Chapter 8 #2
Sylvia rose and bustled to the bell pull.
"I think we need refreshments," she said, with a tight smile.
Catherine could see that her hands shook.
As sick as Catherine felt about what her own mother endured, she regretted that Sylvia had to go through yet more pain over the behavior of her despicable husband.
How on earth will I ever face her again? How can I face any of them?
"I don't think I can manage food," Catherine said, rising. "You will understand I've had a shock, and I feel unwell. I'll bid you good night." She spoke rapidly and tried not to run out the door.
Will caught her as she reached the doorway. "Catherine, I know this is a shock, but isn't it better to know?"
She nodded, fighting tears and trying to tug free.
"We'll manage this fine. When we're married, it won't matter in the slightest."
Married? Merciful angels! She pulled free then and ran. She ran like her life depended on it. Perhaps it did.
* * *
"I thought I might find you here." Glenaire spoke as he sank into a leather chair in Eversham Hall's study, a male bastion of dark leather, lingering cigar smoke, and unread books.
Will grunted and drained another glass of brandy. He reached for the bottle and found it empty. "Ring for another one. There's a good fellow."
"Rather rushed your fences back there."
"I made a mull of it. Tomorrow, I have to go back to the beginning and court her all over again. She never even opened her gift."
"What was it?"
"Silk gloves, useless on a farm. I meant to tell her there's more to life than Songbird. That probably wouldn't have gone well, either."
"Did you follow her?"
"To her room? What do you take me for? The lady wanted to be alone."
"Did you at least tell her you love her?"
Will choked. "The Marble Marquess suggests sweet words of love to court a lady? I thought you believed love matches disgrace the participants and taint noble families with weakness."
Glenaire shrugged. "You want what you think your parents had: home, hearth, and love of the land. You don't need a dynastic marriage."
"Like you do?"
Glenaire acknowledged the truth with an inclination of his head.
"Oh, God, Will!" Sylvia burst into the men's refuge and threw herself at her brother. He hardly had time to register that she had called him by his Christian name, when she told him, "He's gone. Charles has run off!"
Chadbourn calmed her enough to get the story. She went up to the nursery to say goodnight to her son. "I mean to do it every night now. Emery said it made him weak but—"
"Easy, Sylvia. You went up, and then what?"
"His bed lay empty. And I found this." She thrust a scrap of foolscap into his hand.
Mother, don't worry. Catherine ran away, and it is my job to protect her. I will find her and bring her back.
Charles
Will looked at Glenaire. "Catherine bolted. I have to go after her."
"Charles is out there in the dark, Will. You have to find him," Sylvia cried, clutching his lapels.
The marquess pulled Sylvia away from Will. "Go," he said. "I'll look after Her Grace." Glenaire grimaced while the duchess wept into his pristine neckcloth. "Shall we ring for tea, Your Grace?" he asked.
* * *
Catherine hugged Charles to herself. They stood in Songbird's barn, where Catherine helped rub down Lady Guinevere.
"You were brave to ride here, Charles."
"I had to. I had to. I didn't care if I fell. You ran away, and I had to tell you I'm glad you're my sister. Glad. Please give it time, Catherine. I promise to be a good brother. Maybe it won't be so bad to be my sister. Truly." In the damp night, his voice sounded thick and desperate.
"You thought I left because I didn't want to be your sister?"
"My father wasn't a good man. He did bad things. I don't blame you for being sorry he's your real papa." He swiped at his cheeks.
"Oh, Charles, that part doesn't matter. Your uncle Arthur is my real papa in every way that matters, and he's a very good man. I have a good life here at Songbird Cottage."
"You don't have to live at Eversham Hall! I'd rather live at Songbird, too. Do you think Lord Arthur would let me?"
Catherine smiled into the gloom. "Your mama needs you, I think. You've begun to make her smile again. You can visit, though, whenever you want, and I can visit the hall, too." When Will isn't there. I won't be able to bear it when he is.
"But, Cath," he said, and her smile deepened at his use of the boys' affectionate nickname, "Uncle Will likes you too. I know he does. I heard him tell Lord Arthur he wants you all to visit Chadbourn Park. I thought maybe… that is… don't people's families visit when people are betrothed?"
Oh, dear. She sighed deeply, and when she spoke, she meant the words for her own heart, as much as for her newfound brother. "Listen to me, Charles. Your Uncle Will is an earl."
"You are the daughter of a duke," he said stubbornly.
"You're old enough to understand that children born outside marriage are not well received in society. I'm called 'baseborn.'"
The boy started to speak, but she silenced him with a finger to his mouth.
"Besides that, I have no dowry, no property, and no consequence to bring to marriage.
Your Uncle Will needs a woman who brings prestige to Chadbourn Park.
I can't." The bigger problem stuck in her throat.
He needs a woman who knows how to be a countess. I don't.
Charles started, as if a sudden thought struck him. "Is that why you ran?"
"I didn't run. I just missed my home."
"You ran," he accused. "Uncle Will says only cowards run."
The sound of a carriage rattling down the lane interrupted them, followed by the sound of several people scrambling out.
"The house is dark. Randy, you check it anyway," a familiar voice called. "Freddy, look in the garden. I'll check the barn."
Will! She looked around frantically. "Charles, go tell your uncle all is well. Tell him I just need to be alone. Do it now."
The boy ran as if to obey, but she had no more than sunk deeper into the shadows when his voice, muffled by the slats of the door, reached her. "She's in the barn, Uncle Will. She thinks she wants to be alone, but I think you need to talk to her."
Catherine scrambled up the ladder to the loft, scooted through the stored hay, and sat against the wall. She pulled her knees up protectively. I love him. God help me. I love him, but I can't face him.
She heard the door open, and Will's firm tread pace the length of the barn, lantern light marking his progress. Silence followed, but her heart pounded so loudly, it echoed in her ears. She dropped her head to her knees and closed her eyes.
"Catherine," a soft voice said, startling her with its nearness. Will's head looked over the top of the ladder. He lifted the lantern and put it in the loft. The light flickering off his hair lit up the golden highlights. "Did I frighten you so badly? Did I go too fast?"
"You aren't thinking," she replied. "You can't marry me."
"Why not?" He pulled himself into the loft and placed the lantern securely on a nail that extended from a beam. "I'm unwed. I'm in possession of all my teeth and body parts. I can support a wife." He stood several feet from her.
"I am the baseborn daughter of a country scholar, who knows more about egg production than formal dinner etiquette."
"It's easier for you to learn how to set a table than for some society chit to learn egg production." He took a step closer.
She tried to scoot farther back, but the wall at her back held her in place. She scowled at his attempt at humor. "Your best friend is one of the most powerful men in England. His mother—"
"—is the worst sort of society dragon. I didn't let the Duchess of Sudbury tell me who to befriend when I was twelve, and I'm not about to start now. Neither does Glenaire. She means nothing."
He came two steps closer. "I love you," he whispered. "I've dared hope you return the sentiment."
"Of course I love you, you daft man. Who wouldn't? That doesn't signify."
"On the contrary, Catherine. It matters a great deal, so much, that nothing else does. If you can love my poor self, why can't you marry me?" In the lamplight, he looked like a puzzled boy, with tousled hair and a rumpled jacket.
His jacket! Her eyes widened when he removed it and tossed it on a pile of hay.
She watched in fascination while he unwound his neck-cloth, tossed it the same way, and stretched his neck and shoulders.
"That's better," he said, coming closer.
"Why, Catherine? Tell me the real reason.
" He took one more step, so that he stood so close he could reach down and touch her.
"I can't be a countess," she wailed. "I can't. You're an earl, and I can't be your countess." She couldn't take her eyes from the spot at his neck where his shirt gaped open. When he went down on one knee in front of her, her heart beat erratically.
"What—"
He put a finger to her mouth. "Quiet," he said firmly. He took her hand.
"Miss Wheatly, having established that you cannot marry an earl, may I ask you to marry a farmer? I'm a much better farmer than I am an earl."
She stared, open-mouthed.
"I beg you, Miss Wheatly. My two thousand acres, my under-producing hens, and my fading rose garden need you. I need you. I need a companion. I need a partner. I need a lover. Will you marry me?"
She swallowed hard. "Under-producing hens?"
"Badly," he said, his eyes holding hers.
Lost in those eyes, she couldn't find her voice.
Neither moved, until at last Will growled, "Damn it, Catherine," and pulled her to him.
The movement unbalanced both of them, and they tumbled into the hay.
His mouth found hers, and he kissed her hungrily.
She ran her hands into his hair, but couldn't pull him close enough.
She wanted to crawl inside him. She wanted to touch him everywhere at once. She wanted… him.
When he tore his mouth away, she whimpered and tried to connect her lips to his. "Say it," he demanded, pulling his head to the side. "Say 'I'll marry you, Will.'"
"I'll marry you, Will," she murmured, moving in to kiss him. She could feel his smile under her mouth.
Voices drifted through the loft window. "We need to test the angel part again, Randy. Get the goat," Freddy called.
"Do we use a pulley?" Charles asked.
When Will's hands began to move over her, reality faded away.
This time, Rosalinda the goat is on her own. With that last coherent thought, she sank into the love of her farmer earl.