Bluestocking Bride (17 page)

"Of course!"

"And I am at liberty to ask you any question on
your
er
. . . past affairs? Then tell me about the woman in the park, Richard."

"Catherine!"

"My darling, I am a tease, I know." She came to him and put her arms around his shoulders, kissing the nape of his neck, and he pulled her round roughly to sit on his lap. She put her fingers over his mouth as he started to speak.

"No, love, don't tell me anything! I don't want to hear. Forgive my jealousy. I could not help but know that you are an experienced lover. There now, I admit it. I am consumed with jealousy to think that you have made love to other women."

He took her hand from his mouth and rocked her in his arms. "You are a fool, you innocent girl, if you think that I am experienced in the kind of lovemaking we shared last night. I have never before in my life exerted myself to please." He held her face between his hands, looking at her intently. "A mistress, my girl, is paid to please. Catherine, one sigh of pleasure from you can bring me to heel." He brought her face down to kiss her mouth, but when she felt his hands begin to undo the buttons of her dress, she called a halt and demanded to be shown the rest of the house.

"For Richard," she said, quizzing him, "how would it look if, of all the rooms of this grand house, I can only describe my bedchamber when we return to London?"

It soon became evident to Catherine that the house meant far more to
Rutherston
than a favorite residence. It was his pride and his passion, a showplace of three
generations of
Fotherville
men of letters and taste, and his private retreat. The walls were hung with priceless paintings of famous masters, and there was nothing in
Fotherville
House, no piece of furniture or glass or porcelain or book, which had not been chosen with meticulous attention. It was, she thought, almost too perfect, and she doubted that the
Fotherville
women had ever made the slightest imprint on the faultless setting that their
menfolk
had created with such infinite care.

The surrounding landscaping conveyed the same impression—a natural beauty that owed nothing to nature but had been contrived by diverting a nearby stream and moving mountains of earth to form a man-made lake flanked by gentle slopes, green with a forest of trees. She learned that while she slept, an army of gardeners toiled, night through, to maintain the lawns and grounds as a picture of perfection when their master was in residence.

"Well,"
Rutherston
asked at last, somewhat nettled by Catherine's thoughtful manner, "what think you of my humble retreat?"

"Humble? Why you're as proud as a peacock, you odious man!"

"Do you like it, Catherine?" He leaned over to grasp the reins of her mount and brought both bays to a stand. "Tell me what you think."

"I think," she said, choosing her words carefully, "that you have misnamed your humble retreat, my lord. It should be called
Fotherville's
Paradise, or
Fotherville
Park—it's the same in Greek!"

"Don't bamboozle me with your Greek, Catherine. What I want to know is—will it become paradise for you?" He was gazing at her with such a searching look that Catherine picked her words carefully.

"It may . . . if I can make a place for myself amidst so much . . . perfection."

"Catherine, my dear, this is your setting, the place where you belong. I never knew, till now, that any woman could improve on what I admit I had regarded as my private paradise, but without you, it will always be incomplete to me." He spoke with such serious intent that Catherine was deeply touched and gratified.

"Then, my dear husband," she replied in the same serious vein, "I am content and shall do all that I can to be a fitting mistress of my husband's domain."

To become the fitting mistress of
Rutherston's
domain was more of a daunting task than Catherine had ever imagined it would be. At the end of the first week of their stay,
Rutherston
informed her casually one morning that she had better begin with the servants as she meant to go on, and that the chef, the housekeeper, and the head butler would be waiting at her convenience to have their instructions for the day. He left her then to go to his study where he said he expected to be closeted with his agent for most of the morning.

Catherine was left in a daze and greatly agitated. Her life at
Ardo
House had not prepared her to become mistress of such a grand establishment, and her mother's informal interviews with cook and their head maid seemed a far cry from what lay ahead of her now. The staff at
Fotherville
House, in the gray liveried uniforms of the inside servants, seemed to run the place with quiet precision, and she had no desire to interfere. Before her thoughts had time to throw her into a profound panic, the butler entered and informed her unblinkingly that the chef, Andre, was waiting at the door.

In a great deal of trepidation, Catherine began the interviews, but it did not take her long to perceive that each member of her staff had been well primed. Andr6 had his menus selected and ready, merely wanting
madame's
advice on the final choices; Mrs. Baxter, the housekeeper, had lists of linens and supplies that had been purchased in the previous months, and more lists of supplies that would be required in the future; and George, the butler, gave her a running commentary on the inside staff and had been so thoughtful as to bring her a list of all their names, which, it seemed clear to Catherine, he expected her to memorize, and since she went in more awe of George than she did of
Rutherston
, she determined to memorize the list without delay, even if it meant taking it to bed with her at night.

"Thank you, George. I shall do my best to learn the names of all the staff, but it will be difficult to put names to faces at first. Perhaps you will help me as I go along?"

"Certainly, my lady.
His lordship has given instructions that you are to meet the assembled staff when you are more settled. He thought the delay would be more to your liking. If you would be so kind as to tell me when it would be convenient, my lady, I shall arrange it."

"Delay?" said Catherine, at a loss.

"Yes, my lady. His lordship thought that you would be too tired out with the journey to meet with the staff on the evening of your arrival."

"Thank you, George. Would tomorrow morning suit?"

For the first time since Catherine had arrived at
Fotherville
House, George almost smiled, and Catherine recognized that she would exert herself in future to bring that half smile to her butler's face, since it conveyed the message that she was playing her part as mistress of
Fotherville
House with acceptable aplomb.

She felt a sense of gratitude to
Rutherston
who had done as much as he could to shield her from the weight of her new responsibilities, giving her time to accustom herself to them. But she laughed aloud when she thought that there were two men in her life whom she most wanted to please, and wondered what
Rutherston
would think if he knew that his nearest rival was his own grim-faced butler, George.

Rutherston
had suggested that in their last week in residence they should assemble a small house party of about twenty or so of their closest friends. He was in no hurry to share Catherine with the rest of the world, but he had it in his mind that she should gradually become accustomed to acting as his hostess by entertaining their own intimate circle, and the invitations were duly sent out. In point of fact, the assembly turned out to have more of
Rutherston's
friends than Catherine's, since the journey was an expensive undertaking for anyone of modest means, but a small party from Breckenridge was expected, and Catherine anticipated their arrival with pleasure.

The interviews that
Catherine
now conducted with the three mainstays of her extensive staff took on new significance, for two dozen people in the house to cater for needed more careful preparations than those for two, and she came to see how critical the role of a butler could be.

George arrived for the interview well prepared, with a list of the visitors and a dossier of the personal preferences in board, bed, and recreation that they had shown in the past, and he requested similar information on the likes and dislikes of those guests whom only Catherine knew. She became aware that a hostess of her consequence was expected to leave nothing to chance in providing for the comfort and entertainment of her guests.

Armed with this information, Catherine next interviewed the chef, but when she mildly suggested that some plain English fare, unembellished with sauces, be added to the more elaborate courses that his lordship preferred, the volatile Andre flew into a fury. It took some time to smooth his ruffled feathers, and Catherine succeeded in pacifying him only when she promised that at their first large soiree in Berkeley Square he should have a free hand in planning the menus and might be as elaborate as he wished. When she caught the half smile hovering on George's lips, she felt well satisfied.

Mrs. Baxter, the housekeeper, was a woman of soundness and sense who took her instructions with unruffled composure. Some guests' tastes ran to hard beds with soft pillows, and other guests preferred the reverse. Some preferred their rooms to have a view of the lake, and others a view of the terrace. It was all very complicated, and, Catherine thought, quite tiresome, but it seemed that the servants of the great house of
Fotherville
expected no less, and the air of anticipation and cheerfulness that she observed in her subordinates as they prepared for the coming house party convinced her that they looked forward to their increased responsibilities. Her one regret was when she thought of the army of gardening lads, whom she knew would be set to toil through half the night to make the gardens and grounds of
Fotherville
House a thing of matchless beauty. Lord
Rutherston
would expect no less.

It was a week of gaiety and conviviality that

Catherine long remembered, and she could not be but pleased to see that the two most important men in her life, her butler and her husband, approved her acumen as chatelaine and hostess. The gathering had been cohesive enough to allow for that easy converse that comes from a commonality of interests, and diverse enough for that novelty that adds spice to the life of any group of people who must bear each other's company for longer than a few hours.

A party had been assembled to spend a pleasant afternoon riding over the park, and
Rutherston's
stables were a hive of activity as the horses were readied for their respective riders, and Catherine wondered, since few of the guests had brought their own mounts, if the head stud-groom came to
Rutherston
with a similar list of preferences for the riders as her butler had brought to her for her guests.

They set off at a brisk canter, making for the open ground beyond the lake and the trees, but before long two of the party lagged behind and were soon seen, by anyone watching from the house, to have taken a wrong turn.

Norton had decided, since he knew the estate well, that the private
tete-a-tete
that he so earnestly desired with Miss Harland should take place where they were unlikely to be disturbed, and he led her unresisting mount a long way around the side of the house to a private path that in a matter of minutes brought them to the other side of the lake. Here he asked her if she would like to dismount and walk, and when she nodded her assent, tethered his own bay to the branch of a tree and helped her dismount. There was not the least necessity for him to do this, but she accepted his assistance with good-humored grace.

The track they followed was wide enough for two horses abreast and, as Norton said, would take them to a shortcut where they could, if they wished, soon catch up with the rest of the party in a short space of time. Mr. Norton lost no time in apprising Miss Harland of what had been on his mind of late.

"You appear to be enjoying your first Season, Miss Harland?" He heard the pompous note in his voice, and to cover his mistake, hurried on. "Perhaps you feel the want of your London friends here at
Fotherville
House?" He cursed himself inwardly for making a mull of what he really wanted to say
..

"Oh no, Mr. Norton," replied Lucy with the same formality, "I have enough friends here to make my stay quite agreeable."

"Yes, but not the particular friends who engage so much of your time and attention in town." He heard the note of
aggrievement
in his voice and realized that he was going from bad to worse, but he did not know how to retrieve himself.

"Which friends do you mean?"

"I mean
Ranstoke
, as you well know. He dances attendance on you like a grinning-faced monkey—and you let him!" Having uttered his accusation in such forceful terms, Mr. Norton now threw caution to the winds as he continued. "You not only let him, you encourage him. Don't think I haven't seen you make sheep's eyes at him. And you're seen everywhere in his company."