The Honorable Heir (7 page)

Pure motherly pride...that he could shatter.

He felt like a hypocrite eating at her table.

When the salad course arrived and Mrs. VanDorn turned to the man on her left, Tristram switched his attention to Catherine. She stabbed a strip of lettuce and moved it from one side to the other, set her fork down, sipped water, then resumed the lettuce relocation process. Not once did she so much as take a bite or glance at him.

“Isn’t not speaking to me unforgivably rude?” Her actions finally pressed him to ask.

“Isn’t coming to the home of people whose daughter you’ve accused of theft unforgivably rude?”

He winced. “I could end up proving your innocence, too, you know.”

“You could choose to believe me.” She set down her fork and gave up the pretense of eating.

“Please, let us converse like civilized beings.” Beneath the edge of the tablecloth, he pressed his right hand over her left.

Her hand twitched, but she did not draw it away. “I’m rather out of practice with social repartee.”

“Tell me about your favorite places on the continent.”

“The Alps?” She sounded uncertain, her words tentative. “We have magnificent mountains in this country, though I have never seen them, but the Alps were... Well, who needs a cathedral for worship when one has places like that?”

“You prefer the mountains to Florence or Rome?”

“I do. Paintings are all well and good, but nature...” Her hesitation vanished the more she talked, and by the end of the meal, when Mrs. VanDorn rose to lead the ladies from the room, he had discovered many interests he and Catherine shared—land, quiet and things of beauty, such as soaring mountains and well-written books. She was pretty, intelligent and in possession of a gift for witty observation. Under other circumstances, he would love to spend more time in her company.

In truth, he would love to spend more time in her company regardless of the circumstances. Indeed, with her clear, cultured voice still caressing his ears, he perhaps should consider proving her innocence rather than her guilt. Surely a lady who appreciated God’s creation over man’s wouldn’t hold much stock in jewels. Yet the evidence against her was rather strong.

He wanted to pursue her and talk to her with less antagonism than they had shared when the subject of the jewels was their subject of dialogue. For now, he was stranded in the dining room with a dozen men he barely knew. The VanDorns were an abstemious family, so coffee and tea were the only beverages. Tristram accepted a cup of excellent tea, and leaned back in his chair. Knowing too little of American politics to join in the discussion of President McKinley’s reelection the day before, Tristram listened with partial concentration, mainly concerned with how he should proceed with his investigation into Catherine and the jewels.

By the time Mr. VanDorn suggested they join the ladies, Tristram had his answer.

Chapter 7

The ideal partner is one who never criticizes or even seems to be aware of your mistakes, but on the contrary recognizes a good maneuver on your part, and gives you credit for it whether you win the hand or lose...

Emily Price Post

T
ristram found Catherine dispensing coffee and tea from a low table at one end of the drawing room. Estelle carried the cups to ladies settled in groups around the chamber. When Tristram approached Catherine, she slid a cup of tea toward him without looking higher than the middle button on his waistcoat.

“I don’t care for more tea.” He glanced around for a chair but the nearest seat was the other cushion of the settee on which she perched. “May I?”

“You may, though I see two empty chairs by the window.”

“Will you join me there so I may talk with you some more?”

“I must pour the tea. So sit if you must.”

“Not particularly gracious, but I accept.” For her sake, he sat as far from her as the small sofa allowed.

“I didn’t think you would do that.”

“Why not?”

“You wouldn’t want anyone to think you’re paying special attention to me.” She spoke in an undertone.

“No one will think it odd.”

“Perhaps not.” She lifted the coffeepot and started to pour.

“No more,” Estelle said, approaching the table. “Some people are leaving. I shall entertain the rest of the guests.” She sailed off for the music room, her fingers moving at her sides as though she already played an instrument.

“Excellent. No interruptions.” Tristram half turned on the settee so he could see Catherine better.

With a number of the remaining guests casting speculative glances in their direction, she could remain as she was, stiff-backed, hands folded in her lap, giving him her profile; stand and leave; or angle herself so they could talk more directly. The first two choices would be unforgivably rude from a social perspective, and subject for gossip. The third option, however, could lead to gossip that he was courting her or, at the least, entering into a flirtation.

She took so long to move, he feared she would risk rudeness. Then, just as the strains of a violin began to drift from the music room, and he was considering bidding good-night to save her embarrassment, she picked up the cup he had rejected and turned just enough to hand it to him.

“Drink your fill.” She set the cup and saucer into his hands. “If I remember correctly, the Selkirks’ cook makes terrible tea—by English standards.”

“Nothing has changed.” Although more tea would keep him up for hours, he sipped the tea, inhaling the fragrance of bergamot blended with Catherine’s spring flower scent, the latter as likely to keep him awake as the former. “I considered purchasing a spirit lamp and tea in the city so I could make my own in my room.”

“I’d like to see the old lady’s face if you had.” She laughed.

He warmed to his toes. “A gross breach of etiquette?”

“You might get away with it as simple English eccentricity.”

“Then I should have done so.” He set the cup and saucer back on the table, wanting nothing but clear air between them. “Or may I come here whenever I need a cup of real tea?”

Her folded hands clenched. “You don’t wish to do that.”

“Ah, but I do.”

“Why?” She slid so close to the edge of her cushion he feared she would tumble to the flowered carpet.

He rested one hand on the back of the settee, too far from her shoulders for the gesture to be inappropriately intimate, but hinting to the others in the room that he intended this conversation to remain private in plain sight. “I made an important decision after you left the dining room.”

She merely arched one brow in a question.

“If it weren’t for the jewels, we’d get on fairly well—”

“But there are the jewels of which I am innocent of stealing.”

“And I am obligated to prove otherwise. So I believe the only solution for either of us is that I become one of your greatest admirers.”

“You intend to what?” The others in the room might have been able to hear her exclamation if the violin recital hadn’t exploded into a lively gypsy melody.

He grinned. “I intend to become one of your greatest—”

“I heard you the first time.” Voice lowered, she held a hand in the air to stop him from repeating himself. “I meant what do you think you’re playing at with such a suggestion?”

“No game.”

“Ha. Your very presence here is some kind of game. Did the Baston-Ward family put you up to it? Did they... Did they...” She struggled, then her eyes narrowed. “Did they send someone to sell the jewels in my wake to make me look guilty in order to extort funds from me?”

“A thought I hadn’t considered.” The violin dropped into something slow and dreamlike, and he lowered his voice to a mere murmur. “With good reason. The jewels were missing when the new earl first opened the safe.”

“And do you only have their word for it?”

“I have my father’s word for it. And since my father has nothing to gain here, and a great deal to lose financially, I am taking his word over yours.”

“Then you are hoping for the opportunity to sneak into my room and search my jewel case?”

“I expect you’re too good a player to keep the jewels near your person.” He rose and bowed. “I shall call on you as soon as my host’s plans permit.” He started to turn away.

“I won’t be at home.” He barely heard her above the lively Scottish tune Estelle had begun to play. “Unless you’re willing to perform a service for me in return.”

If he could gain her cooperation without a struggle, he would do anything he could, even if it meant he ran the risk of incurring his earthly father’s wrath. It was a small price to pay for extending grace to her as would his heavenly Father.

“And what is that?”

She lifted her gaze to his, and the cocoa-dark eyes looked as soft as her gown. “Arrange a meeting for me with Georgette Selkirk.”

“You want me to arrange a meeting with Miss—” He paused and glanced toward the rest of the company. The violin had ceased and the remaining guests had all risen in preparation to leave. Anyone could overhear their conversation now.

“Do you have any histories I may borrow?” He posed the question so abruptly she looked as startled as he felt, but he plunged on. “I’m afraid my host’s books run to novels, and I wish to know more about, hmm...” He faltered.

She rose, a twinkle setting gold lights dancing in her eyes. “History, perhaps? American history, that is. We have a book by Moses King on the history of New York. Will that do?”

“Quite well, thank you.” He offered her his arm.

After the merest hint of a hesitation, she took it. As he led her from the drawing room, he fought an urge to cover her fingers with his, press them more firmly onto his forearm. He shoved his free hand into his coat pocket to stop himself from being so foolish.

As though she knew of his considered impulse, she released his arm the instant they stepped into the library, and swept across the room to remove a leather-bound volume from a shelf. “This should give you some information.” She held out the book.

He took it and held it between both hands. “Why do you wish to speak to Miss Selkirk?”

Catherine ran her fingers across her necklace, lifting it from her throat, her eyes fixed past his shoulder. “I need to ask her forgiveness. I need to do what I can to make amends for the past, for what I...I did to her.”

And after how the Selkirks had treated her. His heart turned to warm clay Catherine could have molded in her elegant hands. Dangerous to feel so strongly in her favor. He was working against her.

“Not admirable,” Catherine said. “Necessary. If I’m ever going to do anything useful with my life, I can’t have the past hanging over me like this.”

“Useful?” He had met few society ladies on either side of the Atlantic who spoke of making their lives useful. “How?”

“I don’t yet know.” She wrinkled her nose and laughed with an edge. “Let me clear my conscience and my name first.”

“And I can help with both.” He took a step toward her. “I fully understand wishing to be useful. If I—”

She turned abruptly enough for her skirt to swing out and brush against his ankles. “I hope that book suits.” She stepped into the foyer, where the butler assisted a lady into her coat. “Good night, Lord Tristram. I am certain we will meet again.”

“Indeed.” He bowed. “I will do my best to fulfill your request.” He departed with a sense of dissatisfaction over their conversation. He wanted to—needed to—tell her so much more than he had, explain about his father and his mission so she would understand why he pursued her.

Another day. He would get Georgette to call on Catherine to give himself another day.

* * *

It was a foolish promise for him to make. Although he saw Georgette daily, he rarely spoke to her alone for more than a minute or two. He couldn’t bring up such a personal issue in the constant presence of others, though was tempted to broach the topic in the middle of a dinner party waltz with Georgette’s undivided attention so close at hand. Except in the middle of that waltz with Georgette, he caught sight of Catherine across the room and instead found himself wishing he was spinning her around the drawing room turned dance floor.

He saw her in snatches, brief dialogues in the great hall clubhouse, or on the veranda, where she drank tea with some local ladies in the warm autumn sun, or at the home of someone bold enough to invite Selkirks and VanDorns together. He never mentioned the jewels. She never mentioned Georgette, and he walked away feeling as though the exchanges held more value than hours spent in others’ company. Each exchange showed him a lady who loved her family, found beauty even in a rainy day and still wanted to do something useful with her life. When the Selkirks decided to return to the city, reluctantly, Florian, Ambrose and Tristram went along, as they had little choice with their host and the female family members going.

“I’ll do some hunting through the jewelry and pawnshops.” Ambrose gave Tristram a pointed glare. “Since you seem to have given up the hunt. Perhaps your father will give
me
the reward if I prove the woman took the jewels and get the rest back.”

“Not to mention the money she got for the ones she sold.” Florian frowned. “Though I admit I’m finding it harder and harder to believe she’s guilty. She so quiet and kind.”

“And she’s Estelle’s sister.” Ambrose cuffed him on the shoulder.

“In spite of the fact that we’ve made this horrible accusation against her,” Florian said, “Lady Bisterne still treats us with all that’s gracious.”

“Don’t trust her.” Ambrose snapped out the words. “Remember how she schemed to get Bisterne away from Miss Selkirk.”

Tristram’s upper lip curled. “I doubt he needed much persuasion once he learned the size of her dowry outshone Miss Selkirk’s.”

“And she’s nearly as pretty as her sister.” Florian cast an oblique glance at Tristram. “Don’t you think, Tris?”

“Prettier.” The word slipped out before he could stop himself.

Both his companions stared at him.

“No wonder you’ve stopped trying to get the jewelry back,” Ambrose murmured. “You’re besotted with her.”

“You’d better tell the beauteous Georgette,” Florian added. “She has her cap firmly set in your direction.”

“Don’t be absurd.” Tristram shrugged off their remarks with more nonchalance than he felt. “We scarcely know one another.”

But in his heart, Tristram did not quite believe this to be true. He was beginning to feel he knew Catherine well enough that it was unnerving, given what he’d come to America to do.

* * *

On their third day in the city, Ambrose and Florian had gone to witness some low form of entertainment in the area known as the Bowery. Pierce had accompanied his mother and grandmother to visit their dressmaker, and Georgette had stayed behind.

“It’s too fine a day to stay indoors getting poked and prodded and stuck full of pins.” Georgette gave Tristram a pointed glance. “I can persuade you to take me to the park for a brisk walk, can I not?”

“You can.” Tristram, too, welcomed a long, fast walk through the park.

While Georgette fetched her coat and hat, and for the first hundred yards out the Selkirks’ front door, Tristram thought about Catherine’s request. Was this his opportunity to ask Georgette if she’d meet with Catherine? How would she respond? Or was it not his place to say anything at all about Lady Bisterne?

“I never realized you are so shy,” Georgette said, breaking the silence. “You never seem at a loss when Pierce is with us.”

Tristram’s ears heated despite the biting wind blowing from the west. “I haven’t spent a great deal of time with young, pretty females between school, university and then the army.”

“You place me in that category?” She tilted her head to peek up at him from beneath the wide brim of her hat.

“I should think your mirror tells you the truth of that every day.”

Georgette heaved a sigh audible above the cries of children playing a game of tag beside the path.

“I’ve seen how the men wish to dance with you,” he added.

“Men I’ve known all my life.” She wrinkled her nose as the fallen, dried leaves carpeting the path crunched under their feet. “I’m considering going to Europe to find some variety. Of course, having variety come to us has helped my ennui a great deal.” She pressed her fingers into his arm.

“We appreciate the hospitality of your family.” Tristram hesitated, then plunged in. “Everyone in Tuxedo Park has been cordial and welcoming. I’ve quite enjoyed many of the entertainments, including at the VanDorns’.”

“Of course you have.” The corners of her mouth drooped. “Mrs. VanDorn sets a fine table and none of them is anything but intelligent and kind.”

“Including Lady Bisterne?” The instant he spoke the title Georgette had lost, he regretted it, but he could scarcely call her Catherine aloud.

Georgette paused on the path and gazed out across a pond. “Catherine has well paid for her actions of five years ago.”

“She would like to speak with you. She asked me if I would affect a meeting.”

She spun to face him. “Why?”