No Man's Bride (20 page)

“N
o, that one is too white,” Madeleine told Josie. She held up another sheet of vellum from the sheets spread over Valentine’s dining-room table and admired it. “What about this one?”

Josie huffed. “There’s absolutely no difference. Those two papers are exactly the same shade.”

“Ridiculous,” Maddie scoffed, holding the first up again. “This one is bright white. This is ivory. What do you think, Mr. Meeps?”

Catie looked up from the menu she was trying to perfect and watched the poor, overworked Mr. Meeps look from one of her cousins to the other. The small man pushed his glasses back on his nose. “I think—”

“This one, right?” Josie said, holding her choice out.

“Don’t influence him!” Maddie broke in. She waved her choice at him. “This is better, is it not?”

Catherine shook her head. “Leave poor Mr. Meeps alone, girls. The invitations are Valentine’s responsibility, and I told him he had to do it himself.”

“But, Lady Valentine, his lordship has given me leave to make decisions in his stead,” Meeps told her.

“I don’t care. He is going to keep to his end of our bargain. Either he does the invitations or there are none.”

“Good for you, Catie!” Josie said, applauding.

Catherine smiled, but it was short-lived. Valentine’s housekeeper bustled in and said breathlessly, “The table covers you ordered are here, milady. Where should I put them?”

Catie pressed her lips together and thought for a moment. “The drawing room, I suppose.”

“But milady, we can hardly open the door for all the items crammed inside. You told Webster to store the extra tables in there yesterday.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Catherine glanced at Josie and Maddie for help. They blinked back at her. “Um, I suppose we have no choice but to put them in Lord Valentine’s study.”

Mr. Meeps shook her head. “Oh, no, Lady Valentine. I do not suggest—”

“You absolutely must taste this cake!” Ashley
said, rushing into the dining room, a slice of white cake balanced on a fork before her. “It’s divine. We should order at least three for the ball.”

She shoved the treat at Catherine, so that Catherine had little choice but to take a small bite. Ashley then scampered over to Josie and Maddie and offered the cake. Josie leaned forward to taste, and shook her head. “It’s good, but it’s lemon. I liked the vanilla we tasted yesterday. It works better with our theme.”

“Theme? What theme?” Maddie said. “Ah-ha! That’s why you want that awful bright white vellum.”

“It goes with the white theme,” Josie protested.

“If you are going to start with the white theme again, then I will have to hit you.”

“Madam,” the housekeeper said.

Catherine tore her gaze from her arguing cousins and tried to swallow the dry cake.

“What about the table linens?”

“In his lordship’s study,” Catherine mumbled around the food.

“Madam,” Webster, Quint’s butler, strolled regally into the room. “The extra china has arrived.”

“Oh, Lord,” Catherine said, dropping her head in her hands. She’d been working nonstop to organize Valentine’s ball and had been fortunate to catch three or four hours’ sleep a night. Her
cousins had been immensely helpful, and she didn’t know what she would have done without them. Hosting an unplanned ball in the midst of the Season was no small feat, especially when one considered that Valentine’s house and staff were not prepared for such an undertaking.

Not only was Valentine’s town house too small for the event, he did not own enough of the accoutrements one needed. His solution had been to have the ball at an assembly hall and rent everything. He wanted only the best. The problem was that the best china and linens had already been spoken for by hostesses who had planned far earlier than she. But with help from her cousins, Catherine had managed to secure items she hoped would be acceptable.

Now she just had to figure out what to do with them, and that was not easy. She was too tired to think clearly at this point. The ball was in less than a week, and she still had so much to do.

She looked up at Webster. “The china is here? Are you certain? I thought that was not to arrive for two more days.”

“It is here, madam,” he said.

“Catherine, where are you?”

She turned at the sound of Quint’s voice and the tap of his boots on the marble in the foyer. A moment later, he poked his head into the dining-room door. He was wearing evening attire, very rumpled, as though he had not changed from the night before. Catherine vaguely remembered that
he had mentioned dining at his club after the parliamentary session, but she had not seen him since. Thinking back, Catherine realized that she should have made him promise not only to be home for dinner but also to stay home.

“Webster,” Quint said, swiping his hair back from his face. He had obviously lost the thong he had been using to hold it back, and now it hung free about his neck and forehead. “Who are all those people outside?”

Webster looked at Catherine. “Ask your wife, my lord.” And Webster turned and walked away.

Quint glanced at her, eyebrow raised. Lord, every time she saw him it was like the first. Her heart still sped up, her stomach did quick somersaults, and her hands trembled. How could someone like her have married such a kind, handsome man?

She wondered if he still thought of Elizabeth, and if he regretted the exchange of one sister for the other. As for herself, Catherine would never have told her cousins, but she rather liked being married to this man. Especially at night. Try as she might during the days, she could not forget the nights they spent together. She could not forget the possessive, urgent way that he came to her, taking her into his arms and making love to her.

She was still trying to accustom herself to sleeping with a man. She liked the pleasurable sensations he made her feel, especially when he used his tongue—

She felt her face heat and looked away. She caught Josie staring at her, a knowing look on her face. Obviously, Madeleine had not kept quiet about the events of the night she’d almost left Valentine. Maddie was certain that Valentine’s actions, his easy capitulation and insistence he would never give her up, was a sign that he was in love with Catherine. Catherine begged to differ. As usual, Valentine had his career in mind. If Catherine left him, his career would be ruined.

And yet there had been something about him that night that spoke to her. She would never have defended him, have agreed to host this ball, if something in Valentine’s face had not touched her. It had almost looked as though he needed her.

Catherine shook her head. How silly of her.

Valentine welcomed Catherine’s cousins and then looked at her. “How are the preparations coming?”

Catherine frowned, all good feeling for him fading. Did he care about anything but this ball? He did not even take a moment to ask how she was.

She cleared her throat. “For my part, the preparations are fine. How are yours, my lord? Mr. Meeps says you have not yet chosen the paper for the invitations.”

Valentine turned to his assistant and gave him a dark look. Meeps looked away. Obviously, Meeps was not to have spoken.

“I am finalizing the wording and the paper choice,” Quint said.

“Oh, good. Have you spoken with the stationer yet?”

Her husband ran a hand through his hair, and she knew the answer.

“I am only asking,” she said, glancing down at her menu, trying to appear absorbed, “because I took the liberty of approaching several stationers myself. None of the gentlemen I spoke to can accommodate us until next week.”

Catherine glanced up at Valentine. Her father would have berated her for impertinence and interfering, but Catherine felt only mildly worried that Quint would react the same. She knew in the logical part of her mind that he would not. But the primal, instinctual part of her brain—that part that had cowered in fear and fought for survival since birth—still kept its wary vigil.

As expected, Quint only frowned at her pronouncement. “That won’t do.” He paced away and then turned back. “I have an idea.”

Now it was Catherine’s turn to frown.

“Perhaps we can write them by hand. You ladies are always perfecting your handwriting, are you not? Perhaps handwritten invitations would be more…personal.”

Catherine blinked. “Handwritten invitations? How many guests are you inviting?”

“Ah, good question.” He tapped his tailcoat, first the right pocket and then the left. Finally, he
extracted several papers from his waistcoat. “Here is the guest list. I believe the total number of guests is about”—he flipped through one, two, three, four—she lost count—“four hundred.”

He handed the list to Catherine and tapped his fingers on the table in front of her.

Josie gasped and Maddie looked as though she would choke. Ashley spoke for all of them. “If you think we are going to handwrite four hundred invitations and then hand address them, you are mad.” She popped the last piece of cake in her mouth and crossed her arms.

“Very well, then I shall find a stationer,” Valentine said.

Ashley snorted. “Best of luck to you.”

Catherine watched Valentine clench his jaw. She moved back slightly, but he put a hand on her shoulder, reassuring her. She was not even certain he realized he did it.

“Thank you for your support.”

With Quint’s warm hand on her shoulder, Catherine glanced down at the list, running her eyes over the endless columns of names. Valentine’s guest list included the most powerful, most prestigious men and women in the country. The air at the ball would indeed be rarefied.

She began to feel ill. Her head swam, and she had to remind herself to take a shaky breath. It was not only that the most powerful, most awe-inspiring members of the English government would be attending a ball that she planned that
made her nervous. The sheer number of people who would be in attendance gave her greater pause. As hostess, she would never be able to escape if she began to feel overwhelmed. And just looking at the list overwhelmed her.

She clasped her hands on the table and forced her mind to focus on one detail at a time. She would not think of that night until it was upon her. Gradually, her heartbeat slowed.

Perusing the list one last time, Catherine tried to focus on the names of people she knew. Her cousins and aunts and uncles would be there. They would support her.

She flipped another page then, and one entry jumped out at her. She leaned closer and read it again.

Miss Elizabeth Fullbright

Her head shot up. “What is this?” she said, jabbing the paper.

Valentine looked down at her and frowned. “The guest list. I told you.”

“No.” She slapped the list down. “What is this?” She sliced at the offending name with her finger.

Valentine took the pages and peered at them. “That is your sister.” He handed the pages to her, and she handed them right back. Valentine’s face darkened, but Catherine did not inch back. She was not scared of him. And today, she was too tired to feel much of anything but exhaustion.

“Why is Lizzy on the list?” Maddie said, rising, and moving protectively toward Catherine. Catherine doubted Maddie was actually worried Valentine would strike her, but she appreciated the support nonetheless. Still she kept her gaze locked with Valentine.

“She is on the list because she should be,” Valentine replied, not turning away from Catherine. “In fact, I should have invited your father and mother. It will seem strange that they are not in attendance.” He looked at Catherine, his hand cupping her chin briefly. “But I know that would be too hard for you.”

Maddie had reached her side. “And it won’t be hard on her to have Lizzy there? You were betrothed, after all.”

Valentine shrugged. “All of that is in the past now.”

Catherine’s jaw dropped. All of it was in the past? Had he forgotten how he’d felt when he discovered that her father had drugged him and then tricked him into marriage? She had certainly not forgotten how she had felt when she’d awakened in the middle of the night to find her father selling her to a brute she had never even seen before.

“You seem an unusually forgiving man,” Maddie was saying. “But do you not think it will be even slightly awkward to bring your wife and your betrothed together in such a public forum?”

“Elizabeth is no longer my betrothed.”

“Fortunate man,” Josie grumbled.

Valentine looked as though he would protest and then glanced at Catherine and seemed to think better of it. Catherine’s heart sank. No matter what he said now, she had seen the truth in his eyes just then. He obviously did not think himself fortunate. She felt her heart swell into her throat. Even after all they had shared, he was still in love with Elizabeth. And now she would be at the ball, and Catherine knew she would lose him. Lizzy always got what she wanted.

Valentine adjusted his cravat. “Elizabeth is a sweet and lovely girl. There’s no need to impugn her character or punish her for the sins of her father.”

“A sweet and lovely girl?” Josie gasped. She glanced at her cousins. “Does he know Lizzy?”

Catherine rolled her eyes. “He knows her. Just not very well. But, in truth, the real issue is not mended family relations, is it, Lord Valentine?”

“Don’t start this again,” he said.

And then, as Catherine watched, he turned his back on her and marched out of the dining room. Catherine stared after him, then looked at her cousins incredulously.

Ashley shook her head. “Just like a man. He said his piece and walked away.”

“I wouldn’t put up with that,” Josie agreed. “Who does he think he is?”

“He is Lord Valentine,” Mr. Meeps interjected. “Soon to be a Cabinet minister.”

“Well, he’s also my husband,” Catherine said, turning on her heel to follow. “And I’m the one who has to live with him.”

“Be gentle,” Maddie called after her. Catherine raised her hand and marched after her husband. He was striding determinedly toward his study.

Catherine swerved to avoid a servant carrying a stack of table covers. “Valentine!” She increased her pace to catch up with him, but he did not look around. His back stiffened, and he marched on.