Miss Fellingham's Rebellion (26 page)

“Dear girl, rest your mind on that score. I won’t have you thinking I’m a heartless fortune hunter,” he said with a laugh. “I’m comfortably situated, if not extravagantly so. I need not chose a wife for the material benefits she could bring me.”

“Then why coerce my sister into marriage?”

Finchly raised an eyebrow in exaggerated curiosity. “What is this? A sign of sibling rivalry? Perhaps you are too old and envious of her success to appreciate her value. Evelyn is a charming child, extremely beautiful and well-behaved. She’s from a respectable—or rather respectable-seeming—family. I, of course, will not hold the sins of the mother against the daughter. Having decided it was time I married, I looked around to see who would make me a suitable wife and decided your sister, who is biddable and will give me beautiful children, is the perfect candidate.”

Halfway through this appalling speech, Catherine stood up, for she could not bear to be in his company a moment longer. “I see that talking to you will get me nowhere. I had come here with the intention of appealing to your finer nature, but I realize now that you are singularly lacking in any proper feeling.” She collected her things and went to the door. “Very well,” she said, delivering the words in a dry clipped tone that in no way reflected the anger that was bubbling over inside her, “consider yourself warned. You will not marry my sister. I will do everything in my power to see that it does not happen.”

Finchly laughed again, and although he seemed outwardly affable, Catherine observed the squinty eyes and an odd facial tick that revealed his annoyance. “Power?” he dismissed scornfully. “I wasn’t aware that you wielded any power. Please feel free to do whatever you can. I shall enjoy watching your meager efforts.”

Catherine’s anger grew so that she could barely contain it, and she trembled slightly as she thought of this horrid, detestable man married to her sister. “And I shall enjoy watching your face once you realize that your ambitions have been well and truly thwarted by a woman with no power. It will be all the more satisfying.”

Finchly cackled with amusement. “My dear, you must stop tormenting me with your passions. I must remain faithful to my beloved—for a little while, at least. Perhaps you should return in a few months after the first blush of wedded bliss fades. I would be very happy to entertain your offer again,” he said with a leer, and all of a sudden Catherine felt stripped bare, as if she were still wearing a gown with a low neckline.

“You are reprehensible,” she said coldly.

“Compliments will get you everywhere,” he assured her as she escorted her to the door and held it open for her. He grabbed her hand as she passed, holding on despite her attempts to tug free, and kissed her palm. “It has been a great pleasure. And do remember what I said. There is no reason why we can’t be
très
intimate friends.”

Unable to remember when she had been so repulsed or so angry, Catherine turned away and marched down the path to the street. As she looked for a hack, she thought about how much she would enjoy shooting Finchly or stabbing him or drowning him in the Thames. All manner of painful death occurred to her as she looked down the road for approaching vehicles. She could bring him to a glassworks, tie him to a rod and throw him in the—

“Good morning, Miss Fellingham.”

Catherine spun around and was confronted by the very horribly unwelcome sight of Julian Haverford walking toward her from across the road.
Oh, God, not now.

She took a deep breath and ordered herself to remain calm. “Hello, Deverill.”

“Out for a morning stroll?” he asked disingenuously. He knew that she was much too far from home to have walked there—and that she would have taken an abigail with her if she had.

“Uh, no, I was out visiting a…friend,” she lied poorly.

“Indeed?” He raised an arrogant eyebrow and examined her somewhat contemptuously from his superior height. “A very good friend, I trust, if you can call this early.”

“Uh, yes. A good friend.” She knew he was implying something with his seemingly mild comments, but she lacked the inclination or the presence of mind to figure it out. She was far too unsettled by the awful conversation with Finchly to stand on the street sparring with Deverill. Seeing him like this—bright and handsome, dressed for a morning drive—made her ache for all the things that would never be, and she didn’t have the time to indulge in her own tragedy, for, compared with Evelyn’s, it was no tragedy at all. “If you’ll excuse me, I am in a rush to get home.”

She moved to step around him, but he wouldn’t let her. “If you are truly in a great hurry, please let me escort you in my carriage. It would be much easier and more comfortable than taking a hack.”

Catherine knew he spoke the truth, but although the ride might be quicker, it would feel ten times longer as she sat in the enclosed space with him. “I thank you, but a hack will be fine.”

“I must insist, Miss Fellingham, that you allow me to do this for you.” He put a hand around her waist and directed her toward the carriage. “Please.”

The interview with Finchly had taken a lot out of Catherine, and she really just wanted to get home in the fastest way possible. Realizing Deverill would not take no for an answer, she gave in. “Very well, thank you.” She stepped into the carriage, sat across from him and examined her gloved hands with intense fascination to avoid his gaze.

They drove for a while in silence, and Catherine was glad of it because she had no desire to trade pleasantries. His offer to drive her home was mere courtesy—he’d proven time and time again that if nothing else, he could be extremely gallant when he devoted himself to the task—and after the things she had said last night, he was probably even less inclined to talk than she.

“What’s this between you and Finchly?” he growled suddenly.

Her eyes flew to his. “What?” She was so surprised that she almost laughed, but something in Deverill’s intimidating countenance warned her that laughing wouldn’t be wise.

“Come, Miss Fellingham,” he said coldly, his shoulders stiff against the back of the seat, “when a man sees a woman leaving a bachelor’s quarters without her maid at nine-thirty in the morning, he must draw certain conclusions.”

Catherine was appalled that he could think such a thing. Her anger was of a kind that she could barely speak, and she chose not to defend herself. It was none of his business what she did and, besides, she hadn’t done anything that
needed
defending. Furthermore, if he could think such horrible, hurtful thoughts about her, well, then, he didn’t deserve to know the truth. “My relationship with Finchly is none of your concern,” she stated just as coldly, turning to look out the window.

“Isn’t it?” He reached over and took her gloved hand. His voice was angry, but his touch was remarkably gentle. “Surely if I am responsible for your meeting, then I have some small concern. I saw you flirting outrageously with him last night. Is he one of the men you thanked me for introducing you to? Perhaps you expect him to make you an offer? If that’s true, my dear, I think you should hold out for a better proposal. Even Pearson, who has been living in your pocket these many weeks, is more acceptable. I know it’s not quite the thing for a woman of your considerable years to marry someone so much your junior, but you have always been unconventional and an ape leader like yourself can hardly be choosy.”

Her outrage at the very idea of this charge was immediately crushed by anguish. How could he say such cruel things to her? First to suggest that she had set up a dalliance with Finchly! Then to imply that she was trying to entrap her brother’s friend in an unsuitable connection! The pain was so intense, she had no answer at first. She just continued to stare out the window, refusing to let him see the hurt on her face. Then she pulled her hand away and said quietly, “As I said, my lord, I’m not accountable to you for my behavior. Now I beg of you, leave off questioning me.”

Catherine expected him to persist, but much to her surprise, he sat back and remained quiet for the rest of the short journey.

When they arrived at her address, Deverill insisted on escorting her to the door, even though she declared it was quite unnecessary. Not only did she want to get away from his unnerving presence as quickly as possible, she also didn’t want her mother to see them together and jump to more impossible conclusions.

At the door, he put a hand on her arm. “Miss Fellingham, I’ve warned you before about Finchly,” he said more reasonably, even though his tone was cold and indifferent. “He’s a cheat and a liar, with not a scrap of honor. You would be wise to keep your distance.”

“I assure you, Deverill, I know all about Finchly’s honor,” she said with a cynical laugh.

Abruptly, his expression changed and he said, “What has he—”

“Thank you,” she said firmly, opening the door and stepping inside before he could finish his thought. “Goodbye, my lord.”

Catherine shut the door firmly behind her and rested her shoulders against it, too overcome by the scene in the carriage to do anything but review it over and over. His opinion of her, which she’d always known was not great, was far worse than she’d ever expected. To believe for a moment that she would have anything to do with Finchly, a cheat and a liar to be sure…

But as his warning echoed in her ear, she realized that in all her panic to come up with a solution to their problem, she never figured Finchly’s reputation as a card cheat into the equation. Surely, if the Marquess of Deverill suspected he played his fellow gamblers false, others must wonder about it as well. That, she thought with growing excitement, could be her ace in the hole. If she caught Finchly cheating at cards, then she could threaten to expose him to the
ton
just as he had done to her family. She could trade her silence for his.

It was a solid plan, she knew it. She simply had to figure out how to execute it. A game must be arranged, that much was obvious, but how? She would need a conspirator who knew more about gambling than she.

“Catherine dear,” her mother called as she traipsed down the stairs in a simple afternoon dress, “if you’re going to go driving with Deverill, I do wish you’d tell me. Not that I mind, of course, although a gentleman could come in and say hello to your family.”

Engrossed in her new scheme, Catherine was quite surprised to find herself still standing in the front hall and even more surprised that her mother knew she had been out with Deverill. The only way she could know was if she had posted herself by a window and saw him drop her off.

“I was very cross when Caruthers told me you’d gone out alone,” Lady Fellingham continued, “and I could have sworn he said you took a hack. But, la, everything is all right. I am so glad that Deverill has forgiven the horrid mix-up of the other day. How atrocious it was at the time—I positively cringe at the memory—but now that it’s come out all right, I’m so relieved. I told Sir Vincent that he should expect an offer any day now. He scoffed, which wasn’t at all appropriate. Just because you’re old, doesn’t mean you’re not attractive to an experienced man like Deverill. Sir Vincent doesn’t like him, of course, for he’s convinced his interest cannot be serious and must have some nefarious cause, but he won’t withhold consent. I’m sure of it. He’s just a concerned papa, as is right, so don’t tease yourself on that point.”

As her mother prattled on, her eyes glowing with the false promises of the future, Catherine decided she would get no help from that quarter. She considered her father next. He certainly knew his way around a gaming table and the rascally reputation that Lady Georgina alluded to indicated that he had schemed a time or two himself. But Sir Vincent always preferred to submit to the easiest path and giving in to Finchly’s demands might, in his opinion, require less effort than engineering a card game. That left Freddy but even as she thought about him she knew he would never do. He was still getting into scrapes himself and relied on Catherine’s help to get out of them. If he got involved, he would no doubt do something hare-brained that somehow made the situation worse.

No, it seemed that there was not one family member whom she could ask to help her entrap Finchly. She could not seek advice outside her family, for to do so would require a confession of her mother’s scandalous behavior. She would not compound the problem by spreading the tale.

As Catherine despaired of ever saving Evelyn, her mother continued to chatter about her future with Deverill. “The old marchioness doesn’t go about much in society anymore, but I’m sure she will make a special effort for the ball. How could she not, if it’s in honor of her own son’s wedding?”

Unable to bear any more, she snapped, “Stop, Mama, stop. Lord Deverill will not now nor ever ask for my hand in marriage. It simply won’t happen so please stop talking about it.”

Her mother looked at her with surprise and then disdain. “Ungrateful child! I did not raise you to be an old maid and I’ll thank you to remember that the next time a handsome, titled, wealthy man starts dancing attendance upon you.”

Catherine knew there would be no next time. “Agreed, Mama. Now can we find a new topic to discuss.”

Her mother was so taken aback by her daughter’s rudeness, she didn’t know how to respond and stared at her as if meeting a stranger. Finally, she said, “I don’t know what my dear friend was about, thinking she could marry you off by the end of the season. You are the most impertinent girl without proper feeling for your mother or your father.”