Evelyn Richardson (13 page)

With a start so noticeable that it even caused his team to toss their heads, Lucian sat even more upright on the seat of his curricle. He had not ever allowed himself to acknowledge it until this very moment, but he had been longing to hold Catherine in his arms and kiss her breathless since that moment ten years ago when she had first looked up at him and laughed and he knew he had found a soul mate.

How could he have allowed himself to lose all that? Why had he not written to her? The answer, he knew, was that he had been too afraid, too afraid of what she would say to him, too afraid to learn what she thought of him. For the first time in his life, he, who ordinarily did not give a fig for anyone’s opinion, had truly cared what someone else thought of him, had truly respected someone else’s intelligence enough for that opinion to matter very much to him. And then he had been too cowardly to put that opinion to the test. Either way, the result had been the same. He had lost her. And only now was he realizing what that had meant.

With Bath and Catherine receding into the distance behind him, the prospect of London in front of him did not seem so attractive as it once had. Nor did his affairs seem as pressing as they usually did. Ordinarily during his visits to Charlmont, he was on the verge of desperation by the time he left, a desperation born of irritation at the banality of his sister-in-law or just plain boredom, but this time, the prospect ahead, rather than the one behind, was the one that seemed empty and boring.

“I must be entering my dotage,” he muttered, as taking a firmer grip on the reins, he tried to focus as he usually did on the work that lay before him or on his latest mistress. But the thought of Lady Granville only reminded him again of Catherine and how galling it must be to her to be replaced as mistress of Granville Park by a woman who had no thought for anything beyond the latest fashions in
La Belle
Assemblée
and whose only social concern was the improvement of her position in the
haut ton
.

This whole unfortunate train of thought only served to make him recall that it was this very social concern of Lady Granville’s that had been responsible for his visit to Lady Catherine Granville’s Select Academy in the first place. Enrolling Arabella there was not precisely the outcome that Lady Granville had had in mind when she had sent him there. She was not going to be best pleased with the results of his visit.

Lucian grinned as he thought of how much Catherine would enjoy the look of horror on Lady Granville’s face when he broke the news to her that not only had he done nothing to disassociate the Granville name from the educational establishment but he was ready to recommend that establishment most highly to anyone who cared to listen.

Somewhat cheered by the irony of the whole situation, he eventually arrived back at his lodgings in Mount Street the next day in a slightly better frame of mind. But several days later as he headed first towards Brooks’s and then, after the theaters had let out, to a snug little villa in Marylebone and the welcoming arms of the newest member of the corps de ballet at the Theatre Royal, he realized that he would far rather have remained at home in front of his own fire discussing the recent article in the
The Edinburgh Review
on the “Causes and Cures of Pauperism” with someone whose conversation could be counted on to be as interesting as it was enlivening.

Catherine, he felt sure, would have her own decided opinions on the subject. She had been a fierce critic of enclosures when he had first met her and he was reasonably certain that her experiences as the wife of a landholder responsible for the welfare of the villages surrounding his estate would only have expanded her opinions on the possible solutions to the plight of the rural poor.

But as it was, the only intellectual challenge he had enjoyed that evening had been to raise the stakes at whist with Tubby Whitcombe, Lord Southwold, and Colonel Wrexham.

The next evening had little more to offer except the choice between
The Double Gallant
at Drury Lane or
King Richard the Third
at Covent Garden, either of which carried the added risk of running into Lady Granville, something which he had sedulously avoided since returning to London.

Or he could go again to Brooks’s where the company was not particularly enlivening, but at least he could be assured of avoiding all contact with females of any sort. So to Brooks’s he went, and though his heart was not in it, it did serve as a distraction from the questions that seemed to hover constantly at the back of his mind, which were How was Catherine doing? Was she happy? Was ‘Ugolino’ continuing to annoy her? Had she forgiven him for kissing her? And, more importantly, Did she long, as he did, for it to happen again?

His thoughts were running very much along these same lines the next day as he sauntered down Bond Street. In
fact he was preoccupied with them to such a degree that it took him a moment to realize that it was his name he heard being called with an insistence that could not be ignored.

“Charlmont, are you quite well?” Lavinia Granville’s delicately arched brows hovered somewhere between concern and annoyance when he at last turned around to face her. “I have been addressing you this age, since you were in front of Madame Celeste’s.”

“I beg your pardon. I, er, was not attending. I did not expect to be so fortunate as to encounter you here.” Executing a truly elegant bow, he raised the offended beauty’s hand to his lips.”

“I had no idea you were back in town.”

“Only just. In fact, I was only now returning to my chambers to write a note informing you of my return when I had the great good fortune to…”

“You could have called on me.” The beauty’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly and her voice lost some of its husky sweetness.

“And I would have called on any ordinary woman, Lavinia. But you are not an ordinary woman. Indeed your company is so much sought after that I would never presume to call on you without first of all assuring myself that you were at home and, secondly, being certain that you were alone, a prospect so unlikely that I would have to be mad even to think it possible.”

Somewhat mollified, Lavinia favored him with a hint of a smile. “For you, Lucian, I am always at home…alone,” she whispered so that only he could hear.

He bowed again. “As always, I am in your debt, but…”

“Stay.” She laid a gloved hand on his arm ever so lightly, but there was no mistaking her message. “Do not rush away just yet. You must tell me how you found that Granville woman. Was she as brown and windblown as ever? I vow, every time I see her she looks as though she has just come in from the fields. So dreadfully unladylike.”

“No. Actually, she looked rather paler than I remember her.”

“What? But I thought you were not acquainted with her.”

“I thought so too. The Lady Catherine I knew was Lady Catherine Montague, not Lady Catherine Granville.”

“Not so well acquainted then if she made so little impression on you that you did not realize she had married.” Lady Granville’s face relaxed again into a self-satisfied smile. “I would be surprised if you did remember her for she is certainly not your type—something of a hoyden and definitely a bluestocking.”

Lavinia was right. It was not an impression Catherine had made on him, it was an indelible imprint, but he had not realized until recently how indelible it had been. It was subtle, so subtle that he had not been aware that every woman he met he unconsciously measured against Catherine and, finding them all lacking, soon moved on. Yes, it had been subtle, but indelible, nevertheless.

“I trust that you were able to make her see that her behavior, no matter how consistent it is with her customarily cavalier attitude toward the dictates of good society, is not at all the thing and brings nothing but distress to the family.”

“If the truth be known, I did not even attempt such a useless exercise once I became aware of her identity. Lady Catherine is a woman of strong principles and even stronger convictions.”

“But I asked you to…”

For a moment, Lucian caught a brief glimpse of the spoilt little girl beneath the exquisite exterior, the spoilt little girl who had only to stomp her foot to get her way with indulgent parents. Then quite suddenly the angrily compressed lips drooped pathetically, and the flashing eyes swam with tears.

“But I was so counting on you,” she whispered huskily as she laid a pleading hand on his arm in a manner that had never failed to win her her way with parents and anyone else rash enough to consider denying her something that she wanted.

The Marquess of Charlmont, however, was made of sterner stuff, and he had a vast experience with women who dissolved in tears the instant their wishes were not fulfilled. “Relax, Lavinia.” He patted her hand indulgently. “I have done one better and enrolled my niece in Lady Catherine Granville’s Select Academy.”

“You have what?” It was a barely muffled shriek.

“I have enrolled Arabella. And if I do not miss my guess, she will be much improved by the experience. So much improved, that parents of young women throughout the
ton
will be falling all over one another in an effort to send their daughters there. You wait and see, you will have women of the highest fashion begging you to use your influence with Lady Catherine to accept their precious darlings into her exclusive establishment. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a most pressing engagement with Lord Sefton who will undoubtedly inquire as to the welfare of my brother’s family and will naturally inform his wife that my niece is most happily settled at Lady Catherine Granville’s Select Academy for Genteel Young Ladies.”

The mere mention of one of Almack’s patronesses was enough to silence all possible objections, and Lady Granville was forced to bid him good day with as much grace as she could muster.

Catherine would have instantly detected the ironic gleam in Lucian’s eyes as he left Lavinia, and she would have appreciated his consummate skill in handling the spoilt beauty, but unfortunately, Catherine was not there to share the moment with him. Worse yet, she was probably so immersed in her own life that she did not have a thought to spare for the Marquess of Charlmont or his affairs. Shaking his head ruefully at his own weakness for a particular headmistress, Lucian continued his progress along Bond Street.

Chapter Fourteen

Lucian was entirely correct; Catherine was extremely involved in her affairs, but in this case, her affairs were closely allied with the Marquess of Charlmont’s or, to be more exact, a member of his family.

As she did with every new arrival at the academy, Catherine was keeping a close watch on Arabella, checking to see that she was happy, that she was making new friends, and that she was not plagued by the homesickness that inevitably struck after the excitement of the journey was over and the thrill of being on one’s own for the first time wore off. But no matter how closely she observed, she could find no indication that her newest pupil was not adjusting beautifully to the change in her situation.

In fact, Arabella seemed to be flourishing in her new surroundings. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, her complexion glowed with good health, and she seemed to be the gayest of companions to anyone and everyone—almost too gay.

Catherine frowned thoughtfully as she watched the laughing crowd of young women chattering away in the garden below her office window. It was not natural for a new arrival not to suffer any ill effects from the transition, to appear so comfortable, even exuberant so quickly. Something else lay behind the unusually high spirits, and Catherine was determined to find out what it was.

From the little she had seen of Arabella, Catherine had quickly identified her as a most determined young woman, charming to be sure, but determined all the same to have her own way and bind everyone else to it. Even her uncle, inured as he was to manipulative females and their charms, did not appear to be entirely immune to his niece’s wiles.

The more Catherine observed Arabella’s behavior, the more she was certain that the redoubtable young woman had some sort of plan for which it suited her—for the moment—to be enrolled in Lady Catherine Granville’s Academy, but clearly she had some other goal in mind. For one thing, she took far more care of her appearance than any of her companions, the fashionable Olivia included.

Several days later, as Catherine was again looking out of her office window, her eyes fell on Arabella, who every once in a while paused in her chattering and looked around as though expecting something. Her senses on the alert, Catherine stepped back from the window out of view and watched carefully as one by one the girls drifted back inside. Just as Arabella turned to leave, Catherine caught sight of a flicker of movement directly below, too quick for Catherine to make out who or what it was, and in an instant, Arabella had also run beneath the window, but not so far that Catherine could not see her extend her hand to receive what appeared to be a note which she slipped immediately into the pocket of her morning dress. Then, glancing hastily around the garden behind her, she too disappeared from view.

A horrible premonition seized Catherine. Somehow, somewhere, Arabella had acquired an admirer. But how? Where? While it was true that the older girls attending the academy were allowed a certain amount of freedom, they were always accompanied by one of the instructresses on their trips to the shops on Milsom Street or to one of the circulating libraries. Furthermore, Arabella had not been in Bath long enough to establish an acquaintance of any kind, let alone attract an admirer to the degree that he would be writing her letters, unless her admirer were a previous acquaintance, someone she had met before who happened to live in Bath. After all, Charlmont was not so far from Bath that the family could not have had acquaintances in the city who visited Charlmont on a regular enough basis for Arabella to have developed a relationship.

Sighing gently, Catherine let the curtain she was clutching fall back into place. At this point, her misgivings were too vague to enlist the aid of anyone else. She would just have to keep as close an eye as she could on Arabella without arousing the girl’s suspicions.