Evelyn Richardson (6 page)

But at the moment, Catherine needed more distraction than the account books in front of her could offer. She needed other people, other conversations. Closing the book in front of her with a decisive snap, she went in search of Margaret Denholme, who shared the carriage ride home with her as far as the vicarage every afternoon after school when Catherine returned to the dower house.

The instructress was gathering up her students’ papers and several obscure-looking mathematical treatises as Catherine entered the room. Making rather more work than was necessary out of stuffing it all into a serviceable-looking satchel, Margaret tried unobtrusively to read the expression on her friend’s face with little success.

It was not until they were both finally in the carriage and rolling off down the Royal Crescent toward home that Margaret, unable to contain her curiosity any longer, spoke up. “From the little I saw, the Marquess of Charlmont appeared to be favorably enough impressed with us yesterday, but what person of taste and refinement would not be? And he definitely seemed to be a person of taste and refinement. I trust that upon his return today he was decided upon the academy for his niece?”

Catherine was silent for some time, and Margaret, her gaze still focused on her friend’s face, thought she detected just the hint of a blush spreading over the delicate aristocratic features, but perhaps it was just the warm hues of the late afternoon sunlight pouring through the carriage window.

“Ah, er, yes he did.” Catherine blushed even more deeply as she looked up to discover Margaret surveying her closely.

It was a most unsatisfactory answer, especially for a young woman born with an intellectually curious nature. “Odd that he has the care of the young lady. I suppose that he mentioned why it is he who is looking after his niece instead of her mother or father?”

‘The father is dead.”

“How sad. An accident, I collect? However, you did say that he was a man of dubious reputation. People of dubious reputations are more prone to such things than the rest of the population.”

“That is undoubtedly true, but such is not the case where the Marquess of Charlmont is concerned. That is, I mean he is the Marquess of Charlmont, but not the Marquess of Charlmont, if you know what I mean.”

Margaret’s blank expression was irrefutable proof that she did not know what her friend meant.

“What I mean to say is that the man you saw today is the man you presumed to be dead. He is the man I formerly knew as Lord Lucian Verney, brother to the Marquess of Charlmont.”

“The rake?”

Catherine nodded slowly, and this time Margaret was certain that the rosiness suffusing her companion’s cheeks had nothing to do with the sun and everything to do with Lord Lucian Verney, who was apparently now the Marquess of Charlmont.

“Perhaps he is not so rakish as he once was. After all, he must have mended his ways to some degree if he is now concerning himself with his niece’s education.”

“On the contrary, he is as irresponsible as ever. Do you know he even admitted to me that he is not looking at any other establishments beyond ours? It is that sort of heedless behavior that once made me… We—er—never mind. After all, what business is it of mine if he does not exert the proper attention in the selection of an educational establishment for his niece as long as it is to our benefit?”

“So he in fact was an acquaintance of yours at one time.” Margaret could not hide the satisfaction in her voice. From the moment Catherine had mentioned the rakish younger brother of the Marquess of Charlmont, Margaret had suspected that it was more than a casual introduction that was responsible for the self-conscious expression that crept into her friend’s eyes every time the subject came up in conversation.

That self-conscious expression was most definitely present now. “Well, we did become acquainted during my one and only Season, but it was only the most casual, the briefest of friendships, thank heavens, for in the very middle of it…the Season, I mean…he utterly disgraced himself by running off with an actress. So you see why I was not necessarily ecstatic at the thought of his daughter entering… Well, never mind. Undoubtedly I refine upon it too much, but where a fledgling enterprise such as ours is concerned, one can never be too careful of one’s reputation.”

They were silent during the rest of the journey, Margaret entertaining a variety of wild speculations concerning the history of the relationship between Lady Catherine Granville and the Marquess of Charlmont, formerly Lord Lucian Verney, and Catherine trying desperately to fix her mind on anything but that relationship.

Such concerns were immediately wiped from both their minds, however, as they pulled up in front of the vicarage to discover another carriage in the drive.

“Granville? Here? He is up to some sort of mischief if he has managed to overcome his distaste for your father’s ‘liberal principles’ enough to call on him,” Catherine commented grimly.

Margaret was equally uneasy. “Certainly he is up to no good, but then, he never is. You had best come in with me and find out what it is.”

Margaret’s father was looking decidedly uncomfortable as they entered the vicarage’s cozy sitting room, and he welcomed his daughter and her companion with obvious relief. “There, you see, my lord, here are my daughter and Lady Catherine now to answer your question.”

“Question? There is no question about it! The woman is a disgrace, and her presence is an affront to every decent citizen in the community.” The already florid face of the vicar’s visitor took on an even more alarming hue as he pointed a stubby finger at the community’s moral preceptor. “And I would expect a vicar worthy of his living to do something to rectify the situation immediately.”

He glanced triumphantly at the two young women after this pronouncement, but the gasp of dismay he was so clearly hoping for did not come.

“How odd. I would think that the first concern of any spiritual advisor would be Christian charity.” Catherine refused to pretend ignorance of the topic of discussion, which was clearly the presence of Betty and her baby, and she refused even more adamantly to betray even the slightest sign of weakness.

Looking Lord Granville straight in the eye, she continued. “Surely a vicar can find no better way to save the souls of his parishioners than by encouraging them to follow our Lord’s own precept, ‘He that is without sin among you, let him cast the first stone.’ And surely Betty, who is now living as sober and industrious a life as any of us, repents of the indiscretion that cost her her dream of becoming a fashionable lady’s maid.”

Ignoring her completely, Lord Granville continued to focus his attention on the vicar. “As you see, sirrah, the situation is dire indeed when gently born ladies are so far gone that they forget what they owe to their name and countenance this sort of loose behavior. Such an attitude is nothing short of scandalous. Not only do they not shun this fallen woman with the proper horror of respectable women, they offer her aid and sustenance. Furthermore,” he added, warming to his theme, “failing to establish the proper moral tone in their own lives, they now have the audacity to set themselves up as preceptresses to other young woman. All of which, sirrah, can lead me to only one conclusion, and that is that we are sadly in need of a new spiritual leader in our little corner of the world.”

This time a moment of shocked silence did follow his outburst. Then Catherine, struggling to contain her rage, finally found her voice. “How dare you, sir, speak to a gentleman in this way, a gentleman who has cared for the sick and the poor, consoled the suffering, and done more for his parish in a day than you have done in your lifetime! And as to my audacity in educating young women, I can only say that
I
, at least, am doing something useful with the inheritance left me by my Great-aunt Belinda, which is more than I can say for the inheritance that was entrusted to you! Now, if you have done insulting the vicar in his own home, I suggest you leave.”

Lord Granville was no match for her righteous indignation. Standing erect, shoulders back, chin up, her eyes blazing with the intensity of her purpose, Lady Catherine looked like an avenging angel. If the truth were told, Lord Granville had always been a little in awe of her absolute confidence, a confidence born out of her own personal convictions, rather than arising, as he attributed it, from being born the daughter of an earl, a fact that his own nagging sense of inferiority would not let him forget.

“I shall be happy to quit the company of those whose utter lack of moral responsibility fills me with disgust.” Lord Granville had intended to match Catherine’s high moral tone, but he failed entirely and once again, in spite of his efforts, he found himself on the defensive, a position that made him feel distinctly uneasy and robbed him completely of what little dignity he did have. Sweat beaded his brow, and his voice, which was petulant at best, had risen to a high pitch more characteristic of a fishwife than the lord of a vast estate. There was nothing left to do but retire before what little superiority he possessed disappeared entirely.

Turning on his heel, he stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

“Oh, dear.” Margaret put a hand to her lips. “I do believe that we have gone too far this time. He truly could choose to bestow Papa’s living on someone else.”

“Nonsense. If he is foolish enough to do that—which he is not, for the entire countryside would be up in arms and he has too strong a sense of self-preservation to risk that—we shall just hire your papa to teach Greek and religion at the academy. In fact, it might be a very good idea to have him do so anyway.”

But for all her bold words and defiant looks, Catherine was nearly as shaken as the vicar and his daughter. “That man may turn me out of my home, may even enrich himself on the shares from the canals that came as part of my dowry, but I will not let him bring harm to my friends or to the community that welcomed me here as a bride. He is forever throwing my ‘lack of respectability’ in my face, but I have too much respect for myself and for all that Granville and I tried to accomplish over the years to let that grasping, pompous, fool… Well, never mind.”

She smiled reassuringly at the worried pair in front of her. “Forget about him. Concentrate instead on preparing your lessons for tomorrow, Margaret, and I shall call for you in the morning at the usual time.”

Chapter Seven

But in spite of her brave words, Catherine was worried. The new Lord Granville was a bully and a fool, but he had already managed to make her life difficult. And though most people treated her with the same love and respect they had always accorded her when she was the mistress of Granville Park, there were some who were willing to espouse whatever opinions her husband’s heir happened to voice simply because he was Lord Granville and he was a man.

Catherine sighed wearily as she surrendered her bonnet and gloves to her waiting maid. She wished desperately that she had someone to talk to.

The maid hung the bonnet on a peg, laid the gloves on a side table, and returned to light the fire in the library. “You just take a seat before the fire, my lady, and I shall bring you some tea.”

“Thank you, Lucy. It has been a long day.”

The maid shook her head. “You work too hard, my lady. It is that school of yours. It will make you old before your time. Far better to have taken your great-aunt’s inheritance and gone to London to find yourself another husband.”

“Lucy!”

“I know, I know. You do not want another husband. But you are too young and too pretty to hide yourself in the countryside and waste your youth on good works. Time enough for that when you are old and ugly. Besides, you need a man to take…”

‘Take over my affairs? Thank you, no. What I need is to be left alone to manage them by myself. I have men enough as it is interfering in my affairs.”

“It is not Lord Granville again?” Lucy had been one of the servants lucky enough to have an excuse to leave Granville Park when the heir took over, but she had heard tales enough from those left behind to thank her lucky stars that she had been one of the few servants for whom the mistress had had a place in the dower house. And from that privileged position she had been witness to her mistress’s many battles with the new Lord Granville. If she had not been an active witness to the encounters, certainly she had been a witness to their effects. Lady Catherine’s compressed lips and angry frown were just the sort of effects that proved, as she had seen time and time again, that such a battle had taken place.

“Yes, it is Lord Granville again.” Catherine had always accorded what the new Lord Granville called ‘a dangerous familiarity’ to her personal servants. In those first lonely days at the dower house, that familiarity had saved her from the crushing sense of loss and purposelessness that had threatened to overwhelm her. It was the ready sympathy and understanding of people like Lucy that had carried her through that dark time. People of her own social standing, her peers, had viewed the move to the dower house, the ceding of responsibility for Granville Park to its new master, as the natural course of affairs. To them, it made perfect sense for her to lose so many important aspects of her life and they had congratulated her on shedding the various tasks and responsibilities of the mistress of a vast estate. To them, it signified freedom. To her, it meant emptiness.

Only those accustomed to making their own way in the world—people like Lucy and Margaret—understood what it had been like to lose the very purpose of her existence. But even Lucy had thought she was crazed to go so far as to take on the responsibility of Lady Catherine Granville’s Academy.

“If only Madam’s brother lived closer, he would put his lordship to the rightabout. Perhaps if you were to write to him…”

“Robert? What could Robert do? Robert is a good man, but he is no match for Hugo, er, I mean Lord Granville, and he utterly lacks the imagination to appreciate the situation. He simply would not see any harm in consigning a widow to a hopelessly boring existence. Nor would he understand in the slightest. I do not want any man telling me what to do or offering his advice on this question.” Or on my life, Catherine added silently, as the vision of a tall dark-haired man with penetrating gray eyes rose before her. Now, here was a man she truly did not want in her life. Lord Lucian Verney had caused problems enough when he had appeared in it for the first time. True, she was no longer the impressionable young girl she had been then. She had outgrown her naiveté, but she had not outgrown the way he affected her. His smile still made her feel just as breathless now as it had ten years ago, and that sense of the special understanding between them remained as strong now as it ever had been ten years ago, in spite of his betrayal.