toward the doorway to make certain the gentlemen were well away from the parlor and leaned toward Constance. “I’m most troubled by that fact, I’m afraid.”

“But why?”

Catherine twisted the skirt of her tea dress in her hands. “Because James doesn’t love me,” she admitted on a whisper.

“Catherine, Roberts loves you. Don’t shake your head at me. He loves you.”

“You don’t understand.” Catherine sniffed. “He’s fond of me, that is all.”

Constance set her teacup aside and faced her. “My own husband has remarked upon the affection between the two of you, Catherine. Don’t tell me Roberts isn’t in love with you.”

But as much as she wished to believe it, Catherine couldn’t be swayed by her friend’s insistence. He’d had any number of chances to profess such tenderness since the night she’d thrown herself at him.

“No.” Catherine wiped at her eyes. “James cares for me. Nothing more.”

Constance opened her mouth to make another protest, but Catherine raised her hand to still her. “Pray, don’t speak of it. I’ve reconciled myself, Constance.” She lifted her chin. “Believe me.”

To Catherine’s relief, Constance bowed to her wishes and turned the conversation to other topics.

*     *     *

In his study, Chester outlined some of his intended purchases. “I value your opinion, Roberts. I know how well you’ve managed your father’s properties during his illness as well as your own.”

“Thank you. I believe you’d do well with that property on the west side, Chester. The water on it would adequately irrigate the fields to the south.”

Chester nodded. “That’s what I thought. I noticed the stream one morning when I was out riding with Waltham.”

James lost his relaxed stance at the mere mention of the man’s name. Chester apparently noticed the change in his demeanor at once.

“Roberts,” he said with a crooked smile. “What’s ailing you?”

“Don’t mention his name.”

“What happened the night of the ball?” Chester asked. “I heard something of an altercation on the terrace.”

“The son-of-a-bitch offered my wife an arrangement.”

Chester wore a look of surprise. “You must be jesting,” he said. “Surely he’d do no such thing here. Not with you present.”

“He would and he did.” James stood and paced about the room. “And what’s more, I found him alone with her in our room the next day.”

“What?”

“The scoundrel said he was comforting her because she was upset,” James said, raking his fingers through his hair.

“And was she?” Chester asked. “Upset, I mean?”

“Yes,” James admitted.

“Well then, perhaps—”

“The bastard shouldn’t have been alone with her. I very nearly threw him out the window.”

Chester cleared his throat. “And did, um, anything happen between them?”

“God, no. Catherine would never betray me.”

“I believe you have nothing to fear from Waltham,” he assured James. “He enjoys his wife’s fortune far too much to risk an assignation with another man’s wife.”

“He wanted her at one time, Chester. And from the little I heard on the terrace, he wants her still.”

“He wouldn’t dare to approach her now. Not with you aware of his intentions.”

James shrugged. “This wasn’t the first time.”

“Perhaps if I speak to him, he—”

The butler at the door interrupted Chester. The servant handed a letter to him and bowed, taking his leave. James watched as Chester puzzled over the missive.

“Who sent it?” James asked.

Chester shook his head and broke the seal. As he read the letter, his face went white.

“My God, Chester.” James came to his side. “What is it?”

“It appears our friend Waltham is no longer tied to a wife.” Chester closed his eyes and sighed. “Lady Joan has passed away.”

James froze. “No. That can’t be so.”

Chester handed the missive to him. James quickly read the contents and swore softly.

“Catherine told me she was quite ill,” he said. “And troubled.”

“Troubled?” Chester asked. “In what way?”

“I don’t truly know,” James answered. “I dismissed the lady’s odd behavior as guilt over her marriage to Catherine’s intended.”

A knock came at the door.

“Husband,” Constance called. “I fear Catherine and I are growing quite lonely in the parlor.”

Chester looked worriedly at James.

“You have to tell her, old man,” James said. “I don’t envy you.”

Chester gave a solemn nod. James crossed to the door and pulled it open.

Catherine and Constance smiled up at him.

“I was beginning to believe you gentlemen had forgotten us,” Constance chided.

Chester’s face was marred with a worried frown. “Constance, I have to speak with you.”

Constance lost her smile. She crossed over to him as James gently urged Catherine out the door. As he pulled the door shut behind them, Constance’s sudden, heart-rending sob could be heard through the wood panel.

Catherine grabbed tightly onto James’s arm. “James, what happened?”

James saw no easy way to word the terrible news. He took her hands in his. “Catherine, Lady Joan died.”

She gasped. “But,” she stammered, “how can that be? She was so young, I . . . Oh, why didn’t I pay more attention to what she was trying to tell me?”

“What was she trying to tell you?”

She shook her head, wiping tears from her eyes. “She mentioned something about Waltham, and—”

“Don’t say the man’s name, Catherine.”

She flinched at the vehemence in his tone.

James caught the motion and hugged her to him. “I’m sorry, love. What were you saying?”

Catherine shrugged as James led her back into the parlor. “Joan mentioned his violent temper. As I told you, he never exhibited such with me.”

“But, Catherine, she was quite ill.”

She sat. “I know that. I suppose her nerves might have been affected by her illness.”

James believed that was precisely what had been troubling Joan. That, and the fact that her husband’s former fiancée was in attendance there at Chesterfield.

Catherine sighed as she refreshed her cup of tea. “I suppose we have to attend the funeral.”

James nodded. He had little taste for spending time in Waltham’s company, but attending the funeral would be the proper course, especially for Constance’s sake. Perhaps at his wife’s funeral, the bastard would have the sense to keep his hands off Catherine.

It was decided that Chester and Constance would travel to Bradford Hall with James and Catherine, and that they would leave for the funeral at Waltham’s estate in Westmorland from there. There was a pall over their gathering that evening, Catherine sitting very close to Constance on the settee in the parlor.

“I can’t believe she’s gone.” Constance sniffed. “She was ill, but I never thought this would happen . . .”

“Shh, love,” Chester soothed, coming to stand in front of the ladies.

Catherine stood to permit him to sit beside his wife. She crossed to where James stood by the mantle and he favored her with a small smile. She met it with one of her own and held her hands out to the fire crackling merrily in the fireplace.

“I can’t seem to get warm,” she said softly.

James took her chilled hands in his and pulled her closer. She leaned against him as he wrapped his arms around her.

“It’s all right, love. I didn’t know her very well, but she seemed like a sweet person.”

“She was, Lord Roberts,” Constance added, wiping her tears.

Catherine nodded. “She was too good for Waltham, I can tell you that.”

“Why do you say that?” Chester asked, bewildered.

Catherine was startled to find the three of them looking at her closely. “I . . . Waltham made some very unkind statements about Joan to me when . . .”

“You may say it.” James smiled ruefully. “When I found him in our room?”

Catherine reddened a bit. “Yes. He was most unkind.”

“I daresay the scoundrel would have said anything to sway you toward him, Catherine,” Chester offered.

“What’s this?” Constance asked. “He was in your room, Catherine?”

Catherine simply nodded. James tamped down the anger the memory gave him.

“It appears Waltham thought to renew his attentions toward my wife,” James said.

“No!” Constance gasped. “And with Joan so ill?”

Chester looked sharply at James, his eyes clearly showing his alarm.

“Chester?”

Chester gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head, at which James held his tongue.

He arched a brow at Chester, turning back once more to Catherine. “It’s been a long day, sweetheart. Why don’t you ready yourself for bed?”

Catherine nodded and left the circle of his arms. He watched as she exited the room. Chester suggested the same to Constance, who was only too happy to retire for the evening.

“Now, what are you thinking, Chester?”

Chester poured them each a brandy and offered a glass to James. “Roberts, could Waltham have had something to do with his wife’s death?”

James shook his head. “It can’t be possible,” he said. “As much as I despise the bastard, I can’t believe he’d do such a thing.”

Chester breathed a sigh. “I suppose so. But he bears watching, Roberts,” he warned. “If only where Catherine is concerned.”

James hesitated for the briefest moment, finally downing a large swallow of the brandy.

“Let him attempt to come near my wife again,” he said, his eyes narrowed. “It’ll be the last thing he ever does.”

The four of them departed for the funeral a few days later. The ride from Bradford Hall to Westmorland was but an hour or so, though it proved most uncomfortable for the traveling party. It was the middle of November, and quite chilly. Catherine and Constance wore gowns of severe black, as was the custom. The gentlemen wore the austere color, as well, with no white to relieve their dress. Not a one of them was looking forward to the visit, least of all James. The funeral notwithstanding, he had no desire to be in Waltham’s company for any length of time. He hadn’t been jesting when he’d threatened to throw Waltham out the window at Chesterfield.