Chapter 23
“Imust see His Grace immediately!” A shrill, demanding voice shook the afternoon silence at Baxter Hall. “And no, you cannot presume to tell me he is not receiving me or any visitor!”
Cathy heard the whole tirade, which pierced through her peaceful work in the small library where she was reading books on crop rotation. She flinched in the middle of the chapter, wondering what could be causing this ruckus.
That voice.
What is she doing here? No, I must be mistaken.
Cathy stood and took a long, steadying breath; closing her book felt like giving up her peace. Then, she smoothed her pale blue gown using the glass of the bookcase as a mirror before stepping into the grand hallway. Henderson was standing by the foyer, blocking the intruder’s path.
From where she was, she confirmed the identity of the noisy visitor. Of course, it was Miss Longrove. Cathy would recognize that voice anywhere, but she could not believe her eyes when she saw her.
Anne Longrove did not look like her usual composed self, with red, angry blotches staining her cheeks under her large bonnet.
Her beautiful silk dress was rumpled from her journey.
The woman could be mean-spirited, but she was always elegant and neat.
Today was an exception. Even her hand trembled as she gripped her parasol with a gloved hand.
“As I said, His Grace is away on important business,” Henderson insisted, using his calm, restrained voice. “You may leave a card, and I shall ensure that he sees it upon his return.”
“I do not wish to leave a card for him!” Anne yelled, her voice becoming shriller. “I am not a mere acquaintance that the help must turn away. Don’t you know who I am? I have a claim on his time. I used to be his betrothed!”
Ah. She was using the fact that she had once been engaged to the Duke as a reason for being attended to. It was time for Cathy to intervene.
Cathy began her approach, fully aware of the alert footmen standing near the door. While their expressions wore practiced indifference, she knew that they were straining to catch more of every scandalous word.
“Henderson, I will talk to Miss Longrove,” she said, with a voice that conveyed quiet authority.
The butler displayed a flicker of relief before schooling his face to his usual expressionless professionalism. Then, he bowed and retreated. Meanwhile, Anne saw the whole exchange, her eyes narrowing at Cathy.
“You!” she spat, sneering at Cathy. Her pretty face twisted into something terribly ugly. “I suppose you truly believe that you are Baxter Hall’s mistress now? You have only married him because of a scandal. You trapped him in this. He does not want you. He never did!”
“His Grace is not home, Miss Longrove,” Cathy said, keeping her tone calm and measured.
She gestured toward the French doors that led to the side terrace, which clearly led to a path.
“You have come loud and uninvited. I suggest we venture into the gardens to avoid disturbing and scandalizing the staff any further.”
To Cathy’s surprise, Anne followed her through the French doors and the leisurely walk toward the gardens.
She wondered what Tristan’s former betrothed was there for.
Cathy led her unwanted visitor to a more secluded area where the roses surrounded them in their beauty.
With Anne’s presence, though, the scent felt cloying.
“Now,” Cathy began, folding her arms across her chest. “What is so urgent that you thought to shed your dignity at my doorstep?”
“I will not speak to you. I need to speak with Tristan,” spat Anne.
Cathy bristled at the casual use of her husband’s first name, but she held her ground, towering over Miss Longrove.
“You do realize that this is all very improper, Miss Longrove, right? As an unmarried lady, you cannot simply arrive at a duke’s residence unchaperoned, and to address him by his first—”
“I am with child,” Anne declared with a defiant tilt of her chin.
The words crashed into the relative silence of the gardens. Cathy felt the blood drain from her face. She wished she had chosen to stand by a post because she felt faint. Her vision blurred. Anne might not have said anything else, but there was so much that was heavily implied by those four words.
“I... I beg your pardon?” Cathy managed to ask, her voice sounding strained.
“Are you both deaf and dull?” Anne jeered as she placed her hand purposefully on her stomach.
Her belly was still flat, but she made a big show of caressing it.
“My belly will soon show. The child is Tristan’s.
He has a responsibility toward me and his child, his flesh and blood.
It does not matter that he had to marry a desperate and impoverished girl; he has to do right by me and take care of the baby! ”
Anne’s words felt like a physical punch. She thought of Tristan’s words about wanting passion, not duty. Did Anne provide him the passion he was searching for, and was she merely duty to him, as well? One that he was trying to see differently to assuage his guilt?
No, Tristan had said he wanted no more pretenses. He did not want to be roped into something deceitful.
Was it all a lie? Was every intense look he gave her and every promise nothing more than a part of the arsenal of charms of a rake?
Did he only try to manage his wife while keeping a mistress?
Or was Anne already with child before they married, and he escaped his responsibility? Cathy did not know which was worse.
Was his trip to the north a way to escape Anne? Or was she there to further feed his appetites? Did she not know her husband had been a rake? Shedding that knowledge about him just because she was attracted to him was foolish.
“I do not believe you. He would have told me,” Cathy said weakly.
“Would he do that for you?” Anne prodded, her lips splitting into a smile.
Cathy knew that the other woman had found something in her face that she liked.
Saw the devastation. Her walls were stripped away so Anne could peek in and see her insecurities.
“Tristan is known for being a rake, a man with needs and wicked appetites. A cold woman like you would not satisfy him. He wants beauty, heat, and passion, and not some cold duty coming from a scandalous beginning to a contractual marriage. I have his child, proof that I know what kind of man he is, much better than you do.”
Every word uttered by Anne felt like a needle pricking Cathy’s soul. What did she have with Tristan, anyway? Their bond was still fragile and new. They had not even shared a bed yet. Anne seemed to be flourishing in her pain, smirking even as she held her precious belly.
“Miss Longrove, you should leave,” Cathy said quietly. “You must leave Baxter Hall immediately.”
“Why should I do that?” Anne asked, her voice rising into a full shriek. “I am not leaving Baxter Hall until he talks to me. He will not leave me to rot when I am carrying his blood, while you may never go beyond being a placeholder.”
“His Grace is not here,” Cathy repeated. “He has left for business.”
Anne laughed at that. “Is this what he is calling this now?”
“I told you to leave my house at once,” Cathy nearly shouted.
Anne’s face contorted into something uglier.
Angrier. “Do you think you are better than me, Miss Priggish, because you carry his name and wear his ring? You have stolen him from me. Therefore, you are a shameless thief who has been married out of convenience. Temporary convenience! Your marriage has been nothing but a mistake from the beginning!”
Cathy did not expect what happened next.
She was unable to raise her hands to defend herself.
Anne, out of her fury, was able to shove the much-taller Duchess, with her desperate strength.
Cathy gasped as her boot caught the path’s edge.
She fell, her arms flailing, before she crashed into the midst of a rose hedge.
“Ah!” she cried.
A scream tore from her throat as she fell backward.
Pain quickly followed as she tried to rise, thorns ripping through her sleeves and scratching the soft skin of her arms. The thorns sliced through her like tiny knives, and with the briars thick and tangled, she found herself trapped.
The hedge resembled a cage made by nature.
However painful the scratches were, the humiliation of having fallen with Anne looking down at her was even worse. It burned her wholly.
For a moment, Anne stood over her. Her eyes were wild and dancing. She was completely unrepentant, not offering Cathy any help. What did she expect, anyway? There was no word of apology, either. Then, Miss Longrove turned on her heel, disappearing quickly around the corner.
“Your Grace! Are you all right?”
Cathy was both relieved and horrified to hear that a member of staff had found her.
A young under-gardener, wide-eyed with horror, sprinted toward her.
He reached for her as she managed to pull her arms free from the branches.
Blots of red appeared on her sleeve, and she could feel the weeping scratches on her skin.
But at least she would be released from her rose-hedge prison.
Her heart had been the thing most hurt by the encounter. She had begun trusting Tristan. His presumed lover must have been given quite some reassurance from their previous trysts to come to Baxter Hall to assault the Duchess without fear.
Cathy wondered if she should even stay in Baxter Hall. Scandal would be coming their way no matter what, anyway.