In the Garden of Temptation (12 page)

“
You amaze me, Brown.” Adam
grinned. “You’re a veritable conversationalist when you are moved
to speak.” He sobered as he continued. “It’s my understanding then
that you feel Lady Bourgeault is not treated with the respect which
is her due.”

“
That’s part of it,” the
groom admitted.

“
And you fear I am of the
same cut of cloth as those other ‘gentleman’ of whom you have good
reason to disprove.”

The man didn’t waver as he nodded his
agreement.

“
Would it come as a surprise
to you, Brown, to know I’ve become aware of the very things you
have mentioned?” When the groom watched him without answering, Adam
pressed on. “I am also concerned for your lady. The goings on here
are odd, to say the least. Frankly, I don’t know why the baron
invited me, but you can be damned certain it wasn’t to sell his
horses.”

The groom nodded again.

“
Brown, I would consider it
a personal favor if you would look after Lady Bourgeault for me.
I’m not in a position to make any demands, but if you ever feel she
is in trouble I would like to be informed. I’m not without
influence and I could help if it came to that.” Adam reached into
his coat pocket and handed the groom his card.

The old man hesitated, searching Adam’s face
as though looking for a hidden motive. The earl tolerated the
scrutiny and heaved a sigh of relief when it appeared he had passed
the unspoken test.

Brown’s features relaxed. He took the card
and placed it very carefully in his shirt pocket. “It’s a comfort
to know there is someone powerful who cares about my lady.”

“
That I do. We have a
bargain then.” The earl took the groom’s gnarled mitt in a firm
handshake to seal the pact.

Moments later as Adam trotted his horse to
the overgrown drive, he felt a sudden unseen pull that caused him
to halt and turn in his saddle. He surveyed the facade of the
crumbling castle, his eyes seeking out the invisible communication.
Was she there and was her pain as profound as his? There was no
future for them, and he had to come to terms with that knowledge.
But for now he simply must find the strength to leave her
behind.

*****

Catherine stood at the tiny window and
watched as the earl’s horse appeared around the corner of the
house. He urged the animal toward the drive but came to a stop and
glanced back at the castle. He appeared to be looking for
something, and she wondered if he could hear the thrumming of her
lacerated heart as it called out to him. She again committed his
handsome features to memory as he straightened in the saddle and
continued his journey down the lane and out of her life.

*****

CHAPTER 5

“
Enter,” the baron
called.

The knob turned and a little maid slipped
into the library. Once inside she edged back until she was pressed
tight against the door, staring wide-eyed at the man behind the
desk.

Edgar surveyed the tiny person attached to
the entry like a hungry leech, and his lip curled in disgust.
“What’s your name?”

“
Wilma,” she answered
meekly, her voice shaking.

“
Come closer, Wilma,” he
barked. “I can hardly hear you.”

Wilma advanced several reluctant steps
forward.

“
Now tell me. I’m assuming
you have some news regarding our talk of several days
ago.”

“
Aye, milord. My lady’s
rags—” She gulped as though she might be ill, her features pinched
with distaste. She tried again. “My lady’s rags have appeared in
the laundry.”

Edgar took in a furious breath and grimaced
horribly, grappling with a disappointment so intense he could not
speak. “I see,” he said at last.

Wilma, plainly desiring only escape, sidled
toward the door.

“
Wilma.”

“
Yes, milord?” Her voice now
trembled uncontrollably.

“
You will speak of this to
no one.”

“
Yes, milord, I
swear.”

“
You may go.” He waved his
hand in dismissal.

She scurried from the room before his arm
fell back to the desk.

Edgar sat the remainder of the day in morose
contemplation, the perennial bottle of spirits at his elbow. As the
late afternoon eased into dusk, Willy Gant entered the dim room to
light the lamps.

“
My lord?” the servant
ventured.

“
Leave it be, Willy. The
blackness suits my temperament.” The baron paused before
continuing. “We go to town.”

“
Lady Bourgeault confirmed
your suspicions?”

Edgar gave a humorless laugh. “I suppose you
could say in a way she did, although it was unintentional.”

“
My lord, I know it’s not my
place to question your decision, but do you think this is wise?”
Willy spoke tentatively as though he expected his master to make
him suffer for having the audacity to speak his mind.

Edgar merely stared at him.

Evidently embolden by the baron’s silence,
the servant braved on. “Maybe you should give it more time.”

“
More time for what? I can’t
wait, Willy. I have to strike while the iron is hot. Romance can
cool down as fast as it can heat up. Chances are Ashworth has at
least one mistress in town, and he may not want my provincial wife
once he sees her in a city setting.”

“
Can’t imagine anyone being
indifferent to the mistress, if you don’t mind my saying
so.”

“
Actually, I do mind,” the
baron bit out. “Keep a civil tongue in your head.” Edgar couldn’t
imagine it either, and that’s what was bothering him.

“
I meant no disrespect,”
Willy whined.

The baron leaned forward, expelling brandy
fumes into the dank air. “For God’s sake!” he said. “Shut up and do
as I tell you. Go to Bath tonight and return with a dressmaker
tomorrow. Ask around—make certain it’s someone who can work
quickly. I want to be prepared to leave for London in a
fortnight.”

*****

“
Edgar, why are you doing
this?”

Catherine stared at the dazzling array of
material spread about her bedchamber. There were taffetas, satins
and silks—not to mention muslins, batistes, crepes and voiles—a
myriad of colors and textures on a cloth palette. Soft cambrics and
lawns for nightgowns and delicate undergarments were also
represented. Lace and furbelows spilled from an oversized hatbox,
the hatbox threatening to tumble from its precarious perch on the
edge of a rocker.

The baron, for once in what appeared to be an
expansive mood, smiled at his wife indulgently. “Can’t go to
London, my dear, without the proper attire. I’ve enlisted the aid
of Madame DuBois here, who arrived this morning” he indicated the
female next to him, “to help you in making some fashionable
choices. I told her to spare no expense.”

Catherine gaped at her husband. “London,
Edgar? We’re to go to London?” Her gaze shifted to the little round
woman who stood at his side.

Madame DuBois stepped out of
the baron’s shadow and introduced herself. “My lady, my assistant
and I are here to serve you in any way possible. I hope we can make
some selections that will give you much pleasure.” The
modiste’s
voice was thick
with French influence.

Catherine liked the looks of Madame DuBois,
and she warmed to the plump dressmaker immediately. “I’m delighted
you’ve come, Madame. I’m certain with all this wonderful fabric at
our fingertips there is nothing we can’t accomplish.”

“
Then, ladies, I’ll let you
get started.” The baron turned to leave. “You have a fortnight to
get ready.”

Catherine stopped him. “Edgar?”

“
Yes, my dear?” he asked
blandly, looking at her again.

“
You have no special
instructions?”

He hesitated as he watched her obliquely.
“Only that you put yourself totally in Madame’s hands. I want your
introduction to the fashionable world to be unforgettable.”

“
Forgive me, but your
husband has a most dramatic effect on those he meets,” Madame
DuBois stated as the door closed behind the baron.

Catherine hid a smile as
the
modiste
covertly crossed herself. “True. He’s been known to disconcert
more than one unfortunate soul. But come, let’s discuss morning
dresses and riding habits and, most of all, glorious ball gowns. I
want you to make me beautiful.”

“
The good God above has
already completed that task for me.” The dressmaker shook her head
sadly. “I feel as though I have been given the task of finding the
perfect frame for a Rembrandt. The incomparable art itself is
complete.”

Catherine, overcome with gratitude at the
pretty compliment, didn’t care whether the words were sincere or
not.

“
You are being kind,” she
demurred.

“
You will learn I never say
what I do not mean,” Madame Dubois answered briskly. Putting a
finger aside her chubby cheek, she cocked her head and studied her
new mistress, plainly assessing the possibilities.
“
Mais oui
, it will
be a great pleasure to dress you, my lady.”

And so the two women put their noggins
together and, with the aid of the assistant, commenced to create a
wardrobe.

*****

“
Hurry, Edna. We’re getting
such a late start.” Catherine bustled up the staircase to her room
for one last search to make certain nothing had been forgotten.
Looking about the now barren bedroom, she caught sight of her
reflection in the full-length mirror standing next to the bed. She
was drawn across the room to the image almost against her
will.

Never had she appeared more elegant or felt
more beautiful. Garbed in a cerulean blue traveling gown edged in
black, her hands and feet were encased in soft kid. A matching
poked bonnet, two black ostrich feathers angled jauntily over the
brim, rested on her upswept hair. She looked a lady of fashion from
the top of her head to the tips of her feet.

She executed a swift pirouette and watched in
the mirror as the skirt belled out around her legs. “I can’t
believe it,” she spoke aloud.

“
It is a
miracle.”

Catherine spun around. “Edna, you startled
me,” she gasped. “You’ve caught me admiring myself.” She smiled at
the maid sheepishly.

“
It’s no more than you
deserve, my lady.”

“
Come, let’s not wallow in
all this flattery,” Catherine stated as she headed for the door.
“We’re off to the city!”

The old shabby carriage awaited them on the
drive, and the coachman Jack leapt from his perch on the box to
assist the women into the vehicle. He would be their escort as well
as their driver. The baron had gone ahead to London to make the
necessary preparations for their arrival. Catherine was relieved by
the arrangements, for the thought of endless hours alone with her
husband in a closed coach was not to be imagined.

Jack reentered the box, snapped the reins and
with a lurch they were on their way.

Catherine watched in fascination as the
scenery flowed passed her window. Seven years had elapsed since
Edgar had spirited her away on her wedding day and brought her
halfway across the country to her present home. He had not allowed
her to travel after that.

That’s why this trip seemed so odd. Why did
he want her brought to London? The baron was a miser, and yet he
had spent an obscene amount of money on a wardrobe. She would have
been a fool to believe he had done all this just to please her.

Other misgivings intruded on her peace
despite her effort to keep them at bay. Catherine could not stop
her thoughts from touching on the Earl of Ashworth—dwelling more
like. Would he be in the city and would she see him?

For that matter, did she wish to see him? It
was a foolish question. Catherine desired nothing more than a few
moments in his charismatic company. More to the point was whether
or not he would want to see her again. She didn’t think she could
bear it if he did not.

Why he should be unpleasant was not clear.
She only knew an overactive imagination made it seem a possibility.
Not that his departure weeks earlier had left her with that
impression. The earl had seemed truly saddened by their parting.
However, the passage of time had taken the edge off her memory, and
she was not certain what she believed anymore.

The hours sped by, and the thrill of
adventure lost its glow as the cramped quarters of the ill-sprung
coach interfered with her comfort. She was relieved when they
finally pulled into the yard of an inn where the baron had reserved
a room for the night. With the aid of the driver, Catherine climbed
stiff-legged down from the carriage and stretched her atrophied
limbs. Edna followed in like discomfort

“
I had no idea inactivity
could make one so sore,” the baroness said. “I feel as though I
have no blood in my feet.”

Edna stared at her mistress dully, clearly
too tired to respond. They trudged toward the inn entrance, and
Catherine gratefully allowed Jack to confirm the arrangements.

Twenty minutes found Catherine neck deep in a
tub of soothing water. “Edna, don’t worry about me. I’m not going
to budge from this bath for at least one half hour. Lay out my
gown. I can dress myself.”

The little maid did not argue.