The Sometime Bride (53 page)

When she returned to the drawing room, her cousin Edmund Audley, Viscount Norwell, was attempting to carry on a conversation with Lady Everingham and Dona Blanca. His brown hair was windblown, his brow creased; a sheen of perspiration overlaid his earnest young features. He was wearing his spectacles. At his cousin’s entry he sprang to his feet, bolting to her side.

“
You have heard, have you not?” he whispered fiercely. “I can see it in your eyes.” He nodded toward the two older ladies. “It is apparent they have not, and I have told them nothing.” The young viscount ran an agitated hand through his hair. “They will think me run mad,” he said, “but I must speak with you alone, Catherine.”

Cat took a deep breath. “No, cousin, I fear we must have it all out in the open.” She drew him back to his chair, then gave the ladies a brief account of what she had learned from Wrexham.

“
That’s why I’ve come,” Lord Norwell burst out as soon as she had finished. “You must marry me, Catherine. “It’s the only solution. Papa won’t care for it, of course, but I’ve plenty of income of my own. Great Aunt Matilda left me her fortune, don’t you know? And we shall go on very well. Believe me, cousin, marriage is all that will save you.”

“
He is right,” Clara agreed with a significant look straight into Cat’s green eyes. “But not to your cousin, I think.”

Blanca added her fierce endorsement. “Listen to Clara, Catarina. Stop this stubbornness and accept Harborough’s offer.”

“
Harborough?” said Edmund blankly. “Harborough made you an offer?”

It seemed to be Cat’s afternoon for apologies. While she was struggling to explain the complexities of her situation to her cousin and thank him for his truly noble offer, Rankin announced additional visitors.

“
Edmund, what are you doing here?” demanded his mama as she paused just inside the door, her daughter Lydia and the Earl of Ailesbury close behind.

Norwell rose to his feet with great dignity, adjusted his spectacles, and faced his family with considerable bravery. “I–I am making cousin Catherine an offer, mama. S–she has been much wronged, and I am determined to m–mend matters.”

“
Fiddlesticks!” scoffed his mother.

“
But you can’t!” cried his sister, who knew a great deal more about Catherine’s anomalous situation than her innocent young brother.

“
Nonsense!” added Lord Ailesbury. “Your cousin is well provided with protectors.” He choked for a moment on the unfortunate choice of words. “She does not need a young pup like you to defend her honor. Though I cannot deny your family feeling does you credit.”

Ailesbury paused to properly greet the ladies before turning to his cousin’s child. “Catherine, I presume you have heard the tales that whelp Markham has been spreading. Lady Ailesbury, Lydia, and I have come to inform you that we reject such aspersions on a member of our family and will lend you the full support of the Audleys against such dastardly lies.”

As the earl drew breath, Catherine glanced at his wife, who looked as if she were being forced to suck upon a lemon. “
Whatever
the truth of the matter,” Malvinia Audley intoned, “we cannot accept such a scurrilous tale. Particularly as it reflects so poorly on the Audley family. We do, however, believe you should retire from society, Catherine, until Markham can be dealt with. Ailesbury seems to think Harborough and his brother should take the matter in hand.”

The earl seconded his wife’s words. “Catherine, Malvinia is correct. You must avoid the Cut Direct.” The earl so far forgot himself as to issue a spontaneous remark. “Those demmed boys will be forgiven, Catherine, but you will not. You’re an outsider, m’dear, and far too beautiful for your own good.”

“
That’s why she must be married, Papa,” Edmund cried. “It’s the only way.”

“
Don’t be a nincompoop, boy,” Ailesbury snapped. “Harborough and his brother would put you to grass before breakfast and make a hearty meal over your lifeless corpse. Honor is all well and good, but it’s cold comfort in your grave. Not that the thought of Markham there is all that repugnant,” he added thoughtfully.

Cat was struggling through a suitable, if inwardly stunned thank you, to her Audley relations when a not-so-discreet cough interrupted her words. Startled, the occupants of the drawing room looked up to discover a Rankin who was obviously laboring under strong emotion, his professional aplomb completely shattered. He swallowed hard, coughed yet again, and announced, “Colonel Auguste Beaufort.”

The butler stepped aside to reveal an elegant gentleman of slightly more than thirty years, dressed in clothing which could only have come from a Parisian tailor. Colonel Beaufort’s brown curly locks topped a thin face from which shone a pair of bright blue eyes which Cat instantly recognized. He was tall, lean, and shockingly handsome. Stunned, the Everingham House ladies rose slowly to their feet as the Frenchman surveyed them with astute regard.

Colonel Auguste Beaufort was a man of the middle classes raised to power by the egalitarian ideals of the Revolution. And by Napoleon Bonaparte. He had the calm, clear-eyed confidence of a man who has commanded a regiment of light cavalry in the most victorious army in the world. In short, he had spent his entire adult life campaigning for the glory of France; a roomful of women, even Englishwomen, would not daunt him.

A tiny smile played across his handsome face as he looked from one to another. “Ladies, Sirs, I hope I have not intruded at an awkward moment. I seek Mrs. Catherine Perez de Leon.” His English was clear, with a faint accent which could only add to his undoubted appeal. As the silence lengthened, his finely arched brows rose in delicate question.

Cat expelled the breath she had been holding. “I–I am she,” she stammered.

Colonel Beaufort found himself face to face with the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. His blue eyes—his son’s eyes—lit with unabashed admiration. He smiled. A smile of singular charm. “You then are the lady who writes letters to Napoleon Bonaparte.” He brought Catherine’s hand to his lips, kissed it, his eyes never leaving hers.

“
I cannot believe you are here,” Cat said in a voice barely above a whisper. You
are
Pierre’s father, are you not?”

“
His name is André,” said Auguste Beaufort, “and from your description, yes, I believe myself to be his papa.”

The Marquess of Harborough returned from a week in Somerset eagerly anticipating the execution of his scheme to kidnap his wife and shut her up in Harborough Castle until she came to her senses. Tony, who had become an accomplice in the plot, conceded it might be the only solution, but was far less confident of the outcome. Cat had backbone which had not yet been tapped. She was no longer a child, but an independent woman with strong will and equally strong pride. It was quite possible imprisonment in Harborough Castle would only fix her stubborn resistance forever in place.

As the traveling coach pulled up in the driveway of Marchmont House, the twins leaped down and ran nimbly up the steps, casually handing their hats, gloves and driving coats into the arms of the butler, who immediately passed his burden to a waiting footman. “Milords,” said the butler with unusually grave face, “there is a note here of some urgency. Lord Wrexham requested that you receive it immediately upon your return.” He picked up a silver salver with a small envelope on it and held it out, uncertain as to which twin was Lord Harborough.

Alex wasted no time as he scanned the name, ripped open the envelope, and read the short note. If the cool, unflappable Earl of Wrexham said the matter was urgent, it undoubtedly was. “The devil’s in it,” said Alex to Tony. “Let’s go. This doesn’t sound like something we’d wish the parents to hear.”

Fortunately, the earl was at home when the Trowbridge twins came pounding on his door. “Well?” Alex demanded the moment the door to the library shut behind the butler. “Out with it, Wrexham. Cryptic notes annoy me. What’s going on? Is it Cat?”

“
Madeira, my lords?” Wrexham inquired smoothly. “I believe you’re going to need it.”

Alex took a menacing step toward the earl before his brother grabbed him by the arm. “Madeira would be excellent, my lord,” said Tony. “We’ve just returned from Somerset, and traveling always brings on a thirst.”

“
Ah, the civilized one,” breathed Wrexham drily, and poured wine for them all.

When they were seated, with Alex still looking as if he were ready to pounce on anything and everything, Lord Wrexham told them about Percy Markham. In a way, Tony thought, it was a relief. Markham had provided Alex a very real target on which to vent his fury and frustration. It also made kidnapping unnecessary. Cat could not possibly refuse his brother now.

“
I suppose Cat knows,” said Alex, taking a moment from the enormity of his rage to consider his wife’s feelings in the matter.

“
Um . . . yes,” Wrexham replied, his customary aplomb showing a slight crack of unease.

Alex pounced on the hesitation. “And just what does that mean,” he snapped.

“
It means,” said Wrexham carefully, “that Catherine was informed of the rumors several days ago. Lady Everingham tells me that as soon as the scandal broke Catherine received at least two offers of marriage.” There was, after all, no reason he had to tell Harborough one of the offers had been his own. “Both of which she refused, although everyone told her only marriage could stem the viciousness of this particular rumor. When she continued in her stubbornness, Ailesbury, his wife, and Clara Everingham agreed her only recourse was to retire to the country and hope the whole thing would blow over.”

“
So she’s at Branwyck Park?”

“
Um . . . no,” murmured the earl.

“
Damn it, Wrexham, where is she?”

“
It would seem she has gone to France,” Wrexham said, keeping wary eyes on the marquess.

“
France!” echoed the twins in chorus.

“
I believe Catherine has been fostering a French child?” the earl countered softly.

“
Pierre?” Tony questioned blankly.

“
What are you saying?” Alex demanded.

Two pairs of matching amber eyes, glowing with curiosity, stared at the Earl of Wrexham.

“
It seems that in the midst of Markham’s scandal a Colonel Auguste Beaufort arrived at Everingham House looking for his son. Naturally, they drove that very day to Branwyck Park. The reunion was particularly touching, I’m told. According to Clara Everingham, the boy took one look and ran across the room, sobbing, ‘Papa, Papa.’ I’m told the child had not said a word since you took him from the field at Vitoria, Harborough, so as you can well imagine, there was a veritable flood of tears. Not a dry eye in the house. You know,” the earl added with a sympathy at odds with his customary cynicism, “there’s not a man in the world can compete with the tears of a child.”

“
Finish it,” said Alex grimly.

“
Beaufort’s gratitude was overwhelming. Quite naturally, he assured Catherine anything he might be able to do for her, she need only ask. So she did.”

Slowly, Alex got to his feet, walked to the table and refilled his wine glass, tossing it off in one swallow. He turned back to face Wrexham and his brother. “And just what did she ask?” he inquired, his voice as dark and still as a primeval swamp.

“
She asked his escort to Paris.”

“
Escort. A nice euphemism, wouldn’t you say, Tony?” said Alex, his eyes holding a glitter which even Anthony found frightening.

“
That’s all it was, Harborough,” Wrexham insisted quickly. “I’m sure of it. Catherine’s world fell in on her. You and your brother weren’t here to defend her. She needed to get farther away than Branwyck Park. So, overnight, she simply packed and left.”

“
But how?” Tony asked. “I’d heard so many are rushing to Paris now the war is over that the ships are full to overflowing.”

“
I believe Beaufort had his own transportation,” said Wrexham carefully.

“
And what the devil does that mean?”

“
He was unsure of the reception of a Frenchman in England, so I understand he came by way of the Gentlemen.”

“
Smugglers!” Tony exclaimed.

“
I got the impression, again from Clara Everingham,” Wrexham continued smoothly, “that money was not a problem with the colonel.” “He could afford to hire any service he needed. According to Clara, his family was Napoleon’s own banker. “Beaufort and the boy, Catherine, Dona Blanca, the child’s nurse, and Catherine’s maid all returned the same way he had come. They’ve been gone two days now.”

Into the ensuing silence a faint sound erupted. The slight hiccup grew into a chuckle and then outright guffaws as Tony was overcome with hilarity. Shoulders shaking, he laughed until tears rolled down his cheeks. When he was able to focus on the stunned features of his outraged brother, he wiped his eyes and gasped, “Don’t you see? She’s finally outsmarted you. Not all your plots and schemes or your bloody title and consequence could make her into your docile little puppet.”

‘
I’ll kill him,” said Alex, only half hearing his brother’s taunts.

“
You won’t kill Pierre’s papa, and you damn well know it,” Tony countered. “Cat’s gotten clean away. Run off with a bloody Frenchman. The perfect revenge, brother. The ultimate betrayal. Now you know how it feels.”

Alex braced both hands against the mantel, resting his forehead on the cool green marble between. “I do believe you’re enjoying this, baby brother,” he groaned.