Regency Historical - Love And The Single Heiress Part 24

Catherine frowned. "No, but-"

"Perhaps you are worrying for naught. Perhaps all he wants is a long-standing affair."

"Which is unfortunate as I was, and am, only willing to engage in a short-lived affair."

Genevieve nodded slowly. "Yes, well perhaps that is best. After all, a prolonged affair would entail spending more time together, which in turn could lead to those feelings that might leave one devastated when the affair ended."

"Exactly."

"Best to cut things off before there is any risk of developing a deeper attachment."

"Precisely."

"After all, except for in the biblical sense, you barely know Mr. Stanton."

"Correct."

"What do you know of his background? His family? His upbringing? His life in America?"

"Nothing,"Catherine answered, relaxing a bit. Finally, this conversation was on the proper course.

Genevieve frowned. "Although... you were very well acquainted with Lord Bickley before he asked for your hand, were you not?"

A warning bell chimed in the back of Catherine's mind. "Our families were well acquainted, yes," she admitted.

"Indeed, I recall you mentioning that you'd known him nearly your entire life, is that not correct?"

"Yes."

"And you believed that he was a decent, kind, loving man."

Catherine frowned. "I see what you are trying to do, Genevieve, but what you are saying only serves to prove my point. Yes, when I married Bertrand-a man I'd known my entire life-I believed us well matched. I thought him kind and decent. And although I did not harbor any deep, heartrending emotion toward him, I felt respect and an affection that I was confident would bloom into an abiding love. I honestly cared for him. And look how disastrously my marriage turned out. If I'm capable of so misjudging a man I'd known for years, how could I hope to properly judge a man with whom I'm barely acquainted?"

Genevieve searched her gaze for several seconds then said, "I shall give you an honest answer to that question Catherine. Lord Bickely was cosseted and fussed over his entire privileged life. I'd wager to say that if Spencer had been born perfect, you and your viscount would have maintained a formal, friendly union, without either of you ever developing any 'deep' or 'heartrending' emotions toward one another. It was when adversity was thrown at your husband that he showed his true character."

"I wholeheartedly agree. My father has often said that how a man handles difficulties is the true test of his worth."

"And look how Mr. Stanton has handled himself since arriving in London. He has remained steadfast and loyal to your brother and their museum project. He kept a calm, cool head, protecting you and administering aid when you were hurt. He set his own concerns aside to escort you to Little Longstone to ensure your safety. He has taken the time to develop a relations.h.i.+p with your son. He is not a pampered aristocrat, but a man who has made himself. In the short time you've known him, you've shared more intimacies with him than you did with your husband of ten years. That is how you know what sort of man he is."

Catherine closed her eyes and pressed her fingertips against her temples. "Why are you saying these things? I came here hoping you'd help me see things more clearly."

"That is precisely what I am attempting to do. I believe the problem is that I am not saying the things you wish to hear."

She lowered her hands into her lap and offered a weak smile. "No, you're not."

"Because I'm your friend. Because I don't want you to make a mistake that you'll regret the rest of your life. Because not facing the truth, not listening to your heart is more damaging, more hurtful than any other pain. And I do not think you've really examined your heart in this matter, Catherine. You're afraid to do so, which, given your past, is completely understandable. Indeed, I would be frightened as well were I in your position. But you must try to put your fears aside. You were denied happiness for so long, my dear.

Don't deny yourself again."

"But don't you see, I'm not denying myself! I wanted a lover, so I took one. I don't want a husband, so I won't take one. There are precisely four reasons why a woman should marry." She ticked the items off on her fingers as she said, "To increase her fortune, to better her social standing, to have a child, or if she requires someone to take care of her. As I am financially secure, am high enough in precedence, already have a child, and do not require someone to take care of me, I've absolutely no need or desire for a husband."

"There is a fifth reason for a woman to marry, darling."

"What's that?"

"Love. But since you're obviously not in love-"

"I'm not."

"Well, that's that."

"Yes, it is. I'm happy, Genevieve." As for examining her heart, she'd done so thoroughly enough. She'd certainly delved as deeply as she intended to.

For several seconds, Genevieve said nothing, just treated Catherine to an unreadable look. Then she smiled.

"I'm glad you're happy, darling. And very relieved that you won't be suffering a broken heart. And obviously you know what is best for you. And Spencer." "Thank you. And yes, I do." Yet even as she said the words, Catherine had the sneaking suspicion that she'd agreed to something she should not have.

"Now tell me dear, whom do you think you'll take as your next lover?"

Catherine blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"Your next lover. Do you think you'd prefer an older, more experienced man? Or perhaps a das.h.i.+ng young Brummel sort you could easily bend to your will?"

A most unpleasant sensation prowled over her skin at the thought of another man touching her. Before she could reply, Genevieve mused, "And I wonder what sort of woman will next warm Mr. Stanton's bed? I'm certain he won't be lonely for long. Heavens, you saw how the duke's nieces all but salivated at the sight of him. And London is positively littered with gorgeous, sophisticated women looking for a distraction from their daily lives. Mr. Stanton would certainly provide a lovely distraction."

Heat suffused Catherine's body. An impossibly unpleasant sensation prowled over her skin at the thought of another woman touching Andrew. She narrowed her eyes at Genevieve, who regarded her with the innocence of an angel. "I know what you are doing, Genevieve."

Her friend smiled. "Is it working?"

Yes. "No!" She jumped to her feet, a myriad of emotions pummeling her. Confusion. Frustration.

Anguish. Fear. Jealousy. And anger. Her hands clenched, and she tried to decide if she was more angry with Genevieve for goading her, at Andrew for bringing all these unsettling feelings into her life, or at herself for allowing the situation to evolve into this.

"I don't care who his next lover might be," she fumed, anger convincing her she spoke the truth. "Nor do I know who mine will be. But I'm certain I'll find someone. Why should I be alone?"

"Why indeed?"

Genevieve's complacency only further served to fuel Catherine's ire. Determination stiffened her spine. "Exactly. I shouldn't be alone, nor do I intend to be." Reaching down, she picked up her reticule. "Thank you, Genevieve, for this chat. It has proven most... enlightening."

"Always glad to help, my dear."

"Now, if you'll please excuse me, there is someone I must call upon."

Something that looked like worry flickered in Genevieve's eyes, but was instantly replaced with her normal insouciance. "Of course. Shall I see you out?"

"No, thank you. I know the way."

And I know exactly where I'm going.

Andrew stood a bit apart from Mr. Carmichael, Lords Borthrasher and Kingsly, and Mrs. Warrenfield, waiting for them visually to a.s.sess the museum's damage. Finally, they turned toward him, each bearing grim expressions.

"This is dreadful," Mrs. Warrenfield murmured in her deep, raspy voice, her words partially m.u.f.fled by her black veil.

"A frightful mess," Lord Borthrasher agreed, his lip curled with distaste, his cold, vulturelike stare skimming over the room.

Lord Kingsly's beady eyes narrowed, and he folded his arms over his paunch. "Never seen the likes of this."

"Looks to me like it might take even longer than the two months you've estimated to put this back to rights," Mr. Carmichael said, slowly stroking his chin, drawing Andrew's attention to the man's intricate gold ring bearing a square-cut diamond surrounded by onyx. Carmichael then clasped his hands behind his back and glared at Andrew. "Have you nothing to say, Mr. Stanton?"

Andrew's gaze encompa.s.sed the group. "I am confident that two months will be sufficient time. I've spoken with the glazier regarding new windowpanes, and additional workers have been hired on to re-lay the floor. Barring any unforeseen problems, we will be fully caught up in two months' time."

"You mean barring any further unforeseen disasters," Lord Kingsly said. "Have the scoundrels who did this damage been apprehended?"

"Not yet."

"And it is most likely they won't be caught," Mr. Carmichael added with a scowl. "I'm appalled at the abundance of crime I've witnessed since arriving in London only a few short weeks ago. Pickpockets and thieves abound everywhere, even in the best parts of the city. Why, it was only a matter of days ago that Lady Catherine was shot-in the supposedly safe section of Mayfair."

"The man responsible for that crime has been caught- much in thanks to your efforts, Mr. Carmichael," Andrew reminded him. "It is true that criminals exist in England, but unfortunately they are everywhere." He offered the man a half smile. "Even in America."

"A fact of which I a.s.sure you I am aware," Mr. Carmichael said in a frosty voice.

"Footpads everywhere," Lord Kingsly chimed in. "Can't trust anyone nowadays."

"I completely agree," Mr. Carmichael said, his narrowed gaze never leaving Andrew's. "Tell me, Mr. Stanton, what guarantees do we, or any of the other investors have, that something like this won't happen again?"

"Good heavens," Mrs. Warrenfield said. "Again?"

"Certainly possible," Lord Kingsly interjected before Andrew could reply, "especially as the perpetrators haven't been caught. Probably some sort of game to them. Recall something similar occurring a few years back to Sir Whitscour's renovations on his Surrey estate."

"I remember that," Lord Borthrasher agreed, lifting his pointed chin. "The minute Sir Whitscour set things back to rights, they were destroyed all over again. Might have a similar situation here."

"I give you my word that steps will be taken to ensure the museum suffers no further damage. We'll hire additional guards to patrol the perimeter," he said.

"All well and good," Mr. Carmichael said, "but I understand from the magistrate that the museum was already under guard, and that your man was rendered senseless by the vandals. Regardless of how many guards you might employ, they would be no match against a potential gang of evildoers." He shook his head. "I'm afraid, Mr. Stanton, that what I've seen here, coupled with what I heard last evening, convinces me that investing in your museum is not a risk I'm willing to take."

"What you heard last evening?" Andrew asked. "What are you talking about?"

"Rumors concerning the financial security-or rather lack thereof-of this museum enterprise were running rampant at the soiree I attended. As were questions regarding the authenticity of some of the relics you and Lord Greybourne claim to possess."

Andrew forced his features to remain perfectly settled while anger shot through him. "I've no idea how such vicious rumors started, but I'm surprised that you would pay heed to such ridiculous gossip, Mr. Carmichael. I a.s.sure you that the museum is in sound financial shape. I'd be happy to show you, all of you, the accounts as proof. As for the relics, they have all been authenticated by experts attached to the British Museum."

The chill did not leave Mr. Carmichael's eyes. "I do not wish to see the accounts, as this project is no longer of any interest or consequence to me. I'm only thankful that I'd yet actually to sink any funds into this folly." He turned to his companions and bowed. "You three should, of course, make your own decisions regarding this matter. Lords Avenbury and Ferrymouth, and the Duke of Kelby anxiously wait to hear what we've seen here today, and I'm guessing they will not find the report favorable."

"Easy for you to walk away, Carmichael," Lord Borthrasher grumbled. "It's too late for me. I've already handed over five hundred pounds."

"An investment that will prove profitable once-" Andrew began.

" 'Fraid I'm with Carmichael on this one," Lord Kingsly said. "Greybourne's a good man, but 'tis clear his interest in the museum has waned since his marriage, and I'm not eager to throw away any money. My wife does that quite well enough already."

"I must concur with the gentlemen," Mrs. Warrenfield said, her husky voice filled with regret. "I'm truly sorry, Mr. Stanton, but as you know, my health is quite fragile. It simply would be too much for my delicate state to be constantly worrying about not receiving any return on my investment."

Andrew gritted his teeth. He could see by their expressions that no amount of cajoling on his part would change their minds-at least not today. "I see. While I understand your concerns, I a.s.sure you they are groundless. When the repairs are completed, I hope you will reconsider."

Their expressions withered any hope of that outcome. After bidding him good day, they left as a group, and Andrew dragged his hand down his face. b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l. Lord Kinglsy and Mrs. Warrenfield had each hinted at investing one thousand pounds. Yet losing that wasn't nearly as crus.h.i.+ng a blow as losing the five thousand pounds Mr. Carmichael had expressed interest in investing. And how many other potential investors would follow their lead and retreat? He suspected Avenbury, Ferrymouth, and Kelby would follow like sheep. He'd hoped to have some good news to relay when he wrote to Philip this evening, but unfortunately good news was proving difficult to come by.

He blew out a long sigh and raked his hands through his hair in frustration. Vandalism, harmful rumors, deserting investors-any one of these problems could spell disaster. The combination of all of them boded very poorly for the future of the museum, which in turn did not bode well for Andrew's personal finances, which were largely invested in the project. Now, more than ever, he needed the handsome reward offered to him by Lords Markingworth, Whitly, and Carweather for discovering Charles Brightmore's ident.i.ty. He could only pray that the reward would not prove to be out of his reach.

Seeing that the cleaning procedures were under control, he decided it was high time he devoted some effort to the Brightmore endeavor. After telling Simon that he'd return in several hours, Andrew left the museum.

One way or another, he would find the answers he sought.

Chapter 17.

Matters concerning love and affairs of the heart are very much like military campaigns. Strategy is key with each move carefully planned so as not to fall victim to potential ambushes. If, however, in the pursuit of her intimate goals, Today's Modern Woman finds herself in a situation that reeks of failure, she should not hesitate to do what many military men have done in the past: retreat with all possible haste.

A Ladies' Guide to the Pursuit of Personal Happiness and Intimate Fulfillment by Charles Brightmore Catherine strode up the neatly swept walkway leading to the modest cottage nestled cozily in the shade cast by a copse of towering elms, driven by an overwhelming combination of anger, confusion, and desperation she barely understood. Muted sounds drifted toward her from the back of the fieldstone residence including a sheep's plaintive baa and the quacking of several ducks.

As she raised her hand to knock, a deep voice hailed her. "Lady Catherine, h.e.l.lo."

She turned. Dr. Oliver walked toward her, his face wreathed in a surprised smile. Tucked under one arm, he cradled a small, snorting pig.

"A new patient, Dr. Oliver?" she asked, hoping her return smile did not appear forced.

He laughed. "No, she's payment from my last patient. I was just rea.s.suring her not to worry-I'm not overly fond of bacon."

"I'm certain she's much relieved."

He held the baby pig at arm's length, and asked, very seriously, "Are you much relieved?"

A series of snorts met his question, and he nodded. "Glad to hear it." He nonchalantly tucked the pig back into the crook of his arm, then made Catherine a formal bow. "What brings you to my humble abode? No one is ill, I hope?"

"No, we're all very well, thank you. I'm here to make a request."

"And it will be my honor and pleasure to grant it. If you'll wait here for just a moment while I settle my little friend in the pen in the back, we can go inside."

Standing in the shade offered by one of the elms, Catherine watched him disappear behind the cottage. He reappeared less than a minute later, and she carefully observed him approach. There was no denying that Dr. Oliver was handsome. Very handsome. From a strictly aesthetic viewpoint, certainly far more handsome than Mr. Stanton, who, with his rugged features and crooked nose was better described as "attractive."

For the first time, she noted the breadth of the doctor's shoulders. The trimness of his waist. The length of his muscular legs outlined in his snug breeches. The smoothness of his gait. With his sun-streaked brown hair and hazel eyes, he was just the sort of man to set a female heart to flutter. The fact that her heart was not fluttering only added to her desperation and strengthened her resolve. It would flutter soon enough.

When they entered his small, but tastefully furnished drawing room, he asked, "Would you like some tea, Lady Catherine?"