How to Seduce a Scot (10 page)

Yours sincerely,

Mr. St. John Philips, Esquire

“Miss Catherine, are you all right?”

Catherine realized then what it meant to truly feel faint. She sat down heavily in a spindly chair tucked against the wall, and Cook brought her a cup of ale. She drank it down without bothering to see if it was watered. But there was no help for it. Her senses were keen. She would not faint, nor would she be transported by a bit of ale as she had been by Mary Elizabeth's magic elixir. She would have to face this latest calamity, and the realities of her life with clear eyes, and a clear mind.

God help her.

She finished her ale and stood up, her knees strong once more. She set her mug down, thanked Cook, and with the letter in hand, went to see her mother.

Mrs. Middlebrook was sitting in the music room, listening as Margaret practiced her new Scottish tune on the pianoforte. Margaret did not seem to feel the need to bash at the keys with this lilting music as she did with the Beethoven, but seemed content to master the melody with a bit of finesse. Perhaps Robert Waters had made an impression on her while Catherine was above stairs at the Duchess of Northumberland's house, learning to throw knives.

Catherine wished for a knife now, but it would have been of little use. She could not have simply thrown it to relieve herself of the burden of irritation and frantic energy. She was so angry, she might have actually thrown it at someone—such as her mother.

Margaret brought her Scottish tune to a melodic end. Before she could begin the same tune again, Catherine asked, “Mother, may I speak with you alone?”

Her mother turned to her and smiled, as if she had not a care in the world. Which was more than likely true. The red roses from the unknown admirer still graced the mantel, their hothouse scent lingering in the room like a breath of summer to come. Catherine wondered again which roué had his eye on her mother, and how on earth she was supposed to combat roués and unpaid mortgages both.

“You may speak in front of Margaret, pet, never fear. We are all a family, caught in the throes of life together.” Mrs. Middlebrook smiled beatifically, as if the throes she spoke of were mere swells only, and not the crashing tidal wave that Catherine feared.

Perhaps Mr. Philips was mistaken. Perhaps her mother had not taken out a mortgage on the Devon estate, but on the London town house. The effect would still be disastrous, but they could sell the town house without losing her father's legacy altogether.

“Mother, I must ask you about business. Financial business.”

Mrs. Middlebrook sighed deeply. “Must you? Very well then. Ask, and I will answer.”

“Did you take a mortgage out on the estate?”

Her mother did not answer right away, but rose to her feet and moved to the mantel where her bouquet still bloomed. She fiddled with the flowers, arranging them again, as if they had not been placed in that vase by her own hands and arranged in their current glory that very morning.

“What's a mortgage?” Margaret asked.

Catherine waited, and when her mother still did not speak, she answered her sister. “When you obtain money from a bank, money you did not previously possess, the bank often requires goods or land as collateral. If the money is not paid back, on time, with interest, the bank takes the land or goods as a forfeit to cover the debt.”

Margaret may have only been twelve, but she had a much better grasp of reality than their mother did. “Is the bank going to take Papa's land?”

“No, love, no.” Mrs. Middlebrook crossed the room and put her arms around her youngest daughter, looking over at Catherine accusingly. “No one is going to take our land. Put that thought right out of your head.”

Catherine stood, returning her mother's glare. “Is it true, Mother, or is Mr. Philips mistaken?”

She found the answer she sought on her mother's guilty face. Margaret could not see it, and Catherine did not want to worry the child any more than she already had. So instead of screaming, as she wished to, instead of throwing the letter from their solicitor into her mother's lap, she simply said, “Mr. Philips has requested an interview with both of us present, Mama. I will make the arrangements, if you will be so good as to attend.”

Her mother did not answer but looked stricken, as if the horror in her daughter's eyes finally pierced the fantasy world she lived in. Beef cost money, and mortgages, while great fun when they were taken out, had to be paid.

Catherine could not stay in the room another moment. She left her mother and sister sitting together, and closed the door to the music room with an emphatic click behind her.

She stumbled downstairs without a bonnet or a pelisse. She did not stop in her room to pick up either. She had to remove herself from the house, from the environs where her mother lived, without further delay. She could not bear to be there a moment longer. She did not know where she was going; she would discover that when she got there. Her mind was one large bruise.

She stepped into the entrance hall to find Jim opening the door for Lord Farleigh.

She stopped dead in her tracks, wondering why she had chosen that moment to come into the foyer, why she had chosen that day to braid her hair instead of setting curls on the crown of her head in her usual pretty, if serviceable, arrangement. It was too late now, for Lord Farleigh could see her plainly. She met the blue of his eyes even as Jim instructed his lordship that Miss Middlebrook was not at home.

“I beg to differ, my good sir,” was all Lord Farleigh said. His eyes lightened at the sight of her, and his usual serious expression lifted into a smile. His lips quirked at the irony of her under butler's gaffe, but Jim stood stock-still, staring straight ahead.

“She is not receiving, my lord.”

“Jim, it's all right. Let poor Lord Farleigh in.”

His lordship did not laugh out loud, but she saw the light of humor in his eyes, coloring his usually pale countenance with a bit of pink. She felt her own laughter rising, in spite of the terrible hour she had just spent. She felt relief at the sight of him, as she might feel at finally taking a draught of cool water on a hot summer day. Such water was a pleasure, but it was also a necessity. Lord Farleigh might not be dashing, he might not set her heart at a roar, but he was kind.

“Forgive my appearance, my lord. I truly was not at home to visitors today.”

Catherine led him into the formal parlor after instructing Jim to send up some refreshments. For once, Lord Farleigh did not refuse her offer of tea.

“You honor me, then, Miss Middlebrook. Thank you for receiving me.”

“It is my pleasure, my lord. It is a relief to see you after the morning I have spent.”

He sat beside her on the uncomfortable settee. For a moment, she was thrown off a bit by his closeness, but he sat a proper distance from her, and did not reach out to touch her in any way, as Mr. Waters might have done.

“I hope no one among your family is ill.”

“No, my lord. I am grateful to say that they are not. We have been spared that, at least.”

She closed her mouth on her complaints as Jim brought in the tea tray and set it before her. He withdrew, and she set herself to pouring, giving Lord Farleigh one sugar and a touch of milk, as he instructed. She slipped two lumps into her own cup, and followed it with a dollop of milk as well, not certain how much longer they would be able to afford such luxuries. She repressed a sigh as she sipped the sweet Darjeeling, but Farleigh seemed to hear it.

“You are distressed, Miss Middlebrook. And I am sorry for it.”

Catherine forced herself to smile, and to drink her tea. “You are very kind, Lord Farleigh, but I do not mean to trouble you with the nonsense of my household.” She tried to suppress her terror and shrug it off at the same time. She certainly could not reveal it to this man. No one spoke of money or the need for it in polite company. She dredged her mind for some decent topic of conversation, and found one.

“The lilacs are blooming well. Perhaps one day I might show them to you.”

“You grow them yourself?” he asked.

“I putter around a bit. My mother enjoys their fragrance.”

“As does mine.”

“Then I must cut you a bunch to take to her before you go, with my compliments.”

He smiled, and his light blue eyes took on a warmer depth. She could see clearly that he loved his mother. “Thank you, Miss Middlebrook. That is truly kind. But she is away in the country at the moment. I fear London and its busy environs try her nerves.”

“I can understand why.”

Catherine spoke without thinking, and then wished her words back in almost the same instant. Lord Farleigh was not the least offended by her candor, but laughed out loud, his pale face brightening with the effort. He was quite handsome when he laughed, like a painting come to life.

“Miss Middlebrook, you are a charming companion over tea and on a drive in the park, but I must not let you change the subject altogether. I find I am quite fond of you, and the thought of something troubling you, troubles me.”

Catherine felt her own smile stiffen on her face. She tried to shore it up, but it crumbled in the light of his outspokenness. She tried to build it up again, but found that she could not. She simply was not that good a liar.

“The subject is indelicate, I fear.”

He frowned, and looked thoughtful. “And you say it is not illness in the family. It must be money then.”

Catherine choked on her Darjeeling, and Lord Farleigh casually reached out and took her cup and saucer from her, setting it back on the tea tray. She fought for control of herself, but he reached out and took her hand.

“Miss Middlebrook, please do not stand on ceremony with me. My mother raised me to be of service to ladies whenever I can. If you would do me the honor of confessing all to me, perhaps I will be able to help.”

Catherine regained her breath, and stared at him. She looked into Lord Farleigh's handsome, if somewhat bland face, and wondered what the world would be like if she had a man like this to lean on. Alexander Waters and his broad shoulders rose to block her view, but she dismissed him firmly, turning her mind and her gaze to where she was, and with whom.

“Thank you for the thought, my lord, but I fear there is nothing you can do.”

His gloved hand was warm on hers. It did not hold the lightning of the gods as Mr. Waters's touch did, but it was comforting, like the hand of a friend. Catherine had found in the last hour that she needed a friend, and badly.

“Tell me what troubles you, and let me be the judge.”

Catherine tried to stop her own mouth, but the words came spilling out, as water from a broken jar.

“I have discovered just today that there is a mortgage on my family's estate in Devon.”

She sat still in the hideous silence that followed, hearing only the ticking of the clock on the mantel, and the thunder of her own beating heart. She wished her words back, and even said a prayer that he might ignore them, but Lord Farleigh was a gentleman. He did not ignore her.

“Forgive me for asking an indelicate question, but was it not entailed away upon your father's death?”

“No, my lord, we are not so grand as that. It is a small holding, but it has been in the Middlebrook family for many generations.”

“And that ended with your father.”

“Unless I am blessed with a son to pass it down to, yes.”

Lord Farleigh sat in silence, as if mourning something she could not quite understand. “But as you have no brother, it would be held hereafter under your husband's name.”

“Yes, I suppose so. I would bear his name, as would any children of mine.”

Farleigh sighed. “That is a true shame, that the Middlebrook name will pass from it.”

She thought for a moment that he was missing the point. She was very grateful it had not been entailed away to her cousin Herbert, as the great families disposed of all their properties under the law. She was very fortunate to have their land in Devon as a haven and a home. At least, she had been. Now they might lose it all, if she could not figure out a way to save them.

She could not marry in time for that.

“I fear it will not matter at all now, for the mortgage is in arrears, and we have no way to pay it.”

The silence that followed was excruciating. Catherine now knew why her grandmother forbade her to speak of such things to anyone outside the family, much less a man she had once hoped to marry. The humiliation she had experienced at Mr. Waters's hands was nothing to the shame she felt now, with her family's money troubles exposed to a man who was kind, but essentially a stranger. She tried to draw her hand out of his and stand, but his grip tightened. It seemed Lord Farleigh was stronger than he looked.

“I am sorry for speaking of such things,” she said.

“You never would have, had I not pressed you.”

“Still, it is unbecoming to speak of my private family affairs. You must accept my apology.”

“Only if you accept mine for prying.”

She smiled wryly, certain that she would never see him again after that day. No man would continue to court a girl who was so reckless in her speech, so unguarded in her manner. Even now, he still held her hand.

Catherine did not try to draw away again but sat in silence, enjoying the comfort of his hand on hers. It was a comfort that would not last, so she drank it down.

“May I pry into your affairs further by asking you the name of your solicitor, Miss Middlebrook?”

“He is a wonderful man, Mr. St. John Philips, of Lincoln's Inn. He worked for my father, and now he does his best to care for us.”

“It seems he has failed.”

Catherine felt a new flush of shame at the censure in his voice, though she knew it was not directed at her. “He has done his best, I think. All he can do is give advice. My family, I fear, does not always take it.”

“And you are left to fend for your family alone, with no man to lean on save a hired lawyer.”

Catherine looked down at her lap, wishing she could think of something clever to say. It seemed her thoughts had jumbled themselves into a bunch, and would not come unraveled no matter how she tugged on them, like a skein of yarn that a cat had gotten hold of.

How might her family retrench? They would certainly have to leave London immediately. Perhaps they might sell the town house to pay the debt on the land. Catherine had no idea of how large the debt was. They might have to sell their carriage, perhaps even rent out the family home in Devon and move in with her grandmother. She cringed at the thought of that humiliation, but anything, even that, would be better than losing the land her father loved, the land her father was buried on.