The Kiss of a Stranger (18 page)

“Catherine, are you all right?” she asked, her hand immediately pressed to Catherine’s.

A vocal reply eluded her. She shook her head, not willing to risk further disgracing herself with public tears.

“Your uncle?” Lizzie asked, her voice low.

Your brother.
She took a shaky breath.

“Of course you are overset.” Lizzie squeezed Catherine’s hand. “We can call up the carriage if you’d like to return to Permount House.”

Catherine nodded, swatting at a defiant tear.

“Come.” Lizzie quickly guided Catherine from the room. “The tabbies will rip you to shreds if they see you crying.”

“They will rip me to shreds regardless.”

“Welcome to London, Catherine.” Lizzie motioned to Edward, who joined them at the door to the Littletons’ house. A few whispered instructions from Edward and the Henley equipage was summoned. Lizzie and Edward climbed into the carriage along with her.

“You need not leave on my account,” Catherine said.

Lizzie waved off the objection. “I have no desire to spend the evening among the gossiping tabbies. Cats never were my favorite animal.”

“Crispin will wonder where I’ve gone.” If he even noticed she’d left.

Lizzie shrugged off Catherine’s concern. “I sent word to Crispin that we’d taken you home.”

An hour later, snuggled beneath the warm, heavy blankets on her bed, Catherine allowed her tears to fall. How could she still feel such deep, growing affection for a gentleman who confused and frustrated her? Exhausted, she fell into a dreamless sleep.

Chapter Twenty

Crispin read the note a second time.

To quite the most beautiful woman at the ball,

May these flowers bring you as much pleasure as your company brings me.

Yours, etc.,

R. Finley

It was, of course, customary—even expected—for a gentleman to send flowers the morning after a ball to a lady with whom he’d danced. But, generally, not a married lady.

The extravagant bouquet represented all the best the local hothouses had to offer. Although the action was decidedly beneath him, Crispin pocketed the note rather than replace it within the stems of roses for all the world to see. It was bad enough he’d made a cake of himself without everyone who passed knowing that Finley had not.

Crispin glanced down the entry hall to the staircase. Catherine still hadn’t come downstairs. Hancock, though unwilling to offer any details—a change in loyalty that had Crispin wondering just what kind of spell Catherine had cast over his house—indicated that “her ladyship” was, indeed, awake but remained in her rooms. Tea time had already passed and she hadn’t yet made an appearance.

He fully intended to apologize for upsetting her at the ball. He had been out of line snapping at her, when his frustration had been with Philip’s ability to make her smile and laugh every time they were in company with one another. Crispin hadn’t been able to even find Catherine the night before, while Philip had spent an obviously pleasant interlude with her on the terrace.

A knock at the door interrupted Crispin’s musings and, within minutes, Hancock passed him with yet another bouquet.
Finley!

“One minute, Hancock.” Crispin stopped the butler as he walked the flowers to another half-round table.

Crispin pulled the card from within the flowers and opened it, his insides boiling all over again. Hancock gave him a very disapproving look, which Crispin completely ignored. He refused to stand idly by and allow Finley to send love missives to Catherine.

The handwriting on the card, however, didn’t look like Finley’s.

To Lady Cavratt,

With the hope that this day is better than yesterday and that Lord Cavratt’s flowers are more impressive than these.

Lampton

Philip? Was there a gentleman in all of England who wasn’t sending Catherine flowers? And what on earth did Philip mean by “Lord Cavratt’s flowers”? What flowers? The man had lost his mind!

Another knock. Crispin’s jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed. Now what? No doubt Hancock would open to door to find every flower in London awaiting Catherine’s approval.

He stood determinedly on the spot waiting for another nauseating bouquet to pass by. Instead, Hancock escorted a bespectacled man of middle years into the entryway.

“Mr. Brown,” Hancock announced unnecessarily—Crispin would have recognized his family solicitor without the introduction.

Crispin firmly shook Brown’s hand. Mr. Brown seldom came to Permount House. “This must be urgent.”

“Quite.”

Crispin had learned shortly after inheriting his father’s title and all it entailed that Mr. Jebediah Brown was a man of vast knowledge and ability but very few words.

“Lady Cavratt will be needed as well.”

“Of course.” Crispin nodded to Hancock to send for Catherine. The butler immediately set out to fulfill the order. “Have you learned more of Lady Cavratt’s inheritance?” Crispin asked as he led Brown to the library.

“I would prefer to wait for her ladyship.”

That did sound serious. The silence between them hung heavy and thick as they waited. Was Brown’s discovery good or bad? From the look of the man, he had not brought glad tidings.

The library door slowly opened some five minutes later. Crispin’s heart beat a bit harder as a beautiful face framed by rebelliously loose honey locks peeked around the door and a pair of sapphire blue eyes locked with his. How did this woman who was receiving flowers from all and sundry wreak such havoc on his equilibrium?

“Come in, Catherine.” Crispin tried to smile encouragingly.

She moved slowly, cautiously to where he stood. “You wished to see me?” Catherine hadn’t seemed so uneasy in his presence since the first days of their marriage. The twinkle of amusement that had lit her eyes so often over the preceding weeks was entirely absent.

His frustrations seemed extremely unimportant in the face of her unhappiness.

“These came for you.” He had intended to burn the notes that Philip and Finley had sent to Catherine. Doing so still seemed like the logical and sensible thing to do. Still, he handed them to her, simultaneously hoping and fearing that receiving such flattering correspondence from two eligible gentlemen would bring a smile back to her face. At what point had he become such a glutton for punishment?

Catherine took the cards with obvious wariness. Crispin watched closely as she read the note from Finley. Would she be pleased by his attentions? Embarrassed at Crispin’s knowledge of them? To his surprise, and satisfaction, she looked almost ill.

“He sent flowers?”

Crispin nodded.

“Would it be bad ton to burn them?” Catherine asked with the slightest lift to one eyebrow.

Crispin felt a tug at the edge of his mouth. Catherine could see right through the man. An encouraging sign of intelligence.

Catherine laid Finley’s note uncaringly on a side table and turned her eyes to Philip’s.

Lizzie had masterminded that possible match. Crispin abhorred the idea. But how did Catherine feel?

“‘Lord Cavratt’s flowers’?” she reread aloud with confusion. Then she turned her eyes to him. “Did you get me flowers?” A hopeful smile unexpectedly lit her face. “Oh, Crispin. I love flowers.”

“I . . . um . . .” Crispin struggled for a reply that wouldn’t wipe the brilliant smile from her face. His reluctance seemed to answer her question, however.

“Oh.” Catherine looked away again, her smile only a distant memory.

Blast Philip.

Mr. Brown hovered silently over the leather chair at Crispin’s desk, waiting for his employer’s convenience. Crispin indicated a chair nearby for Catherine, which she took without a word or glance in his direction. Who would have guessed that
not
giving his wife flowers could land a husband in such deep waters?

“What is it you wished to discuss, Mr. Brown?” Crispin opted to pursue a topic he stood some chance of comprehending, the female mind not being fathomable at the moment.

“I received this earlier this morning.” Brown held out a crisp piece of parchment. “A letter from a solicitor representing the interests of Mr. Thomas Thorndale.”

Crispin’s back straightened abruptly at the name, every muscle in his body tensing. He glanced anxiously at Catherine, who had turned a touch paler.

“He plans to challenge the legality of your marriage,” Brown said.

That made absolutely no sense. What interest did Thorndale have in their marriage? And why would he, of all people, question its validity when he had been the one to push it through?

“What does that mean?” Catherine quietly asked.

“The license under which you were married was not legally obtained,” Brown said. “Based on that, he intends to claim in court that your marriage was never legally binding.”

“Our marriage isn’t legal?” Catherine’s voice sounded so small.

“It is legal,” Brown interjected, “until declared otherwise by an ecclesiastical court. But an annulment, as I advised his lordship, is fairly unlikely without also undertaking a criminal trial.”

Catherine looked understandably confused. He hadn’t told her about Mr. Brown’s doubts. Marriages were extremely difficult to annul—the church having the exclusive right to grant them and being decidedly in favor of leaving marriages intact. Publicly charging Thorndale with criminal activities connected to Doctor’s Commons, and, thus, the church, would help sway the ecclesiastical courts in favor of the annulment.

“Does Thorndale have legal standing to contest the marriage?” Crispin avoided the questions in Catherine’s eyes.

“As her guardian, he has standing.”

“But once she married, he was no longer her guardian.” Crispin stopped at the desk. He watched Brown with growing alarm, a sense of foreboding quickly setting in.

“Unless the marriage never
legally
took place—something he has every intention of arguing.”

“But Thorndale is the one who obtained the license.” Crispin stood behind Catherine’s chair, watching the solicitor for some sensible explanation. “By pointing out to the ecclesiastical courts that he did so illegally, he would implicate himself.”

“Thorndale is not seeking an annulment directly,” Brown said. “He is pursuing criminal charges.”

Criminal charges?
“Against whom?”

“Against you, my lord.”

Crispin froze. Thorndale planned to bring charges against
him
? What in the blazes was going on? An uncomfortable hush settled over the room. All the color had drained from Catherine’s face. Crispin sat in the chair beside hers and took hold of her hand—only because she was in obvious need of comforting, of course.

“Explain.”

“His solicitor informed me that Mr. Thorndale will argue, in a civil court, that
you
illegally obtained a marriage license and then duped him and his niece into going forward with the unbinding marriage ceremony.”

“Why would he do this?” Catherine sounded almost pleading. “He insisted on the marriage. He washed his hands of me and sent me off. He has been perfectly clear that he wants nothing to do with me.”

“Has he renewed his interest in you, Lady Cavratt?” Brown asked. “Contacted you?”

“Several times.”

“He came here three times.” Crispin tensed at the memory. “He was cast from the premises on the third occasion. That was the last time.”

“Actually, he has contacted me twice since then.”

Thorndale had been in Permount House? Why wasn’t he told? Why hadn’t Catherine informed him?

“He sent a letter yesterday,” Catherine said.

“What did he say?” Brown asked.

“He insisted I remove to Hill Street—his London home—and then return to Yandell Hall in Herefordshire.”

“Asserting his rights of guardianship.” Brown adjusted his spectacles. “And the other contact?”

“At the Littletons’ ball last night,” Catherine whispered.

“He was at the ball?” Crispin turned to fully face her.

She nodded. “In the gardens. He literally dragged me out of the ballroom.”

She had been in the gardens with
her uncle
? Not Philip. Not Finley. Crispin had indulged in a bout of self-pity, leaving Catherine to the machinations of Mr. Thorndale. What a pathetic excuse for a husband he was.

“Did he reiterate his earlier instructions?” Brown asked.

“Quite forcefully.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Crispin’s heart sunk at the thought of Catherine facing Thorndale alone.

“How could I? He wouldn’t let me leave.” Catherine took an unsteady breath. “If Lizzie and Edward, and Lord Lampton, for that matter, hadn’t noticed my absence and cared enough to search me out, Uncle might very well have dragged me directly to his house with no one the wiser.”

Her words hit their mark. He
had
noticed she’d gone missing, but she didn’t believe he had—what was her word?—
cared
enough
to look for her. In reality, he had cared enormously. But convinced he’d find her cozying up with someone else, he hadn’t gone looking.

Crispin rubbed his face with his hands. “What does all this mean?” he asked Brown. “Why the criminal charges and not an annulment?”

“I believe it is an issue of time, my lord. Annulment proceedings are notoriously slow and often ineffectual.”

“The most direct explanation would be best, Mr. Brown.” Crispin rubbed his temple with his free hand, unwilling to release Catherine’s.

“Our efforts at uncovering the amount and nature of Lady Cavratt’s inheritance came to the attention of Mr. Thorndale. He had not been aware of the legacy and came to Town in order to ascertain whether or not he was entitled to a portion of it.”

“The meeting with his solicitor,” Crispin muttered. Thorndale had given that as the reason for his visit.

“The inheritance was, in fact, left to Lady Cavratt, through her mother but with certain unusual stipulations. She cannot inherit until her twenty-first birthday, which I understand is in two weeks’ time.”

Catherine nodded.

“And her ladyship only inherits if she is married or a widow.”

“I have never heard of anything like that,” Crispin said.

“It is unusual but legally sound.”

“Since Thorndale is challenging our marriage, I assume he stands to benefit in some way from doing so?”

Brown nodded. “If Lady Cavratt is unwed on her twenty-first birthday, the entirety of her inheritance reverts to the Thorndale estate.”

“My uncle gets it all.” Catherine pulled her hand from his and rose, walking stiffly to the windows.

He felt helpless, frustrated. Thorndale continued to hurt her, and Crispin couldn’t manage to prevent it. “Why is he not pursuing an annulment? That would make more sense.”

“As I said, my lord, annulments take time. The inheritance is to be dispersed in whole the day of Lady Cavratt’s birthday, based on her marital status at that time. The will does not allow for retroactive challenges. Thus, Thorndale’s challenge must be upheld
before
Lady Cavratt’s birthday for his argument to prevent her from inheriting. He hopes, I think, to have the legality of your marriage questioned enough for the inheritance to be given to him.”