His Lordship's Chaperone (15 page)

“I’ve given him the night off.” The Duchess offered
her cheek to her son.

He kissed her. “What about Mrs. Lange?”

“Her, too. The whole staff is gone.” The Duchess
headed for the small parlor in the rear of the house. “I’ve given them all the
night off and paid for their way to Vauxhall Gardens.”

“What on earth for?” Simon asked, trailing his
mother.

“I wanted the house to be empty.”

Simon stopped in the hallway. “Then why am I here?”

“You didn’t say a word to your brother did you?”
She sat in her chair next to the hearth.

Simon strolled into the room and leaned against the
mantle, resting his booted foot on the fender. “Well, he was right there when I
received your summons. Normally he’d want to know the details but he was so
distracted.”

“Distracted, was he?” The Duchess smiled.

“I’ve never seen him so out of sorts.”

“Good.”

“Good?” Simon glared at her as if she should have
had more motherly concern about her eldest. “Mother … Robert was dithering.”

“Dithering, was he? Even better.”

“You know, Mother, sometimes I really do not
understand you.”

The Duchess pointed to the seat across from her.
“Come sit over here and give your poor, feeble mother a hand.”

“You are neither poor nor feeble.” Simon sat
anyway.

The Duchess motioned for him to hold up his hands
and she dropped a loop of yarn over them. She took the end and began to wind a
ball.

He regarded the yarn then his mother. “Isn’t this
why you’ve hired Mrs. Hay—I beg your pardon—Miss Hayward?”

Simon knew Catherine’s true name. That he learned
from his older brother. Without cracking a smile, she replied, “Miss Hayward
has retired for the evening. I’m afraid she has quite enough to deal with at
present.”

A loud thump from above drew Simon’s attention. He
stared toward the ceiling. “I thought you said the staff was out.”

“They are.” The ball of yarn was now the size of a
plum.

A second and third thump sounded. Simon stared at
the ceiling again. “What the devil is that, then?”

Her hands stilled and she tilted her head ever-so-slightly
back, listening carefully. “I imagine that’s the sound of your brother’s standards
dropping.”

“Robert is here?” Simon launched out of the chair,
gawking at his mother.

“Please sit down. You are making this exceedingly
difficult.” She drew back her outstretched arms to her sides as Simon, once
again, sat in his chair.

“What is Robert doing here?”

“Attending to Catherine unless I am mistaken.”

“He’s with Miss Hayward?” Simon took to his feet
again.

“Please, Simon, be seated.” The Duchess motioned
for him to return to his chair. “We need to wait just a bit longer.”

After several minutes, and more than a few anxious
glances from Simon, she finished winding her ball of yarn, set it in her
basket, and said, “Let’s see what they are up to, shall we?”

Upstairs, tucked in her bed, Catherine lifted her
head when she heard the sound of something rattling or knocking against the
house, just outside her bedroom. When the window flew open, she jolted upright,
sitting straight up in bed.

Two large hands shot through the window and gripped
the frame. He—for it was a he, she realized—worked at pulling himself the rest
of the way through the opening.

Catherine wanted to run to the door—to escape—but
couldn’t move. She tried to scream but her throat was too tight with fear for
anything more than a strangled sound to emerge.

He stepped into her room with one foot and
apparently had trouble with the other. The toe of his boot caught on the sill
and he deposited himself with an echoing thud onto her bedroom floor.

“Bloody hell,” came the partially suppressed oath.

Catherine knew that voice. And she realized there
was something familiar about the silhouetted form, before he fell. The shadowed
shape of the head, the arch of his back, the way his arms moved as he came
through the window. If she was not mistaken, she would have thought it was … he
was …

“Lord Haverton?” He had come. A mixture of
pleasure, relief, and anger moved through her.

“Don’t cry out, please,” he said from the floor. He
lay on his back for a very long time before rolling onto his hands and knees,
groaning.

“Are you injured?” She scrambled out of bed to his
side in a thrice. The noise he created when he entered should have brought the
servants straight to her room.

“You do care,” he gasped with relief.

She’d never admit it to him. Catherine sat back,
leaned away from him,
then
stood. “I am not a bit
concerned. You may have broken a leg for all I care.” She would have known that
in an instant. He would have been howling in pain.

He pushed himself off the floor with both hands and
crouched in a most
unstealthly
manner. “Truth be told
…” He paused, looking up at her. She held her breath. “I am half mad since
you’ve gone. Nothing has been the same without you.”

Catherine couldn’t believe what she heard. Nothing
he said could have pleased her more but she couldn’t let on that she felt the
same. Retaining her composure, she studied what she could see of his
expression. The pained look on his face and the longing in his eyes, together
with the uncertainty in his voice, were very convincing.

“You should not be here, my lord.” It struck her
how improper entertaining him in her
nightrail
was.
She stood between her bed, where she’d find a modest wrap, and the door, to
exit, wondering which direction was best.

“Haverton—please.” He moved to her side and covered
her hands with his. “You must call me Haverton. No, call me Robert—Catherine.”

“I will call your mother,” she warned, moving away
toward the door.

“No, don’t leave,” he pleaded, stepping toward the
door, toward her. He reached out to block her departure.

She moved past him, back toward her bed and his
hand brushed the arm of her
nightrail
. Catherine
snatched up a blanket and held it in front of her.

“Please. I don’t want you to send me away.” His
expression was one of anguish and the sadness in his voice brought her near
tears.

Having him near was torture. She didn’t want him to
leave either. She moved away from the bed, a little closer to the door. The
blanket she’d used to conceal her modesty trailed behind. “What do you think
you are doing by coming here?”

“I had to see you.”

Was it her imagination or did Haverton’s—Robert’s—voice
hold a quaver of desperation. “It is customary to use the front door, and
usually during daylight hours.”

“You don’t want anyone to know you’re here, do you?”
By his look of astonishment, she knew she had either stumbled onto his thinly
veiled scheme or had been completely wrong about his intentions. The very next
moment, she decided the latter not to be true.

“You’ve already refused me an audience this night.
I doubt you would have agreed to any time I cared to call.” He smiled, it was a
tentative one. “Please, I wanted—needed to see you.” He held out his hand to
her. His presence frightened her a little but she couldn’t deny that she had
missed him.

His second step brought him closer and a freshly
brewed bout of apprehension rose within her. She tried to pull away but he
stood on the corner of the blanket. Catherine slipped, losing her balance. He
wrapped his arms around her, trying to steady her but it came too late. In a
matter of moments she headed to the floor, bringing the Marquess tumbling
along.

Haverton wrapped his arms around her, holding her
close, protecting her, absorbing the impact of their landing. Catherine gave a
small cry when the wind was knocked out of her.

“Are you hurt? Catherine—are you all right?”

She nodded. Partly from the lack of air, and partly
from having his face an inch away from hers. He was too close. Not too close,
she hoped, to resist. He lay next to, and against her, on the Persian carpet.

“I’m dreadfully sorry.” But there was some amusement
in his voice, as if he knew that since no harm had come to either one of them,
he could enjoy their misfortune.

“It was an accident,” she replied, remaining still.
Catherine had no wish to move because that would cause him to move, which is
exactly what she wished to avoid—movement of any sort, toward or away from her.

“No. Not about this,” he said. She could hear the
faint smile in his voice. He tightened his arms about her. “I must apologize to
you about the other—the other night. I should not have kissed you.”

“You are not only to blame. I was foolish, I
allowed it to happen. I was a willing participant … but I was wrong.” She began
to struggle free, pushing against him to escape.

He held her tight but did not hurt or frighten her.
“No, you weren’t wrong,” he persuaded her in a kind and gentle manner. “I
should have known better. I would never wish to harm you, you must know that.”

She had thought that … once.

“Catherine, I am lost without you.” The ache in his
words moved through her, making her soften toward him. She relaxed, enjoying
his nearness as much as he relished hers.

“Don’t you dare make me feel sorry for you, because
I
don’t.
” Anger tainted Catherine’s words and the
darkness did not disguise the tremor in her voice. “You could have your choice
of any lady of the ton with a crook of your finger—why do you return to me?”

Haverton didn’t answer. Instead he laid his hand on
her head lightly, smoothing her hair. He drew a strand of hair through his
fingers and pressed the end to his lips. The gesture touched her and sent a
tingle straight down to her toes. She closed her eyes and, as much as it pained
her, told herself it didn’t matter. No matter what he did, he couldn’t have
her.

After turning the corner on the second-story
landing, the Duchess of Waverly, with Simon not two steps behind, stopped in
front of the third room on the right, turned the knob, and pushed the door
open.

“Mother!” Robert cried, pushing himself upright as
she stepped through the bedchamber door. “This isn’t what it looks like,” he
went on to explain, rather ineffectively, the Duchess thought, and finally
proclaimed, “I’m afraid this is exactly what it looks like.”

“Haverton—I mean … his lordship slipped on the
blanket, Your Grace, and we both fell.” Catherine made her attempt to justify
their awkward circumstances.

After standing solidly on his own two feet, Robert
helped Catherine to hers. It was nice to see that even after being caught in an
uncomfortable situation, he was still a gentleman.

“You cannot sneak into my house, rendezvous with my
lady’s companion and simply walk away.” She glared at her elder son.

“We were merely—”

“I saw what I saw. I will not have any ‘merely’
going on in my house.” A stern performance would serve the Duchess well and she
kept her excitement contained. “What you do in your household is one thing,
what you do in mine is quite another. This time there are consequences.”

“What consequences?” Catherine asked Robert.

It was nice to see Catherine look to Robert for
guidance.

“You must marry—at once! You have been hopelessly
compromised.”

“I say, Robert. I think she means it,” Simon chimed
in during the Duchess’ pause.

“Marriage?” Catherine gasped.

“You cannot expect me to simply ignore that I found
you and my son cavorting on the floor of your bedchamber,” the Duchess directed
at Catherine.

“We fell, Your Grace, it was an accident.”

“There are no accidents in my house.” That may have
been true but Catherine and Robert acted and looked quite guilty.

“I am more than happy to do what is required.”
Haverton’s expression told a different story. He did not look displeased at
all. “I think we should remove to more … accommodating surroundings. Shall we
say the parlor in twenty minutes?”

“You need time to dress, my dear,” the Duchess said
to Catherine and then glanced at Robert who gazed lovingly at Catherine. “Make
that ten and I expect to see you in less than five, Robert.”

The Duchess pushed Simon into the hallway and
closed the door.

“You knew exactly what was going on, didn’t you,
Mother?” Simon was pale.

“I would think arriving any later might have proved
embarrassing and any earlier would have not given your brother enough time to
have made his intent clear.”

“He’s in love with her, you know.”

“And that,” the Duchess glanced at her youngest son
over her shoulder, “is all the more reason why they should wed.”

Five minutes later, Catherine and Haverton entered
the drawing room where Simon and the Duchess of Waverly waited. She sat to one
side of the sofa and Haverton sat next to her. The Duchess, sitting across from
them, appeared quite serious and glanced from Catherine to Haverton.

“Let’s not waste time, shall we? We’ve important
arrangements to make. Come closer, children.” The Duchess beckoned the three
near. “This is what we shall do … Robert. After your public introduction to
Catherine, it will be your task to convince the mothers of every single young
woman of our fair city that you are about to be taken off the marriage mart by
courting her openly.”

“I shall be more than willingly do my part.” Haverton
smiled, wide-eyed, and it seemed to Catherine he was honestly pleased to do as
his mother suggested.

“I cannot tell you how glad I am to hear that.” She
produced a soft smile of her own. “And you, Catherine, must be accepted as an
eligible bride for Robert.”

“I don’t think anyone will accept me.” Catherine
could not exactly see how this would all work out. “What will happen when they
discover he is to marry his chaperone?”

“You must understand, my dear, servants blend into
the background. Trust me, no one really took notice of you as Robert’s
chaperone. We shall style your hair, alter your gowns so you can take your
rightful place as a lady of quality.”

However did the Duchess know?

“It is the least I can do for my namesake,” the
Duchess confessed.

“Are you Kate … Kate Marlowe?” Catherine could not
believe that this was possible. “My mother’s childhood friend?”

“Yes, I am.” The Duchess’ smile broadened. “Your
mother Emily and I lived on neighboring estates.”

That explained why she had always been so kind to
Catherine and her family.

“Robert is not to wed his chaperone. He is to marry
my goddaughter, the late Earl Thornton’s granddaughter.”

“An earl’s granddaughter?” Simon brightened. “She’s
a lady? I never doubted it for a moment.”

Haverton looked from his mother to Catherine. “Is
this true? Your grandfather, an earl?”

“Yes, he passed away seven years ago. Then we were
turned out by the countess. Not my grandmother but his second wife. She’d have
nothing to do with Mother and her four girls. We had difficulties at first. I
don’t know how we would have managed if Her Grace hadn’t brought me here and
found me a position as governess.”

Catherine had never imagined the Duchess had been
her mother’s great friend. She’d seen her name on countless letters since she
was a child.

“There was very little your mother would accept
from me.”

“You found me a job. I was able to send money to
help my family but now … now …” She was disgraced, Catherine could not help but
look toward the Marquess. “I do not know how I am to—”

“That is all in the past now, my dear. We must move
forward.” There was an urgency to the Duchess’ tone. “In a few days’ time, I
shall introduce Miss Catherine Hayward to the ton and after a whirlwind
courtship, you and Robert shall marry.”

“Why ever would I object?” Haverton responded some
nights later at
Almacks
. “That’s the third time
you’ve asked that question in three days.”

“This is the big night. You’re to be introduced to
her.” Simon did not need to remind him. “You still have a chance to back out.”

“We’ve already been through this. I have no
intention of backing out.”

“Don’t you feel as if you’re being forced into this?”
Simon no more understood the Marquess’ feelings for Catherine than Haverton
did.

All Haverton knew was he loved her.

“Mother is not forcing me, Simon. I choose to marry
Catherine. She is the only woman I desire.” With his mother’s blessing for the
marriage, the Marquess was guaranteed that Catherine couldn’t back out either.

“Can you honestly tell me you don’t care that
Mother has plotted against you?”

“Simon.” Haverton smiled and clapped his brother’s
shoulder. “Didn’t you know, our mother is always plotting against
us.
”

“Not me, she isn’t.”

“You’re heir presumptive,” Haverton reminded him.
“Unless I marry and start filling the nursery soon, I suspect in two years’
time she would have turned all of her efforts on you.”

An expression of surprise then relief swept over
Simon’s face. He must have just realized with his brother’s upcoming nuptials
that he’d dodged that bullet. “I had no idea.”

“I have nothing to fear from Mother. I’ve always
been able to spot a trap at fifty paces.” Haverton didn’t care in the least if
his mother had manipulated him, Catherine, or their present situation. All
Haverton cared about was that he would be with Catherine.

No one seemed to recognize her when she entered
Almacks
. Catherine wasn’t surprised. Even she hadn’t
recognized herself the first time she stepped in front of the glass after the
hairdresser and seamstress had worked their magic.

Her shoulder-length, light-brown hair now shimmered
with golden streaks. A fringe of hair wisped over her forehead and soft
ringlets nearly covered her head.

Even the yards of ribbon around her shoulders did
not replace the missing three inches of neckline. However, Her Grace was right,
if Catherine wished to blend in she had to wear what was in fashion.

As she entered the hallowed halls that evening,
Catherine caught whispers of, “She’s the Duchess of Waverly’s goddaughter,” and
“the granddaughter of the late Earl Thornton.” Their unexpected ten-minute
appearance at Madame Suchet’s had done exactly what the Duchess had expected.
Tonight everyone knew exactly who Catherine was and what she was doing here …
or thought they knew.

By the time Catherine had reached the ballroom, her
dance card was filled and she was turning down partners. The women squinted at
her, looking green with envy. The gentlemen were ever so gracious and bowed
lower than she had seen before.

“There he is,” the Duchess whispered to her from
behind a fan. “No, don’t look, my dear.” Her Grace laid her hand upon
Catherine’s arm, staying any motion. “You mustn’t appear anxious. Let Robert
come to you.”

Haverton saw them entering, and for a moment was
speechless. Dressed in a white silk gown with a flowing overskirt that billowed
around her, she looked as if she floated on a cloud.

“Didn’t tell me, old man, that your mother was
coming with an angel,” Sir Giles said to Haverton before addressing Fitzgerald.
“What do you think?”

Although out of breath, the Marquess finally
managed to whisper, “Gentlemen, Cupid’s arrow has found its mark. I am in love.”
How Catherine had managed to look lovelier was beyond him.

She’d been beautiful in her modest gowns. The way
she wore her hair in a tight bun showed the whole perfection of her face.
Dressed in modern day finery as she was tonight, Catherine was simply
breathtaking.

A halo of golden hair framed her face with soft
curls and ringlets dancing about her neck. Soft, feathering curls teased her
cheeks and jaw, masking the perfection that lay beneath, adding a sense of
mystery.

“Love?” Sir Giles gasped in disbelief. “The deuce,
man—have you lost your senses?”

“There go our chances,” Fitzgerald quipped.

“My heart is completely and utterly lost.” Placing
his hand on his chest, the Marquess struck what he hoped was a memorable pose.

Sir Giles nudged Fitzgerald in the ribs. “Best have
an introduction before Haverton steps in—we’ll have a dance with her at least.”

“Right,” Fitzgerald agreed. The two hurried to join
the admirers gathering around the Duchess and her ward.

Haverton had always thought Catherine beautiful but
now the crowd around her told him he was not the only man who thought so. Her
admirers parted as he neared. He was quite aware that everyone watched him, them,
in their first public exchange.

“There isn’t any chance you’ve a dance left on your
card for me, is there?”

“I’m sorry.” Catherine flashed him a small, shy,
self-conscious smile. “No.”

“I thought not.” Haverton glanced down, feeling a
bit self-conscious himself. “Then I will have to be satisfied with seeing you
tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow morning? Shouldn’t you call in the
afternoon?”

“Perhaps so but there must be some benefit to being
the son of your godmother.” He leaned closer to whisper, “I’d like to have you
all to myself before your admirers arrive and trip all over themselves.”

The smile she bestowed upon him was luminous. “Then
I shall look forward to your visit.” Catherine glanced over Haverton’s shoulder
and he knew behind him waited a gentleman to take his place. The Marquess bowed
over her hand and stepped back, allowing Lord Dobson to claim his dance.

Haverton watched Lord Dobson lead Catherine to the
dance floor. Tonight, he realized, she was not his alone. For the first time in
his life, Haverton had to share—and he did not like the notion in the least.

“She is quite lovely, don’t you think?” Celeste
brushed against Haverton’s sleeve and wound her arm through his. “But your
taste never ran toward schoolroom misses, did they?”

He was quite sure she wanted to make sure his
attention was obligatory, not genuine. “I must do my part to guarantee she’s a
success. After all, she is my mother’s goddaughter.”

“And with approval from you, she will be accepted
throughout the ton, no doubt.”

“No doubt.” His feigned lack of interest in
Catherine might fool the other guests but he felt certain it would not convince
Celeste. She knew that look of interest in his eyes all too well. There would
be no hiding his true feelings from her.

“Shall I partner you on the dance floor and repair
your reputation, madam?”

Celeste slapped him on his sleeve with her closed
fan for teasing her and smiled. “As if my reputation needed repair.”

He returned her smile and offered, “Perhaps a dance
for old time’s sake?”

“Yes, for old time’s sake.” Haverton escorted
Celeste to the dance floor.

After the party, Haverton returned to Moreland
Manor and stepped into his library, ending the most perfect evening. “I don’t
believe I have ever seen anyone more beautiful.” He couldn’t get the image of
Catherine out of his mind.

Simon pulled off his jacket, loosened his cravat,
and flopped into a winged-back chair, looking completely wretched. “There
wasn’t a chance to have a single word with her all night.”

“Don’t take it personally. There were many who
never had a chance. Dance card was full, don’t you know.” Haverton sat in the
chair next to his brother. “What a crush! Even if I wanted a
téte
-a-
téte
it would never have
happened. Did you see that line?”

He had danced several sets with other eligible
ladies to give the illusion he was taking the notion of seriously searching for
a wife.

Simon stabbed an accusing finger at him. “You want
her for yourself, don’t you?”

Haverton straightened, a bit taken aback by his
brother’s hostile tone. “I thought that was the whole idea.” Simon was present
when their mother had brought up the plan to present Catherine at
Almacks
.

“You needn’t bring up the fact that no one but you
is good enough for her. It’s not true, you know.”

“What the devil is wrong with you?” Haverton sat
forward, thinking perhaps his brother had gone mad.

“Nothing’s wrong with me.” Simon turned away, his
voice choked with emotion. “Just because you have a dance with her, you think
the two of you are betrothed or something equally as ridiculous.”

Haverton took exception to this accusation. “I beg
your pardon. Haven’t I just told you that I did not dance with Catherine, her
dance card was
full.
”

“Catherine? Why are you bringing her up?” If it was
possible, Simon grew angrier.

“That is the lady to which I am referring. Who are
you talking about?”