An Impetuous Miss (19 page)

“
I should not think that marriage would be such an intimidating prospect where there is love,” she countered, her voice shaking just a little with emotion. This would never do, she told herself angrily. He must not suspect how she felt. Mastering herself, she went on in a more placid tone, “But perhaps your loss will not be so hard on you, Mr. Hazelforth. I shall miss Eveline, however, and I do not at all look forward to a winter of solitude.”

“
Nor do I,” he agreed. They stood together in silence for a time, listening to the distant melody of the orchestra, and each wishing desperately that they might divine the thoughts of the other. The candles wavered in the breeze, and Cat sighed, her throat tightening.

Finally, Hazelforth took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and took her by the hand.
“Come here. Cat. Stand where I can see you. Take off that wretched domino. That's much better. You are especially beautiful tonight, you know. But then you are always beautiful.”

Dazed, Cat looked up at him in the candlelight. His eyes were dark with emotion.
“I remember the day I first saw you, there in the sacristy,” he went on, his voice coming softly to her through the semi-darkness. “Not only beautiful, but so very much yourself, so very different from anyone I had ever met before. In spite of your tempers, in spite of the fact that you could barely tolerate my presence — yes, I knew it well—I was compelled to seek you out. I could not help myself then. Nor can I now.”

Cat had little time to reflect on this declaration, for she almost immediately found herself enveloped in Hazelforth's arms as his lips urgently sought hers. She wondered for a fleeting second why she had no inclination at all to struggle in this embrace, and then lost track of everything except her rushing senses. For what seemed an eternity, she was only aware of his warm lips on hers. Then, his kisses and her own grew deeper, more impatient. As she caught her breath, his mouth traveled from her own, down her neck to her tangled locks and onto her bare shoulders, sending small shivers up and down her spine as he pressed her to him urgently. Breathlessly, relentlessly, he continued in his downward progres
sion, until at last she felt his lips reach the valley between her breasts and linger there as his hands buried themselves in her hair. She drew in her breath sharply, and involuntarily her champagne glass slipped from her hand, shattering on the stones at her feet.

At that instant, Hazelforth released her suddenly, muttering a low curse in the darkness.
“What have I done, Cat?” he whispered in anguish. “I am no better than …”

“
Please, Mr. Hazelforth... I beg you not to.” She hesitated, her voice faint. She did not, she realized with a guilty flush, wish for him to stop at all, yet she could hardly entreat him to proceed. She put her hands up to her cheeks, uncertain how to continue.

He stood a few moments in wretched silence, feeling a cad and a fool. Here stood his love, trembling before him, unable to meet his eye. How could he have acted thus, particularly after his condemnation
of Abelwhite? And how could he explain to Cat that, in spite of his actions, he did love and respect her? He waited until he had recovered himself before he spoke to her again. “Forgive me, Miss Catherine. Believe me that I bad no intention of … You may trust that I shall call early tomorrow to make my addresses. Let me go now to ask permission of Lady Montrose.” He took her hand and pressed it, then disappeared into the darkness, leaving Cat's head and heart spinning.

If Cat had felt any momentary joy in hearing Hazelforth's intentions, it soon faded as reason reined in her heart.
True, he had said he intended to make his addresses, to propose marriage, but his voice had been more anguished than impassioned. Worse, he had spoken not a single word of love. Would he make such a commitment simply because he felt he had compromised her? Merely in order to separate himself from the Henry Abelwhites of the world? Perhaps, she thought, perhaps. Marriage was what she had wanted, she finally admitted, but marriage with love.

It was not impossible, though. I can make him love me, she insisted stubbornly to herself. However, a small voice from within whispered with cold per
sistence, might not a man such as Hazelforth eventually resent his situation? Might not his regard change slowly to bitterness and thence to hatred? The candles about her began to sputter, their dying light mocking her. With a heavy heart, she made her decision. In the morning she would offer to release Hazelforth from his pledge. Perhaps, she thought with some small hope, he would decline.

Cat's sorrowful meditation was interrupted as she heard the sounds of the guests beginning to make their departures, and she turned slowly toward the house to help Lady Montrose bid them a good night. When she reached the foyer, she saw that her god
mother and Mr. Hazelforth stood there side by side. While Lady Montrose smiled knowingly at her, she saw to her despair that Hazelforth's face had not lost its stricken look. He joined her and whispered hollowly, “It has all been arranged. I shall come by in the morning as early as is proper. Good night, Catherine.” At this he pressed her hand uncertainly once more and left her to the chatter of the departing guests.

When the last of the company had finally been
seen off, Cat was distressed to recognize the signs of weariness beneath Lady Montrose's smiling face. As Cat helped her make her way up the stairs, Lady Montrose turned to her and said, “I am very happy for you indeed, Cat. Many years ago I loved a man and lost him. I am glad that you have not been so careless with your love as I was with mine.”

Cat found she could make no rejoinder, but si
lently accompanied the little lady to her apartments, where she bid her a good night. Turning down the hall to her own chamber, she stopped a moment to regard her image in a tall mirror one last time, reflecting that in it she had experienced both the heights and depths of emotion in the space of a half hour.

Just as she reached her chamber, however, she heard her name called out and found herself ac
costed by Audrey, obviously distraught. “Oh, Miss Cat,” she wailed, wringing her hands. “It's them dogs of yours! They've gone and run away!”

“
When was this, Audrey?” Cat asked in sudden concern. “How long have they been gone?”

“
Just now, just this very minute. They was out the kitchen door after a stray cat, fast as two greased pigs.” Here, Audrey succumbed to noisy tears accompanied by a distressingly nasal whine, her small eyes puffed and pitifully red.

“
Well, don't worry, Audrey,” Cat reassured her. “They won't have strayed far from the kitchens if I know them. I'll just go down and call to them.”

“
Oh, yes, please do, Miss Cat!” Audrey exclaimed looking relieved. “That would do the trick right enough, never a doubt at all.”

As they made their way down the staircase to
gether, they encountered Eveline, smiling dreamily, on her way up. “I won't be too long, Eveline. Go on to bed. It seems Caesar and Brutus are up to their old tricks. They've played poor Audrey false and run away.”

“
Are you sure you don't need me, Cat?” Eveline asked. “They can be quite difficult to catch.”

“
Oh, no, Miss Bartlett,” Audrey broke in quickly. “I'm sure when they hear Miss Cat's voice they'll come a-running.”

Cat was a little surprised when Audrey led her down through the orangeries to the end of the garden rather than toward the park.
“You're sure this is the way they went?” she asked.

“
Oh, yes, Miss Cat, I'm certain sure. Why, is that the little fellows down there?” she asked, holding aloft her lantern and taking a few tentative steps into the impenetrable darkness.

“
I don't see them, Audrey. Caesar?” Cat called doubtfully, stepping into the dim alley. “Brutus?” She took another step and suddenly felt herself seized roughly from behind as a hand forced a cloth soaked in some pungent concoction over her face. She struggled for a moment, then lost consciousness as darkness closed in from all directions.

Several times during the night, Cat regained her consciousness enough to realize that she was confined in a carriage and being conveyed at a great speed, without apparent attention to either safety or comfort. Since the drug was reapplied forcefully each time she so much as groaned, Cat attempted to be still and feign unconsciousness. If she could rest and bide her time, she hoped she might be in possession of her wits should an opportunity for escape arise. Through her fogged senses she could hear snatches of a conversation, the voices of a man and a woman. Audrey? But who else? Surely it could not be Mr. D'Ashley? Could he have been so competent? It did not seem at all likely, yet all evidence pointed to a plot between the pair. She also wondered with increasing alarm whether her little dogs had indeed shared some part of her fate, or were fast asleep on her eiderdown pillows.

The carriage stopped once, about dawn, for a change of horses, then proceeded on its rattling way. Cat could have cried with discomfort, so cramped and bruised was she, as well as nauseous from whatever they had used to subdue her senses. Wisely, however, she did her best to sleep and con
serve her strength for the trials that undoubtedly lay ahead.

***

Hazelforth had spent a restless night, fraught with self-recrimination at his excesses of the night before. He had cursed himself roundly for his lack of control and wondered if he could ever forgive himself the look of dismay that had suffused Cat's features on the previous evening. He felt like a hypocrite, having soundly trounced and transported that cad, Abelwhite, but a few weeks earlier. Now he stood convicted in his own mind of a similar, if not worse, offense. As he tossed and turned, he vowed he would make it up to her. He had waged his internal battle long enough; at last he had reconciled himself to the fact that he loved her and had finally made that plain to her. Or had he? He hadn't quite been able to pronounce the words, had he? It was this realization that sent him early from his lodgings to pace about in the park in front of Montrose House. He would set that last matter straight, should there be any doubt, as speedily as possible.

He had hardly arrived, however, when he was met with the extraordinary sight of both Miss Bartlett and Lady Montrose, still in their wrappers, stepping out the front door of Montrose House and sending several footmen running speedily in several directions. At the same time, Martin, the boy of all work, came tearing through the park within a few feet of Hazelforth.

“Ho there, Martin!” he called out, catching the boy by the arm. “Why all the uproar?”

“
Mr. Hazelforth! What good luck! I was just sent to fetch you and Mr. Sommers. It's our Miss Cat! She's gone!”

“
What do you mean, boy?” he cried impatiently.

“
When Felicia went up to take Miss Cat her chocolate this morning, she wasn't there. And her bed hadn't been slept in all night neither. And the dogs! Caesar and Brutus are gone, too!”

At this disclosure, Hazelforth felt himself stricken to the core. Cat had run away into the night. Had his attentions, then, been so unwel
come?

“
I'd best be off to find Mr. Sommers now,” Martin continued breathlessly, and was soon dashing across the green. Wretched with self-recrimination and worry, Hazelforth made his way quickly to Montrose House and joined the distraught ladies just inside the door.

“
Martin has just told me that Cat and her dogs are gone,” he told them hurriedly. “Quickly! What else do you know? Did she leave a note?”

“
A note?” Lady Montrose protested in some confusion. “There could be no note. Why, Hazelforth, she has most certainly been abducted.”

“
And it's that horrid Mr. D'Ashley, I am almost certain of it,” Eveline cried miserably. “We should have listened to you and Mr. Sommers!”

By the time Eveline had explained that not only had Audrey been missing that morning, but related what was known about her relationship with the said Mr. D'Ashley, Hazelforth was convinced as well, relieved on one score, but desperate with alarm on all others. Just then, Felicia bustled into the foyer dragging along with her Tom, the foot
man, who had clearly not been long roused from his bed. “Oh, Mr. Hazelforth, thank the good Lord you're here. Just listen to what Tom has to say about all this,” she cried urgently. “Go on now, Tom.”

“
Well, Mr. Hazelforth,” he began with slow deliberation, “it's like this. Just the other day, Wednesday it was, I happened to be out and about the town when I caught sight of that Mr. D'Ashley fellow. Well, he's a suspicious character, let me tell you. All havey-cavey, I thought from the very first, so I took it on myself to follow about after him on the sly.”

If truth were known, Tom had indeed followed Mr. D'Ashley about that day, but for the sole pur
pose of observing his progress from tailor to snuff shop to haberdasher. Tom, who was convinced he had an eye for fashion, was far more taken with that gentleman's dandyish apparel than he would care to admit.

“
Get on with it, Tom,” Felicia prodded, delivering an impatient little dig in the poor footman's ribs.

“
Well, as I was about to say,” he continued huffily, “it wasn't too terrible long before I seen this Mr. D'Ashley meet a gentleman, by arrangement like. A
very familiar
gentleman, mind you.”