To Catch a Lady (4 page)

“She did, eh? I imagine you immediately set her to rights?”

Ash took a draw off of his cheroot. “I did. The thing was, she was very interesting. Told me that her mother had been working as a governess and had fallen and suffered a head injury. Since then she has been terribly confused and unable to care for herself.”

Michael nodded. “I seem to remember my mother speaking of such an incident several years ago, although I couldn't tell you exactly who it was.”

“As a result, the mother was given a tidy sum by her employer as recompense. Now the money has run out. That's why the visitor wanted me to consider her sister.”

“No doubt she's an example of the perfect wife—beautiful, intelligent, and flawless in every way.” Michael shrugged. “She sounds as good a candidate as any.”

“I'm sure she is adequate. I know I found the older sister to be very interesting.”

“How so?”

“She was very determined, for one.”

“Beautiful?”

“Beneath her dull brown dress, I suppose so. Though to be honest, I'm not entirely sure, now that I think about it.”

“Ah, problem solved. You should marry the older, possibly less attractive sister then. You are a clever man. No one would suspect such a plan.”

Ash sat his glass on the table. “You are quite entertaining, Michael.”

“Indeed I am, and when you are leg-shackled and have three or four of your progeny scampering about your feet, you will miss me.”

Each man finished his drink, and silence fell between them. Ash took a deep breath. When he spoke, he didn't look at his guest but concentrated on the dying embers in the fireplace.

“You do me great credit, Michael. I assure you, there will be one child. No more than that. My attempts to appease my aunt will go only so far. Besides, my family has had great luck breeding male children. I see no reason for it to be otherwise for me.”

“Ah, Ashton. Children are like hounds. You can't have just one.”

“That's all I want. It's to be written into the contract.”

Michael laughed. “You're a fool, Ash. You know nothing of love and family. I'm not surprised, given the poor example that was set for you. What happens if you form affection for your wife? Or if you find you enjoy your offspring and want more?”

“That won't be possible. After my wife is with child, I will send her to London and I shall have no more to do with her or the child. I've no desire to form any ‘affection' for anyone.”

“What are you afraid of? Being tied down with a family? Or is it something else?”

“I'm not afraid. I watched my parents destroy each other and I won't do the same.”

“It's a shame to deny yourself a chance for happiness, Ashton. So few people find it, and here you are tossing it out with both hands. I hope you change your mind. I truly do.”

“Bea, you look absolutely stunning,” Caro said, as her sister whirled about the room. “That shade of green really brings out the color of your eyes.”

It was true. Wearing the jade gown with ivory lace at the bodice and sleeves, Beatrice looked more like a woodland princess than a young woman on her way to her first social whirl. Caro couldn't help smiling. Her sister would surely slap her for such whimsy. Bea abhorred the outdoors, except when she was being romanced by the scoundrel Jeremy Horton, of course.

“This shade has always been one of my favorite colors. What do you think, Mama?” Beatrice struck a pose.

The woman smiled up at her. “I love the weather this time of year. The ocean is so beautiful. Perhaps we can take a walk on the beach today? I so love Bath.”

Caro sighed. Sarah Croft Hawkins had once been a strong and vibrant woman. Ten years earlier she had exuberantly run two households, that of her employer and her own.

Now she existed as a shadow. Seated by the window in her wheeled chair, she stared out, her eyes dull and her mind filled with visions of things that either didn't exist or had long passed.

Both of her daughters favored her, and in truth, she'd held her years well enough.

The three of them together made quite a picture, Caro thought. Sarah with her hair just beginning to gray at her temples, Caroline with her dark brown tresses, and Beatrice with her brilliant blond curls, all three wearing the same face. Together they looked as though they were different versions of the very same porcelain doll.

“Never mind, Mama,” Beatrice said gently, patting her mother's shoulder.

Desperate to ease her sister's concern, Caro began gathering up the threads and needles. “That's it, then, and only a day to spare before the ball.”

“Ahem,” Beatrice started. “Haven't you forgotten something?”

“What?”

“What are you wearing tomorrow night?”

Caro bit her lip. She'd been hoping that her sister might be so involved in her own preparation that she wouldn't give a thought to Caro's appearance.

“I've already chosen my gown.”

“You have? Which is it? The royal blue? Or perhaps the cream-colored one? You know, the one with the tiny silk roses embroidered at the neckline?”

“I'm wearing the gray.”

“The gray?” Beatrice started laughing. “You're not serious. It makes you look a hundred years old! For Heaven's sake, Caro, it's a party, not a funeral.”

“An exhibition is what it is, and you're the one on display, not me. There's no reason for me to dress up. I shall be spending my time seated along the wall with all the other old maids, I assure you.”

Beatrice stamped her foot. “You're impossible. It doesn't matter that you're not out to snare a duke—you might catch the eye of another eligible gentleman.”

“I have no intention of doing such a thing. Besides, with Mother to care for, I can't possibly ask another to take on such a burden.”

“Is that what you think Mama is? A burden?”

“I think of her as the most precious person in my life, next to you. But she requires a lot of care. More than that, even if I were to marry, it would mean leaving the cottage, and you know how Mother gets when she doesn't know her surroundings. No. This is her home and I must do what I can to keep her comfortable here. It's my hope that whoever buys the cottage lets us stay on as renters.”

“That's very magnanimous of you, sister.” Beatrice sighed. “Have you no thought of your own happiness, Caro? Can you possibly imagine spending the rest of your days alone? Not wanting a husband, I can understand. But what about children? Can you really be happy growing old alone?”

“I'm not alone, Bea. Besides, if we're successful in finding you a husband, I'm sure you will produce a whole bevy of nephews and nieces for me to enjoy. All the better reason for you to snare a wealthy man, don't you think?”

“Well, there's no saying you won't snare one as well, one that can care for both you and Mama.”

“I'm afraid those men aren't looking for a haggard old spinster. They want youth and beauty, things that you have in excess.”

“Hmph. What if I don't care for this duke? What if he's mean or uncaring? How can I possibly give myself to such a beast?”

“I've met this duke, and although he is very stern, he doesn't seem a beast to me. He was most concerned about our situation.”

“So, you can judge his intentions after only one meeting?”

“As much as anyone can. I guess you'll have to meet him and decide for yourself. Perhaps you won't be chosen, but even if not, you will have an opportunity to meet lots of young men from good families.”

Beatrice sat down at the desk. “Oh, Caro, what am I to do with you. I know you have a good heart and that you are only thinking of our future, but it pains me to see you grow old before your time.”

“You've no need to worry after me. My life is complete.”

“Is it? You have sacrificed your life for ours and it's not fair. I know the strife that faces us. I will do as you ask, not because I choose marriage, but because I know it will mean easing your burden.”

“You and Mama both are my joy.”

“Then do me one small favor. Wear the gold dress. Please.”

Caro chewed her lip. The last thing she wanted to do was stand out at the ball. But then, every woman there was likely to be dressed immaculately. She was sure that drab little Caroline Hawkins would barely hold a candle to the beauty that would be present. Would it be so difficult to appease her little sister when she herself was taking on such a huge undertaking?

“Very well,” she said at the last. “I shall wear the gold.”

Ashton abhorred parties and public events. He much preferred confronting his enemies holding a well-oiled rifle and a sharpened bayonet. But the ball was necessary, and like the good soldier he'd once been, he would complete his mission and once again be on his way back to a somewhat normal life. Of course, he'd be dealing with a new wife and all of her frippery.

“You look very commanding, sir,” said Weatherby, his valet, as he finished brushing the fabric of Ashton's waistcoat.

“Just commanding, eh?”

His loyal servant smiled. “If I said you were handsome or remarkable or even presentable, you'd likely box my ears. No, commanding is as complimentary as I can be and remain untouched.”

“A wise man, Weatherby. You know me too well.”

“Indeed I do, sir.” The valet stepped back, obviously inspecting his work.

Three years younger than Ashton, Jonathon Weatherby had been in service of one sort or another since childhood. As an enlisted man he'd been assigned as Ashton's assistant during the war. Thanks to his efficiency and good nature, he instantly took to Ashton's needs. Weatherby's family had been in service for many years, so, too, he knew the business of caring for the elite as well as a cook knew her way about a kitchen.

Ash sighed. “I can't wait to get out of this blasted city.”

“Have you planned a travel itinerary for you and your new bride, sir?”

“Itinerary? There's no need. My bride and I will be going to Slyddon as soon as the ceremony is over.”

“To Slyddon? But sir…”

“I know it's not traditional, but the lodge will be the perfect place to begin our nuptials.”

“For you, Your Grace, but for a woman, perhaps not so much.”

“Really? The lake is beautiful this time of year. I've heard the fish are fairly jumping onto the fishing boats. And the hunting is…”

“Hunting, sir?”

Ash turned to his valet. “Is there something wrong with hunting?”

“Uh, no, Your Grace. It's just that your bride may not be used to the wilderness, sir.”

“Here, now. It's not like she'll be sleeping under the stars. There's nothing in London that Slyddon can't supply.”

“Uh, yes, Your Grace.”

“No need to worry. Once my bride gets a brace of unspoiled air and dines on fresh game, I'm sure she'll enjoy the lodge as much as I.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

Ashton gave his servant a careful eye. Clearly, he was less than exuberant about Ash's choice.

“I can see you have your doubts, but rest assured, I know what's best. What woman wouldn't love Slyddon? Fresh and clean, with open fields, no obnoxious crowds or loud, clanking carriages.”

“As you say, sir. Do you require anything else, Your Grace?”

Ashton studied Weatherby's emotionless face. No chance of telling what he was really thinking. “I suppose not. You may go.”

With that the man bowed low and left Ashton to his musings.

That should have been the end of it, or so Ashton thought. And yet…a lingering feeling of unease stirred in his belly. “Follow your heart,” his aunt had once told him.

“The heart is the one organ to which matters of importance cannot be trusted,” he'd replied, and until that very moment, he'd truly believed it. In fact, for his entire adult life, it had been the one tenet he had lived by.

So, why did he doubt himself now?

“This is a mistake,” Caro muttered, doing her best to keep up with her younger sister. Beatrice was half a foot taller and thinner than Caro, and with impossibly long legs she managed a stride that rivaled any man's.

“Which is exactly what I said,” Bea said. The two of them had just finished climbing the winding stair to the main entrance of Summerton Hall. The ballroom was on the third floor, with balconies on every side and a lovely outdoor staircase that led to the expansive garden. “I have no chance of ever ensnaring a duke, let alone a nobleman, even if I wanted to.”

Caro craned her neck, hoping to see if the duke was among the enormous gathering. Unfortunately, the duke was nowhere to be seen.

“Nonsense. You have as much of a chance as any girl here. I, on the other hand, should have stayed home with Mother.”

At last they turned the corner into the main foyer and came abruptly to the end of the receiving line. A seemingly endless array of women stood against the wall, their fans waving furiously, the chatter of their voices buzzing excitedly.

“Oh my,” Caro breathed. “I never considered…”

“My heavens! Every female in London must be here.”

“The competition will be fierce.” Caro's heart sank. “They are all so beautiful.”

Indeed, every size and shape of female was present, all dressed in every manner of silks, feathers, and lace, in every color of the rainbow. The room was stiflingly hot, the air around them filled with the thick aromas of every imaginable perfume.

“Well, they can have him, that's what I say.” Beatrice spun around and promptly set off in the opposite direction.

“Wait!” Caro began, barely grasping her sister's sleeve as she passed by. “I know this seems pointless, but truly, it will give you the chance to meet other eligible young men…” Pulling her fan out of her reticule, she began waving it furiously, hoping to get some relief from the heat.

“Pointless? It's impossible, more likely. Tell me, sister, do you see any men here?”

Caro swallowed. Looking furtively about, she saw that, indeed, other than the doormen and a few scattered servants, all others in the ballroom were female.

“Perhaps they are in another room, or have yet to arrive.” More and more, her plan was falling to pieces. Caro had imagined her fair sister entering the ball, instantly drawing the eye of every titled gentleman in the city.

Beatrice let out a slow breath. “I'm sorry, Caro. I know you had such high hopes for me. Truly, I do. It's just not meant to be.”

Caro bit her lip. “Please, Bea. Won't you at least try? Just this once? I swear I will never ask anything so outlandish of you ever again.”

She knew it was a gamble, but so much hung in the balance. Why didn't her sister see that?

“I'm sorry, I can't.” Bea turned away and set off toward the doorway.

Desperate, Caroline called out. “You can't leave. I sent the carriage away. It won't be back until after eleven.”

Beatrice spun round. “What did you say?”

“I sent Mr. Chubbs back to the house. I'm sorry, but I had no choice.”

“How could you?” Bea's face reddened.

“I know you're upset with me…” Caro tried to take her sister's hand, but Bea pulled away.

“Upset? I'm furious.” Hands on her hips, Bea stamped her foot. “Never mind. I shall walk. It can't be more than twenty or thirty blocks, after all. Good night, sister. Enjoy the party.”

“Wait!” Caro called out. Gathering her skirts, she started after her sister. Not caring that everyone else in the foyer stared. “Please, stop!”

“It'll do you no good,” Bea called as she tried to move against the crush of young women now pushing them toward the ballroom. Grabbing her sister's sleeve, Caro managed to pull them from the line and toward another hallway, veering away from the main ballroom.

“What are you doing?” Bea asked as they ducked down a long empty hall.

“We need some privacy to discuss this. You must see reason.”

“You may talk until you're blue in the face, Caro. I refuse to suffer the humiliation of this farce one minute more.”

“Bea, please. Be reasonable. The duke is the answer to our prayers. Come back to the ballroom with me.”

Caro reached for the doorknob, but just as she was about to grasp it, the door was flung open and she fell forward—and into the arms of the Duke of Summerton.

Suddenly, she was enveloped in the scent of fresh mint and the sturdy fabric of a finely woven waistcoat and linen shirt. Before she could pull away, strong arms wrapped around her and held her suspended above the floor.

“Here now, Miss Hawkins. Where are you going in such a rush?”

Stunned, Caro found herself staring up into Summerton's brilliant blue eyes. Though concern tightened his brow and his jaw was firmly set, Caro thought she could see a hint of humor in his expression.

Quickly recovering herself, Caro pulled from his grasp and curtsied. “I was merely attempting to dissuade my sister from leaving the party. She's a bit overwhelmed by all of the excitement.”

He gave her a stern stare, the room around them falling silent as he patiently waited for the introduction.

“Uh, Your Grace, this is my sister, Miss Beatrice Hawkins.”

Imitating Caro, Beatrice gracefully curtsied as well. “Your Grace,” she said.

Caro watched as Summerton turned toward her sister, and waited for that moment when she knew that the duke would be captured by Beatrice's beauty. All men were. They looked into her perfect face, were drawn to her pure green eyes, and fell instantly under her spell.

Until recently, it had been all she could do to steer the gentlemen away from Bea, protecting her virtue like a mother lion protecting her cub. But now, she had to draw back, or more than that, encourage his attentions to her.

“I'm so glad to finally meet you, Your Grace,” Bea said, her voice as sweet at a songbird's.

“And I you. Your sister speaks very highly of you.”

Bea smiled, her cheeks slightly pink. “It is one of her favorite endeavors, of late.”

“I'm sure she has good reason.”

Suddenly anxious, Caro cleared her throat. “I think I saw Miss Jennifer Stephens, an acquaintance of Lady Talmadge. I must go speak with her.” She leaned forward and gave her sister a light kiss on her cheek and then turned to Summerton. “I trust you will keep Beatrice from dashing off. Oh, and you must dance with her. She's as light as the breeze on her feet.”

Of course, Caro knew no one personally at the ball; she merely wanted to escape. So, keeping her step lively, but not so much as to attract attention, she dashed from the room and into the main hall, happy for once that she was plain little Caroline Hawkins.

All she needed to do now was stay out of sight until the pronouncement of their nuptials. Once out in the main hall, she saw a door ajar at the end opposite the ballroom. When she reached the door, Caro pushed it open and was relieved to find a small parlor. Quickly glancing behind her, and happy to see no one was in view, she slipped inside.

Blessed peace at last! Caro crossed to the settee and took a seat. Now, it was only a matter of time, she reasoned. All she needed to do was sit and wait.

Reassuring herself that all was going well, she couldn't help the twist of anxiety that had settled in her stomach.

What would she possibly have to be anxious about? Surely the duke would see Bea's worth, they would be married, and everyone's problems would be solved. All would proceed accordingly. And Caro could happily continue with her plans.

It was at that moment a profound sadness came over her. Sadness, and something else. Regret?

“What's wrong with me?” she asked the empty room.

No answer sprang from the silence. Before she knew what was happening, Caro sobbed and felt warm tears slide down her face. The truth of the matter had come crashing into her mind like a runaway carriage.

It wasn't that she didn't wish her sister every happiness—she did! But there was something about seeing her there with him that left Caro feeling strangely empty, and more alone than ever.

Closing her eyes, she remembered what it had felt like to be held in his embrace, to search his face and see the pleasing way he returned her stare. Caro shook herself.

What the devil was wrong with her?

Having planned to the very moment when he would enter the ballroom, Ashton was sure that success was finally within his grasp. In his coat pocket he carried the card of the young woman who would become his bride.

In the center of the ballroom, on a large table, he had three crystal serving bowls overflowing with the cards of every hopeful woman from miles around. He and his aunt had done an exhaustive search of families, from the poorest widow to the wealthiest earl's daughter.

At long last he'd made his decision, and barring all disaster he would be married by midnight and on his way to Slyddon Castle at first light.

All was as it should have been. Events had been set in motion. Nothing would change his course.

And yet, Ash couldn't help feeling as if he were a rat caught in a trap—one of his own making, true enough, but a trap nonetheless. Since he'd awoken that morning a cloud of doom had settled upon him.

What in blazes was the matter with him?

When he thought nothing could possibly go awry, he'd turned a corner and walked straight into the silks and laces of fate.

A familiar figure had come bustling into his path. Encased in a brilliant gold gown, a delicate lace wrap, hair piled high, she traveled with the speed and agility of a drunken hummingbird.

“Miss Hawkins,” he said, barely able to keep from being knocked from his feet.

For the briefest moments, Ash was overcome by a sense of joyous reunion. He didn't know why, but the enticing young woman had been hovering at the edge of his thoughts for days. At odd hours he'd found himself contemplating their meeting once again. He'd even imagined himself drawing her calling card from among those of the dozens of young hopefuls.

Adding to his fantasy, he envisioned her beaming with joy and adoration when he made the announcement. She would shyly fan herself, her face a picture of delight. And then, later, when they shared the wedding bed, both of them naked and in love…

“Oh,” she said in a tone mixed with surprise and dread, “it's you.”

Ash shook himself. How silly he was to ever imagine such things with the irresponsible miss.

In a matter of seconds, the very woman who'd invaded his dreams came crashing into his arms. Though he'd openly deny it if ever asked, her soft, warm presence was as close to him as a lover. All sorts of alarm bells rang in his body. Without warning, intense feelings of desire and possessiveness overcame him.

Miss Hawkins was no longer the example of matronly correctness. She wasn't the dowdy but fiery female who had stormed into his study that afternoon, either. Instead, she was a vision of beauty, from the very top of her delightful chignon to the tips of her fine leather half-boots.

He was so taken by her that he'd barely heard the introduction to her sister. Of course, being a gentleman, he responded appropriately and acknowledged the beautiful young woman. What was her name? Beverly? No, Beatrice.

He instantly acknowledged that Beatrice was every bit as intriguing as was her older sister. Hair a golden blond; wide, sharp green eyes; and a delicate, petite figure. All that a man could want—that a man should want in a wife.

“Such a lovely party,” Beatrice said from behind her rose-colored fan.

“Made all the lovelier by your attendance, Miss Hawkins,” he said in answer.

That's when he saw it. The young lady played her part to perfection, but it was clear that she no more wanted his attentions than she wanted a wart on the end of her nose.

Ash smiled at the thought. He knew almost immediately that though she was likely the best candidate for marriage in the room, she didn't come close to what he desired in a wife.

Before he could beg off her company, however, he heard Caroline muttering about going somewhere, visiting with some lady or another. When he turned back to her, he saw that she was practically running from the room.

“Oh dear,” Beatrice said as she watched her sister's exit from the room.

“Your sister is most anxious to abandon us.”

The young girl laughed. “I must apologize, Your Grace. She has hopes that you and I will fall hopelessly in love, and you'll choose me as your bride.”

Ash coughed. “Yes, she did inform me of that the day she came bursting into my library.”

The girl sighed. “I hope, sir, that you will not think it foolish of me, as you are indeed extremely desirable husband material, but my poor heart is near to breaking over the recent loss of another gentleman's affections.”

“I cannot imagine any young man would be such a cad, miss. Tell me his name and I shall call him out.”

She giggled. “Oh, no need for that, Your Grace.” She paused for a moment, and he watched as she lifted her chin and faced him much in the same fashion as her sister had days before. “Besides, it's easy to see that you much prefer Caro's company.”

Her words snapped him to full attention. “You are most intuitive, young Beatrice.”

“I like to think so.”

“I thank you for your candor.” At that moment he saw a welcome figure peer into the room.

“Ashton? What are you doing in here? Half of London is eagerly awaiting your appearance in the main ballroom.”

“Ah, Michael,” Ash said as he waved his friend over. When he joined them, Ashton turned back to Beatrice. “Please allow me to introduce you. Michael, may I present Miss Beatrice Hawkins,” he said, doing his best to hide his hurried tone. “And Miss Hawkins, this is Lord Michael Carver, Earl of Bladen, my oldest and dearest friend.”

She curtsied with all the grace and composure of a perfect young lady. Michael bowed, every bit the noble gentleman.