24. One Title, One Upset Woman #2
“Thank you for breakfast,” she said. “If you could be so kind as to give my regards to your cook for the chocolate. It was delicious.”
“I will. I’m quite sure she was happy to do it,” he replied. “The coach is being readied for us. I’ll escort you home,” he said. Before she could put voice to a protest, he added, “I don’t want you out there in a hackney by yourself.”
Catherine nodded. “I appreciate it, my lord,” she replied, donning her mantle and hat.
“Matthew, please,” he murmured. “I don’t want there to be any formality betwixt us.”
Dipping her head, Catherine placed her arm on his and the two descended the stairs.
A few minutes later, they were trudging from the front door through the new-fallen snow to the Wingfield town coach.
“I cannot believe I did not notice the coat of arms on the door before,” she commented, before the driver had a chance to open it. She allowed him to assist her up the step.
“It’s rather faded,” Matthew remarked, directing a quelling glance at the driver. He had wanted to be the one to help her into the coach.
“I would like to go to Buxton House,” she said suddenly, her statement directed to the driver. “In Green Street.”
“Yes, my lady. I’ll have you there in a few minutes,” he replied.
Catherine winced at the hearing the my lady, understanding now why Matthew’s servants had addressed her so. She settled into the squabs in the direction of travel before Matthew bounded into the coach and took the bench opposite.
“Please don’t be angry with me,” he pleaded, after he had taken his seat and the coach had set off through the blanket of snow covering South Audley Street.
She blinked several times and shook her head. “I am not angry,” she replied, although the tone of her voice suggested she was close to it. I am disappointed. I am heartbroken. I am not angry. If she repeated that enough, perhaps it would be true no matter how furious she was.
Matthew sighed and glanced out the window. This early in the morning, the fresh snow was still white and reflected as silver glitter in the morning light. By the afternoon, it would be gray with soot, and the street would be awash with slush.
When he awoke, he had imagined spending the day with Catherine, reading in bed as they enjoyed tea and biscuits with the crackle and pops of a wood fire in the fireplace.
Perhaps they would have discussed plans for her company.
Come up with a name and how it would be announced to the literary crowd.
The thoughts had his melancholy changing to despair.
“The offer of the salon for your office still stands,” he said, hoping by putting voice to some grace, she might change her mind on the marriage front.
“I hardly think it proper,” she replied, her gaze directed out one of the coach windows. From the look of sadness she displayed, Matthew knew she was as heartsick as he was. She had to be.
“Please consider it,” he urged. “I truly wish for you to succeed. If I can contribute in any way, I should be happy to do so.”
She nodded. “Thank you,” she replied. “That’s terribly kind of you.”
“Catherine, I…” The coach suddenly stopped, and Mathew frowned as he glanced out the window.
“This is Buxton House,” she said. “Thank you for the ride, my lord,” she added.
“What if Mrs. Buxton isn’t here?” he asked.
Catherine gave a start. She hadn’t considered Eliza would spend the night at Kingston House, but it was a possibility. “Then I suppose I will need a ride to Kingston House.”
“I’ll wait… to be sure,” he offered, not about to tell her he would be going there next. He stepped out of the coach and offered a hand to help her down. “I’m not giving up,” he said in a whisper, taking her hand to his lips. “I love you, Catherine.”
She gave a start and dipped her head in acknowledgment. “Thank you, my lord… Matthew.” Pulling her hand from his grip, she hurried to stand between the wrought iron fences above the area in front of the door to Buxton House. She lifted the brass mermaid and knocked several times.
Matthew watched from where he stood next to the coach until a butler finally opened the door and stepped aside to allow her entry.
Once the door closed, Matthew sighed in frustration. “Kingston House in Westminster,” he said to his driver.
“Aye, my lord.”
Before Matthew stepped back into the coach, he lifted his gaze to the upper story windows of the townhouse.
He was sure he saw an older gentleman staring out one of the second-story windows and remembered what Catherine had told him about her father and her best friend.
“Mr. Kingston, you dog,” he murmured to himself.
Still holding the coach door, his driver said, “My lord?”
“Stay with the coach. You can wait inside it to keep warm,” Matthew instructed before he made to the front door of Buxton House, silently scolding himself for what he was about to do.
The butler answered the door far more quickly for him than he had for Catherine.
“Good morning. This may seem… untoward, but I wondered if a Mr. Kingston might be in residence?”
Blinking, the servant regarded him with suspicion, his gaze going from his boots to his hat before he said, “Who should I say is calling?”
“Lord Wingfield. I don’t wish to disturb him, though.”
The butler stepped aside. “Do you wish to wait, my lord?”
“No. If you could be so good as to deliver him a written note, though?” He reached into his waistcoat pocket and extracted a calling card. “I’ll write the note and pay a call on him at his place of residence. Might you have a pencil?”
Quick to offer one from his pocket, the butler indicated a caryatid in the hall he could use.
Turning over the calling card, Matthew wrote a quick note on the back. “See to it he gets this, please? And if you’ll not mention this to your mistress, I would appreciate it.” He fished one of the coins he still had in his pocket and handed it to the servant.
“Uh, of course, my lord.” When the butler noticed Matthew’s gaze had gone to the top of the stairs, he added, “Mrs. Buxton’s caller insisted she be allowed to wait for Mrs. Buxton in the parlor, my lord.”
“As long as Miss Kingston is safe,” Matthew murmured. “I’ll take my leave now.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Matthew finally tore his gaze from the top of the stairs and took his leave of Buxton House.
With any luck, Mr. Kingston would be at his home at three o’clock that afternoon. Although he desperately wanted to meet with the man that very moment, Matthew didn’t want to cause him any undo embarrassment.
Especially since he would be requesting to be the man’s son-in-law.