His Lordship's Chaperone (10 page)

“He is my personal physician,” Lady Sutherland
announced. “Here,” she took him by the arm, “you must take care while we wait.”
A second chair arrived for the hostess to sit beside Haverton, effectively
hoarding him until the doctor’s arrival.

“My lady,” Haverton intended on voicing his
displeasure, “I must assure you that I am in perfect health.”

She scanned him from top to bottom, making him feel
a bit uncomfortable with a penetrating gaze. “Please, my lord, please, I shall
not have anyone say I have been neglectful of my guests.”

Nothing he could say would make any difference.
Haverton sat back and made himself comfortable.

“Allow me to examine your injury.”

He wondered if ‘no’ would have been an acceptable
answer. Probably not. He leaned forward, allowing the hostess to examine his
cheek.

Approaching his minute abrasion, Lady Sutherland’s
face came within inches of his. Haverton had noticed small gasps and polite
sighs from young misses in an attempt at flirtation but the same sounds coming
from an elderly woman was another thing. Clearly Lady Sutherland was out of
practice.

If Lady Sutherland wanted his adoration and
attention, he would bestow it upon her. Haverton glanced at her, into her eyes,
and gave a low, deep moan. It proved to be too much. A moment later, her eyes
fluttered and she fainted dead away. It was fortunate that her physician had,
at that moment, happened to walk in.

Lord Haverton had not been as troublesome at this
party as he had been on their first outing. He spent a great deal of time with
the hostess for the majority of the evening.

The new cotton green dress Catherine wore made her
feel uncomfortable. She thought this green too cheery, too festive, too
attractive, and thought she might be calling undue attention to herself.
However, looking around at the guests, she had not observed anyone taking the
slightest interest in her. No, even with a new dress, no one bothered with her
at all.

Someone bumped into her. “Oh, I beg your pardon!” A
woman holding an empty glass stepped back from Catherine and stared, pointing
at her skirts. “I am terribly sorry. I’ve ruined your gown.”

And so she had. Catherine held her skirts taut,
displaying the deep red stain that started just under the high waist and ran
down to the hem. As much as she had not wanted to be noticed, her new gown was
the price she paid for her invisibility.

“I am so sorry.” The woman apologized again.

It was an accident, and Catherine did not wish to
leave her post. She glanced at her employer. He was still occupied with the
hostess. What was she to do? Cather
ine
could not
remain there in her soiled gown nor did she feel right about abandoning Lord
Haverton.

“You must rinse that wine out or it will ruin your
dress,” the woman fretted. “Let me help you.”

It would take but a moment for Catherine to attend
to her clothing. Surely she could leave him for a minute or two. “Yes, of
course you’re right.”

“This way.” The woman took Catherine by the arm and
led her out of the ballroom and down the hall.

“Mrs. Hayes!” Lord Simon called to Catherine. She
hid the stain from him in the folds of her gown. He smiled when she neared.
“How lovely you—” His eyes widened when he detected something amiss. “What has
happened?”

She did not know what to tell him. Her dress really
didn’t matter. More important, Catherine had left her post, and his brother
stood unattended. “Lord Simon, I wonder if I might impose upon
you?
”

“I can see you are in distress. What is it I can do?”

Catherine could not, in good conscience, place her
own needs above those of her employer. But did her appearance not reflect upon
him? “I only wish a moment to wash out the stain. You see, I cannot leave Lord
Haverton unattended.”

“You’re worried about my brother?” Lord Simon
nearly choked on the words and replied with amusement, “Oh, I expect he’ll
manage.”

“Manage what?” the Marquess said, startling
Catherine from behind.

“Robert, Mrs. Hayes has had a mishap,” Lord Simon
explained. At his urging, she reluctantly allowed her employer to see the
problem.

“I think it best we leave, then,” Lord Haverton
suggested after glancing down at her skirts.

“Yes, my lord.” Catherine hated to ruin his evening
but she wasn’t about to disagree.

“Why don’t you … do whatever you can now to clean
your gown and I shall meet you at the carriage in a few minutes. I’ll say my
farewell to our hostess.” With that, he strode away.

Giving Lady Sutherland his regrets at his early
departure had taken less time than he imagined. Haverton bowed to the wisdom of
his hostess in regards to his current injury. He went so far as to confess that
she was correct regarding his well-being—he should have stayed home to
recuperate. Her fervor and excitement that she had come to his aid was far too
fatiguing for him. The Marquess could not have been happier for her valid and
much welcomed excuse to flee. Perhaps he should give due credit to his
chaperone.

There was no sign of Mrs. Hayes in the foyer and no
trace of her on the front walk. His crested carriage pulled up in the drive and
the footman opened the door. To his surprise, Mrs. Hayes had already boarded.
He saw the dark hem of her gown pooled upon the floor. She sat in the corner,
facing the back of the coach. Haverton took the opposite seat and knocked on
the roof, signaling the driver to depart.

He had left without her.

Lord Simon approached and cupped Catherine’s elbow,
guiding her to one side of the busy foyer of the Sutherland’s house. “You seem
to be in distress yet again, Mrs. Hayes.”

How fortunate Lord Simon was here. When Catherine
saw the Marquess enter his coach she’d assumed he would have waited for her but
he had boarded and, a moment later, the coach drove off, leaving her stranded.

Her employer might have treated her with
indifference but he had never been reckless or rude. Leaving her in the lurch
would have been both.

“Mrs. Hayes?” Lord Simon repeated.

“Lord Haverton … he has left.”

“Left? What do you mean left? Why would he—”

Catherine pointed out the door. “I saw his carriage
leave, just now.”

“Robert would never just leave you here.” He
paused. “Not intentionally, that is.”

“Five minutes ago I would have agreed with you but
I saw him with my own eyes. He … he boarded his carriage and left.”

“There must be some mistake.” Lord Simon looked as
if he was trying to rationalize his brother’s actions.

Yes, there had been a mistake. Catherine wondered
if somehow she was the one who had made it.

Movement in the shadowed corner of the coach caught
Haverton’s attention. A moment later, Mrs. Hayes reached out a gloved hand for
him.

“
Mrs
—” Haverton stopped
when he recognized his traveling companion, not Mrs. Hayes, but Lady Andrew,
wife of Lord Andrew Bowers.

“Come, Haverton,” she purred, moving from her side
of the transport to his. “Say you cannot refuse me.”

Despite her most fervent wishes, he had to confess
that he could and would very well do just that.

“I cannot wait any longer, Haverton.” Lady Andrew
pulled his face towards her. “I am yours for the taking!”

Haverton moved away from her and rapped for the
driver. “The only place I’ll take you is back to Sutherland’s.”

“Milord?” the driver called through the small door
in the roof.

“Turn around. We are returning! Posthaste!”

“No!” she cried, making a last effort to draw him
near.

Haverton held Lady Andrew at a distance. “I am
afraid you have done yourself a disservice,
madame
.
If you are seen leaving my carriage, your reputation may suffer.”

“Or I may be envied,” she replied with an elevated
air.

Certainly having their names linked would cause her
no harm. After all, she was a married lady. “Think what you may but I shall
lend no credence to your tale.”

In the end, he opted for restricting her movement.
It was all Haverton could do to remain out of her reach. There was nothing
worse than a desperate woman.

Catherine felt desperate. It was more than being
left behind. It was the matter of … well, she had lost her charge. What had
happened to him?

“Do not fret, Mrs. Hayes, I shall see you safely
home,” Lord Simon assured her.

“I am not concerned for myself. It is Lord Haverton
who may be in danger.” Her employer might not have paid particular attention to
her but she was certain he would not willingly have left without her.

“Haverton in danger?” Lord Simon reacted in a most
comical fashion. He truly was a gentleman, showing the utmost concern for her
and not for his brother.

“Perhaps
not
danger but
he may fall into the wrong hands.” Catherine had meant that literally—into a
woman’s deadly clutches. She hoped Lord Simon would not need any more of an
explanation.

“I’m sure he is more than capable of taking care of
himself.”

Lord Simon simply did not understand the situation.
Catherine’s instinct told her something out of the ordinary had happened. “I
know some woman has gone off with your brother. He must have been forced to
leave.”

“Forced? Do you mean against his will? Perhaps at
gun point?” Lord Simon was on the verge of laughing out loud, which would have
called further unwanted attention to their present circumstance.

He had not believed her, she feared, just as
Catherine had not believed Lord Haverton when he first told her what women
would do to gain his favor. Women were after him. Women who sometimes resorted
to extreme measures to get what they wanted, namely him.

“Mrs. Hayes,” Lord Simon called out from the window
in the foyer, “Haverton’s carriage has just pulled up.

Catherine ran to the window to see for herself.
There was the Marquess’ coach and moments later Lord Haverton stepped onto the
front walk of the house.

Lord Simon remained at the window while Catherine
moved to greet her employer at the front door.

“My word … Lady Andrew,” Lord Simon managed to say
between long pauses, clearly quite shocked.

The woman in the dark pelisse swept by them all and
continued into the mansion.

Lord Simon looked at the Marquess, who did not let
on that anything out of the ordinary had happened, and remarked, “Now that is a
curious turn of events.”

But what Catherine did not understand was why.

During the next week, Catherine traveled with the
Marquess to and from every event. In her eyes, he proved to be the pattern card
of propriety. Each evening he behaved as if she was part of the interior of the
vehicle itself, as if she was an extra cushion upon the squabs.

Catherine felt safe enough while in his company. He
had never looked twice at her. No, he had never even looked once. She was the
employee and he the employer, their situation was as simple as that. Perhaps
not so simple … she had to admit her admiration for him had grown as time went
on. There really was no harm in that, was there?

They attended a ball, a fete, and a boat party. Her
presence at these affairs was always unwelcome by certain mothers and married
women but their reactions ranged from being blatantly ignored to being overtly
outraged. Once she was asked to leave. Catherine refused to feel insulted,
stood her ground and insisted she must stay—welcomed by them or not.

One afternoon in the drawing room of Moreland
Manor, Catherine plied her needle and glanced at the Marquess as he read. It
took absolutely no effort on his part to look so utterly handsome.

Catherine doubted there were many people who saw
him in repose. The muscles of his face relaxed, his usual stiff, upright
posture abandoned. He reclined on the sofa with his long legs stretched out,
propped on the ottoman before him.

Hidden behind her needlework, she admired the way
one side of his mouth pulled into an amused half-smile in reaction to what he
read. It was adorable. It made her smile too. She did not know when the
sentiment struck but sometime during that week the most unsettling feeling came
over her.

She did not try to pinpoint when it happened but
she was curious to know what it was about the Marquess that troubled her.
Frustrated, Catherine stabbed the needle into her work and sighed.

The sound of a book hitting the floor with a thud
seized Catherine’s attention.

Lord Haverton glanced at her and murmured a mannerly,
“I’m terribly sorry.”

Her breath caught, realizing what it was that she
found so disturbing. Catherine Hayward, chaperone to Robert Moreland, ninth
Marquess of Haverton and future Duke of Waverly, was in love with her charge.

What a horrid thing to admit. Catherine excused
herself and dashed out of the room. At the end of the hallway, she fell back
against the paneling and squeezed her eyes shut. Shock and confusion made the
simple act of breathing difficult. Once the notion came to her, she could not
share the room with him.

How could she have allowed this to happen? How long
had she felt this way? Catherine hadn’t the slightest idea. She only knew it
was wrong. Nothing good could come of it.

She could no longer fault any ladies of London for
falling in love with the Marquess. Did he not dance and flirt with them at
parties? Display his impeccable charm and gallant behavior? He had done so much
less with his chaperone, he simply sat there and read.

If Catherine could tumble headlong into the cream
pot, what of them? She couldn’t blame other women for tumbling alongside her.
It seemed that Lord Haverton’s mother had been correct. He was far too
charming, far too handsome, and far too adored for his own good.

Catherine pressed her palms to her cheeks. They
were warm. Thank heavens she had left the room. How would she explain the
embarrassing flush of scarlet? And she could never, ever admit her true
feelings to him.

It made no difference. She had to remember her
place. She was his chaperone and that was all. One day she could look forward
to being replaced by the woman he planned to marry and there would be no reason
for Catherine to remain, but could she wait until that time came?

Breathing easier, she pushed off the paneling and
continued in a lazy walk down the hall toward the rear gardens. What was the
harm in indulging herself with thoughts of Haverton? Catherine smiled to
herself and pivoted around, staring in his lordship’s direction for a moment
before heading down the hall once again.

Call it a silly fantasy, a wistful bit of
imagination, but an illusion all the same. Her days were her own to daydream as
she liked. She did not have to imagine attending a ball with the man of her
dreams. Her evenings were already a string of parties with London’s most
desirable bachelor. Her smile widened.

She could enjoy herself in her harmless fantasies
of the Marquess. Why not? She could delight in his charm, bathe in his beauty,
and admire his physique all she liked.

For shame, she chided herself. What an immoral
thought.

The moment the library door opened, Haverton jerked
upright in his chair and slid the paper before him to one side.

“The Duchess of Waverly to see you, my lord.”
Maybury managed to jump out of the way before the Duchess ran him down.

“What are you working on there, Robert?” she
demanded in quite an unpleasant tone, even for his mother.

“Nothing, just some correspondence.” He retired his
pencil and stood. “Have you come to see Mrs. Hayes?”

“Mrs. Hayes?” The Duchess grumbled, rounded the sofa,
and took a seat. “Not this time. I’ve come to see you. Sit down next to me, if
you please.”

He moved with reluctance toward his mother and sat
by her side. “We’re not about to have that talk again, are we?” Haverton wasn’t
looking forward to this. He never had. Why must she put him through this at the
beginning of each and every Season?

“Of course we are. I shall do my motherly duty and
remind you of your family responsibility and you shall rebuff my attempt.” She
held up her hand to keep him from speaking. “I have not had my say yet, dear,
and I shall not leave this house until you have given me a proper set down.”

“Mother, must we go through this exercise?”
Haverton was already exhausted before they began.

“We must. Now, listen to me, my lad, it’s time you
marry.”

He groaned at her stubbornness. “I wish you
wouldn’t call me that. I have a title, a position. My name is Haverton.”

“If I must refer to you by that, then you will
refer to me as Your Grace.” The Duchess stuck her nose into the air. “What a bunch
of stuff and nonsense. Do not take that tone with me.”

“I am a grown man. You talk to me as if I were nine
years old.”

“You’re not nine now are you? You’re three times
that and it’s about time you think about setting up your nursery.”

“Should that not be my choice?” He knew it was his
duty but he did not have to see to it today, or this year, or for the next
several as far as he knew. What was the hurry?

“I’m sure your father would support me in this and
point out that you have yet to take steps in that direction. You have not
married nor have you a single prospect in mind.”

“I assure you,
Mother, that
will not be a problem. When the time comes, I shall have my choice. I need not
search and beg for any chit’s hand.”

“I know. You’re such a beautiful boy.” The smile
she bestowed upon him was not a kind one.

“Mother,” he followed his mother’s lead and stood
when she rose, “I am not beautiful!”

Her Grace approached her son. She laid her hand
upon his cheek and gave it an affectionate pat. “My dear boy, a mother always
thinks of her children as beautiful.” The Duchess crossed to the hearth. “Now
let me see. You have always had eccentric tastes. Never doing the ordinary,
that’s always been you. Not many men could get away with what you do or how you
treat society.”

“I’ve had a very good teacher.” He eyed his mother
pointedly.

“You flatter me. And now back to your choice of
bride … you must find her attractive, of course. We do not wish to encourage a
roving eye.”

He did not have a roving eye and he never would. When
he chose a wife, Haverton expected to remain faithful.

“And you need not concern yourself with an heiress
or marry for money. You’ve plenty of that.”

Haverton hated to admit he and his mother could
agree on something. But she was right, money would never need to play a part in
his marriage.

“I think you should marry someone who also
interests your mind.”

His mother certainly had everything figured out. He
intended to do just that. When the time was right. But until then he would need
to tolerate her interference. First, there would be the list of young ladies
she thought might show promise as the new marchioness.

The Duchess paced in front of the wide marble
hearth. “Who have I seen this Season that might appeal to you? There is Sir
Edward and Lady Dunstead’s daughter. What is her name?” She turned toward him,
hoping he might supply an answer. “Oh, yes, I believe it is Emma. I’ve heard
she is simply a pure delight.”

Emma Dunstead? If he recalled correctly, he had
seen her at Brayburn’s do. Had he not hid from her mother at the bottom of a
garden pond? “This subject is not open for discussion.”

“Then there is Mrs. Bartholomew’s daughter,
Constance.” His mother turned and stepped in the opposite direction. “They’ve
just returned from touring the continent. I understand Miss Bartholomew speaks
five languages. Surely you must have one in common.”

Was she so unacceptable she couldn’t find a man in
England to court her? Haverton doubted he’d be interested. “I refuse to dignify
that statement with a response.”

“What about the daughter of the Earl and Countess
Darlington? Lady Honoria. I had heard you took some interest in her the other
night.”

Darlington? Honoria? The name didn’t sound
familiar. Perhaps he had danced with her, he couldn’t recall specifically.
“Mother, as I have said previously, I will not continue to speak on this
matter. Now or at any other time. I do not understand why you feel it necessary
to do so year after year.”

“I suppose you are right.” She sighed.

“I-I beg your pardon?” Just like that? She would
end her meddling into his personal affairs? Haverton thought that not likely to
happen. It was more likely she would add to the list of his bride’s
qualifications next.

“We can agree you do not need to marry a fortune.
You need not marry a lady for her beauty or position. However a suitable family
background and good breeding will—”

“Mother, I don’t need—”

“I quite understand.” She was losing patience and
her voice grew louder.

If she kept to the script she’d followed for the
last four years, she’d now come to the part about how he needed to fulfill his
duty to his heritage and ensure that the family line continues.

“If you would care to settle for someone with youth
and looks you always could settle for someone like …
your
Mrs. Hayes, perhaps.” And she wasn’t laughing.

“My chaperone?” This discussion had taken a most
odd turn.

“If it really doesn’t matter to you whom you marry,
then you need not look any further. She has everything you need.”

“Mother, have you gone mad? Mrs. Hayes? You cannot
be serious.” Haverton huffed in disbelief. His mother did some very strange
things on occasion but suggesting he marry his chaperone was about the most
disturbing idea he had ever heard. “I do have my standards.”

“I should hope so. At least I have gained your attention.”
His mother spoke stern and perhaps for the first time in years he really
listened to her words. “Of course you cannot marry a chaperone. You need to
consider your future bride’s connections and pedigree. I would expect it does
not include a simple country girl as a prospective wife for a future duke!”

Catherine stepped out of the house into the rear
garden and drew in a deep, calming breath. She released it slowly. The
afternoon air felt cool upon her burning cheeks. She had to get her mind away
from thinking of him. Distract herself with other things she loved. The trees,
the birds, the flowers.

The thought of the roses ahead drew her in their
direction. Large buds covered the bushes and promised their fragrance in a few
days when they would be in full bloom. Today the sweet scent of honeysuckle
filled the air.

The soft crush of gravel caught her attention
before she heard someone call out, “Mrs. Hayes!” Lord Simon strode purposefully
toward her.

“Good afternoon to you, your lordship.”

“I have come to see you and bring you this.” He
handed Catherine a packet of papers.

“Thank you very much.” Catherine opened the packet
and read the name on top of the score: “Moonlight Sonata.” by Ludwig Van
Beethoven. Lord Simon was very kind to think of her.

“The sentiment would be lacking if you did not
return the favor by playing the piece for me.”

He was doing the best he could to get her to play.
“I cannot do this justice until I have properly practiced.” It was the truth.
Not only had she never set eyes on this piece, she had not had the pleasure of
playing, not had the opportunity, for years.

“I quite understand. But I do expect to hear you
play this for me some day. Is that fair?”

Catherine smiled. “Quite fair. I promise I shall
practice. Will you play this for me now so I should know it?”

“All you need do is ask.” He retrieved the sheet
music and escorted Catherine inside to the music room. She stood by the piano
while Simon set the music on the stand and played. And very masterfully, she
thought.

“Very nice, Simon,” the Duchess praised, entering
the room. “Are you here to see your brother?”

“No, I’ve come to see Mrs. Hayes.” Lord Simon stood
and kissed his mother on the cheek.

“Yes, I see. Mrs. Hayes,” she groaned. “I think you
might do him a favor. He’s in one of his difficult moods.”

“It might not be the best time to speak to him at
all, then.” Lord Simon made a face, clearly not enthused at the thought of
encountering the Marquess.

“Do cheer him up.”

Simon stood. “I shall see what I can do. I make no
promises.”

“I can assure you, it will make life in general all
that much easier to bear.” Her Grace approached, nearing Catherine.

“This has been a decided pleasure, Mrs. Hayes,
simply delightful. Shall we say until next time?” Before he left, Lord Simon
stepped close to whisper, “Remember your promise to me.”

“Yes, of course.” Catherine smiled. “I shall not
forget.” She watched him leave then sat at the piano and fingered the first
notes of “Moonlight Sonata.” “I should feel very fortunate if I ever play as
well as Lord Simon.”

“You’ll have more than enough time to catch up,
I’ll wager.”

Catherine looked up, hopeful. “Do you think the
Marquess would mind? My playing his pianoforte, that is?”

“He gave you run of the house, did he not? You may
play if you wish.”

Catherine blushed. “I would hate to presume.”

“You presume nothing, Miss Hayward.” Her Grace’s
mask of composure slid into place and she continued.

Miss Hayward, the Duchess had used her real name.
It was the strangest feeling. Catherine’s own name almost sounded odd and
unfamiliar.

“Yes, Miss Hayward … So now my younger son is
calling you Mrs. Hayes.” She sighed and waved, excusing the futility of her
trying to correct either of them. “There is nothing for it.”