Chapter 17
Catherine opened her eyes and winced. Her head was pounding, and lifting it from the pillow required too much effort. Closing her eyes again, she allowed a pitiful moan to escape her lips as she tried not to move. Her head was one enormous throbbing ache and it was difficult to determine where the pain began, or where it ended. Even her eyelashes hurt. Carefully she raised one arm and covered her eyes, wondering why the pale wintry light that filled the room seemed so much brighter than usual. What had happened to make her feel this awful?
Slowly it came back to her, blackberry brandy.
And that wasn’t all.
Everything came at her in a rush, and Catherine made herself sit up. Gritting her teeth, she waited for the sudden dizziness to pass before carefully swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Gingerly, she made her way to the table where a jug of water always sat. She was halfway through her third glass when her body told her she needed to make use of the chamber pot. As she turned she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. It was enough to make her stop, appalled at the sight that stared back at her.
Oh my God, what a mess!
She had made an attempt to undress, but without help it had not gone well. Her bodice was partially unlaced, leaving her gown to slip crookedly off one shoulder. She had, however, successfully managed to untie her petticoats because they now lay in an untidy heap in the middle of the floor. Her shoes had been placed carefully on the dresser along with one stocking. For some unfathomable reason she still wore the other one. Why she would have only removed one was beyond her, but after carefully raising her skirt and looking at her legs the proof was undeniable. A sudden recollection of attempting to balance unsuccessfully on one leg flashed through her mind, and she realized that taking off the one stocking had used up the sum of her coordination.
Catherine sighed. Her hair tumbled about her shoulders and down her back in an unruly mess that gave the indisputable impression she had spent at least part of the night slumbering in a hedgerow. She took a step forward in order to examine her riotous appearance more closely, but the sudden wave of nausea that threatened changed her mind. She grabbed the wash basin just in time.
A short while later, her stomach having given up the last of the brandy, Catherine sat at her dressing table. Tilly had removed the basin and replaced it with another, and also brought fresh water so Catherine was able to wash her face and hands. The cool liquid had been a refreshing tonic and now she felt almost human again. The somber color choice of her dress was an accurate reflection of her fragile state.
Catherine passed the brush through her hair, but no matter how careful she was, the throbbing in her temples did not recede. Her scalp screamed when the bristles struggled with a tangled knot. Grimly she persevered, squeezing her eyes tightly shut at each stab of pain, until her hair was smooth and she was able to tie it back with a simple ribbon. Anything more elaborate was beyond her present capabilities. Her toilette completed, Catherine examined her image in the looking glass, surprised by what she saw. “You actually look much better than you have any right to,” she told her reflection sternly, amazed that the effects of the night before were not more evident. Staring at the face that looked back at her, however, she noticed a change. There was a subtle, but nevertheless noticeable, difference. Something that owed nothing to the brandy she had consumed, and yet was an indirect result of it.
Her lips were swollen, and placing her fingertips against her mouth, she felt it was bruised. It was a good hurt, and she recalled in vivid detail the feel of Rian’s mouth on hers. Closing her eyes she relived every moment that had occurred in the library. She savored the feel of being held in his arms, the warmth of his breath as he nuzzled the curve where her neck and shoulder met. His tongue tasting the hollow at the base of her throat, fingers gliding over the surface of her skin as they caressed the swell of her bosom before dipping just inside her bodice to trace the valley between her breasts. And then there was the quick savage hotness of his tongue in her mouth. The thrusting demands distracting her as his hands roamed freely across her body, staking his claim before pulling her tightly to him, molding her against him so she could feel his need.
She opened her eyes and stared at her reflection. Leaning forward she once more traced the fullness of her lips, shivering now with delicious anticipation. When Rian kissed her again, he would not stop there. The next time he would keep the promise his body had given her. Startled to see her eyes glazing over, Catherine took several deep, calming breaths. The pounding in her head, momentarily forgotten, now returned. Not as fiercely as when she first awoke, but still there nonetheless. Identifying it as her first and decidedly last hangover, she made her way downstairs to find some help for her aching head.
* * * *
Felicity was alone in the dining room when Catherine entered and took a seat across the table from her.
“Ah, how are you feeling?” the mistress of Oakhaven asked, buttering a piece of toast. The wounded expression on Catherine’s face was answer enough. “Oh dear, perhaps this will help.” Pouring a cup of hot tea, Felicity handed it to her.
“Thank you.” Catherine sipped the beverage carefully, wondering if it had always tasted so good. Tea, she decided, was definitely the nectar of the gods.
“Are you quite all right?” Felicity asked gently.
Catherine gave her a tentative smile. “Yes, everything is wonderful. Well everything except my head.”
“What happened to your head?” Felicity looked puzzled.
“Don’t look so innocent. You’re the one who introduced me to Mrs. Hatch’s brandy.” Catherine refilled her cup. If she made a conscious effort, she could stir the hot brew without allowing the spoon to clink too loudly against the side of the cup.
“I poured you half a glass!” Felicity exclaimed in her own defense. “How much did you drink?”
“All of it.” Catherine admitted in a small voice.
Felicity drew her brows together. “Well even so, I wouldn’t have thought half a glass so very terrible.”
“I suppose not,” Catherine agreed, “but I drank what was in the decanter.”
Felicity’s eyes became very large as she stared at the slight figure seated across from her. And then, before she could stop herself, she laughed out loud. Unfortunately the sound made Catherine wince and put a hand to her forehead.
“Oh my dear, I am so sorry.” Getting up from her seat, Felicity came around the table and gave her a sympathetic hug. “It never occurred to me that you would drink all of it.”
At that moment Liam shuffled in to join them. It was easy to see from the pallor of his face and bloodshot eyes that he was suffering far worse than Catherine. Felicity gave him a sweet smile.
“And just how are you feeling this morning, my love?” she cooed at him.
“Bloody awful,” he replied succinctly.
“You have only yourself to blame, my darling. I do not rebuke you for wanting to enjoy yourself, but no one in his right mind would try to match Farmer Youngman drink for drink.” There was a definite twinkle in her eyes as she added. “His reputation is well known among the staff at Pelham.”
“Then you know I had no choice, pet,” Liam said as he leaned down and kissed his wife on the cheek before sinking into the chair next to her. “He challenged me, and I had to defend the Connor name.”
Felicity’s derisive snort told him that his explanation would garner no sympathy from his wife, but because he was her husband, and they were newly married, she decided to let him know he was not alone in his misery. The twinkle in her eyes turned positively wicked.
“Catherine sampled Mrs. Hatch’s blackberry brandy, and she liked it so much, she polished off the whole decanter,” she told him, gleefully.
“Good Lord, really?” Liam’s estimation of Catherine rose considerably.
“Yes, but I fear it was not something to celebrate. I feel awful,” she admitted from across the table.
“Ah well, that makes two of us.” He gave her a weak smile. “It’s good to know I’m not suffering alone.”
“But I think you look far worse than I do,” Catherine observed bluntly.
“True, true, but you weren’t drinking with Farmer Youngman,” Liam said with a groan.
A half-smile suddenly lit up Catherine’s face. “No, but I know how to make us both feel better.”
Excusing herself she left the room, returning a short while later carrying a tray. Placing it on the table, she removed some drinking glasses, a pitcher of cold water, an assortment of small jars, and a pestle and mortar. Felicity and Liam watched curiously as Catherine carefully measured and spooned various powders from the collection of jars, added a few dried leaves and, using the pestle and mortar, crushed them together.
“What are you making?” Felicity asked her, interest stirring as she finished her breakfast.
“Oh, it’s my own recipe, but I guarantee it will cure the very worst hangover.”
“Ah. So you’ve made it before?”
“Goodness yes, more times than I can remember.” Catherine gave a small laugh and then knotted her eyebrows together at the sudden stab of pain that came with her mirth.
Liam gave a start and his face took on an odd expression as he looked at his wife, who squeezed his hand under the table, an indication he should remain quiet.
“I know you told me, but I’ve since forgotten,” Felicity said keeping her tone nonchalant. “Who did you make this for?”
Concentrating on spooning an equal amount of powder into each glass, Catherine’s answer was automatic. “My papa.”
“Of course,” Felicity continued, “and your papa’s name is Charles, is it not?”
A wrinkle appeared on Catherine’s brow as she poured a measured amount of water into both glasses. “Charles? No silly, I thought I told you. His name is William. William Davenport.”
Liam thought his delicate wife might break his fingers she squeezed so hard. They both watched as Catherine now stirred both concoctions vigorously, making the mixture turn milky. She handed a glass to Liam.
“It’s best if you drink it down all at once,” she instructed, demonstrating with the other glass. Liam made a valiant effort, but could only manage to consume half the contents before the taste proved too much.
“Gah! This stuff is horrible!” he declared to no one in particular.
The curving smile on Catherine’s face froze in place as she found herself caught in Felicity’s strange stare. “I swear I haven’t poisoned your husband.”
“No, I know you haven’t.”
“Then why are you staring at me like that?”
“It’s just that…what you said—”
Catherine’s sudden shriek as she dropped the glass made Felicity jump. Liam closed his eyes as the high pitched sound pierced his brain.
“I remembered!” Catherine exclaimed, whirling around to look at Felicity. “Oh, how clever of you! You made me remember my father. William Davenport, and my mother’s name is, no was, Sarah, and I am—I am Catherine Davenport.” The last came out in a rush, words tumbling over themselves in their eagerness to be heard.
“Yes, I suspect you are.” Tears of joy rolled down Felicity’s cheeks as she kissed and hugged Liam, both hangover and feeble excuse forgiven.
Feeling her legs begin to shake, Catherine sat down on her chair. A look of stunned wonderment was on her face as she marveled at the door in her mind that had just swung open. She repeated her name over and over again, running it across her tongue as if it were a delicious confection. Her eyes shimmered and she knew she had to find Rian and share this with him. It was too important to keep to herself.
“Where are you going?” Liam asked as she stood up.
“To find your brother,” Catherine announced happily, her head feeling infinitely better.
“Well, you can give him the rest of this.” He held the half-full glass of Catherine’s hangover cure.
“Does he need it?” Felicity asked.
“Oh yes,” Liam assured her, managing to wink. “He bested Farmer Youngman.”
They both watched as Catherine fairly skipped out of the room, passing Mrs. Hatch as she did so.
“Wonderful news, Mrs. Hatch,” Liam said. “Catherine just remembered her name.”
The housekeeper clapped her hands to her face, and beamed. “Oh, how wonderful, how simply wonderful.”
“Isn’t it?” Felicity said, thinking the day couldn’t get any better. “I feel certain this is the breakthrough we have been waiting for.”
For a moment they all paused to reflect on how such a revelation would affect not only Catherine, but all of them as well.
Felicity broke their reverie by asking, “Is there something I can do for you, Mrs. Hatch?”
“My apologies, Miss Felicity, I was wondering if you might have seen Lady Howard this morning?”
“Isabel?” She turned to look at Liam, who shook his head. “No, we haven’t seen her. Why do you ask?”
Bright spots of color appeared on the housekeeper’s cheeks. “It’s just that her room is empty”—the spots of color deepened—“and her bed does not appear to have been slept in.” Mrs. Hatch wrung her hands together. “But her coachman is having a late breakfast in the kitchen, so it would seem she has not left the house.”
Both Liam and Felicity looked at each other before staring at the open door that Catherine had joyously passed through just moments ago. In his haste to get to his feet, Liam knocked over his chair.
“Dear God, no, Rian. Please don’t let it be so!”