Bluestocking Bride (21 page)

"That lady," he said in an undertone, "is Lady Pamela, old Symington's widow—but I am given to understand that her title is by way of being a courtesy."

Catherine forced herself to laugh and lifted her chin a little higher in case
Rutherston
should be watching.

"Why have I never seen her at any of the assemblies? She has a face and form that one would not easily forget."

Henderson considered her question, a look of embarrassment on his face.

"Tell me, Adrian! From you, at least, I expect honesty."

"My dear, she is accepted in some circles and not in others. Obviously, you and she move in different circles."

"And which circles does she move in?"

"Oh, the highest —she is a, camp follower of the Carlton House set."

Catherine tried to control the shaking of the hand in her lap, and Henderson, seeing it
tremble
, covered it with one of his own.

It was at that moment that
Rutherston
entered their box, his aristocratic features a cool mask of civility.

In one graceful, unhurried movement, Henderson released Catherine's hand and stood up to greet the new arrival. The two men acknowledged each other with affable courtesy, but Catherine was conscious of a forced indolence in
Rutherston's
manner, like a panther approaching its prey before it springs to attack.

"My dear, I see that Shakespeare succeeded where Euripides failed. Your headache is better, I trust?" he drawled in a cool, indifferent inquiry.

Catherine was barely aware that she nodded in assent. From the moment that she had observed him with the stunning Lady Pamela, she had been engulfed by a sense of desolation, and she was afraid to speak lest some quality in her voice betray her. She was grateful for Henderson's presence of mind as he engaged
Rutherston
in conversation, giving her time to regain some of her composure.
The thought that her husband had lied to her when he had said that he was to be at Carlton House now began to fan her fury, and she found it the perfect antidote for self-pity.
She knew that
Rutherston
was not well pleased 'to find her alone with Henderson, but she had no intention of divulging that there were five in their party.

He stayed for only a minute or two, and shortly afterwards Catherine saw him enter the divine Pamela's box and sit down in a vacant chair beside her. She watched their heads close together in intimate con-
versation
and a stab of fierce jealousy shook her to the core. For the rest of the interval her eyes traveled involuntarily to Lady Pamela's box, and it was not long before she saw
Rutherston
depart. She felt Henderson's eyes watching her with pity—an emotion that she despised—and from that moment on exerted herself to be as lighthearted and gay as she could manage, but when she finally set down at Berkeley Square and Henderson had walked her to the door, his words, softly spoken, "Catherine, he is a fool!" all but undid her.

Rutherston
did not come home that night, and Catherine was sure in her mind that he had found consolation in the arms of the seductive Lady Pamela, whose virtue, if Henderson was to be believed, was highly questionable. She thought of the extreme emotions of Euripides's abandoned
Medea
, and she determined that
Rutherston
would not see how deeply she had been affected.

The portrait painting was not going well. The preliminary sketches had been completed and Henderson had begun to assemble the palette of colors that he hoped would capture the rich autumn tints and translucent quality of Catherine's complexion and costume. He had chosen her gown—a lustrous cream-colored satin cut low in the
bodice,
and over it had flung with apparent carelessness a golden taffeta pelisse, which he took infinite pains to drape around her shoulders. He had tilted her chin in her familiar pose and had moved her head this way and that, each time standing back to survey the whole, but it was evident in his silent, impatient demeanor that nothing pleased, and when she moved her head slightly to watch him better, his irritation broke through.

"Catherine, Lady
Rutherston
, you must stop fidgeting, else we'll be here all day!"

"Yes, Mr. Henderson. I do beg your pardon, but I'm getting a crick in my neck from holding my chin at this awkward angle. I don't think I can keep it up for long."

"I assure you, it's your characteristic pose."

"Is it?
Then how ridiculous I must look, with my nose in the air like this.
I wonder that I don't fall flat on my face whenever I try to cross a room." She was trying to humor him and was rewarded by seeing a slight slackening of his jaw.

"I meant, of course, when you are angry and the sparks flash from your eyes. Think angry thoughts, my lady, and you'll soon catch the pose."
When he saw the stricken look that crossed Catherine's face, ' he muttered a curse and was at her side in a moment, his arms around her.

"My dear, forgive me. I did not think."

Catherine held him off, her hands pressed hard against his chest, and shook her head, forcing a wan smile to her lips.

"Adrian, please don't or I cannot bear it." She increased the pressure of her hands, warding him off, and he stepped back a couple of paces.

"Do I have your permission to speak, Catherine?"

"No! You must not, now or ever." At her look of alarm, he closed his lips in a grim line.

"You need not be afraid—I can protect you if ever you need a friend."

Catherine looked at him in astonishment.

"Adrian, if you are developing a
tendre
for me, let me disabuse you of the sentiment at once. I am under my husband's protection. Believe me, there is nothing that you can do to make things right. It is only a silly quarrel between husband and wife."

He looked as if he might have said more on the subject, but changed his mind, and became the professional artist once more.

"I've done as much as I can in this house, my lady." He had begun to pack his materials with some ferocity into his artist's valise. "The light is all wrong. We must work in my studio from now on." At her look of unease, he went on, "Lord
Rutherston
has agreed. You will, of course, be chaperoned by your maid."

"How ungracious of you to imagine that I even gave that a thought, Mr. Henderson!
That was not what I was thinking!"

"No? Then what did you think?"

He had read her mind accurately, but Catherine was determined to put their relationship back on a surer, less personal footing.

"I merely thought that some days you are beyond being pleased, and you will be just as cross with me in your studio as you are here. Tell me, Mr. Henderson, do all artists abuse the subjects of their portraits when their stiff fingers or dull eyes are at fault?"

"To a man, ma'am," he responded in the same bantering tone. "We are, as you say, an ungracious lot."

They continued their conversation in a similar vein for the few moments longer that it took Henderson to retrieve his things and take his leave, and Catherine kept him at a distance with a bright, birdlike chatter that he made no effort to penetrate, but when she was left alone, she sat down to make sense of her disordered thoughts.

Rutherston
had warned her that Henderson was dangerous to women and a rake. She could not believe it. His blond good looks and gracious, engaging manners won him friends of both sexes very easily. He had a natural, inborn charm, which her husband lacked, and he genuinely liked people, whereas
Rutherston
, except for a few intimates, found them mostly a bore, and made no effort to please. She liked Henderson very well, but her heart was quite untouched.

For good or ill, she loved the arrogant, insufferable, selfish, odious Marquis of
Rutherston
who, even if he did not know how to love, regarded her with a fierce pride of possession which would brook no overtures from other males.

Catherine shivered involuntarily when she remembered that
Rutherston
had said her good sense and his marksmanship with a pistol would keep Henderson at a distance. She did not believe that Henderson cared a button for
Rutherston's
marksmanship. But she did, and she intended to use the good sense that her husband had credited her with to see that no harm came to one of the few people in London who had taken her interests to heart.

Henderson was, she decided, far more the victim than the predator, the chivalrous romantic whom predatory females might easily ensnare. "Why, he is like
Hippolytus
," she thought with surprise. On reflection, Catherine was not so sure that her conclusion was quite accurate. Mr. Henderson was a little too warm-blooded to be exactly like the perfect
Hippolytus
, but like
Hippolytus
, he needed protection, and she would not see him come to harm.

She was about to mount the stairs when the front door opened and
Rutherston
sauntered in. Catherine had not seen him since the theater the night before. She would have liked to wipe the sardonic look off his face, but her butler, George, was standing by to relieve his lordship of his things, and Catherine knew better than to commit the unforgivable solecism of having words with her husband in front of the servants.

"
M'dear
."
Rutherston
bowed formally as he slipped his evening coat off his broad shoulders into George's waiting grasp.
"All-night session at Carlton House.
Ran into Freemont and was obliged to give him my word that I'd be in the House tomorrow to support his bill on Ireland. Nuisance, that!" He turned to George in dismissal. "Thank you,
George, that
will be all."

When George had retired, leaving them alone,

Catherine half turned to mount the stairs, addressing
Rutherston
over her shoulder.

"If you would excuse me, my lord, I am going to change."

"Where's Henderson?" he asked abruptly.

"Gone home, in a bad humor.
He says that he can do nothing with the light in this house." She forced herself to speak naturally. "From now on we are to work in his studio."

Rutherston
nodded absently, regarding her costume with close scrutiny. "Where are your pearls?"

Her hand flew to her throat.

"Henderson doesn't want me to wear jewelry. He said it's distracting."

"I dare say he does, but I want you to wear the pearls. See that you do." His tone was curt and cutting.

"Yes, my lord," Catherine responded through clenched teeth.

"Catherine—a moment of your time."
He held out his hand and she was obliged to put her icy hand into his warm one, and he walked her unresisting to the room she had newly vacated.

He led her to a chair beside the empty grate and stood, one foot on the fender, looking down at her, a circumstance which, in Catherine's opinion, gave him an unfair advantage.

"I saw Norton this morning."

Catherine said nothing, not putting herself about to make the interview any the easier, and
Rutherston
, recognizing the stubborn set of her chin, went on doggedly.

"You did not tell me that your sister Mary had been delivered of her child."

"My lord, I have scarcely seen you! You had barely left our box last night when I recalled that I had not told you. And when I would have followed you to Lady Symington's box, Mr. Henderson forbade me to go." There, let him make what he liked of that veiled piece of malice.

"Would he not?"

"I thought to tell you this morning, but you were not home, and I did not know where to find you." Her face was a mask of innocent blandness.

"I see that I have been at fault." He moved to stand beside her chair.

"I have been with Norton, Catherine. He left this morning with Lucy for Breckenridge."

"He what?
For what reason?"

"What reason could there be?
To apply to your father for Lucy's hand."
Rutherston
smiled to see her prim look dissolve as her mouth
gaped
open in astonishment.

She jumped out of her chair and began walking about, wringing her hands in agitation.

"What are they thinking of? Papa will never countenance such a match! Why didn't they tell me what they were about? They should have eloped!"

"Eloped?" Now it was
Rutherston
whose face registered shock. "You cannot be serious! I thank God that my cousin has better sense than that!"

"Sense?
Do you call it sense to offer for a girl when there is no hope of your suit being accepted? It will break Lucy's heart, and I call that nonsense!" Her flushed face, sparkling eyes, and heaving bosom made
Rutherston
, momentarily, forgetful of what he was about to say. He was tempted to pull her into his arms, but he collected himself, not wishing to precipitate a new quarrel.

"His suit will be accepted, Catherine, I have no doubt of it. There is no need for this wild talk and extravagant emotion."