Anne Barbour (8 page)

As though reading his thoughts, Catherine spoke up. “Indeed, the Woodcombes’ attention is very much taken up these days with wedding plans, for both Jonathan and Melisande recently became betrothed. Jonathan is to wed Miss Morival from Shinglehead, a village some twenty miles from here, and Melisande will marry Squire Wadleigh’s son. Both ceremonies will take place this fall.”

“And Dr. Beech?” Justin spoke the name smoothly, edging it into the conversation like a spoonful of sugar into a teacup. He was not pleased when Catherine smiled widely.

“Goodness, Adam is a mainstay in our lives. His wife was one of my best friends. She passed away while I was still living in London with my parents, before I—left to return here.”

“You were raised in Winter’s Keep, then?”

Lady Jane waved a hand. “Catherine spent a good part of every year here with me until—what was it, ‘97 or ‘98—when my daughter, Matilda, and her husband decided she must spend more time with them. He is a barrister.” Her voice sharpened. “ ‘It was for Catherine’s sake,’ they said. ‘What kind of prospective husband will she meet in this backwater?’ they said.” She clicked her tongue. “It was unfortunate that it was of such importance to Josiah Meade that his daughter make a good match. Matilda had no social ambition—although she did prefer the bright lights of society to rural solitude.”

Across from him, Justin observed the flush that spread across Miss Meade’s cheeks at her grandmother’s forthright speech. He smiled. “Such is the case with many ladies, I understand.” He turned back to Catherine. “But you were saying about Dr. Beech?”

“Only that he is my dearest friend. He showed me a great deal of kindness when—when I needed it the most. I owe him a great deal,” Catherine concluded in a rush.

Mmm, thought Justin. So much so that if he urges you to dislodge your unwanted guest, you would follow his suggestions unquestioningly? For there was little doubt in his mind that the doctor was not in favor of a prolonged convalescence on the part of his latest patient in the home of his dearest friend.

Again, Justin was intrigued by the mystery of Miss Catherine Meade. Where, he wondered again, had he heard her name?

Ah, well. He shrugged philosophically. If he stayed at Winter’s Keep long enough, all might be revealed to him. Otherwise, the lady would remain in his memory as a pleasant enigma.

“By the by,” Catherine was saying, “I sent a message to our local constable about you.”

Justin turned to her, a startled question in his eyes.

“I asked him if he knew of anyone reported as missing in the area. If not, I asked him to pursue the matter further—to send to London for information.”

Justin shook his head a little at this unwelcome piece of news. Certainly, Lord Justin Belforte would not have been reported missing, since he was believed to have been killed in Spain. However, the man or men who knew him to be still alive might well be interested should they come across the information that an unknown person had turned up in a small village outside London; a man, further, who seemed to have no knowledge of his identity.

One could only hope that should Miss Meade’s inquiry proceed farther afield than the office of the local constabulary, it would be received with indifference at Bow Street and therewith die a natural death with no further ado. Since this seemed like the most likely outcome of a request for investigation instituted by a reclusive spinster living in the hinterlands beyond the metropolis, Justin allowed himself to relax.

It was rather pleasant, relaxing—something he had not managed for longer than he cared to consider. He should have been bored, for the range of conversation that might have been expected from three single ladies living on the edge of oblivion was certainly not what he was used to. He was surprised to discover, however, that they kept abreast of current events and their observations were in turn keen and acerbic.

“Really,” commented Lady Jane. “It appears that the behavior of our troops after their long-postponed victory at Badajoz was disgraceful. One might expect raping and pillaging from the French, but it has always been my understanding that Wellington will not put up with that sort of thing.”

Justin flushed. He had not been a part of the madness that had descended on the troops after Badajoz, but the bestial shouts of the men and the screams of terrified women still rang in his ears. He opened his mouth, but Mariah was before him.

“I understand that the fortress of Badajoz was taken only after days of unimaginable hardships to the men,” she said quietly. “The reports said that many died in unspeakable torture from the methods used by the French in defense of the stronghold. Men—even the best of them—can sometimes give way under such stress and behave in a way they would not normally.”

“Did you follow the drum, Mrs. Bredelove?” he asked curiously.

“Yes.” Her eyes were moist and her look faraway. “William and I were married when he first purchased his commission. I went to Oporto as a bride.”

“Lord,” Justin said, startled. “What an introduction into the state of matrimony. That is,” he added hastily, “I have heard that conditions for the women in Oporto were dreadful.”

“They were.” Mariah grinned. “It had been raining for a month before our arrival, and I spent my first week there trying to keep the water out of our tent. Despite my best efforts, it was rather like living at the bottom of a river. I don’t know what I would have done if it were not for Mrs. Canfield, our colonel’s wife. She was an old hand at army life and took me under her wing.”

Justin smiled sleepily. The next moment, he was obliged to stifle a yawn. Lord, the fresh country air hereabouts must be having more of an effect on him than he realized. In a few moments, he made his excuses to the ladies and retired for the evening.

Silence fell among the women after Justin’s departure. Mariah spoke at last.

“He’s a likable chap, isn’t he?”

“Mm,” replied Catherine.

“You don’t like him, dearest?” asked Lady Jane, her brows lifting in surprise.

“I don’t know him well enough to like or dislike him.”

“But, you don’t precisely trust him.” This from Mariah. “I must own, I feel the same way. He’s charming as he can hold together, but I get the feeling he’s not being completely honest with us. For example, for all his claims of memory loss, he remembers that he served in the Peninsula?”

“What?” exclaimed both of the others.

“Did you not observe the expression in his eyes when Lady Jane mentioned Badajoz. There was a lingering horror in them that I think would only be felt by someone who had been there. And, when I spoke of Oporto, he knew right away what a hellhole it had been. I’d be willing to wager a great deal he was there.”

“But if he says he cannot remember ...” said Catherine slowly.

“It may be,” put in Lady Jane, “that he is only aware that the battles took place, without any personal recollection.”

“I suppose so,” admitted Catherine. “Still ...” She shifted in her chair. “Do you know, he reminds me of Francis.”

A shocked silence greeted her remark, and she hastened on.

“Please don’t take my words amiss. It does not bother me to speak of him, you know. That would be the height of foolishness. Just because I made a complete fool of myself over a conscienceless rascal like Francis Summervale, doesn’t mean that I cannot bear to hear his name. I don’t intend to spend the rest of my life repining.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” said Mariah briskly. “But,” she added tentatively, “in what way does Mr. Smith make you think of him?”

“Oh, the charm you mentioned. And the fact that I feel there’s something he’s hiding. Of course, he did put himself in jeopardy to save Silk and me in that shed—something Francis never would have done. It’s just that I can’t escape the feeling that it would be a mistake to put out one’s hand in wholehearted friendship with Mr. John Smith—or whatever his name is.”

The three ladies nodded in accord, and conversation became general. It was not long before they dispersed to seek their beds. In her chambers, Catherine gave herself up to her maid and grew reflective as she gazed in the mirror while the woman brushed her hair.

She had changed in the years since she’d returned to Winter’s Keep. Not only was she older, but she had matured in a hundred subtle ways. She had said that she did not repine over the matter of Francis Summervale, and that was true. She would never entirely dispel the regret she felt, however, at her blind stupidity at the time.

At the ripe age of three and twenty, she should have known better. She had become accustomed to masculine attention from the time she had left the schoolroom. Her birth and breeding were unexceptionable, and she was not unattractive. Also her fortune was generous. Thus, she had garnered her share of proposals for her hand. She had refused them all, for none of the gentlemen who buzzed about her like bees to a honey pot had touched her heart.

Until Francis.

The Honorable Francis Summervale had appeared on the London scene during Catherine’s third Season, after a sojourn on his family’s estate in the West Indies. Though tall and well formed and with hair the color of the sun, he was not precisely a handsome man. However, his eyes were of a piercing azure-blue, and to gaze into them was to lose oneself in a realm of tropic skies and the promise of unimagined delights. The ladies of the
ton
sighed over him and jealously detailed his amatory successes over the teacups.

The scion of an ancient and honorable family, he carried the weight of his name gracefully. Little was known of his material worth, but it was thought the family had, of late years, seen a diminishing of their fortune. Thus, while the maidens of the
beau monde
vied for his attention, their fathers looked on him with suspicion and concern.

From the moment he and Catherine were introduced to each other at Lady Clifford’s ball, he had eyes for no other damsel. And Catherine, who had come to believe her heart was inviolable, fell headlong in love. When he proposed marriage, she was ecstatic, and she urged Francis to address her father without delay. As might have been expected by anyone less used to getting her own way, Catherine’s parents did not smile on the proposed union. Josiah Meade, a perspicacious, socially ambitious barrister, having seen which way the wind was blowing, had investigated Mr. Summervale thoroughly and discovered that not only was the gentleman poor as a church mouse, but had managed to land himself heavily in debt. To Catherine’s outraged astonishment, her father not only refused his permission for them to wed, but banned Francis from his home and forbade Catherine to have any more to do with him.

Nothing, of course, could have been more guaranteed to propel Catherine even further into the sanctuary of her beloved’s arms. She and Francis began a series of clandestine meetings that culminated, perhaps inevitably, in plans for an elopement.

Recalling the night she and Francis had fled to Gretna, Catherine uttered an involuntary cry.

“I’m sorry, miss,” gasped Winthrop, her maid, bringing Catherine back to the present with a jolt. “Did I pull your hair, then?”

“No, no, Winthrop. Please go on.”

Catherine closed her eyes once more under the soothing strokes of the hairbrush, and the night when her world crashed about her came rushing into her mind.

She could even remember the smells of the dark, silent house as she had tiptoed from her bedchamber. How strange, she had thought, that she was leaving the familiar cocoon of her home, never to return. For she knew she would not be forgiven for this night’s work.

Francis was waiting at the appointed spot and had gathered her in his arms, kissing her until she was a mass of quivering sensation. Then he had bundled her into his carriage, and they had plunged headlong into the night. They made good time, reaching Leicester by morning. They traveled hard all the next day and stopped at a charming little inn just outside York. After a cozy dinner spent in making plans for their future, Francis had escorted her upstairs. He had, of course, reserved two bedchambers, but as they reached the door of the one selected for her, it became clear that he did not intend to go on to his own.

His lips were warm, and his hands slow and soft as they caressed her. It had taken everything she possessed to draw back from him. He had first laughed, but then became angry at her insistence that they wait until they had said their vows before engaging in the pleasures of marriage. Eventually, at the risk of raising the house, he had given way. Swallowing his impatience, he bade his bride-to-be a stiff good night and retired to his chamber.

Full of excitement and unappeased desires she barely understood, Catherine did not sleep well in her chaste bed. When she finally fell into an uneasy doze an hour or so before daybreak, she was aroused by a commotion belowstairs.

“Father!” she breathed through bloodless lips, recognizing the voice raised the loudest in the altercation.

When she and Francis and Josiah Meade gathered in the inn’s tiny parlor, however, her father had scarcely glanced at Catherine.

“You have been with my daughter for the better part of two nights,” he bellowed.

Francis made no denial, and Catherine was surprised to observe a small smile curve the corners of his mouth. “Yes, sir,” he replied in a low voice. “I tried to abide by your refusal of my suit, but I love Catherine and I could not stay away.”

“Bah!” was her father’s only reply. “If I had my way, I would tie you to a manure cart and horsewhip you to within an inch of your miserable life.” He drew a deep, shaking breath. “However, Catherine’s reputation is already hanging by a thread. Come, Catherine.”

“Papa! No!” Catherine had cried. Francis had moved to her side, flinging a protective arm about her.

“You—you cannot separate us, my lord. We must marry!”

“On the contrary, you vile young snake. Catherine’s mother and I have put it about that she has been laid in her bed by a putrid sore throat. No one knows of her departure. If we move quickly, all will be well. You will leave the country, sirrah, and count yourself lucky you still have all your body parts.”