Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Now for the hard part, Will thought, when he entered the family parlor.
The Wheatlys' arrival had gone smoothly, primarily because Will had thrown the fear of God—or of being turned off—into Stowe.
Lord Arthur looked relieved to be in the guest wing, where fewer memories haunted him.
The boys greeted cots in the nursery with hoots of joy.
Catherine looked merely resigned, until she saw that her room looked out over the gardens.
He expected that, by morning, she would have drawn up plans to restore them.
Dinner also passed without incident. Lord Arthur remarked that he had few memories of the dining salon.
"I was seldom at home, you see, once I was an adult," he had said.
Stunned silence greeted that pronouncement, and Will once again offered a prayer of gratitude for Glenaire. The marquess diverted the discussion smoothly.
Both Sylvia and Catherine made a greater effort than they had at the previous dinner.
Catherine's disinterest in fashion and Sylvia's distaste for crop rotation limited them, however, and only Glenaire's gambits kept the conversation flowing.
When the ladies rose, they left the gentlemen to their port with no sign of animosity.
"That went well," Will mused, holding his crystal glass out for the footman to fill.
A rueful smile lit Glenaire's austere face. "I've had an easier time managing conversation at diplomatic dinners with the Prussians and French."
"I'm sorry, Chadbourn. Returning here will take some adjustment," Lord Arthur said.
"No apology necessary," Will said.
"Indeed not. I found the discussion about your research fascinating," Glenaire added. Will couldn't tell if the marquess was serious, but the remark, and the relief it brought to Lord Arthur's face, gratified him.
"My Catherine isn't used to this, but she managed it well."
"Your Catherine would grace any dinner, Lord Arthur." Will meant it. Her breeding showed in the very line of her wrist when she ate, in her tone of voice, and in her instinctive good manners.
The old man preened.
"Harrow for the Michaelmas term, is it?" Glenaire asked.
Lord Arthur worried his lower lip. "I fear so," he said at last.
"Don't fear it. It will serve them well," Glenaire answered.
"I can't tell you how relieved I am to send Charles off with his cousins. I went alone, and the first term felt like Hell." He and Glenaire caught eyes and let a happy memory pass between them.
"Friends matter. I agree," the marquess said. "You are blessed, both of you, to send them off with ready-made allies."
The conversation veered easily into remembered teachers, shared love—and distaste—for various subjects, and some of the happier times at school.
Will sent a footman to tell the boys they could join the family, and the three men rose.
The earl felt satisfied with himself, until he put his hand to the door to the family parlor.
Lord Arthur froze. He definitely had memories of the room they were about to enter, as he had made clear the last time.
Yes, now for the hard part.
* * *
Catherine enjoyed a private smile. One moment Sylvia stood, rigid and uncertain, near the doorway.
The next, her son accosted her with a hug and an enthusiastic kiss.
The duchess couldn't hold back a warm smile, but her expression reflected puzzlement and confusion.
Charles grinned back and pointed up. Those mischief-makers hung mistletoe where it will catch anyone coming in the door.
Randy came in behind Charles. He looked apprehensive, but he stood on his toes to place a quick kiss on the duchess's cheek. "Joyeux Noel, Your Grace," he said, blushing furiously.
Freddy did the same, and the duchess allowed it.
Amazing.
Sylvia spun around, looking at Catherine as though to ask if the world had turned upside down. Before Catherine could speak, however, Glenaire came through the door.
Does a lady accost a gentleman under mistletoe?
No power on earth could push Catherine to approach the aloof marquess.
Her father followed behind, however, and she couldn't resist. "Happy Christmas, Papa," she said, with an affectionate kiss.
The old man beamed back at her. "Happy Christmas, Daughter. "
The sound of loud throat clearing came from the hallway. Lord Arthur stepped out of the way, to enable Will to enter. Catherine started to take a step back, but a firm hand took her wrist.
"Oh, no, you don't. Mistletoe rules," the earl laughed.
His mouth covered hers in a kiss that heated her to her toes, but managed to stay chaste enough for the audience. Catherine felt her world spin.
"Merry Christmas, Miss Wheatly," the earl whispered, searching her face. "I hope it is the happiest you've ever known." He released her hand, but not her heart. His eyes held hers. What an odd thing to say.
She felt relief when Will turned his eyes away to look at the dancing faces of three boys, and suggested they open gifts.
Songbird Cottage's modest gifts, framed watercolors, were well received. The duchess appeared touched by the pair of goldfinches in hers. "Chadbourn must have told you they are my favorite," she said.
"Actually, it was my idea," Charles said, proudly.
Will opened his gift to reveal a drawing of a humble English robin, head high. "I will treasure this," he murmured. Even the marquess seemed impressed with his painting of a sleek, black raven.
Once Lord Arthur thanked the earl and duchess for his pen set, all eyes turned to Catherine. "I can wait," she said. "I'm not sure the boys can."
The next moments were a riot of paper and exclamations.
Freddy went into spasms of joy over a set of cavalry figures sized to match the miniature army in Charles's nursery.
Randy grinned over a leather-bound copy of A Guide for Young Shepherds.
Charles opened a copy of The War of the Roses and wrapped his uncle in an impulsive hug.
Catherine initially suspected the duke could expect more luxurious gifts over the next twelve days, but doubt plagued her when Sylvia spoke.
"I've never known such a night in this house. Mistletoe, Chadbourn? Gifts?"
Pity filled Catherine. Could it be, this woman had never had a holiday party? Her father's next words wrung her heart.
"There never was a night like this. M'father didn't believe in celebrating.
Church service, yes, but 'no pagan nonsense,' he would say.
" Lord Arthur sounded bitter. "I think the old man didn't want to spend a groat on family.
It took my Mary to teach me how to make a family.
Praise God for her." He smiled at Catherine sadly.
Silence greeted this statement. Even the boys looked at him, their expressions sad. Catherine couldn't find words. He had mourned her mother these five years, never more than at Christmas.
It was the duchess who spoke next. Her words startled Catherine. "Lord Arthur, you make her sound like a wonderful woman. Why did your father disapprove of her? Why was he so adamant we should avoid the pair of you?"
Lord Arthur glanced at Catherine and appeared to come to a decision. "May as well tell it all. Time to heal." He took a deep breath. Catherine saw Will and the marquess exchange glances.
Lord Arthur went on without noticing the others.
"Mary had a child, of course, and wasn't married.
She ran to Scotland when she knew she had conceived.
She ran before I could stop her. It took me five years to find her, another four to set myself up to support her and Catherine, and a few more years to convince her.
Would have stayed in Scotland, but all I had to offer, Songbird Cottage, lay right next to Eversham Hall.
She hated coming back, but Emery let us be. Mary learned to love it."
Will spoke into the awkward silence, asking what they all wondered. "Lord Arthur, are you Catherine's natural father?" Catherine's heart cracked a little. She had wondered that very question much of her life. She wasn't sure she wanted to know, however, much less to find out in front of others.
Lord Arthur gave Catherine a look that widened the crack. "No. I wish I were. Emery forced Mary, the summer she turned sixteen."
The duchess gave a little cry. Catherine sank back into the settee. When Will came to sit next to her, she hardly noticed. Her attention belonged entirely to her father.
"Emery knew I loved Mary. He knew I planned to marry her. He did it to hurt me, but he almost destroyed her. M'father beat him when he found out what Emery did, but both of them wanted Mary gone. Wanted no shame on the Wheatly name, as if hiding her would cover what my brother did."
Catherine could not speak. When Will took her hand, she clung to his. She caught movement from the corner of her eye and saw Randy looking at Freddy as if asking for explanation. She had forgotten the boys were there. So, apparently had Lord Arthur.
All three boys had expressions filled with hurt and confusion.
Concern for the boys brought Catherine out of her stupor.
The boys obviously struggled to piece together what they had just heard.
Someone would have to give them blunt explanations she would rather they never had to hear.
She glanced up at Will and saw the same concern in his eyes when he looked at his nephew.
Charles broke the thick silence. He seized on a boy's simplest issue. "Does that mean Cath is my sister?"
"But she's our sister," Freddy insisted.
"We'll need some time to sort this out, but I think you're both right," She managed to sound reassuring.
"Interesting!" Charles exclaimed. "Having a sister will be good, won't it?"
The adults laughed nervously and assured him that it would be.