Devoted to the Duke, page 13
Chapter Fifteen
Jeremy read through the morning papers while he breakfasted. Rachel quickly downed her meal and asked to be excused. He nodded in agreement, not looking up. Once he finished, he folded the last section and placed it on the top of the correspondence Cor shuffled through.
Rising, he said, “I will see you—”
“Sit,” she commanded.
He did so without thinking and then eyed her warily. “You haven’t used that tone with me in quite a while. Not since I became the Duke of Everton.”
“We need to talk.” Cor set aside the letter in her hand. “More than a year has passed since Mary’s death. It’s time you find another wife.”
Jeremy stood. “We are not having this conversation.”
Her steely gazed seemed to pierce his soul. “Oh, but we are, Grandson. Sit,” she said firmly.
Once more, he returned to his chair.
“Your daughter needs a mother. And you need a woman who can provide you with an heir. A spare would also be nice.”
“I’m too busy, Cor. You know that. Besides, Luke is my heir now.”
“Jeremy, you have done the impossible. You paid off all of your father’s debts. You put Mary’s dowry to good use. You invested in businesses at the right time and made profits beyond what I could have imagined. The St. Clairs are now on firm financial footing and will be for generations to come.” She paused. “I’m putting my foot down, though, as the matriarch of this family. I want to see you wed again before I’m gone. And I want more grandchildren from you.”
“That’s nonsense, Cor. You’ll outlive us all.”
She sniffed. “I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. My bones creak every time I move. Too many of my friends have gone and died on me.” Her gaze locked on his. “I’m getting old, Jeremy, whether you want to admit it or not. Please, do this for me. The Rutherfords are having a ball tonight to open the Season. Go. Find a wife. Make me—and yourself—happy.”
She placed her hand over his. “You haven’t had happiness in your life for years. Not since Timothy died. It’s time you found some. Or someone.”
“I’ll go,” he conceded. “If only to please you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have matters to attend to.”
He left the breakfast room and went to his study. Closing the door, he sat behind the large desk, covered in papers. Contracts. Files. Information about his competitors. Ignoring it all, he walked to the window and stared out at the April day.
Cor was right. He’d spent the last five years doing everything he could to pull the St. Clair name and fortune from the mire. He’d worked long days, sometimes twenty hours or more at a stretch. He’d made the right investments. Bought the right shares. Scooped up properties and sold them for three times their worth after making improvements. He knew ton gossips must discuss him with glee, dirtying his hands in business, but he’d kept his family from going under.
He was lonely, though. Not that Mary had been a witty companion. The poor girl never got over her initial shyness. He’d treated her with kindness. Given her all the pin money she desired. Even made love to her—and gotten her with child. After the first miscarriage, he was loath to touch her. After the second occurred, he didn’t for several months. Finally, she’d begged him, telling him only a baby would satisfy the emptiness inside her.
She’d died in childbirth.
At least he had Jenny. Sweet, sweet Jenny. When he felt the black cloud descending upon him, he would take a trip to the nursery and spend time with his daughter. She was fourteen months now. Toddling about. Calling him Papa. She had Mary’s blond hair and sweet disposition.
Cor was right. His daughter deserved a mother. Rachel, too, would need a feminine hand to guide her for her come-out in a couple of years. Cor might not be around by then. It was time for him to reenter society for their sakes. He needed to set the wagging tongues at rest and do what was right for Rachel and Jenny. Society would judge them by his actions and reputation. He wanted the best for them both.
He also wished for someone to share his life. Not some empty-headed miss straight from the schoolroom who’d bore him to the point of madness. Instead, Jeremy wanted a companion. A friend. A lover. He refused to have a woman bear his sons, though. Luke was maturing and would make an excellent duke someday.
Wistfully, his thoughts turned to Catherine Crawford and what had become of her. He knew she still cared for her invalid father at their country estate in Kent, near Canterbury, thanks to Charlotte. The two women corresponded on a regular basis and Charlotte would mention Catherine a few times a year. He never asked about her but eagerly took to heart any scraps of news that Charlotte shared. Anytime he traveled from London to Eversleigh, he thought of how they were no more than twenty miles apart—and yet a gulf wider than an ocean separated them.
Jeremy returned to his desk. He knew Morefield and Charlotte had returned to London two days ago since Morefield had sent a note informing him so. He hadn’t seen them yet. Knowing how Charlotte still loved to dance, despite her widening waistline, he assumed they would be at the Rutherford ball tonight. He dashed off a note to Morefield, telling him that he would be at tonight’s ball and rang for Barton.
“This is for Morefield.”
“I’ll see that it’s delivered at once, Your Grace.”
“And tell Manfry that I’ll be attending a ball tonight.”
The butler tried to hide his smile and failed. “Certainly, Your Grace. Manfry will be pleased at that news.”
With that, Jeremy pushed aside thoughts of dancing and empty talk of the weather and picked up a contract to review.
*
Catherine sat at her dressing table while Leah arranged her hair. She hadn’t hired a lady’s maid for herself as she interviewed and put staff into place for Statham’s London residence. He wouldn’t have paid for one in any case. Because of that, Leah had spent the last week practicing on Catherine’s hair, using both hot irons and paper curls, and varying the styles with different gowns.
She and Leah had also combed through their parents’ wardrobes. She gave a few choice pieces to Barton and Strong and had Barton sell the rest of her father’s clothes. Her mother had been three inches shorter and much smaller in her bosom and hips so none of her clothes fit Catherine. Instead, she’d found numerous pairs of gloves and several hats and reticules that looked almost new and would work for the Season.
After she’d found a reasonably priced dressmaker, Catherine had offered the woman the entire lot of her mother’s clothes, knowing the woman could use much of the materials and trims in her work. The seamstress gladly bought everything, giving Catherine a generous sum, which she then used to commission two ball gowns and three day dresses. She wore one of those gowns tonight, knowing she had a short window to make a good impression amidst all of the young misses who made their come-out at the Rutherford ball. The seamstress had then reworked some of Catherine’s old gowns. There had been magic in her needle for many of them looked as fashionable as anything currently seen on the streets of London.
She’d written Charlotte and told her of her intentions to return to society. Two days later, Lady Stanley, formerly Amanda Rutherford, had called on Catherine. She’d wed four years ago and was the mother of a two-year-old son she spoke of proudly. Amanda had offered to renew their acquaintance and said she hoped it turned into a friendship. She’d also told Catherine she would make sure her mother invited her to the Season’s opening event and mention her to others. Because of that, several invitations had arrived in the mail. She thought half of them were sent in blatant curiosity and the others in pity. Still, it would give her entrance into society once again. She needed to make the most of every opportunity as she searched for a husband.
“There. What do you think?” Leah asked.
Catherine looked at her image in the mirror. Her sister had done a series of looping, rope-like twists that cascading into two loose braids. The effect was stunning.
“You’ve done better than any lady’s maid, Leah. I almost look beautiful.”
“You are beautiful, you silly goose. Men will flock to you tonight.”
Catherine didn’t think so. Dozens of younger women would have their pick of the choice gentlemen in attendance. Of those left over, some of them would have heard the gossip about her. How her father had recently died and she wasn’t even bothering to mourn him. Still, she hoped a few names would be scribbled onto her dance card.
Leah lifted the sapphire necklace and placed it around Catherine’s neck. She gazed at it in the mirror, remembering how proud Papa had been when he’d given it to her. She blinked several times, fighting the tears that threatened to fall.
“I have an idea. I’ll be right back.”
Leah hurried from the room and returned a minute later. She handed something to Catherine. When she looked down, she saw a pair of her mother’s earrings resting in her palm.
“I shouldn’t,” she said. “These are Mama’s. That means they now belong to Statham.”
“They match the necklace perfectly. Wear them, Catherine. He’ll never notice and you can return them to Mama’s jewelry box later. You should go downstairs, though. Charlotte will be here soon.” Leah frowned. “I still can’t understand why Statham won’t escort you. He’s going to the same place.”
“Leave Statham to his own business. I’d rather go with Charlotte and Morefield,” Catherine replied.
Her cousin had arrived two days ago. She’d walked him through the townhouse, pointing out what work had been done and what was left to complete. She noted that she’d left the countess’ suite alone in order for his bride to have the chance to decorate it as she wished. She’d also presented to him a list of the servants she’d hired. He seemed to ignore everything she had done. His only remark had been to inform her he would speak to her if he saw her at an event but he wouldn’t go out of his way to engage her in conversation or introduce her to anyone. He also said he would need the carriage each evening and she would need to make other arrangements to be transported to the various events. Catherine bit her tongue, knowing no good would come if she upbraided him.
They went downstairs to the foyer. Jervis met them, approval in his eyes.
“Lady Catherine, you are a vision to behold,” he complimented. “I hope you’ll enjoy tonight’s ball.”
Moments later, Statham appeared at the top of the stairs and descended, looking her over carefully.
“You need to remove your jewels,” he said casually.
“What?” Leah cried.
“Any jewels in this house belong to the estate.” He looked pointedly at Leah. “That means they belong to me.”
Catherine slipped off the earrings and handed them to him. She stepped back.
“And?” he prompted.
“The necklace is mine. It’s not a part of the estate. Papa gave it to me for my eighteenth birthday.” When she saw doubt on his face, she added, “You can ask Leah. Or Jervis. They’ll tell you. Mr. Larson would say the same. A gift is just that and shouldn’t be returned.”
Her cousin frowned in displeasure as he slipped the earrings into his pocket. He turned to Jervis. “Is my coach ready?”
“Yes, my lord.” Jervis went to the front door and opened it. He handed Statham his hat and cane. “Have a pleasant evening, my lord.”
Statham walked out without a word.
The moment the butler closed the door, Leah said, “How petty of him. I hate him. More each day.”
“Leah, watch your tongue,” Catherine chided.
“I hope you have a lovely time.” Her sister embraced her and fled up the stairs in a huff.
When she was out of sight, Jervis said, “She’s young, my lady.”
“I know. She still worries me, though. We already walk on eggshells around Statham as it is.”
He gazed at her with sympathy.
The doorbell rang. One of Charlotte’s footmen stood there. She left with him and allowed him to hand her into the carriage where Charlotte and Morefield waited, hoping she didn’t betray how nervous she was.
“You look dazzling, Catherine,” Charlotte declared. “You’ll have to have Morefield beat gentlemen off with a stick.” She frowned. “We saw Statham’s coach pulling away as we arrived.”
“I can’t thank you enough for conveying me to the ball tonight.”
“We’re happy to do so,” Morefield said.
“My husband has his instructions. He is to talk to his single friends and make sure they all dance with you.”
“Please, don’t go to any trouble on my part.”
“It’s no trouble at all,” Morefield assured her. He looked to his wife and nodded.
Catherine knew something was up. Though she’d kept the secret of her birth from her friend, she had shared with Charlotte Statham’s edict that she marry by Season’s end. She’d also told Charlotte why she needed a way to tonight’s ball.
“Morefield and I have talked things over,” Charlotte began. “We’ve decided it might be easier if you came to stay with us during the Season. Leah, too, of course. It would be more practical, all of us leaving from our place, than coming for you each time.”
The offer moved her. “Charlotte, that’s most generous, but I’m afraid it might reflect poorly on Statham.”
“What if it does? He’s been horrid to you since becoming the earl. Your papa would be appalled at how derelict he is in providing for you and Leah.”
“Statham wishes to make a match during the Season,” she reminded her. “I’m sure there would be gossip if Leah and I left his household and came to stay with you.”
“I don’t think so, Lady Catherine,” interjected Morefield. “Women seem to do this sort of thing all the time.”
“May I consider it for a day or two? I might even mention it to Statham to sound him out.”
Charlotte sniffed. “I’d think he be happy to see the both of you gone.” She looked to Morefield.
He cleared his throat and then said, “We’d also like to extend our hospitality to you if you choose not to accept any offers. Once the Season ends, that is. You may not find a suitable husband and Charlotte and I are concerned for you and your sister’s welfares.”
“I cannot have you take us in as charity cases,” Catherine said firmly. “I’m determined to find someone to marry.” She wondered if Morefield thought no one would offer for her. Doubt and insecurity filled her.
Morefield looked at her steadily. “The offer will remain open, Lady Catherine. You shouldn’t have to rush into a marriage because of Statham’s demands.”
She remembered how her father had also told her to take her time. Unfortunately, she no longer had that luxury. “Thank you,” she said graciously.
They fell silent until they arrived at the Rutherford townhouse. The footman handed them down and Morefield escorted them inside.
Catherine braced herself as they entered. Tonight, she might meet the man she would wed.
Chapter Sixteen
Catherine looked across the large foyer and into the ballroom beyond. Everything seemed the same—and yet so different. She now saw things through the eyes of someone years older, not a starry-eyed girl approaching her first Season. Glancing about at the women in the receiving line in front of them, she thought how young and fresh they all seemed compared to her. What if her attempt to land a husband failed?
She refused to believe that was possible. She couldn’t let Leah down.
They moved through the receiving line, greeted first by Amanda, who introduced her husband to Catherine.
“I’m delighted to meet you, Lady Catherine,” the handsome, fair-haired man said. “Amanda speaks fondly of you. Might you reserve the third dance for me? I’ve promised the first to my wife and the second to my mother-in-law.”
“Of course, Lord Stanley.” She flashed her friend a grateful look. At least one slot on her card would be filled tonight.
Amanda introduced her parents. It surprised Catherine when Lady Rutherford clasped her hand.
“It’s so very good to meet you, my dear. Your parents were great favorites in society. They are missed.”
Tears misted Catherine’s eyes. “Thank you, Lady Rutherford.”
Next, she met Viscount Aubrey. He was tall and lean, with the same dark blond hair as his sister, though his merry eyes were a startling blue.
“Amanda told me she had a new friend coming tonight. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Catherine.” His eyes gleamed at her. “Might you have the first dance open?”
She swallowed. “I do, Lord Aubrey.”
“I’ll be stuck in the receiving line for a bit. Go ahead and mark my name down if you will. I wouldn’t want to lose my spot and a chance to dance with you.”
“Certainly,” she said, sensing her cheeks pinkening due to his interest in her.
A servant met them as they left the line and handed them their programme du bals. Catherine paused to record Aubrey’s name beside the first dance and Stanley’s for the third.
Morefield took the card from her. “I’d like to partner with you, as well. Do you have a preference?”
“Dance with me first, Morefield, then with Catherine,” Charlotte ordered.
He wrote his name in the second blank. “Done,” and returned the card to her. “I will see both of you soon,” he promised as he bowed and left them.
“We usually dance twice. The first one and the supper dance,” Charlotte informed Catherine. “After that, Morefield goes to the card room and I sit with the matrons. Though I still love to dance, I find after having two children that it tires me after a while.”
“I will sit with you and keep you company.”
“You will do no such thing,” her friend admonished. “I want you to dance as many numbers as you can. We won’t leave until the last song has been played.”
Two women paused in front of them. Catherine recognized both. Countess Lieven was one of the revered Patronesses at Almack’s and wife to the Russian ambassador. Catherine couldn’t recall the name of the other but remembered her mother hadn’t cared for the woman.
