25. One Heartsick Woman, One Worried Friend
Chapter Twenty-Five
One Heartsick Woman, One Worried Friend
Meanwhile, in the parlor of Buxton House
Catherine paced in front of the fireplace, happy a maid had seen to setting a fire in it at some point that morning. The Rococo clock on the mantel chimed, and she winced at seeing it was only ten o’clock in the morning—far too early to be paying a call on anyone on a Sunday.
Eliza was breathless when she joined Catherine, a silk dressing gown tied at her waist and her brunette hair loose and hanging well past her shoulders. “Oh my, what has happened?” she asked, hurrying to embrace her friend.
Their last parting had not occurred on the best of terms, but Catherine was quick to return Eliza’s hug. “Oh, Eliza. Please forgive my early arrival. I—”
“You’re forgiven, of course,” Eliza interrupted. “Johnson is seeing to some tea for us,” she added. “Whatever has happened?” Her eyes suddenly rounded. “Oh, dear. You’re probably wondering why your father wasn’t at home last night.” A look of dismay crossed her face.
Catherine furrowed her brows. “I, uh, I didn’t even notice, truth be told,” she replied.
Although she had considered her own presence might be missed at Kingston House, apparently there hadn’t been anyone there to miss her.
“I take it he is… upstairs?” she guessed, well aware her cheeks were displaying a blush, and not from the cold she had experienced since leaving Matthew’s house.
Eliza waved her to the settee, and she reluctantly left the warmth of the hearth to join her friend there.
“He is. We had dinner here last night, and with the way the snow was falling…”
“You needn’t explain. I know you are in love with him,” Catherine said. “That you’ll be married soon. I am happy for you,” she added.
Dipping her head, Eliza’s sigh sounded of relief. “I’ve been so worried. So upset with what happened a few days ago.”
“You needn’t be,” Catherine assured her. “Much has happened since.”
A look of realization crossed Eliza’s face. “You met the earl?”
Catherine blinked several times. “How—?”
“Your father told me. Only early this morning, though. He… well, it seems he met with that matchmaker we talked about on your behalf,” she stammered.
“Please don’t be angry with him. He merely wants you married, and, well, I do, too.
If only because I wish for you to be happy and…
.” She paused when tears dripped down Catherine’s cheeks. “Oh, dear. What’s happened?”
Catherine pulled a hanky from her pocket and wiped her nose. “I think I’ve fallen in love with him,” she admitted in a whisper.
Eliza’s eyes once again rounded, but she was obviously struggling to hide a grin. “Well, isn’t that… isn’t that a good thing?” she asked.
Catherine sniffled. “It would be if he weren’t an earl,” she replied.
“Oh, Cathy,” Eliza sighed. “You would hold a title against a man you love?”
Scrunching her eyes closed, Catherine nodded. “Can’t you see how hypocritical it would be? For me to marry a peer of the realm when I’ve been so vocal against the aristocracy?”
Eliza waved a dismissive hand at the same moment Johnson appeared with a tea tray. She busied herself with preparing the cups. “If you’re concerned about those people who attend the literary events your father is always hosting—”
“I am.”
“—you needn’t be. You know damned well every one of them would choose the life of a blue blood if it was offered,” she claimed, whispering the curse word.
Catherine’s mouth dropped open, but no sound came out.
“Is your earl even one of those who has a seat in the House of Lords?”
“He is.”
“Does he attend Parliament when it’s in session?”
“He does.”
“Oh.” The word carried the hint of disappointment. “So I suppose he’s perfectly suited to being an aristocrat,” Eliza said on a long sigh.
Shaking her head, Catherine was quick to defend Matthew. “Actually, he’s not. He would prefer there only be a House of Commons,” she countered. “And no monarchy,” she added in a whisper.
Eliza blinked several times and poured herself another cup of tea after refilling Catherine’s cup. “Well, it seems you have found a man worthy of you,” she said brightly.
“I didn’t find him,” Catherine argued. “Mrs. Dove-Lyon…” She swallowed the rest of what she was about to say. “Oh, dear.”
“What is it?”
Tears once again collected in the corners of her eyes, and Catherine lifted the hanky to her face. “I was so angry with her. I was ready to… to pay a call on her today and… and scold her for matching me to Matthew.”
“Matthew?” Eliza straightened, her face displaying a brilliant smile. “The earl, you mean?”
Catherine nodded. “Matthew Higby. He’s the Earl of Wingfield,” she said. “His farmlands are in Berkshire.”
Frowning so a fold of skin appeared between her dark brows, Eliza said, “I suppose this means you won’t be in London very often.”
“We’re getting a bit ahead of ourselves,” Catherine cautioned. “I’m afraid I left him with the impression I could not marry him.”
“Did he already ask?” Once again, Eliza’s face brightened. “Because you’re always supposed to say ‘no’ at least once before you agree to marriage,” she claimed.
“Is that what you did with my father?” Catherine asked in surprise.
Eliza immediately sobered. “Actually, I accepted his offer quite heartily. I did not with Mr. Buxton, however. He had to ask me three times.” She held up three fingers to emphasize her claim.
Catherine rolled her eyes. “I think I hurt him. Especially after he was so generous about… about everything.”
“Generous?” Eliza repeated. “About what?”
Her cheeks reddening with the reminder of what Matthew had done to her the night before, Catherine dipped her head. Instead of mentioning their bout of lovemaking, she said, “He offered me a salon in his townhouse for me to use as an office. For my own publishing company.”
“What’s this?”
Catherine and Eliza both inhaled sharply, their attentions darting to the parlor door. Cornelius stood there, fully dressed and looking dapper as usual.
“Father,” Catherine said, coming to her feet.
“Good morning, Cornelius,” Eliza said happily. “Would you like a cup of tea?”
“None for me,” he said, making his way towards them until he was standing in front of Catherine. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “I, um, apologize for not having gone home last night. I didn’t mean to cause you to undo worry.”
“The snow. Yes, I know,” Catherine said. “I’m happy to see you are safe,” she added.
“I do hope you didn’t come here by way of a hackney,” he said, waiting until they had retaken their seats before he settled into an upholstered chair.
“I didn’t. Lord Wingfield was kind enough to bring me here in his town coach.”
“Lord Wingfield?” His face screwed into one of confusion.
“The man who Mrs. Dove-Lyon arranged for me to meet,” she clarified. “Surely she told you, since you are the one who arranged for her services.” Churlishness sounded in her voice.
“I wasn’t aware she had already made a match,” he claimed, although his look of guilt was evident.
“Other than the fact that he’s an earl, he’s quite perfect for me,” she went on. “Why, I would not have expected a potential husband to be so accepting of my plan to start to my own publishing company.”
“About that—”
“With an office here in London as well as in Berkshire,” she continued, allowing spite to sound in her voice.
“But… but why?” he asked in dismay.
“You’ve made it very apparent you have no intention of hiring me at Kingston Publishing, and you’re to marry my best friend with the hope of siring an heir who will inherit the company. Where does that leave me?” she asked rhetorically.
“I never said you weren’t going to inherit the company,” he countered.
Catherine blinked. “Then why haven’t you hired me?”
“You don’t need work there to know how to do what I do as a publisher,” he claimed. “Do you honestly think I know everyone’s jobs? How to do their duties?”
Surprised, she scoffed. “Yes.”
He chuckled softly. “My darling daughter, I do not,” he stated. “The people in those positions have had them for years. Should they ever leave my employ, I will simply hire a replacement who already knows how to do their position.”
Catherine and Eliza exchanged quick glances. “What if I don’t wish to wait?” she asked. “What if… what if I want to start my own company?”
He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “I suppose it would be up to your husband.”
Gasping softly, Catherine once again glanced over at Eliza. “What of my marriage portion?” she challenged.
“Well, I expect to sign a marriage contract with whomever asks me for your hand in marriage.” He pulled a calling card out of his waistcoat pocket. “Mayhap as soon as this afternoon,” he added thoughtfully.
“What?” Catherine asked in surprise.
“Which is why I came to find you, my dearest.” He turned his attention on Eliza. “My sweet, I fear I must leave you now. It seems I have a contract I need to draw up prior to three o’clock.”
Eliza moued. “You’ll return for dinner tonight, though, won’t you?”
“I would not miss it,” he said, his brows dancing suggestively.
Catherine scoffed. “I’m sitting right here.”
“Oh, you’re invited, too,” Eliza said. “Although, I can’t help but wonder if you won’t be otherwise engaged.” She waggled her dark brows.
Her cheeks once again burning with embarrassment, Catherine finished off her tea. “Seeing as how I need a ride home, I, too, must take my leave of you,” she said to Eliza. “Thank you for your hospitality.”
Eliza sighed happily. “You’re very welcome. Do have a good day.”
Catherine departed Buxton House on the arm of her father as a footman finished sweeping the snow from the pavement leading to their coach.