Eight
Trevor was angry. Well—annoyed, anyway. He had called twice at the London house his wife rented, but she had been “out” both times. At least that was what that infernal butler told him. Moreover, Aunt Gertrude was unavailable both times as well.
He descended the steps the second time in a thoughtful mood. Were both of them trying to avoid him? He could perhaps understand Caitlyn’s desire to do so. But Aunt Gertrude? Such behavior did not seem at all in character for her. Should he wait around, hoping one or both of them would return shortly?
While the house did not boast an address in the most elite neighborhood, it was located in a very respectable residential area. Houses here all faced a small park with a high iron fence around it. The park was obviously for the exclusive use of the surrounding houses, for it was accessible only through a locked gate. Trevor could see benches scattered here and there, a sand pile, and what appeared to be a small shallow pool in which some little boys were eagerly sailing toy boats.
He smiled to himself, recalling fond memories of doing the same thing with Terrence. And Melanie usually on the sidelines, cheering them on in impromptu races. At this thought, his attention was caught by a little girl with golden blond curls enviously watching the little boys and their boats. Someone apparently called her name, for the little girl turned, answered, and with seeming reluctance left the pond. As she turned, she faced him fully, and Trevor thought again of the young Melanie of yesteryear.
Melanie.
His mother had told him Melanie would return to England soon. How he looked forward to seeing her!
He wandered slowly around the outside of the park twice, but in that time only one carriage entered the area and those who were afoot were mostly nursery maids out taking the air with their charges. When he had encountered the same middle-aged maid twice and she cast him a suspicious glance, he decided to leave.
That night he and Theo sat sipping port in the lounge of the gentlemen’s club where they had just had dinner. Trevor had finally told Theo of seeing his wife and of his attempts to call on her.
“Do you think she deliberately avoids you, then?” Theo asked.
“Possibly.”
“I suppose you could disguise yourself as a highwayman and waylay her carriage some evening.” Theo grinned.
“Do be serious.”
“Well . . . hmm. Maybe she goes to the assemblies at Almack’s.”
“I . . . uh . . . I doubt it. The patronesses are said to be high sticklers. My mother informs me that Caitlyn is received, but not among the highest ton.”
“Oh.” Theo seemed embarrassed at having mentioned it, then added, “You know, we both have invitations to the Bathmoreson ball. I hear the marchioness fancies herself outdoing the prince himself—she has invited everyone with even the slightest claim to society’s recognition.”
“I should much prefer seeing my estranged wife privately.”
“But if she will not see you . . . ?”
“You are right. It is an idea. She could hardly make a scene in such a public arena.”
Just then their attention was diverted by a rather loud discussion nearby. The chairs in the lounge—big, overstuffed, comfortable pieces of furniture—were arranged in conversational groups. In one group there were three young men whose talk was louder than it should be. They seemed to revel in the attention they were drawing, unaware that it was censorious.
“Lord! Were we ever so young and stupid?” Theo asked softly.
Trevor nodded. “Yesterday.”
“Must have been the day before yesterday. Yesterday was the Peninsula.”
“Right.” They were both quiet for a moment, remembering.
“What are they talking about anyway?” Theo asked.
“Horses.”
“Reminds me. I still want you to look over a purchase I am considering.”
Before Trevor could respond, two other young men in high spirits joined those in the neighboring chairs.
“Atkins!” one of the newcomers called. “Did you buy that pair Severson was selling?”
“I surely did.” Atkins’s voice had a note of smug triumph.
“Good show.” the newcomer replied.
“Wish I could have bid on those,” the other newcomer said.
“You do?” someone else asked.
“Yes. Severson got ’em from the Jeffries farms.”
Hearing his own surname, Trevor suddenly took real interest in the neighboring conversation.
“No, he didn’t,” another said. “Those animals came from the Ratcliff stables.”
“Oh.” The voice sounded deflated, and their talk turned to some pugilistic contest. Suddenly there were as many experts on the art of boxing as there had been on horses a few moments before.
“Jeffries farms?” Trevor asked. “You ever hear of them?”
“No,” Theo said, “I have not. Your brother? A cousin maybe?”
“Could be, I suppose. Marcus has quite an eye for horseflesh. Might be Cousin Algernon. The whole Jeffries clan is enamored of our equine friends.” Trevor shrugged and dismissed the idea from his mind.
Caitlyn dressed for the Bathmoreson ball with special care. The gown, teal-colored silk with silver trim, made her eyes seem darker. Her up-to-date hair style set off the clean lines of her face and neck. Her only jewelry, besides her wedding band worn under her glove, was a simple diamond necklace and diamond drops at her ears.
“You look lovely, my dear,” Aunt Gertrude said as the two of them donned cloaks to set off for the ball.
“This neckline is not too décolleté, then?”
“No. One sees much more daring lines on even women my age, I am sure.”
Caitlyn fidgeted nervously. “It is just that I am sure the countess will be there tonight and I do not want her to have anything in me to criticize.” There was no need to explain to Aunt Gertrude precisely which countess Caitlyn had in mind.
“Lydia would find something to criticize if you appeared in a costume identical to the queen’s. But no one else will do aught but admire you.”
“Thank you, Aunt Gertrude.” Caitlyn kissed the older woman’s cheek. “What would I ever have done without you?” It was a sincere tribute.
Aunt Gertrude’s eyes looked suspiciously watery at this. “We are quite a team, you and I. Now, come. Let us prepare to meet the ton in their own arena.”
Caitlyn and Aunt Gertrude had been coming to town for the season for three years now. Caitlyn knew Aunt Gertrude had missed her sojourns in town before that. True, Aunt Gertrude loved their life in the country, where she was very active in helping to run the now expanded household. A few months after joining Caitlyn in East Anglia, Aunt Gertrude had given up her own house in London and brought her housekeeper and two maids to Atherton. Her other servants had chosen to find new positions in the city.
However, Aunt Gertrude had never given up her love of town—nor her interest in various “projects.” Caitlyn thought coming to the city for a few weeks of the year was little enough she could do for this wonderful woman who had done so much for her. Therefore, she willingly indulged Aunt Gertrude in this. They lived modestly—and happily—on the fringes of society. Tonight marked their first real venture into the heart of the ton. Thank goodness, it was a huge affair—where one might become lost in the crowd.
“Caitlyn.” Aunt Gertrude broke into her musings as the carriage made its slow way to the entrance of the Bathmoreson mansion. “Caitlyn, I had not wanted to bring this up, but I feel I should.”
“What? What is it?” Caitlyn reacted to the concern in her companion’s voice.
“Well, you know Trevor has called two—or is it three?—times. And we have been out.”
“Yes. And of course I shall not again endeavor to avoid him. It was foolish to do so, and I do regret it.”
“Your chance to live up to that intention may come sooner than later.”
“Tonight? Here? Oh, surely not.” She could not control a note of apprehension.
“Probably not. Trevor was never fond of such affairs before. But I thought you should be prepared for the possibility.”
“Thank you. It really had not entered my mind.”
And now that it had, how did she feel about it? Well—she mentally squared her shoulders—why should she fear a meeting? After all, is was not she who had run off to the Peninsula, shirking all responsibilities at home. Then their carriage was at the entrance and a footman was available to hand them down.
Caitlyn felt a frisson of trepidation as she went through the receiving line, but the marquis and his wife were both cordial and hospitable. Soon she and Aunt Gertrude passed into the ballroom, which contained an overwhelming number of elegantly dressed men and women. She saw the countess of Wyndham go into one of the card rooms. Although Aunt Gertrude had pointed the countess out to Caitlyn on more than one occasion, she had never formally met her mother-in-law. Nor did she expect the woman to acknowledge her tonight.
Viscount Latham had apparently been waiting for her arrival. “Ah, Caitlyn, dear Caitlyn.” He ostentatiously kissed the air above her gloved hand and bowed to Her Ladyship. “Lady Gertrude.”
The two women murmured polite greetings to him.
“You must allow me to stand up with you, Caitlyn.” Latham extended his hand for her dance card. “I must have this country dance,” he said, scribbling his name, “and this waltz which is the supper dance. All right, my dear?”
“No,” she said sharply, all but grabbing the card away from him. “It is not all right. Bertie, you know very well two dances would draw undue attention. You may have the country dance.”
“I have no fear of undue attention where you are concerned, dear Caitlyn.” He looked slightly fatuous, she thought.
“Well, I have,” she snapped.
“As you will, my dear,” he huffed, and then excused himself.
“Insufferable puppy,” Aunt Gertrude said.
“Oh, he means well.” Caitlyn sighed.
Her dance card was by no means filled, but neither was she the most ignored of wallflowers. She danced with a young man who belonged to the literary society and with a middle-aged and well-married friend of Aunt Gertrude’s, before Bertie came to claim his dance.
“Hmmph,” he sniffed. “You may as well have allowed me that second dance.”
“Oh, Bertie, do behave.” She smiled to take the sting out of her words.
It was one of those country dances that allowed a couple to alternately dance vigorously and then pause while others swung down the line. During one of their pauses, Bertie looked over Caitlyn’s shoulder and said, “Don’t look now, but some newcomers just entered. I do believe one of them is Jeffries.”
Sheer panic drained the blood from her face. She caught her breath and gripped Bertie’s hand far more tightly than she intended.
“Caitlyn? Are you all right?” Bertie asked.
“Yes. Yes . . . I am fine.” But she knew she was not fine, even as she allowed him to swing her into the remaining steps of the dance.
When Bertie returned her to Aunt Gertrude’s company, there was Trevor, talking with his aunt just as though this were not a momentous occasion in their lives. How dare he be so calm, so relaxed?
“I shall stand by you, my dear,” Bertie said softly, sounding melodramatic again and keeping his hand on her elbow possessively.
Aware that their little tableau was attracting the attention of bystanders, Caitlyn deliberately forced a smile and greeted her long-absent husband with a great show of cordiality.
“Hello, Trevor.” To her surprise, her voice did not tremble.
“Caitlyn.” His eyes locked with hers, but she found his expression unreadable. Then he gave a little bow. “Uh . . . Latham, is it not? You will not think it amiss, I am sure, if I take my wife off your hands for the next dance?”
It was an order rather than a request, and Caitlyn was sure Bertie recognized it as such. There was a fraction of a moment when it seemed Bertie might protest. Trevor’s expression was pleasant enough, but his eyes and voice held a hint of controlled power and determination. Caitlyn glanced at Aunt Gertrude and knew the other woman shared her fear of a scene. Caitlyn moved closer to her husband and took the arm he offered.
Latham nodded and said to Caitlyn, “I shall call upon you on the morrow.” He left them, his head at a haughty angle.
The instant she touched him, Caitlyn felt a distinctly physical reaction to Trevor. None of the men she had known in the last few years had affected her so. Bertie, with whom she had thought herself in love at sixteen, had never elicited such a response. She recalled feeling a warm sense of welcome for the younger Trevor, but not this violent bolt of emotion.
And, oh, good heavens! The music was a waltz. She would be in his arms in a moment. Then she was in his arms, and intensely aware of every point at which their bodies connected—his hand at her waist, hers at his shoulder, and their other hands loosely clasped. She could feel her heart beating and her pulse pounding.
She caught a whiff of a faintly spicy smell about him—
clean and crisp, totally unlike the overwhelming and cloying cologne of her previous partner. She wanted to lean in closer. Was it spice or sandalwood? Then she came to her senses. Good heavens. What could it possibly matter?
She could not bring herself to look at him directly. Despite her reaction to him, Caitlyn was angry. Angry at him for high-handedly maneuvering her into this dance. Angry at herself for allowing it—for being helpless to refuse it in this public forum. She hated feeling trapped.
They danced-silently for a moment; then he said, “Have you been deliberately avoiding me?”
So. He was not going to bother with small talk. And she took immediate umbrage at his putting her on the defensive. She looked up into those blue-gray eyes, not bothering to hide her annoyance at the challenge in his question. “Yes.”
He waited, apparently expecting her to explain. She did not do so.
“Why?” he asked.
“Why should I not do so?” she countered.
“Because,” he said, his patience sounding extremely forced, “we are, it seems, still tied by the bonds of holy matrimony, my dear.”
“Oh.” Her voice held a false note of surprise, and she smiled at him with ultra sweetness. “Is this a matter that has only recently come to your attention?”
His hand tightened on hers and his voice was cold. “No. It is a matter of which I have long been painfully aware.”
“You poor dear.” Her voice dripped sarcasm, but inwardly she winced. A hit. A palpable hit, she thought, foolishly echoing a line from Hamlet.
“Look. This is neither the time nor place for this discussion. Do you think you might possibly manage to be at home if I call tomorrow to continue our conversation?”
“Of course. Your wish is my command, husband dear.”
He compressed his lips, and his eyes snapped with anger at this sally, but he merely swung her smoothly through the remaining steps of the waltz.
Caitlyn chewed the inner part of her bottom lip. She did not know why she had responded as she had. Perhaps because he seemed so in control and she wanted to break through that protective facade. Perhaps because she had been harboring her resentment for nearly five years.
He returned her to Aunt Gertrude and bade them both good night. Then he was gone—having left as abruptly as he had arrived. Soon afterwards, Caitlyn and Aunt Gertrude made their excuses and left also.
“How did it go? Or should I ask?” Theo’s tone was light as he and Trevor once again sat in the Ruskin library at the end of an evening.
“Not well, I fear.”
“She is a beautiful woman,” Theo opined in a neutral tone.
“And a very angry one.” Trevor flinched inwardly as he recalled her sarcasm.
“She is angry? Why? Because you did not die in the Peninsula?”
“No, it is not that, I am sure.”
“I may have a distorted view—you being my friend and all—but it does appear to me that you have been the aggrieved party in this. I mean, most women wait a few years before saddling their husbands with another man’s brat.”
“You are right. But—still—I did not handle the matter very well. Maybe tomorrow . . .”
“Good luck, my friend.”
Later that night, Trevor found it hard to sleep. Theo was right. She was a beautiful woman and she felt so right in his arms—as though she simply belonged there. He had wanted to dance her out onto the terrace and kiss her senseless. Had she felt any of the excitement that having her so close had raised for him? Probably not.
This was certainly not the pudgy, shy, self-effacing girl Fiske had foisted on the naive young Trevor. But perhaps that girl had never truly existed at all. This woman knew who she was and would be stubborn in asserting what she wanted from life.
So why had she not accepted what he was sure would have been a generous offer from his family? Why had she not just gone on with her life? And why was Aunt Gertrude so protective of her?
He had barely greeted his aunt—his relative, not Caitlyn’s—when Aunt Gertrude had said, “If you intend to hurt Caitlyn, you will answer to me, young man.”
“I have no intention of hurting anyone,” he had replied. “But she and I must set things aright.”
“Well, I hope you will accept a bit of advice from an old woman who loves you both.”
“Not such an ‘old’ woman, at all.” He grinned at her. “And I know better than to try to avoid listening to you.”
She tapped his arm lightly with her fan. “Take it slowly, son. And learn all the facts before you take any steps you might later regret.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” he asked.
“It means that others have tended to act from ignorance—if we are being charitable—or malevolence if we are not.”
“I am not sure I understand you.”
“You will. But it is not my place to set you straight. Just do take care, dear boy.”
And then what had he done? Immediately challenged Caitlyn and set her back up.