Miss Fellingham's Rebellion (25 page)

“But ’twas you who said they would.”

“I was angry, Evelyn, and spoke without thinking,” she explained, regretting now her harsh words. “I only wanted to make Mama understand the seriousness of her crime so that she would stop doing it. I never meant it. It’s not true, dear, and I never meant to frighten you.”

Evelyn digested this information, and while she clearly wanted to be swayed by her sister’s words, she understood how grave the situation was. “Thank you, darling,” she said, squeezing Catherine’s hand, “for trying to make this seem a little less bleak. However, I am not so ignorant as you suppose. I am well aware of the wretched scandal this would cause if anybody knew. That must not happen. There is the family honor to think about for one, and you and Melissa for another. How will you make a match if the Fellinghams are infamous?”

Catherine knew that her making a match should be the least of her sister’s considerations, but she didn’t remark on it. The point was the same whether it included her or not. The Fellinghams
would
be infamous, and she had little doubt that the family would be able to weather the storm. They were respectable, of course, and one of the oldest families in the kingdom, but they didn’t have the clout or the consequence. And it would take a significant amount of clout and consequence to brazen out something like this.

“There is nothing for it,” said Evelyn, brushing away tears, “but for me to marry him for his silence.”

“You shall not marry him.” Catherine’s voice was hard and forceful. “I’ll not allow it.”

Her sister laughed sadly. “Thank you, darling. Your support means the world to me. But there’s nothing you can do. I’m sure I’ll be fine. Please don’t tease yourself about it.”

“Stop being absurd,” Catherine ordered. “You and I will think of something else, and if we can’t, then fine, the Fellinghams will return to Dorset in disgrace, and Mama will learn an extremely unpleasant lesson about having to accept the consequences of one’s actions. And I, for one, won’t mind. As you know, I never really enjoyed London that much anyway.”

Evelyn smiled at these words, for the whole family knew that Catherine never really enjoyed London all that much. “No, Cathy, that won’t do. Of course there’s nothing I would rather do than run away to Dorset and hide until this all goes away. But I can’t. I won’t. I don’t want to be selfish anymore. Don’t you think that I know what you and Freddy say about me? I know you both think I am a horrid person. And…and maybe I have been horrid in the past but not anymore. I want to be good like you. You can’t stop me. I will marry the horrible Mr. Finchly and…and be happy with my noble sacrifice for the rest of my life.” With that, her control broke and she threw herself onto the bed as yet another bout of tears overcame her. “Now, please leave me alone.”

Poor waterlogged Evelyn, Catherine thought, much distressed by her sister’s speech. She and Freddy had no idea the damage they had done with their careless words. “No, dear, I won’t leave you alone, so you can save your arguing for Mr. Finchly. We will scrape through this contretemps together. I will not leave you alone to your fate. Don’t worry, my dear. I will think of something that will save you
and
the family name. There will be no need for your beautiful, noble sacrifice, though I will be forever humbled by your willingness to make it.”

“Please don’t make promises you can’t keep. I don’t want to have hope. It is better this way.” Evelyn buried her face in the pillow. “We are announcing the engagement tomorrow.”

Catherine rushed to the side of the bed, got down on her knees and made Evelyn sit up. “No, you mustn’t,” she said, grasping her shoulders tightly. “You must promise me that you’ll wait a few days. I need time to think of a plan.”

Evelyn’s head bobbed back and forth, as if it were too much effort to sit up, but she anchored herself with her fists on the bed. “Finchly wants to post the bans right away.”

“Tell him he can’t. Tell him it’s indecent or that your mother would like to get to know him better,” she said, thinking quickly. “Surely he can’t cavil at such a reasonable request. Indeed, if he is assured of your obedience through this dastardly deal, I can’t see why he would mind waiting another couple of days. You’ll give me a little time, won’t you?”

In the candlelight, Catherine could see that her sister’s heart was breaking. She knew that she was making it worse by offering hope, and she was sorry for that, but it wasn’t a false hope. She
would
come up with some measure by which to thwart Finchly. She simply needed time to organize her thoughts and identify an approach.

“Yes, darling, I’ll give you some time. I’ll talk to Finchly tomorrow when he comes to ask Papa for my hand,” she said in a tone of voice that led Catherine to conclude that her sister was trying to comfort
her
.

“Indeed, we might not have anything to worry about, considering the unlikelihood of Finchly finding Sir Vincent at home,” Catherine said with a laugh that sounded hollow and had no real humor.

Her sister smiled blankly in return. “That’s true. Now, darling, it has been a long day and I must get some rest. You should go to sleep as well.” She pulled back the covers, slid underneath and laid her head on the pillow. “You look tired. I know I never asked how your meeting with Deverill went. I saw that you and he had a tête-à-tête on the balcony. Perhaps we can discuss it in the morning.”

Catherine tucked the covers around her sister as if she were a small child. “Yes, in the morning I can tell you all about my encounter with Deverill. I assure you, my predicament is a mere bagatelle and the details will give you much-needed amusement.”

“Please don’t, darling,” she said. “He broke your heart and you mustn’t pretend that doesn’t matter, for it does, hugely.”

Her frivolous sister’s deep understanding and sincere concern moved Catherine greatly, and she leaned forward to press a kiss against Evelyn’s soft cheek. “I love you,” she said and as she spoke the words she realized she hadn’t uttered them to her sister in a very long time—certainly not in the past six years, perhaps not since they were in the schoolroom together. She would do better, she promised. When this nightmare was over, she would treat her sister as a friend and confidante and a conspirator.

Evelyn smiled sleepily and her eyes fluttered shut. “I love you, too, Cathy,” she murmured before dropping off.

Worry she wouldn’t let her sister see clouded Catherine’s face as she blew out the candle, shut the door and returned to her room. She climbed into bed and closed her eyes, but it was many hours before she fell asleep.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

After only two
hours’ sleep, Catherine awoke and rang for Betsy. She would have liked to lie in bed for several more hours—indeed, from the way she felt, she would have opted to spend several more days not only in bed but hiding under the covers—but she could not. She had to save Evelyn and send Finchly packing, and she would do so by any means at her disposal. Even if she had to dress up as a man, arrange a duel and shoot him herself, Mr. Oscar Finchly would not marry Miss Evelyn Fellingham. Her first preference, of course, was for a resolution that didn’t require bloodshed, but if that was what the situation demanded, then she would have no choice but to oblige.
C’est la guerre.

As Betsy entered the room, Catherine reflected on the ironical fact that Evelyn’s troubles had sent her own scurrying. Compared with the monumental task of freeing her sister from the clutches of a dastardly blackmailer, unrequited love seemed rather inconsequential. Once the crisis had passed, she knew, the pain would start again, and she would have to find a way to live with a broken heart. But for now, at least, she had been given a reprieve. The Marquess of Deverill could walk into her father’s office today and ask for her hand and she would give it no more thought than she would her morning chocolate. There were other things in the world more important than love—such as family and loyalty and her sister’s happiness and thwarting evil.

Catherine bid her maid an unenthusiastic good morning and climbed out of bed, confident that if she gave the matter enough thought, she could find a solution. Her optimism carried her to the breakfast parlor, which she was much relieved to find empty. She was not up for the effort of small talk, especially when it centered on Deverill, for if Evelyn had seen her go off with Deverill, then in all likelihood her mother had, too.

Caruthers handed her the newspaper and asked what she required for breakfast. “I’m not very hungry this morning. I’ll have some toast with jam and a cup of coffee,” she said, flipping through the paper more out of habit than actual interest. The answer to the Finchly problem would not be found among a Parliamentary debate about the Coinage Act.

The logical place to start, it seemed to Catherine, was with Mr. Finchly himself. He was the problem; surely he could be the solution. Despite his behavior thus far, he was still an English gentleman, schooled in the code of proper conduct, and might need only to be made aware of how unprincipled his behavior was. Perhaps his confidence was such that he didn’t understand how unpleasant his proposal was to Evelyn. She could scarcely credit that any Englishman could be so lacking in proper feeling as to coerce a young lady into marriage and began to wonder if maybe her sister had misconstrued the offer.

Yes, she thought, the entire debacle could simply be one large misunderstanding on both their parts.

This idea so encouraged Catherine, she found her appetite had returned and she ate two pieces of toast and some scrambled eggs before collecting her reticule and leaving the house. Nine o’clock was an improper time for house calls but since visiting a bachelor’s residence was somewhat more improper, she didn’t scruple about the time. Her course of action required her to perform unconventional feats and she would not balk. She would execute her duty boldly and bravely, though it wouldn’t do to be too bold, she thought, pulling up the hood on her pelisse.

She found a hack with ease and directed the driver to Upper Seymour Street, where her mother had mentioned Finchly lived. His man reluctantly allowed her entry but made her wait in the foyer alcove instead of the parlor. Catherine wanted to cavil at the treatment, for it implied that the butler thought she was a lightskirt, at worst, or a fast woman, at best, but she knew it was exactly what her unconventional behavior deserved. Respectable women did not call upon bachelors at all, and certainly not without their maids.

Despite the indecently early hour, Finchly was awake and prepared to receive her visit. He stepped out of the breakfast parlor with a quizzical look on his face, which was quickly replaced with a smile—a calculating smile that sent shivers down Catherine’s spine. “Ah, Miss Fellingham or shall I call you Catherine or perhaps just ‘dear sister’? No doubt you are here to congratulate me on my good fortune in securing your sister as my bride.” He turned to his man. “Bigelow, let’s have some tea for the young lady, and I will have my coffee in the drawing room.”

Catherine followed him into the drawing room, which was decorated in a respectable if not lavish style, and took a seat in a wingback chair several paces removed from the settee he’d indicated with a flourish of his hand. She didn’t want to open herself up to the possibility of sharing a cushion.

“Pray tell me, my dear, to what do I owe the pleasure?” He smiled again, but he didn’t seem the least bit pleased.

Well, neither was Catherine. “Mr. Finchly, I—”

“Come now,” he interrupted with a raised hand, “we are to be family quite soon. You may call me Oscar.”

The last thing Catherine wanted was to be on familiar terms with the gentleman, but she saw no reason to provoke him. “Oscar, then, I was talking to my sister last night and she informed me of your…ah”—she struggled for the proper word—“compact.”

“Did she?” he asked, raising the coffee cup to his lips. “Dear sweet child. She will make me very happy.”

The fact that he wasn’t the least bit perturbed by her knowing the truth of his arrangement with Evelyn did not bode well for the future of the conversation, but Catherine soldiered on. It was possible that she’d been too subtle in her explanation. “I know, Mr. Finch…Oscar, about the sword you held over my sister’s head.”

He took a sip of coffee and dabbed at his lips with a linen. “Of course you do,” he said calmly. “I expect you girls talk about everything.”

At these words, Catherine realized that her mission to clear up a misunderstanding had been futile. Finchly knew exactly what he’d been doing and Evelyn’s interpretation of the events had been accurate. Nevertheless, she made one last attempt. “Perhaps then you don’t realize how reluctant Evelyn is to marry a man she hardly knows,” Catherine suggested tactfully.

“Indeed I do, Catherine. Why else do you think I had to blackmail her?” he said, boldly admitting to his crime like the callous villain he was. “If I had believed that Evelyn would have welcomed my suit, then of course I would have proposed in the usual way, but she is clearly a young fanciful girl whose head is filled with images of romantic heroes. I thought it best not to coddle her. I am not a romantic hero, and I have no intentions of indulging my wife in such nonsense.” His smile disappeared into the coffee cup, and she was confronted with his beady black eyes.

“But why do you want to marry a woman who is reluctant to marry you?” she asked, unable to grasp his motive or to understand his reasoning. “Evelyn has no great dowry. A small portion, really.”