Bluestocking Bride (11 page)

In the following weeks, Norton became a frequent visitor at Mount Street, and on occasion, he was accompanied by his cousin, Lord
Rutherston
. Lady Margaret observed them all guardedly, but "closely, since she suspected that Norton was developing a
tendre
for Catherine. When she saw that his manner with Catherine was always easy, however, and that in Lucy's company he became
more grave
, sometimes falling into a
silence altogether, she put that notion out of her head and formed an accurate conclusion.

Nor did it take Lady Margaret long to take the measure of
Rutherston
. Her suspicions were confirmed when she saw that in company his eye might linger on any lady in the room, excepting her niece, when he felt himself to be observed. She inferred that his lordship was conducting himself with the greatest caution until he should determine Catherine's heart.

Catherine was relieved to find that
Rutherston's
distant manner with her was of short duration. She knew that he had forgiven her for whatever offense she had given, and she was once again admitted to his confidence and conversations, which she could not help but enjoy. She came to see that it was only with
Rutherston
that she could be most truly herself. The man actually encouraged her to dispute his opinions. But what Catherine treasured above all was
Rutherston's
interest in her passion—Greek language and thought. She came to feel that she had one friend with whom she could share what had been, since Mr.
Fortescue's
death, a solitary and private pastime.

His former conduct at
Branley
Park she put firmly out of her mind, for if she were to rely too much upon it, she would be forced to cut his
acquaintance,
and that possibility was not to be borne. For the sake of his friendship, she was willing to grant a man-of- the-world such as
he
a few lapses, and she accepted that her own want of conduct had encouraged him to gross impropriety. Having settled the matter nicely in her own mind, she nevertheless saw the sense of depressing any hope that
Rutherston
might entertain of repeating the experience.

It amazed her to think that she had once believed that in London he would move in more exalted circles than she, for he was invariably present at any of the events she and Lucy attended, and made
himself
as agreeable as she had ever seen him. She discovered that Social Life was so much more enjoyable when he was there to tease and taunt her and share her mirth at some private joke.

Lord
Rutherston's
displeasure was very evident to his valet, Miles. If the grim set of his lordship's visage was not enough to convince that worthy to speak- softly and tread carefully, the growing pile of discarded
neckcloths
cast disgustedly on the floor told its own story. Miles's face assumed its blandest mask as he helped his lordship dress for the evening's
entertainment. He had already taken it upon himself to warn his lordship's butler, George, that an ominous storm was brewing, and that it would be the better part of valor to keep out of his lordship's way until the storm had run
Its
course.

George, then, had passed the word along to his lordship's groom, Simpson, who was preparing to convey his lordship and Mr. Norton to Lady
Ashwell's
ball. By the time that
Rutherston
descended the staircase to meet his cousin in the marble-floored foyer, nary a maid, footman or lackey was in evidence—an unusual occurrence—excepting the ubiquitous George. His lordship had never been known to treat that superior retainer with anything but good-humored courtesy, whatever the provocation. George had risen to this enviable position by virtue of his having seen his lordship through many a wild scrape when
Rutherston
was a mere lad, and shielded him from his
gov'nor
, the fifth marquis, well known for his short temper and the strength of his unfailing right arm.

Norton stole one quick look at his cousin's grim face and stifled a smile. It was he who had imparted the information, with the greatest tact of course, that Viscount
Boxley
had made an offer for Catherine and had been refused. His cousin's complacency had suffered a rude shock, at the piece of news, a
salutory
experience for
Rutherston
, in Norton's opinion.

Rutherston
settled himself comfortably against the squabs of his well-sprung carriage, and having exchanged a minimum of pleasantries with his cousin, he set his mind to consider what he should do about Catherine.

In the foregoing weeks, he had tolerantly watched her gather a following of admirers. It had troubled him not one whit, for he was confident that

Catherine's heart was his.

He had tried to court her with knightly chivalry, in an effort to allay her maidenly suspicions that he was a predatory male. The thought brought a fleeting smile to his harsh features. It had been an impossible pose to keep up, for he could not be in her company for more than a minute but he was tempted to make her feel the attraction of all that was masculine in him. And he had done it, he knew, but he was not sure that the doing of it had served his best interests.

He had made up his mind that she would be his wife and was determined, if it should come to it, to bring to bear the influence of her family, who would be outraged if Catherine should refuse so brilliant a match. She would be his bride, willingly or unwillingly. Her happiness, no less than his, depended on it.

The problem was that she refused to take him seriously, adroitly parrying his every attempt to fix her interest. She regarded him as a flirt, a rake, or
worse,
and she used her quick tongue with great effect to deflect his verbal advances. In short, she was keeping him at arm's length, a state of affairs he was no longer prepared to accept.

By the time he had dismissed his coach and entered the flower-decked ballroom, he had made up his mind that Catherine would deflect his advances no longer. It was intolerable to think that someone of
Boxley's
ilk might snatch her from his grasp.

When he led her in to supper, he found them places in a quiet corner, but all his efforts to converse with her privately were frustrated by the many acquaintances and friends who sat down to idle the time away by talking of trivialities.
Rutherston
unconsciously began to adopt his most aristocratic demeanor, which had the desired effect of frightening them away. He had just begun to approach the, subject of the high regard in which he held her when Norton and Lucy made as if to join them.
Rutherston
turned his back toward them, effectively shutting them out.

"Do you always do that?" Catherine gazed intently at her plate and selected a choice piece of fruit.

"Do what?"

"What you have just done—exclude from your company anyone whose conversation you don't wish to endure."

"I assure you, it is not a habit with me. Do you object because I want to talk to you alone for a few minutes?"

"Oh, but it is a habit with you!" She carefully examined a grape and popped it into her mouth.

"Explain yourself, Catherine!"

Catherine's hand hovered over the grapes and selected another, which she proceeded to examine as before.

"You did it once in the park. I believe you saw me with Charles and Lucy. You could hardly avoid seeing us, or we you."

The silence that ensued began to unnerve her, and she flexed her fingers to choose another piece of fruit.

"Catherine!" She gazed intently at her plate.

"Look at me!" She met his gaze steadily, and willed herself not to look away.

"I regret what happened that day. I had not meant you to witness . . . what you saw, Catherine, was in the nature of a farewell."

He was waiting for her to say something, but Catherine did not know what to say.

"You owe me no explanations, my lord. Your conduct is not my affair."

"But it is!"

"How can that be? I am not your mama, or your sister." She strove for a teasing tone.

"Will you stop fencing with me, Catherine, and take me seriously just for once? Surely you are not such a green girl that you mistake my meaning? I have told you that what you saw in the park that day was in the nature of a farewell. Does that not tell you something?"

Catherine's eyes twinkled. "That you are prodigiously lonely, my lord? Oh dear! I beg your pardon. I should not have said that."

"No you should not,"
Rutherston
replied severely. "But since you seem to favor blunt speech, let me assure you that I have long since set aside my mistress."

"My lord, I wish you would not," answered Catherine, deeply embarrassed at the turn in the conversation. She looked around nervously, fearful that someone might have overheard
Rutherston's
remarks.

"My dear girl, you are not about to adopt
missish
airs with me? Not when you have always permitted me to speak to you as freely as I wished? Believe me, Catherine, it is part of your charm."

"Yes, prudence was never one of my virtues," she said musingly. "Perhaps I should have cultivated it more."

"I hope you may—but not with me."

"No, I think it is too late to pretend to you a virtue you know very well I do not possess." Catherine spoke with disarming frankness, "It vexes me greatly, but there it is." She looked into his eyes and caught the gleam of amusement that flickered behind them. Her brows instantly drew together in a frown. "But on the subject of your mistress, Lord
Rutherston
, I
have no wish to be your confidante."

"But what else are friends for?"

"Friends?"

"Of course!"

He could see that his last remark had pierced her defenses.

"My
lord . . ."

"Catherine, will you stop this ridiculous address! My name is Richard."

"I know."

"Say it!"

"My lord, I . . ."

"Catherine!" His face and voice were austere, and Catherine felt herself yielding, as she always seemed to do with him.

"Yes, Richard."
^v

The strains of the music reached them from the ballroom. For some reason,
Rutherston
appeared to be vastly pleased.

"I must take you to your aunt now, but I shall be calling on you one day soon. It is impossible to say anything of a private nature here." He led her to the ballroom and stopped on the threshold, bringing her hand to his lips.

"This seems to be another habit with me. I hope you don't intend to break me of all my habits, Catherine." She felt as if she were being embraced by his smile. Then he turned on his heel and disappeared into the crowd.

She wanted to find a quiet place to set her thoughts in order and made her way to the room where the ladies had left their wraps. She found a chair half hidden by a screen and sat down to compose her mind. What did he mean by saying that his conduct was her affair? Why did he tell her that he had set aside his mistress? Why would he think
that she might try to change his habits? And why was he coming to call on her soon?

Into her confused thoughts broke the murmur of low voices.

. .
Rutherston's
latest flirt."

"I hear tell that his mama insists that he marry— the House of
Fotherville
and all that!"

"And I have heard that the fair Marguerite has been bestowing her favors elsewhere."

The laughter, to Catherine's ears, was vulgar.

"There are two positions open then, mistress and wife. Are you tempted to apply, Isabel?"

"If I did, I should choose to be his mistress. He is known to be uncommonly generous. His poor wife's lot will be to breed every year—an unenviable fate."

The voices drifted away and Catherine saw that her knuckles were white from gripping the arms of her chair.

"Odious women!" she half cried aloud. Did he intend to offer her one of these positions?

By birth and breeding, she was destined to be a respectable wife. But many aristocratic ladies, she had discovered, openly consorted with their lovers. Surely he would not dare offer her that! But Catherine was far from sure.

The position of wife seemed marginally less odious than the position of mistress. His mother insisted that he marry, and the reason was very evident. The Marquis of
Rutherston
must beget an heir. Catherine made up her mind. There was nothing his lordship could offer that would ever tempt her to accept either position.

The next few days found Catherine in a fever of activity, in the dread that
Rutherston
might call at Mount Street and put his odious proposals before her. She left the house early every morning after breakfast, confiding to her aunt that she missed the exercise she had enjoyed in the country, and since Becky always accompanied her, Lady Margaret saw no reason to object. She spent her mornings and afternoons wandering in Green Park or in excursions to the shops in Bond Street or the ever popular circulating library, avoiding all the places where there would be the least likelihood of encountering
Rutherston
. But she was in an agony of suspense lest she should meet him by chance, for it was impossible in such a confined neighborhood not to fall in with some acquaintance or other. She felt her efforts rewarded when she saw his card on the tray in the vestibule table on two successive occasions, but she knew that she could not hope to avoid him altogether.