Chapter Twelve
Catherine was exceedingly vexed with Sir Bertie. Had he completely forgotten that he was to escort her to the East End this afternoon? Cloaked and gloved, she paced before the fireplace in the red sitting room, wearing a new black velvet bonnet. After their outing yesterday, she had thought he would enjoy spending time with her again today. Had she been wrong? Or had something happened to him?
Robert looked in. “What are you doing, Catherine? Wearing out the carpet?”
“Sir Bertie has not arrived to escort me to the East End. It may surprise you to learn that there are people waiting for the next installment of The Mysteries of Udolpho. I do not want to disappoint them, but it would be foolish for me to go alone. I do realize that, though you think I want for sense.”
He laughed. “You look fit to be tied. Never mind. I will escort you today.”
Surprised, she said, “Would you really do that for me?”
“I have nothing planned of any great import. Let us be off!”
* * *
It gladdened Catherine’s heart to see that the church was full of people waiting to listen to her. Word must have gone about that there was an amusing time to be had. It pleased her that there were almost no jeers or other interruptions. The reading went smoothly, and she even had applause at the end of it.
Robert stood at the back of the chapel, surveying each entrant and watching over the scene. While she knew he did not altogether approve of the project, it was good to have him there.
“I cannot think why you waste your time in such a manner,” he said to her on their journey back to Mayfair. “You are doing nothing more than giving the rabble a taste for sensational literature.”
Her indignation rose. “You would have me read improving sermons?”
“I wouldn’t have you read at all. It is a sheer waste of good time,” he replied.
“I think not. I am capturing their interest in the written word. Giving them some positive recreation, an escape from the only life they have ever known. I am confident that it will lead them to want to learn to read themselves. And reading will improve their lot.”
“How will it do that?” Robert scoffed.
“Little by little, they will become informed about the world. They will learn of something other than the superstition that plagues the poor. They will be able to take a hand in their own destiny. They will teach their children to read.”
“Such a thing would be dangerous,” said Robert. “They would grow discontented with their lot. Soon, they would be no better than the mob in France who dragged their betters to the guillotine.”
“I disagree,” she said sharply. “But I see I shall not convince you. You have the mistaken belief that the poor are born poor because that is somehow meant to be their station in life. I do not agree with you.”
“Lady Clarice is turning you into a Radical. I won’t have it, Catherine! Not as long as you are under my roof.”
“It is not your roof at all. It is Father’s, and he is not the hidebound Tory you are.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” her brother said. “You are making an exhibition of yourself. You are becoming odd like those old women at Blossom House.”
“I take that as a compliment,” she said.
They said nothing for the remainder of the way to Westbury House.
* * *
When Catherine arrived home, it was to find the odd ladies from Blossom House on her doorstep. Fortunately, Robert had taken the carriage off to White’s.
“We just wanted to check to see how things were going at Saint Francis’s, dear,” said Lady Clarice as she seated herself in the red sitting room.
Catherine replied, “Much better today. Tuesday was a bit difficult. But things were much calmer and I had a nice crowd today.”
“I am so glad things were better. Sir Bertie called this afternoon and told us about last Tuesday. He was a bit concerned.”
Catherine wrinkled her brow. “Sir Bertie called this afternoon? That is strange. He was supposed to escort me to the East End. When he did not arrive, Robert took me.”
Lady Clarice exchanged a look with Miss B.
“Go ahead and tell her, Clarice,” said Miss B. “She has a right to know.”
Lady Clarice wet her lips, looking unsure.
“What is it?” asked Catherine. “What did he say?”
Lady Clarice sighed. “Well, it seems Sir Bertie had a note from your brother at his club while he was lunching. Lord Redmayne explained that he would be taking you to the East End today and you no longer had need of his services.”
Catherine flattened her lips and clutched her fists. Springing to her feet, she said, “That is the absolute limit! I will not have my brother interfering with my life!”
Miss B. said, “Calm yourself, Lady Catherine. Getting angry is not the way to handle this situation.”
“He lectured me all the way home about the project, telling me it would lead to revolution!” Catherine told them.
“He is a Tory, dear,” said Lady Clarice. “Such things are to be expected.”
“I will see Sir Bertie to apologize! Can you invite him to your house so that I can meet him there? Robert is not my father. He cannot forbid me to continue my readings, so I do not intend to stop.”
“Of course you can meet Sir Bertie at our house,” said Miss B. “How is your father, dear? I miss his coming to London. We used to have very lively discussions about natural history. He is quite fond of collecting butterflies, as I am sure you know.”
“Father is doing well, though he is two and seventy this year. I think I must marry someone sensible before he dies, or Robert will make my life a misery. He is quite capable of withholding support to ensure that I stay under his thumb.”
“Be careful, darling,” said Lady Clarice. “You do not want to exchange one unjust master for another.”
“I intend to be careful. But at the moment I cannot even go about freely in society. It is most frustrating.”
“Surely Lord Redmayne is not keeping you at home!” declared Miss B.
“No. Not yet, anyway.” She told them of her history with her assailant, the Gentleman Smuggler, and Sir Bertie’s worries.
“Oh dear. How dreadful!” said Lady Clarice. “But surely he would not try anything dangerous at a ball!”
Catherine thought of her other reason for remaining out of society. “There is another reason I have been staying in. I am certain you can guess,” she said.
Miss B. nodded. “The business with that cad, Cumberwell.”
“I agree that he is a low creature,” said Catherine.
“Miss Anderson certainly bears a part of the blame,” said Lady Clarice.
“You cannot let them cause you to cower at home!” said Miss B.
“No. But the smugglers are not so easily dismissed,” said Catherine.
Lady Clarice put a gentle hand on Catherine’s arm. “We are having a small dinner party for some of our patrons tomorrow night. Lord William will not be in attendance, but Sir Bertie will be. Shall you come? My nieces, Penelope Wellingham and Elise—the duchess—will be there.”
Catherine’s heart lifted. “Oh, I should like that above all things!”
The two ladies stood. “We will send the carriage round for you at eight o’clock.”
* * *
To her great relief, she did not see Robert at all the following day. She allowed him to go on thinking that she would remain at home in the evenings as she had done since they had returned to London, save for her venturing out to the musicale.
She devoted great care to deciding which gown she should wear to Blossom House. Finally, she chose her sea-green peau de soie with the silver tissue underskirt. Her auburn hair was dressed half up with three ringlets resting over her shoulder.
By the time the carriage arrived for her, she was dressed in her white velvet cape with the fur-trimmed hood. Catherine was glad Robert had gone out.
Settling back against the dark-blue velvet squabs in Lady Clarice’s carriage, she indulged her feelings. She was very much looking forward to an evening where Sir Bertie was present and William was not, although she did intend to roast the former for applying to William for help in the smuggling matter.
Catherine was surprised at the size of the gathering. There were at least twenty people there, all apparently patrons of Lady Clarice’s literacy charity. Most were men, although there were some spouses and wealthy widows among them. Fortunately, none were the kind she considered gossips.
She had to seek out Sir Bertie herself. He was speaking with the Duke and Duchess of Ruisdell. She started by addressing the duchess.
“Your grace, how lovely to see you this evening.”
“My dear Lady Catherine,” she said, fixing her with her famous midnight-blue eyes. “I understand you have begun the readings in the East End. How are they proceeding? Do you think the endeavor will be a success?”
“I had my doubts at first,” she replied. “However, they seem to have caught on if today was any indication.”
Bertie joined in the conversation at this point. “I am so glad to hear that all went well today. I am sorry I was not there to witness it.”
“You must forgive me,” she said. “My brother was very high-handed. I understand from Lady Clarice that he wrote to you telling you he was taking me. But he left me completely in the dark about that.” She dared not say more to her brother’s discredit in front of the duke and duchess.
A cloud seemed to lift from the man’s brow. He smiled at her, and her heart gave a little trip. She was very glad she had accepted Lady Clarice’s invitation.
The two of them spoke with the Ruisdells about Lady Clarice’s project. The duke and duchess felt very strongly about it, and Catherine surmised that they were generous patrons. The duke’s architect was drawing up the plans for the school. She was very interested to hear all about the features of the new building.
Bertie then proceeded to inform the duke about the Gentleman Smuggler and their adventures down in Dorset, leaving out the attacks on Catherine.
“I don’t suppose you know a fellow who sells Saint Barnabas brandy to Brook’s or White’s,” he said.
“No, I haven’t heard of such a fellow,” said the duke. “But I will keep my ear to the ground.” Catherine was impressed with Sir Bertie’s easy conversation with the duke and his wife. They appeared to be more than mere acquaintances. “You’ve talked to the Home Office?” the duke asked.
“Yes. Cumberwell appears to be the man there.” His gray eyes switched to her with a silent appeal. He clearly wanted her to know that if it had been up to him, he would have sought advice from someone else.
So that explains why he went to see Cumberwell. They are not particular friends. I do not think I could have borne it if they were.
She longed for private conversation with Sir Bertie to tell him that she would far rather have him watching over her than Lord William Cumberwell. But perhaps he would think that too forward of her.
The Wellinghams joined them, and Catherine remembered again that the duchess was cousin to Lady Wellingham. They became involved on the subject of modern literature, and soon the dinner gong sounded.
Dear Lady Clarice had seated her next to Sir Bertie on one side and Lord Wellingham on the other. In an under voice, she asked the former, “Is it safe for me to ask you about your Egyptology studies here, or would it ruin your reputation?”
He laughed heartily. “I have nothing to hide from these people.”
“Have you made any progress on interpreting the Rosetta Stone?”
“Not other than interpreting the Greek for myself. Several other scholars have already done that, but I wanted to get the feel for it myself. It is a fairly boring declaration.”
“But its presence in Egypt does tell you that they must have had trade or some kind of relationship with the Greeks at that time.”
“Yes, you are correct.”
“Are you in town for long?” she asked. “Or are you anxious to get back to your studies?”
A shadow passed over his face. “I do not wish to leave town until the devil who assaulted you is caught.”
Catherine caught her breath and almost choked. “How is my safety your concern, Sir Bertie? We scarcely know each other.”
He turned to look her full in the face. A muscle flexed in his jaw. “I have made it my concern.”
His eyes held hers captive, and she read his worry for her. It softened her heart. “You cannot spend your every minute watching out for me. I have decided today that I will go home to Somerset for the remainder of the winter. The duchess can certainly take over my readings for a time.” She realized she had made that decision unknowingly as soon as she knew Lord William now had an excuse to pester her.
Sir Bertie looked relieved. “I think that is a very wise move. Will your brother agree to escort you there?”
Catherine thought fast. “I shall write to my father, and he will send the carriage for me, along with several armed footmen and my old nurse, Pansy, as chaperone.”
“I would that I could take you, but I am afraid that would be frowned upon by the ton.”
Their eyes were still locked, and she had become breathless. “Such a bother, the ton.”
Her feelings were growing so intense, Catherine was certain her cheeks were flushed. She looked down and then spoke to Lord Wellingham on her other side, telling him of her plans to be in Somerset.
“I should like to call on you and Lady Wellingham there. When do you plan to return home?”
“My business is finished up next week. Then we will travel down and remain until the spring. Lady Wellingham and I would love for you to call on us.”
Lady Wellingham had made an agreeable impression on Catherine. And though she longed for the safety of Somerset, she knew she would miss Sir Bertie’s company mightily.
Soon the ladies rose, leaving the gentlemen to their port. As they walked into the drawing room, she said to the duchess, “Your performance on Wednesday night was masterful. I enjoy Beethoven exceedingly.”
“Oh, thank you. I do adore Beethoven. I always hope I am not murdering his works.”
They sat together on the sofa, discussing music. Catherine found that they were both opera devotees, favoring the works of Mozart.
Soon the men began to enter the room, not having stayed long over their port. Sir Bertie and the duke joined them. Before either of them could speak, Catherine said, “I long to hear you play again, Duchess.”
“My aunt has told me I am the entertainment tonight,” the lady said with a short laugh. “You shall get your wish.”
She rose from the sofa and went to the pianoforte, her husband following, presumably to turn her pages. Sir Bertie took the place beside Catherine.
“Are you quite determined to go to Somerset, then?” he asked.
“I will not stay and deal with Lord William,” said Catherine. “There is nothing I know that will aid him.”
Sir Bertie frowned. “I only hope you will be safe in Somerset.”
She tried to shake off her misgivings on the subject. There had to be someplace she was safe. Her brother would be happy enough to have her away from Sir Bertie, but she had to admit to herself that she would miss him. No matter what the circumstances, he felt so safe. Catherine looked at his broad chest and well-muscled arms. If he could just hold her . . . She let the thought trail off unfinished. She was being a goose.
But she could not alter the fact that his close presence and concern warmed her through. Halfway through the performance, she gave in to the impulse to steal his hand from his knee and hold it under the cover of her skirts. Though her action was not at all the done thing, his very touch, even through her gloves, thrilled her through.
Sir Bertie looked at her, a question in his eyes. She merely smiled. When the music ended, she let go his hand and, during the applause, said, “I know it is scandalous, but I shall write to you. After all, we have already begun a correspondence.”
His face had lost its gloomy look, and his eyes gleamed. “If you leave London, I shall go to Oxfordshire,” he said. “Heyford Abbey in Lower Heyford is my home.”
A thought occurred to her, and before she could stop herself, she asked, “Did you come to London to watch over me, then?”
He smiled, his dimples making him look a bit rakish. “Of course.”