Authors: Jillian Hart
“May I?”
He offered the torn material to her. When she rubbed it between her fingers, he asked, “What are you doing?”
“This was made for wear, not for comfort. As well, it is stiff with salt as if it has been dunked into the sea and dried.” She looked up at him, and her eyes were dim with dismay. “Jobby got his teeth into a smuggler.”
“Good dog.” He squatted and rubbed the dog's sides until Jobby's tail was a blur. He chuckled when the dog licked him twice on the cheek. Wiping his face with his sleeve, he stood. “I shall alert the men in the stables to keep an eye out for other trespassers.”
“Tell them not to confront the smugglers.” She shivered and wrapped her arms tightly around herself. “After they threatened the Demaines as they did, I doubt they would hesitate to hurt one of the stablemen.”
“I will tell them not to face the smugglers on their own. Meriweather and Iâ”
“No!”
He arched a brow, and she closed her eyes and sighed.
“Jonathan, you and my cousin have already fought in too many battles. You are both lucky to be alive. You don't need to risk your lives again.”
“But God didn't spare our lives so we could waste His gift by allowing these criminals to terrorize Sanctuary Bay.” His voice was sharper than he realized because she turned away, but not before he saw a glimmer of tears in her eyes.
Slowly she nodded. “I know, and I appreciate your fervor, but I cannot bear the thought of losing someone else.”
He saw how her cheeks had blanched, and he wondered if she spoke of her father or the man named Roland. A man she apparently had been in love with. Edging so he faced her again, he motioned for Foggin to take the puppy to the kitchen. He waited until the footman was out of earshot before he added, “We will do nothing foolhardy, Catherine. But, if something isn't done to stop these smugglers, they will be running tame through the corridors of Meriweather Hall soon.”
Chapter Seven
J
onathan waited for Cat to say something as they walked into the house. What a bumble-bath he had made of the afternoon! He had hoped to lighten her spirits, and their outing had ended with her in the dismals.
“Would you like me to go through the papers with you?” he asked, hoping to ease her distress.
“If we must, we must.”
He grinned as they took off their coats and gave them to a waiting footman. “Sounding like a martyr does not become you.”
“It is just that I would rather do anything else, even another fitting with Mme. Dupont.” Finally she smiled. It was a faint smile, but it was better than the fear he had seen on her face in the garden.
“I had no idea you found the situation that appalling.”
She walked to the desk where pages were separated into about a dozen different piles. “I hate to admit defeat, but I don't even know where to begin. At least when I collect mermaid tears, I know where to start looking.”
“May I?”
“If you think you can make some sense of that mess, please do.”
He scanned the pages and understood why she was baffled by the invoices from various merchants, both local and in York. More than half included information for the wedding, the wedding breakfast and the Christmas Eve ball. Then there were pages of information about the events mixed in with the invoices. Some, like the plans for where guests would sleep, were lumped together.
“May I?” he asked again as he pulled out the chair.
“Of course.”
“Do you have ink, so I may make notes?”
“Wait here.”
Jonathan paused sorting the pages to watch Cat leave. He was in awe of how she seemed to float on air, each step as light as if she walked on invisible clouds. She was petite, but she possessed a presence that filled any room she entered. Everything about her seemed genuine, carefree and honest. Even when she was weighted down with worry as she was now, she possessed a sense of freedom he envied.
You could be as free, if you released your grip on the lie you have let take on a life of its own.
He recognized the voice of his conscience, for it had repeated those words to him countless times in the past year and a half.
He was a coward. If he needed any proof, there it was. He was not brave enough to risk his friendships with Northbridge and Meriweather. More important, his friendship with Cat. Any of them, hurt at his deception, would be well within their rights to evict him from their lives. He had other friends in Norwich and even a few in London, but none like the ones here in Sanctuary Bay.
When Cat returned with the ink, he bent over the desk and began working. She left him alone to make whatever progress he could.
He continued sorting the pages but was aware of her on the other side of the room, paging through a book. There was something so cozy about being there with her, even if the span of the room separated them. He thought about his house in Norwich. The rooms there were beautifully appointed but held no warmth. He had thought he preferred his surroundings to be like that. He had been bamblusterating himself.
This
was what had been missing from his life. A feeling of connection to another person, the comfort of being in the same room with that person and knowing that he had no need for illusion. Once he had believed his parents had such a relationship, but they had created such a sceneâonly when others beyond the family were present. When alone, his parents were happiest in separate parts of England, the farther apart the better. Had they ever been in love? He had believed he had loved Augusta, but that had died just as his parents' love for each other had. Maybe love itself was the greatest illusion.
Regret clamped his heart. He looked at the stacks of paper. While he was at Meriweather Hall, he would enjoy Cat's company, knowing how fleeting their time together must be. After the wedding and the Christmas ball, he would return to Norwich.
That was easy to plan, but it was more difficult not to imagine Cat traveling there with him. What would she think of his cozy house? Would she even be willing to be so far from the sea? Mermaid tears could not be found along the river that cut through the city.
He bent his head over his task. It would be better if he kept his focus on the present. The future would come soon enough, and he needed to enjoy this time when Cat was part of his life.
Jonathan did not look up again until the clock in the hallway chimed four. His stomach grumbled, and he thought of a sturdy tea. That would have to wait.
When he called Cat's name, she came to the desk. He handed her a page where he had listed all the papers and separated them into columns for each event. He quickly outlined what he had done.
She listened closely. When he was finished, she said, “I understand. I should have seen this before, but you have made it simple, Jonathan. May I keep this list?”
“I made it for you.”
“Thank you. I will refer to it often.” She laughed.
He laughed along with her, but the sorrow that he had tried to ignore pushed forth again. Her teasing reminded him of how his sister Gwendolyn's bosom-bow, Augusta, had once spoken to him. Lighthearted. Genuine. Never intending to hurt. Then Augusta had embarked on her first Season, and everything had changed.
“I thought you would want something to eat,” she said as a footman came in with a large tray.
She took Jonathan by the sleeve and drew him to where she had been sitting by the fire. If he shifted his arm, could he draw her within his embrace? Would she come willingly?
He shoved away those enticing thoughts as he noticed the footman lingering by the door. All he was doing was torturing himself. It would be better to enjoy their friendship than risk losing it.
A generous tea was spread across the large tray. In addition to the usual bread, butter and jam, there were small meat pies topped with cheese. The pungent smell of pickled vegetables made his mouth water. Pieces of dried fruit waited on another plate.
“Help yourself,” she said with a smile, and he knew he had betrayed himself with his eager gaze.
“Thank you.” He took a small plate and handed it to her before picking up another for himself. “This is a generous tea, but, from what I saw on some of those invoices, you are planning an equal bounty for the wedding breakfast. How many people are coming?”
“Everyone who belongs on the estate plus the village residents and friends and family.”
“Everyone?”
Cat selected a piece of cheese and nibbled on it. “It is a long-standing tradition for every bride and groom at Meriweather Hall to throw open the doors for the whole estate and the village. Any who wish are welcome at the Christmas Eve ball, as well.”
“Do your traditions include inviting those involved with smuggling?”
“Without knowing who hides behind the smugglers' masks, we must open the door to everyone.”
“Do you think that is wise?”
“Actually I do.” She poured tea for both of them.
“You do?” He was so shocked he did not see the cup she held out to him until the saucer brushed his hand.
“Yes, if they are here, they won't be taking advantage of everyone being distracted to go about their illegal business. Anyone who doesn't come will be noticed, so the smugglers will be here, and we don't have to worry about them beyond our walls.”
He tipped the cup in a salute to her. “Brilliant! You are a great strategist.”
“I wish it wasn't necessary.” She stirred sugar into her tea. “Someday the smugglers will find it expedient
not
to be in Sanctuary Bay.”
“Keep praying for that day to come soon.”
She reached for another piece of cheese. “Cousin Edmund says your family spends most of the year in London.”
“They do.” He was not surprised she had changed the subject abruptly. The topic of the smugglers rubbed against her the wrong way. Any further discussion about having the smugglers inside Meriweather Hall must be between him and Meriweather. He did not want to distress Cat.
“But you live in Norwich,” she said. “That is a good distance from London.”
He slathered a piece of bread with jam. What would she think if he told her that the reason he had chosen Norwich was because it was far enough from London to make it inconvenient for family to visit? He doubted she could even imagine wanting to put space between her and her family. She and Miss Meriweather and Lady Meriweather had welcomed Edmund Herriott because he was family. Then they had offered the same cordial reception to Jonathan and Northbridge, because they were Meriweather's friends.
“True,” Jonathan said, knowing he owed Cat the courtesy of a reply.
“So you do not see your family often?”
“No.”
“Now I understand.”
“You do?”
She smiled, and he guessed his bafflement had been displayed on his face. “Why you were reluctant to come for the wedding. It means that you will be unable to spend Christmas with your family.” Her smile disappeared. “Oh, Jonathan, it was wrong of Cousin Edmund to insist. If you want to be with your family, I'm sure Sophia and Charles would understand.”
“I appreciate you saying that, but it's not necessary.”
“Do you have plans to be with your family for Twelfth Night?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“That was very definite.”
“Yes.”
When she arched a brow, he realized she was not going to be satisfied with a terse answer. There was no need to hide the truth from her. Once she reached London, she would learn it from the
ton
.
“My mother insists,” he said, “that she be the first hostess of the New Year each year, so she holds a big assembly on the very first night.”
“Why?” She tasted her tea, then added more cream.
“It is believed among the
ton
that whoever hosts that first party is the premier host or hostess of the year.”
“So it is a matter of prestige.”
“In her mind, it is. She guards her position as the first hostess of the year as closely as the Yeoman Warders do the Jewel Tower in London.”
“What an image!” She laughed. “I hope she doesn't insist on keeping ravens nearby, too, as they do at the Tower of London.”
“Not likely. She considers them dreary, noisy birds that upset the serenity of her gardens.”
Cat set her cup on the table and pushed a strand of hair back from her cheek. His own fingers itched to exchange places with hers so he could be the one touching her pretty face.
He looked down before she saw the truth in his eyes. He selected a meat pie and said, “One year, when I was no more than twelve, a neighboring peer's wife tried to usurp my mother by sending invitations to a ball to be held earlier on New Year's Day. So my mother decided to pay this woman a call.”
Her eyes widened. “Ah, the plot thickens.”
“Not really. After that short call, the lady switched her ball to later in January and blamed her secretary for putting the wrong date on the invitations.”
“The poor secretary.”
“He didn't lose his position, and I suspect, from what I heard afterward, he was well rewarded for taking the fall for his employer's wife.”
“All's well that ends well, then.”
“That is what Shakespeare says. After the war, I decided I preferred the quiet of my own company to such drama, so I have not attended the New Year's Day assembly.”
She picked up her cup and smiled. “And this year, I'm sure your family understands that you would have a long journey from Meriweather Hall.”
“They will be very pleased to hear that I am attending the wedding of Lord Northbridge to your sister.” He kept the resentment out of his voice, but he knew his family, especially his mother, who would retell the story over and over of how her son the solicitor was counted as a friend of an earl with an esteemed and ancient lineage.
Cat began to talk about various Twelfth Night celebrations at Meriweather Hall, and he let the music of her soft voice envelop him. It created a wall that separated him from his vivid memories of celebrations at his mother's estate. His memories were not as filled with joy as hers, and he had no intention of spending the upcoming Twelfth Night, or any other, with his family.
* * *
Cat woke to a white world. The gentle breezes of the past week had been banished several days ago, replaced by an icy wind off the sea and snow piling up on the windowsills. Even the air inside her room had a crisp freshness to it, and she shivered as she quickly dressed in a burgundy wool gown. Its long sleeves were not stylish but were warm.
A knock was set on her door. She went to open it, expecting her sister. She was surprised to see Ogden on the other side. He was dressed impeccably as always, even at this early hour, and she was curious when he found time to sleep.
“Demaine, the gamekeeper, is here. He says he will take you to the wood today, if you wish, to view our Yule log.”
She glanced at the window and realized frost had whitened the window, not snow. Holiday excitement pulsed in her as she told Ogden to let Alfred know she would be down soon. As the butler went to deliver her message, she rushed to her cupboard and dug deep within it to find her warmest gloves and a knit hat to wear beneath her bonnet. It would not be
à la modality,
but London was far warmer than North Yorkshire.
Wearing a lighter coat beneath her pelisse and taking her heaviest cloak, she hoped she would be warm enough. She needed, for excursions like this one, a heavier coat like the men in the stables wore. Maybe, after she returned from London, she would speak with Mme. Dupont about having one made.
Catherine hurried down the stairs, not wanting to keep Alfred waiting, when she knew he had many chores to do each day. He would not want to be gone from the cottage long, because he feared for his mother's safety when the smugglers were growing bolder with each passing day.