Chapter Twelve

 

The more Catherine considered Louisa’s plan the more she felt there was at least a possibility of it working. And if not, she thought philosophically, she would be no worse-off than she was at the moment.

That afternoon when Lord Edgecombe arrived for dinner, Catherine was almost cheerful, especially when she learned he came bearing an invitation from Lord and Lady Ellsworth to attend a supper and play cards later that week. Miss Louisa Ellsworth had clearly lost no time in making her arrangements!

Even Lord Edgecombe appeared to notice the difference in Catherine’s spirits, and commented on them as they gathered in the drawing room before dinner.

“You seem in high spirits Miss Trevor,” he said, taking a small parcel from his coat pocket. “Might I hope this small token will add to them?”

Catherine took the parcel, feeling guilty. Certainly Lord Edgecombe had been generous with gifts to her, which were always of impeccable taste. She unwrapped the parcel carefully, revealing a jeweler’s box. Catherine sprang the catch. Lying on a velvet bed was an exquisitely beautiful brooch of diamonds and enamel work, designed as a spray of wild roses.

“It is extraordinarily beautiful,” Catherine said sincerely, her sense of guilt increasing at this sign of her betrothed’s thoughtfulness and generosity. “Thank you, Lord Edgecombe. You are most kind.”

Curious, Judith leaned forward and took the box from Catherine, exclaiming at Lord Edgecombe’s taste and liberality, and her sister’s great fortune in being engaged to such a paragon.

“Dinner is served,” the butler announced, saving Catherine from more uncomfortable moments.

“Have you set the day for the wedding yet, Catherine?” her brother John asked shortly after they sat down at the table.

“Lord Edgecombe has chosen the Saturday before the first Sunday of Advent,” Catherine replied.

“To think that in less than three weeks we shall see you a marchioness!” Judith exclaimed. “I am so glad I insisted upon you going with me to order your wedding clothes this week, for otherwise they would not be ready in time.”

“My dear Miss Trevor, you had not informed me of this,” Lord Edgecombe commented.

“I had not the opportunity; we went but recently,” Catherine replied, avoiding looking at Lord Edgecombe by helping herself to more venison. She was not sure if it would be a good thing or bad should he feel she was becoming resigned to the marriage. Fortunately her brother John began a recitation of his achievements at the day’s hunt, and sporting exploits remained the primary topic of conversation until the dinner ended.

When the dinner was over, Lord Edgecombe did not stay at the table to drink port with her brother and Lord Trevor, but instead joined the women in the drawing room.

“Miss Trevor,” he addressed Catherine, “the light will hold for yet another hour. Will you take a turn upon the walks with me?”

“I think, Lord Edgecombe, the weather is rather chill for a walk,” Catherine prevaricated, disliking to be alone in the marquess’ company. “Perhaps we might sit by the fire in the small drawing room?”

“I shall wait for you to fetch your mantelet that you will not feel the cold,” he countered. “I wish to speak to you in privacy.”

Still uneasy, Catherine withdrew to fetch her fur-edged mantelet and hat and reluctantly joined the marquess for a walk. Most of the leaves had fallen now, and the brittle remnants crunched under their feet in the grey twilight. They strolled to the banks of the stream and walked onto the wooden bridge that spanned the water at its narrowest spot. Lord Edgecombe paused at the center, leaning against the wooden toprail.

“Might I hope, Miss Trevor, that the fact you ordered your wedding clothes indicates you have decided to accept my direction and make the best of this betrothal you have entered into?” he asked.

“In verity it does not,” Catherine replied truthfully, although fearing any open defiance might lessen her chances of catching him off-guard at the Ellsworth supper Louisa was planning. “I still believe our characters are not well-suited, Lord Edgecombe, and that it would be a mistake for us to bind each other for life.”

“Might I then inquire,” the marquess asked, his voice laden with irony, “why less than two months ago you were anxious to become my bride. I do not believe I flattered myself to come to that conclusion at the time.”

“I did hope to marry you,” Catherine said straightforwardly. “But I was at fault to agree to a betrothal before we knew each other’s characters fully,” she added, looking at him unflinchingly. “We should have taken more time to become acquainted with each other before entering into a betrothal.”

Lord Edgecombe gazed back into Catherine’s clear grey eyes, his own dark ones giving away nothing of his thoughts. “I am sorry for it, my dear, for I have not changed my mind. The wedding will take place as planned.”

Catherine made no reply. Silently, the marquess held out his arm again and they re-crossed the bridge and returned the way they had come, back toward Rosemont. As they neared a particularly thick area of the woods where a few leaves still clung to a grove of oaks, the marquess suddenly veered off the path.

“We had best return to the house ere the sun sets, Lord Edgecombe,” Catherine said uneasily.

“A few minutes more will make no difference,” the marquess countered. “It is rare that we have a moment of privacy. Come,” he added, stopping under a tree and pulling Catherine into an embrace.

As Lord Edgecombe’s lips covered hers, Catherine steeled herself to allow the liberty, knowing the marquess was within his rights as her betrothed.

“What are you doing?”

The high childish voice penetrated Catherine’s consciousness and the marquess pulled away from Catherine.

“I know,” a higher voice chimed in. “They are kissing, like the scullery maid and the footman at home.”

“Yes, we were kissing,” Catherine said as matter-of-factly as she could, thinking that never before had she been so glad to see her niece and nephew. “But now it is time for us to go back to the house and you had best return with us. Marie, give me your hand.” So saying, Catherine took her niece by the hand and began walking back toward Rosemont while young John ran ahead. The marquess fell into step at Catherine’s other side and they walked slowly back to the house.

Catherine lay awake long into the night, trying to sort her thoughts. How could a person be so cold and thoughtless one moment and so generous the next? she wondered, thinking of Lord Edgecombe’s callous dismissal of her pet hare when he had been injured and then his thoughtfulness in presenting her with the exquisite rose brooch. And how could she feel sorry one moment for what she was doing to Lord Edgecombe—for she had indeed sought to bring him to an offer and he had justification for his irritation with her over her sudden reversal of feeling—and hate him the next for his refusal to allow her to have a change of heart and release her from the betrothal?

She wished there were someone to whom she could confide her troubled thoughts, but there was no one. A strong sense that it was by her own actions that she was now in the position she was prevented her placing a burden on her father or her aunt or even Sarah by confiding in them. She must rely upon herself. All rested on Louisa’s plan and her own ability to draw the marquess into a deep game and win.

 

Catherine chose to dress in her most becoming new gown the evening of the card supper at Ellsworth Hall. This was not a time to attempt to persuade the marquess of her inadequacies, but her charms. And it was a time she needed all the confidence that looking well could give her. The gown had a dark green fitted bodice trimmed in ivory lace and a contrasting skirt of rich gold velvet. She had a hat of matching dark green, low-crowned and with the wide brim that was so becoming to her face, but it was not suitable for evening. Flora, ever creative, fixed a modest headdress with two ostrich feathers, adding a touch of elegance to her mistress’s toilette. Catherine viewed her reflection in the glass as she prepared to go downstairs to meet the others, and was satisfied she was at her most attractive. Just before going down to the carriage, Catherine filled both of the pockets beneath her skirt with as much coin as she felt they could safely hold. The plan would fail if she could not manage to stay in the game, however deep it became.

The autumn air was crisp as the Trevor’s landau rolled toward Ellsworth Hall shortly before seven o’clock. There were only a few other guests arriving for the intimate card party that was planned for the evening, and as Catherine and her aunt made their curtsey to the room she noticed that most of the other guests were young gentlemen, as Louisa had planned.

“Lady Manning, Miss Trevor,” Lord Edgecombe greeted Catherine as she entered the large drawing room where guests were gathering before the supper. “You are looking exceptionally beautiful tonight.” Lord Edgecombe’s gaze traveled up and down Catherine’s form, his eyes hooded and unreadable.

Catherine began to fear she might have been better to continue her policy of dressing unattractively, and was glad at least that the cold autumn night would prevent the marquess from suggesting any walks in the shrubbery. She did not wish to tempt him away from the tables.

“Lady Manning, Lady Ashe will wish your presence at her table, I am certain,” Louisa addressed the older woman as she entered the drawing room from the hall.

“Thank you, Miss Louisa,” Lady Manning replied, “I shall be delighted to join Lady Ashe’s table.”

“Lord Edgecombe, Papa asks if you would settle a point of argument on foxhounds with Mr. Stillington-Fyfe,” Louisa continued, turning to the marquess. “They are in the library.”

“Of course, Miss Louisa Ellsworth,” the marquess agreed, taking his leave of the two women with a bow.

“I have persuaded Papa to serve some of his best port after the supper,” Louisa said to Catherine in a low voice. “It is to be hoped the gentlemen will drink several bottles before they join us and will be the more ready to wager high when they play cards.”

Catherine was impressed with Louisa’s organization of the details for the evening, and equally impressed with the younger woman’s toilette. Louisa had dressed in a gown of claret-coloured velvet, a fine lace fichu covering her breasts and heavier lace edging the neckline. Short cap sleeves edged with fur decorated longer under-sleeves in the new fashion, and a matching fur trim graced the lower edge of the bodice. An elaborate necklace of diamonds and garnets lay over her fichu, and matching drops dangled from her ears. Catherine felt she had never seen Louisa looking so fine, and was grateful Lord Woodforde was not among those invited for the evening.

Supper was soon announced, and at first Louisa’s plans appeared to be working precisely as she and Catherine had hoped, for the gentlemen stayed long with their port after supper, and by the time they joined the women in the drawing room it was obvious several of the party were already well on their way to being foxed. Card tables had been set up in the adjoining smaller drawing room, and Louisa urged the guests to join various tables that were being gotten up for games ranging from commerce to whist.

But an unexpected hitch in their plans came when Lady Ellsworth tapped the marquess playfully on the shoulder with her fan, saying, “Come, Lord Edgecombe, I must have my best partner for a rubber of whist.”

The marquess acquiesced with a bow, and accompanied Lady Ellsworth into the card room. Catherine, concerned that this might spell the end of their hopes for the evening, sought out Louisa.

“What shall we do? I cannot play whist!” Catherine said, keeping her voice low. “Somehow we must persuade Lord Edgecombe to play vingt-un! It is the only card game at which I am proficient enough to have a hope of winning.”

Louisa glanced through the drawing room doorway to where Lord Edgecombe was now settled at a whist table with her mother.

“You must start a table of vingt-un not far from my mother’s table, Miss Trevor, and flirt with the gentlemen who join you. I have no doubt Lord Edgecombe will notice and will leave the whist table to join yours as soon as he is able.”

“But I do not know if I have enough coin to last the whole evening,” Catherine protested. “I assumed I would play only part of evening, after the play got deeper and the gentlemen were more in their cups.”

“If you run out you must make an excuse to go to the retiring room and I shall give you more,” Louisa said resolutely. “It is worth any amount to me.”

“Very well,” Catherine agreed.

“I shall ask one of my brother’s friends to play with you,” Louisa said, scanning the rooms to see who was not yet seated at a table with a game. She approached a slender young gentleman in a powdered wig who stood by himself indulging in a pinch of snuff. Catherine followed.

“Mr. Hartford. Miss Trevor wishes to get up a table for vingt-un,” Louisa coaxed in the manner of a good hostess. “I am certain you would not wish her to be disappointed. Will you join her in a game?”

“I am at your service, Miss Louisa Ellsworth, Miss Trevor,” Mr. Hartford said agreeably, pocketing his snuffbox.

Catherine smiled charmingly at Mr. Hartford as she drew a card from the deck on the table Louisa led them to and held it out to Mr. Hartford to do the same. They displayed their draws, and, Catherine having the high card, she gained the first deal.

Catherine found the one-on-one game with Mr. Harford very like the play she had practised with Lord Woodforde during his lessons, and proceeded with some confidence, winning as often as did Mr. Hartford. But this situation did not continue long, for seeing that their friend had the attentions of a very attractive lady to himself, three other gentlemen soon joined the game. Vingt-un was a game in which money could both come and go with great rapidity when there were several players, and Catherine struggled to manage to flirt and yet play skillfully enough to stay in the game with so many hands to pay off when she lost.

Every few minutes Catherine dared a look at Lord Edgecombe’s whist table and saw by his hooded glances their way that he had noticed her, as Louisa had predicted. After about an hour’s play, Catherine saw the marquess rise from the whist table and approach. Catherine smiled flirtatiously in welcome, daring anything to draw him into the game.

“Miss Trevor, gentlemen,” Lord Edgecombe said with a bow, “might I be allowed to join your table? It appears a most stimulating game.”

The other players agreed to Lord Edgecombe’s addition to the table, and Catherine exhorted herself to play even more astutely. As before, Catherine found her luck to be good when she was the dealer, but when the deal was won by other players she struggled to win hands. Still, with the promise of being backed by more money from Louisa should she run out of guineas, Catherine played more boldly than she might otherwise have played, and managed to stay in the game as time passed. The play grew deeper and deeper, and Catherine noticed that servants watched the guest’s wine glasses closely, smoothly replacing empty ones with full. She suspected Louisa had given orders that this be done in order to encourage more fearless play, but Catherine drank nothing herself, wishing to keep her wits about her.

After two hour’s play one of the four men at the table excused himself and left, and a half-hour later another gentleman chose to take his winnings and move over to a game of whist. It was now down to Catherine herself, Lord Edgecombe, and a Mr. Reynolds, a young sporting gentleman of Mr. Ellsworth’s age. The deal passed to Catherine with a natural twenty-one, and soon she had half of Lord Edgecombe’s pile of coins and all of Mr. Reynolds’s.

“Demmed if I am not out of the ready,” Mr. Reynolds said, feeling his coat pockets. He drew out a gold watch and tossed it onto the table. “You will accept my watch as a pledge, will you not?” he asked Catherine.

“Of course, Mr. Reynolds,” Catherine agreed. She proceeded to win that hand and one other before the deal passed again to Lord Edgecombe.

This time Mr. Reynolds offered a signet ring, which Lord Edgecombe accepted. For once, Catherine suddenly found herself winning even though she was not the dealer. She won two high-stakes bets, after which Mr. Reynolds excused himself from the game, and then two more hands as well. Catherine’s heart began to beat rapidly. One more winning hand and she would have all of Lord Edgecombe’s money! She dealt and picked up her cards. Eighteen; a good hand. But it was not enough, for Lord Edgecombe had two face cards. Frustrated, Catherine hoped her streak of luck would return after the one loss, but instead her pile of coins began to dwindle. At last she was dealt a natural twenty-one and the deal was hers again. Boldly she raised her stakes, encouraging Lord Edgecombe to do the same. This time fortune was with her and in three hands Catherine had all Lord Edgecombe’s coins before her.

“You have won Miss Trevor,” the marquess said. “I can play no more unless you will accept my marker.”

“Come Lord Edgecombe,” Catherine said in a playful tone, giving him her most provocative look. “How daring are you? You have something of great value I am willing to accept as a wager.”

“And what is that?” Lord Edgecombe asked, a smile playing on his lips.

“Our betrothal,” she said, taking off the ring. “I know it is customary the pledge should come from you, but I am the one wearing the ring,” she said, placing it on the table.

Lord Edgecombe’s smile vanished and he looked directly into Catherine’s eyes.

“Let me be clear upon this, Miss Trevor. Am I correct that you propose if you win this hand I release you from our engagement and if I win you will give your word to become my wife with no more resistance?”

“Yes,” Catherine said steadily.

“Shuffle the cards, Miss Trevor.”

Her hands trembling, Catherine shuffled the cards. She had to win this hand. She would win this hand. She was always lucky when she was the dealer.

“Come Miss Trevor, deal the cards,” Lord Edgecombe encouraged when Catherine hesitated at the last moment, the deck in her hands.

Taking a deep breath to help banish her nervousness, Catherine dealt. She looked at her cards. A ten and a nine—excellent! She glanced at Lord Edgecombe. Silently, he tossed his two cards face-up onto the table. A jack and an ace. A natural vingt-un. She had lost. As the magnitude of what she had staked on the hand hit her, Catherine felt the blood drain from her face and she slumped back in her chair.

“Miss Trevor,” Lord Edgecombe said, a smile once again playing on his lips. “One should not so clearly show one’s emotions upon losing. It is not the end of the world. I am even willing,” he continued, picking up the cards and shuffling them, “to give you the opportunity to win all back.”

“What do you ask I stake for such an opportunity?” Catherine forced the words from bloodless lips.

“Your rose.”

Catherine considered. If she won she would have her freedom, but the marquess was dealer and had an advantage. If she lost she would have agreed to marry Lord Edgecombe and give him her rose. If she refused the wager she would still have to marry Lord Edgecombe but could deny him the rose. Was it worth marrying him to spite him by denying him the rose he coveted? No. Small though the chance might be of her winning, especially when she was not the dealer, she must risk all for her freedom.

“I accept the wager. Deal, Lord Edgecombe,” she said resolutely.

Expertly, Lord Edgecombe shuffled, Catherine cut, and the marquess dealt the cards. Catherine’s heat sank as she picked hers up and looked at them. A ten and a four. It could hardly be worse. What should she do? She dared not stay on such a low total, but the odds were high she would go over twenty-one if she took another card.

“Give me another card,” she said, and Lord Edgecombe tossed a card face-up onto the table. A two. Sixteen. Her heart sank further. She was going to lose again.

“Another,” she croaked. He tossed her another. A three. Nineteen. She had just lost on a nineteen. Did she dare take another card?

“I will stay.”

Lord Edgecombe dealt himself another card. A four. Thank goodness she had not taken it, Christine thought, it would have put her over 21. Lord Edgecombe now had eighteen. He had to take one more card. Her hands clenched under the table as he took it from the top of the deck. A ten. Relief flooded Catherine’s body. She had won.

Lord Edgecombe toyed with the ring Catherine had put on the table, holding her gaze with his. For a moment Catherine thought she saw a flash of something like regret or even sorrow within the dark depths of his eyes, but it was only a moment and his feelings were once more unreadable as they usually were behind his opaque gaze.

“I thank you for a most interesting game, Miss Trevor,” Lord Edgecombe stated calmly. “I am sorry you have decided we would not suit, for I believe we should have dealt together most successfully. You have spirit and courage as well as beauty and breeding.” He stood, picking up the ring as he did so. “I will take this ring as it is a family piece, but please keep the gifts I have given you. I selected them from my collections especially for you, and it would be sacrilege for them to go to another. Good evening, Miss Trevor.”

Catherine watched the marquess walk away, his tall erect figure so like Lord Woodforde’s. She felt a momentary pang that Lord Edgecombe lacked the two qualities she had discovered she required in a gentleman: compassion and understanding of herself. How much easier it would be, she thought through a sudden mist of tears, if only people were all good or all bad! But no, who among us is perfect? When at last Catherine blinked away enough moisture that her eyes could focus she saw Louisa standing at the door to the room, looking at her questioningly. Understanding what Louisa wished to know, Catherine nodded. She had won. She was free.

 

The following day the walls of Rosemont rang with Judith’s remonstrances upon hearing the news that Catherine had ended her betrothal.

“What can you have been thinking of sister?” Judith expostulated, so upset she failed to comment upon the nursemaid’s tardiness in fetching the two elder children. “You are all of nine-and-twenty, nearly a score and ten years! Think you to find another gentleman of equal breeding and fortune willing to marry a woman of such advanced age? And the scandal of calling it off after settlements had been signed and the first banns called! I shall never be able to hold my head up again!

“John,” she said, turning to her husband. “Surely it cannot be too late. Lord Edgecombe must listen to you. You have gone shooting together often and must have an ease between you. If you explain Catherine was not in her right mind at the time, that she had been drinking too much, then he must take her back.”

John looked up from his newspaper in consternation, not approving his sister’s action, but not wishing to become personally involved.

“I cannot think my interference would be welcomed, Judith,” he protested. “This is a matter than must be settled between Catherine and Edgecombe. It is none of our affair.”

“None of our affair!” Judith shrieked. “None of our affair when we have a sister of advanced years who has broken a most eligible engagement? None of our affair when we shall be burdened with her support for the remainder of her days? None of our affair when this scandal is all that will be talked about every time we are seen in public?”

“No Judith,” Catherine said, breaking into her sister-in-law’s tirade. “It is none of your affair, and it would in any event avail nothing for John to speak to Lord Edgecombe. I had nothing to drink last night, and I shall not change my mind about ending my betrothal to Lord Edgecombe.”

Her sister-in-law glared at Catherine with an expression akin to loathing. “Very well sister, but that will mean you must depend upon others for your keep for the rest of your life, for surely your portion is not adequate to allow you to live in your own establishment as a single woman. If you plan to stay here at Rosemont when John inherits, Catherine, you must learn to deal more gently with my children. And there will be no filthy hares or other vermin living in my home.”

“Aunt Catherine is in trouble, Grandfather,” young John proclaimed in a self-satisfied voice as Lord Trevor, having heard the raised voices as he passed in the hallway, entered the drawing room to see what was amiss.

“We saw Aunt Catherine kissing Lord Edgecombe yesterday, Grandpapa,” Marie piped up. “Is that why she is in trouble?”

With a sinking feeling, Catherine realized she was back where she had begun five months previously. Except, she assured herself as she quit the room with an apologetic glance at her aunt, she did have one advantage she had not had then: self-knowledge. She knew now that although she might admire the address and appearance of a gentleman such as Lord Edgecombe, her aunt had been correct that she would have been better to have looked closer to home for a gentleman who added compassion to those qualities, a gentleman who, additionally, understood her character and accepted it.

Was it too late, Catherine wondered as she walked down the hallway to her usual refuge of the walled garden and William. Had she turned Lord Woodforde down too many times? Had all his offers been lightly made she would have said it was not too late, but the memory of his last offer, the one made in his library the day after her brother’s family had arrived…that one had undoubtedly been sincere, yet she had received it as lightly as all the others. Perhaps it had been the proverbial straw, perhaps Lord Woodforde would now have no wish to have her as wife, and would seek another, although she need no longer fear that other would be Miss Louisa Ellsworth.

Reaching the walled garden, Catherine unlocked the door and entered, kneeling on the grass as she always did. William hopped over immediately and put his head down on her knee, inviting her to stroke him. A vivid memory of Lord Woodforde kneeling in the very place, hand outstretched, holding a piece of apple, flooded Catherine’s mind. Such a gentleman was worth any risk, even that of being rejected as she herself had rejected him so many times. She must have the courage to inform Lord Woodforde of her change of heart. It was up to her to find out if he could ever consider her as a wife again; to let him know she was now free and willing to accept the offer he had so often made to her. If he said yes, his admirable qualities made it better for her to marry him to be a mother to his child, even if she could never live up to the memory of his first wife, than to marry someone like Lord Edgecombe, who, though charming and passionate, would not give a home to her hare. Mr. Cowper, she reflected, would agree with her decision.

Catherine decided to act while she had the courage, and left the garden to find her maid. With Flora’s aid, she dressed in the same clothes she had worn for the card game the previous day, feeling she had been lucky when wearing them and that she needed all the luck she could find. They were not riding clothes, but she could take her landaulet with another horse instead of Damask.

Flora set the matching low-crowned, wide-brimmed, dark green velvet hat upon her mistress’s fair curls and Catherine felt she was as prepared as she ever would be. She ordered her landaulet brought around, climbed in with the groom’s assistance, and drove through the bare-branched woods and winter-dry fields to Woodforde Park.

Woodforde’s groom, who was accustomed to Catherine arriving on horseback, looked at her curiously as he helped her down from the small vehicle. Catherine took a deep breath to steady herself and walked up the wide stone steps to the front entrance. Please let Woodforde be back from his morning rounds of the estate, Catherine thought, for she was not certain how long her courage would last if put to the test.

“If you will wait in the drawing room, Miss Trevor, I shall inform his lordship you are here,” the butler said as the footman closed the front doors behind her.

Catherine stepped into the drawing room that opened off the front hallway and advanced to a gilt-framed mirror hanging above a small occasional table. She checked her appearance, tilting her wide-brimmed hat slightly to give it a more fashionable jaunty look. The dark green set off the fairness of her hair, while the deep gold of her skirt reflected it. At least she looked well, Catherine thought. She needed all the confidence she could draw from that in order to complete her errand.

“Miss Trevor,” Lord Woodforde greeted Catherine, who quickly turned away from the glass. “I am happy to see you again so soon. I trust you have called to see Anne?”

“I should like to speak to Anne later, yes, but it is you I wish to see,” Catherine replied boldly, facing the marquess. “Is there somewhere we might speak in privacy?”

Lord Woodforde looked at Catherine in surprise, but made no demur. “Joseph,” he said to the liveried footman who waited silently by the door, “I shall be in the library. Please see that I am not disturbed.”

“Very good, my lord,” Joseph replied impassively as Lord Woodforde and Catherine left the drawing room together and mounted the stairs to the library.

Once in the library Lord Woodforde offered Catherine one of the wing chairs to the side of the library fire and took the other himself. “Now, how may I help you, Miss Trevor?” he asked.

“Do you remember…” Catherine faltered and then spoke more firmly. “Do you recall telling me that if I discovered the Marquess of Edgecombe to be unkind you would marry me? And do you recall the day here at Woodforde Park you suggested I might do better to accept a gentleman whom I knew well in marriage rather than one of whom I knew nothing?”

“Yes, I recall those occasions,” Lord Woodforde admitted, “although in the first instance I believe it was you who stated you would consider my offer should the marquess prove to be unkind.”

“I have discovered that the marquess of Edgecombe is not kind,” Catherine forced herself to continue, “at least not to William, and we have agreed we would not suit.”

“Indeed!” Lord Woodforde said, scrutinizing Catherine’s face. “I believe there is much you are not telling me, Miss Trevor. Edgecombe is not the sort of man to relinquish what is his.”

“I played him for my freedom at vingt-un last night and won,” Catherine stated bluntly.

“Did you now! Begad!” Lord Woodforde exclaimed, leaning forward in his chair. “But how come you from asking to be released from one betrothal to desiring to enter into another with me, for I collect that is your wish?”

“You did say you would marry me,” Catherine pointed out, beginning to wonder if she was in fact too late, for Lord Woodforde did not appear at all desirous of forwarding his interest with her now that he knew she was free.

“So I did. Many times. And so I shall,” he promised. “But I wish to know why the sudden change of heart. I think you might honour that request given the number of times I have asked for your hand and been refused.”

“I have asked yours this time.”

“Nevertheless.”

Catherine hesitated. What would she say? Should she explain the whole of her actions over these past months? The enjoyment and excitement of her pursuit of Lord Edgecombe until she became the quarry? Her request to be released and his refusal? Her conflicted feelings over her duty and what she increasingly knew she desired? No—she could condense it to a few words.

“It is because of…of William,” she said simply. “You are kind to him. Lord Edgecombe was not. He did not understand my affection for my hare. I would rather you marry me to gain a mother for your daughter, even if I can never live up to her real mother, than marry a man who does not understand my attachment to William.”

Lord Woodforde brushed his hand over his neatly clubbed hair in a gesture of frustration. “The deuce take it!” he exclaimed, suddenly rising from his seat and pacing before the library fire.

Catherine looked at him in consternation, sure now that she had come too late.

“I understand what you have told me regarding William, Miss Trevor,” Lord Woodforde said in a calmer voice, sitting back down, “but I believe we have had conversations about my wife and daughter twice before, in this very room. Do you not remember me telling you that I do not wish to marry only to give Anne a mother, and that although I did—and do—love my late wife and her memory, I can still love another?”

“Yes, I remember you saying words to that effect,” Catherine acknowledged.

“Why is it then, Miss Trevor, that you do not appear to believe me? Have you ever found me untruthful?”

“No, I have not.”

“Then why will you not believe that I do not compare you to Lucinda to your detriment, but value you for who you are, and that I ask you to marry me out of more than a desire to give my daughter a mother?”

How could she say it? Feeling a blush rising in a wave of heat, Catherine blurted out the truth. “Because you feel no passion for me.”

“My dear Miss Trevor, wherever did you get that idea?” Lord Woodforde asked in surprise.

“You never kissed me, and excepting the last time, you always asked me to marry you as though it were a jest.”

“Miss Trevor—Catherine—tell me truthfully, how could I have ventured to tell you of my feelings then? How would you have responded to me had I touched you? You had no thought of me in any light other than that of honourary brother, had you?”

“No,” Catherine confessed.

“It would seem,” Lord Woodforde said slowly, “that I am in debt to Lord Edgecombe, for it appears that he has, by forcing you to search the depths of your heart, awakened you to feelings for me.”

Reaching forward, Woodforde took Catherine’s hand. “Come,” he said, rising and drawing Catherine from her chair. He led her to a sofa across the room. “Sit,” he commanded.

Catherine sat. Woodforde reached down and untied her hat, removing it from her head and dropping it upon a nearby table. He sat next to her and, taking her chin in his hand and tilting her face up to his, placed his lips upon hers. Softly his lips caressed hers, and Catherine closed her eyes, the better to lose herself to the swirling sensations that flowed through her body. Lord Woodforde wrapped his arms around her, pressing her close. Catherine moaned and in a moment Woodforde shifted her so she could lie back on the sofa, his body covering hers. Catherine’s arms involuntarily encircled his back as she tried to pull him closer to her. “Please,” she murmured as she felt her insides turn liquid with desire, “Oh, please.”

“Not here, Catherine,” Lord Woodforde said softly, pulling away. “This is not the time or place.”

Suddenly Catherine’s eyes flew open and she sat up straight.

“It was you who kissed me at masquerade, not Lord Edgecombe,” she accused. “You were the cavalier.

“Yes, that was I,” Lord Woodforde agreed.

“Why did you not tell me?” Catherine asked. “It was because of that kiss I…I kept wondering why the other kisses from Lord Edgecombe were not the same. If I had known…Why did you not tell me?” she repeated, her voice rising.

“Because, Catherine, at the time you were hell-bent on marrying Edgecombe,” Woodforde defended himself. “I had heard you were to attend as a lady cavalier; it was general knowledge in Moreton and I guessed Edgecombe would also know. I persuaded the dressmaker to make me an identical costume. I had planned to use the freedom of the masquerade to kiss you, and if you responded I planned to beg you to marry me.

“I mistakenly assumed that although you might at first confuse me for Edgecombe, the moment I took you in my arms you would know who held you. But even then you mistook me for Edgecombe! I suppose I was angry you did not know the difference between us and were still so enthralled by my rival marquess,” he finished with a rueful smile. “One has one’s pride, and you had already turned down my offers on a half-score previous occasions.

“But even so,” he continued, “I thought better of my pique the next day and went to speak to you at Rosemont that afternoon, planning to confess it had been I at the ball and to ask you to marry me, but you chose to walk with Edgecombe instead.” Woodforde shrugged. “There comes a point one must accept the obvious—you clearly cared for Edgecombe far more than you cared for me. I resolved to ask no more, and to search elsewhere for a woman who might wish to share my life.”

“You will not search for another woman now, will you?” Catherine asked, a sliver of fear entering her heart.

“Persuade me not to,” Woodforde challenged.

Catherine reached out to Lord Woodforde, and, pushing aside his coat, unbuttoned his waistcoat and pulled him to her as she leaned back on the sofa. Woodforde buried his head in her hair for a moment, before once again capturing her lips with his. Catherine, lost in a maelstrom of desire, did not hear the footman enter the room, back up in haste, and close the door.