An Impetuous Miss (11 page)

Hazelforth and Sommers arrived at the ap
pointed hour in a barouche of ample proportions, and the little party was soon driving down the lanes of Hyde Park. It was a lovely blue day and Cat wished sincerely that her spirits were similarly bright. It was early enough in the day to avoid those who drove about merely to be seen, and Cat, for one, was happy to encounter few other parties.

Mr. Sommers and Eveline had found a mutual admiration for the works of Ben Jonson and were soon engaged in a spirited discussion. Cat and Hazelforth, on the other hand, listened in awk
ward silence. If only I had brought Caesar and Brutus, Cat reflected fretfully, at least we might have diverted our attention to them. She ardently wished to say something, but nothing appropriate came to mind. At last, Hazelforth addressed the driver.

“
Pull to the side, John. I believe we'll walk for a while.”

When the coach was stopped, Sommers handed Eveline down and the two continued their discus
sion, seemingly unconscious of their companions. Cat and Hazelforth followed them slowly onto a shaded lane and soon dropped behind the pair. They continued for a time in silence until at last Hazelforth said, “Do not be too put out with Lady Mouse. I know you would not have had your affairs known for all the world, but I am sure she meant well.”

“
I am sure of that, as well,” Cat returned quietly.

“
Miss Mansard, please do not look so cast down,” he pleaded earnestly, taking her hand. “In this, as in all things, I am your servant.”

“
Oh, yes,” Cat returned bleakly. “Your promise of introductions and screening of suitors. I suppose we had best be about it.”

“
Of course,” Hazelforth agreed with a sudden heartiness and briskness of tone. He had himself momentarily forgotten that commission and was glad to be reminded of it. The combined shock and gratification of becoming reacquainted with Cat had very nearly undone him. Since his quitting the country, he had held little hope of ever seeing her again and had philosophically resigned himself to that fate. Their separation had, in fact, been something of a relief, for never before had he felt so much in danger of having his affections at last engaged.

Miss Catherine Mansard had continued to oc
cupy his thoughts, however. Only a few days ago, as he and Sommers had sipped their brandy and conversed into the early hours, their conversation had found its way to the topic of marriage. Hazelforth and his friend had for many years avoided that state, but from time to time they amused themselves by describing the sort of woman who might be able to tempt them.

“
She must be beautiful, of course, and intelligent,” Sommers had said.

“
But not a bluestocking,” Hazelforth had amended. “She must have a good measure of wit and good humor.”

“
Good family, too,” Sommers went on. “And sensible. None of your swooning misses.”

“
In short, a companion,” Hazelforth had mused.

“
In short, a fantasy,” Sommers had concluded.

But, for the first time, Hazelforth had won
dered if his dream had come to life. Now that he had seen Cat again, he was even more confused. As he recalled their discussion now, the unspoken parallels he had drawn between his ideal and the lady whose image had so persistently haunted his leisure hours rose up once again.

Hazelforth pulled himself sternly from his dan
gerous musings. “Lady Montrose,” he continued, “was quite correct in her assessment. While I have maintained a steady devotion to bachelorhood over the years, I am well acquainted with the characters and reputations of most of those gentlemen who consider themselves to be on the market, shall we say.”

At this, Cat colored and cried out,
“What a vile characterization. I shall thank you very much not to use that term with me, Mr. Hazelforth!”

“
You must forgive me for being indelicate, Miss Catherine,” he told her implacably, “but your situation surely calls for plain speaking. Now, I am more than pleased to advise you, as Lady Montrose has so wisely suggested, and before the Season is much older your dilemma shall be resolved. Yes, I can well picture it: we shall see you safely returned to your precious Sparrowell Hall, an appropriately grateful bridegroom at your side, plans for doing up the nursery ticking away inside your heads. Just trust me and we shall manage it all nicely.”

Cat found the portrait painted by this hearty little speech so dismal an addition to her already despondent mood that she was forced to bite her lower lip quite painfully to keep it from trembling.

“Come, come, Miss Mansard,” Hazelforth chided as he watched her expression darken. “Yours is no worse a fate, indeed much better, than that suffered by many a young lady. Now Sommers and I have contrived an invitation to the gathering at Branwells tomorrow night, so I shall begin my campaign then. Perhaps it shall not be so trying as you imagine.”

Catherine looked at him in dismay. What sort of friendship was this? How could he be so cava
lier in speaking of her predicament? And why, she wondered, was she so utterly undone by his indifference?

Hazelforth merely smiled and patted her hand.
“Do you trust me in this matter?” Cat nodded glumly. “Good, then. Leave everything to me. Now dry your eyes, for here come Sommers and Miss Bartlett. They must have worn out poor Jonson entirely.”

The foursome completed their drive to a large degree in silence, their minds taken up agreeably or not by what had just passed. Cat noticed that Eveline looked in excellent spirits and reflected listlessly that there was no match for a good liter
ary discussion.

Cat's much beleaguered spirits lifted somewhat at the arrival of their new gowns the next afternoon, although she would have been much annoyed had anyone accused her of allowing such a superficial event to affect her one way or the other. Indeed, her temper had been so ruffled of late that even delving into a new novel had brought her no respite. Now, she and Eveline watched impatiently as Felicia ceremoniously un
did the wrappings. However, unable to control themselves, they were soon up to their elbows in tissue. Cat's gown was of white silk, minutely figured with embroidered butterflies. Eveline's was a jonquil-colored moire with an overskirt of openwork green lace.

“
Surely this isn't the fabric we decided on for my gown, Cat?” Eveline protested.

“
But it
is
the fabric you preferred, is it not?”

“
It is very lovely,” Eveline sighed, “but it seems hardly the thing for a companion. I would not want to excite criticism.”

“
Well, Eveline, I hardly think it anyone's business in what capacity you happen to accompany me. For all they know, we are merely friends. Lady Montrose did not mention it in all her other revelations and I doubt Mr. Hazelforth will allude to it. It is an exquisite gown. Wear it in good spirits.”

“
You will look lovely, Miss Bartlett,” Felicia added, “and I am sure Mr. Sommers will think so, too.” At this Eveline colored and Cat looked quickly at her. How vexing of Felicia to imagine more than she ought!

Lady Montrose had rallied herself for the evening's activities and she stood at the bottom of the stairs as they descended, looking very much like a gauzy, beribboned bonbon.
“Lovely, my dears,” she exclaimed, “I hope you do not mind, Eveline, that I interfered in your fabric selection. This suits you infinitely better. Now then, I have a little something for each of you, for I feel I must do something to make amends for my meddling, although I own I don't repent it.”

With
that, she handed each of them a small parcel. In hers, Cat found a pearl-and-gold choker; in Eveline's was a topaz pendant. It was clear that each had been selected expressly for the gowns they wore tonight.

“
I am just thinning out my collection, of course. I've not worn these in ten years and I should like to see them by candlelight once again. Besides,” Lady Montrose continued hastily, “I have given you cause to think of me with less goodwill than you might, and I always find there's nothing like a sparkly bauble or two to smooth over little differences of opinion. And you will see I was right in the long run anyway.”

Neither lady was deceived by the casual tone of this little speech, and they embraced her sincerely with considerably more charity than they might have done on the previous day.

“Now, now, put them on and we shall be on our way. Matey, is the carriage here? Lovely! Then ask one of the Birdies to fetch our cloaks.”

* * * *

Sir John Branwell and his lady greeted their party with good-natured enthusiasm. They appeared to be a kindly pair, but, as Lady Montrose had earlier noted, hardly scintillating. From the foyer, Cat's party could see into the salon where the assembled group was listening with perfunctory attention to a madrigal performed with less accuracy than animation by two pretty sisters and their prettier cousin.

“
Yes, the Collins girls,” Lady Branwell confided in a loud whisper. “They are sweet little things, to be sure, but no fortune to speak of. Bascombe there is quite smitten with Miss Collins, but his family won't hear of an attachment. What fun we shall have if they elope! Now the cousin, Lucinda Moreland, was to have wed the young Marquess of Halmore, or so it was rumored last Season. But here she is again. Ah, well, so it goes.”

While this gossip might ordinaril
y have held some small interest, Cat could not but shudder at the prospect of herself being the subject of such whisperings in the months to come. Just then, she spied Hazelforth and Sommers enter and approach their party.

“
Ah,” Lady Branwell confided in an excited undertone, “here come two who have escaped unscathed for years, but perhaps the time has come for them to relinquish their bachelorhood at last. Mr. Hazelforth! Mr. Sommers! Do come here! How good to see you. Now you already know Miss Mansard and Miss Bartlett, and Lady Montrose, of course. Lovely! Then I must leave you to each other, for here come Mrs. Bellairs and her charming nephews.”

Cat's party watched with some amusement as the determined Lady Branwell guided the hapless Bellairs none too subtly in the direction of the Misses Collins who were smiling in response to the scattered applause. When she was well out of earshot
, Lady Montrose at once addressed Hazelforth in a low whisper, “Tell us what you see now, Hazelforth. Any prospects?” Cat began to fan herself furiously as she felt a deep blush creep over her.

“
Let me see,” Hazelforth murmured as he contemplated the crowd. There was, for the moment, an interval during which the guests milled about or addressed themselves to the refreshments. “Well, well. There's Monte Whiteside. No. No good at all. Three years worth of gambling debts. In any case, I recall Miss Catherine has no tolerance for dandies. And, of course, young Abelwhite. Good family, but a rascal by all accounts. Rumors of a duel last Season. Amberleigh—no. Sutcliffe—most definitely not! Ah, here we have it! Sir Harold Talbot. A widower, good fortune, unimpeachable reputation, and advanced enough in years to have become settled in his habits. Let me see if I can contrive an introduction. Sommers, help Lady Montrose and Miss Bartlett to the refreshments. Come with me, Miss Catherine, and we shall begin.”

Sir Harold turned out to be a man of late mid
dle age, somewhat portly, but apparently good-tempered and courteous. Nevertheless, Cat could not help but wonder at Hazelforth's choice for her. There were far more agreeable-looking men standing about, twiddling their watch fobs as they in their turn looked over the crowd.

“
Ah, Miss Mansard,” Sir Harold began, bowing over her hand. “Your servant. You hail from my favorite county, I believe. Dashed good hunting, you know, Hazelforth. I shall be at it again as soon as this gout's mended. Devilish bad business, gout. Tell me, Miss Mansard, do you keep a kennel?”

“
I fear I do not keep hounds, Sir Harold, for I do not hunt …”

“
Not hunt!” he sputtered in disbelief. “What, pray tell, does one do in the country if one does not hunt, eh? Sit about idle, eh? Do you ride?”

“
Not at all well, I confess,” Cat replied, taken somewhat aback by this interrogation. However, she took a deep breath and resolved to be polite. “I generally confine myself to strolling about the grounds or visiting my tenants, or else, on a rainy day, burrowing into the library with a good book.”

“
Ah, but a library ain't complete without a couple of good dogs at your feet in front of a blazing fire,” he protested.

“
Oh, Miss Mansard does have
dogs,”
interrupted Hazelforth, and he launched immediately into an extremely detailed description of Caesar and Brutus, as well as their various antics.

“
You'll pardon me, Miss Mansard,” Sir Harold harrumphed, “but these two hounds of yours sound like useless, spoiled creatures. Don't earn their keep, if you ask me.”

“
I do not ask them to,” Cat replied evenly, making an enormous effort to conceal her annoyance.

“
If they were mine,” Sir Harold pronounced, “they would starve till they brought in a badger, or a rat or two at the very least.”