Chapter One: Captain David Demery

The knock at the front door disturbed Cate from her shallow doze, but she was too weary to answer it, so she only lay in bed with her eyes shut, listening for the sound of Miss Skinner’s footsteps going to answer it. Silence. Miss Skinner was no doubt too proud to answer the door herself, and the manservant had taken the maid-of-all-work to the village to buy the weekly groceries. Well, let the visitor go away then, whoever they were. The vicar, perhaps, on his weekly ministerial visit, or a travelling salesman with some knick-knack she did not want and could not afford anyway.

As Cate was drifting back to sleep, the knock came again. Miss Skinner’s footsteps sounded at last from downstairs, sharp with irritation. The low vibration of a man’s voice came distantly to Cate. She rolled over and buried her face in the pillow. Miss Skinner would get rid of him. Miss Skinner was very good at getting rid of people.

Instead, however, there were more sounds from below: doors opening and closing, the creak of the stairs, footsteps. Then Cate’s bedroom door swung open.

“There is a visitor for you,” Miss Skinner said, in the same tone as she used to say, ‘There is cod liver oil after supper’.

“Make him wait. Come back later,” Cate murmured sleepily.

“It is Captain Demery.”

Drowsiness blunted the terror of the name but did not kill it entirely. Cate opened her eyes, the faded counterpane and peeling wallpaper coming blurrily into view. Slowly, she sat up, rubbing her face. She was dizzy and heavy with sleep. Demery. Captain David Demery. Her heart raced unpleasantly.

“Why is he here?”

“He did not tell me.” Miss Skinner ran her squinty gaze over Cate. “You will need to arrange yourself before you meet him.”

Cate ran her hand through her hair, wincing as she caught at a snarl. “Right. Can you offer him tea?”

“I do not make tea, Miss Balley,” Miss Skinner said coldly. “I am not a maidservant.”

“I’m sorry. Never mind. Can you tell him to wait?”

Perhaps he would not wait. Perhaps he would go away without seeing her. Somehow, Cate doubted it.

Miss Skinner left the room without a word or a gesture. Cate crawled out of bed and went to her dressing table. She avoided looking at her reflection these days and had the mirror turned to the wall. With a flinch, she turned it around. The ghost of her own face stared back at her, surrounded by a halo of knotted fair hair. She pulled it roughly back with one hand and scrabbled for a pin. It would be easier to hide it under a cap than brush the knots out. Besides, now that she had a baby, she had the right to dress like an old woman, if not a married one.

When she came downstairs twenty minutes later, she was at least tidy, though she still felt unprepared to meet Captain Demery. She had always felt unprepared for him, but she felt so now even more, in the drab, six-roomed Shropshire cottage which represented her exile from society. He should not be here. No one had visited her but her father and her mother. Her sisters and brothers had been forbidden from coming, and her friends had abandoned her when the scandal broke.

She paused outside the half-open parlour door and peered through the crack. Demery was standing by the window, looking out at the incessant October rain that had broken the mild, dry September. Tall, dark, severe, and, as always, dressed in a faded black coat of a cut ten years out of date. A ripple of scorn came over Cate, quelled almost immediately by fear. Why had he come to see her?

She opened the door with trembling fingers and stepped into the room. “Captain Demery.”

He turned and gave her a shallow bow. “Miss Balley.”

Silence. Cate wondered if she should ask his opinion on the weather or inquire about his health. It was the sort of thing he used to talk about, for quite fifteen minutes on end. Now he was not talking at all. His dark eyes were drifting uncertainly over and around her, but never quite meeting her own.

A hot draught of air on Cate’s neck startled her, and she twisted to see Miss Skinner hovering over her shoulder.

“It’s alright, Miss Skinner,” Cate said. “I think you can leave me alone with Captain Demery.”

“An unmarried woman should not be alone with a man,” Miss Skinner said. “You well know that, Miss Balley.”

“The damage has already been done,” Cate said. “Please. Let me speak with Captain Demery in private.”

Miss Skinner’s ever-squinting pale eyes bulged with suspicion, but she swivelled on her heel and went into the room across the narrow passage. Cate had no doubt she was going to eavesdrop on them, but there was no point having it out now, so she only closed the door behind her and shut herself and Demery in the room.

“My old governess,” Cate said by way of explanation. “She keeps me company here.”

“Do you have no servants?” Demery’s voice was the same as ever: low, soft, heatless.

“A woman and a man — they are down at the village currently. Um. Would you like tea, Captain Demery?”

Demery shook his head. “No, thank you.” The silence threatened for several heartbeats. “May I inquire as to your health, Miss Balley?”

Ah. There it was. And no doubt soon he would remark upon the rain. “I am very well thank you.”

She was not, in fact. Luke had kept her up all night with his teething. She was dizzy with exhaustion. She wanted nothing more than for Demery to leave so she could return to bed and sleep — at least until Luke woke her again.

“And the, uh, the child. Is the child well?”

The question startled her into a hot blush of guilt. She nodded. “Yes. He is.”

“I am glad to hear.”

Was he really? His thin lips were tight at the corners. No. He could have no concern for Luke. He could have nothing but reasons to hate him. Despite her fear, Cate was angry at the thought of anyone hating Luke, and anger gave her spirit.

“Perhaps you will tell me why you are here, Captain Demery,” she said. “I am not accustomed to visitors these days.”

“Your father told me where to find you. He has given his permission for this visit.”

Father. Catherine’s heart skipped a beat. If there was anyone she was more afraid of than Captain Demery, it was her father. Not that he was violent to her. No. Sir William had never laid a hand upon his daughters. He did not need to. His words struck to the bone.

“What do you want?” she asked in barely a whisper.

Demery turned to the window and spoke with his back to her. “Last time we met, Miss Balley, I asked you a question. I have discovered that the answer you gave me then was a lie. Will you tell me the truth now?”

Cate’s lips trembled. “What question was that, Captain Demery?”

“Who is the father of the child?”

“I told you.”

“That was a lie.” Demery turned back to her, his mouth set, his eyebrows drawn. “A lie, and slander of an innocent man.”

Cate backed away until the doorknob hit her below the shoulder blade.

“Do you know that your father took you at your word? That he hired men to beat the man you named to within an inch of his life? Do you know I challenged him to a duel? That if he hadn’t the sense to refuse, one of us would be dead now?”

Cate had not known that. She had not thought, when she named James Redwood as the father of her child, that it would have consequences. Her father and Demery had demanded a name, and the real name she could not give them. In the end, it had been easier to lie and blame a man she had never met. A man whose reputation made the lie believable.

“Who is the father of your child, Miss Balley?”

She shook her head.

“You will not tell me?”

“No. You should not ask.”

Demery kept her gaze for a long time and then looked away. “I have asked myself why you would lie,” he said, very softly. “I came to an answer I fear to be true. But if it is true, I can blame you for nothing. Miss Balley, did the father of your child take you against your will?”

She was too startled to answer immediately. “I— No. No, it was not like that. It was nothing like that.”

Demery let out a long breath. “Good.”

Good. Cate could not believe it to be good, not even by comparison to the darkest alternative.

“Perhaps,” Demery continued softly, “if you will not tell me his name, you will at least tell me if there is still a… relationship with the man.”

“What business is this of yours, sir? Why do you ask?”

He met her eyes again. “Miss Balley. Are you suggesting that I have not the right to personal feelings about this matter?” There was an edge to his voice now. “I was engaged to you for four months, during which time you conceived another man’s child. If my heart has not the right to be hurt, you must concede, at the very least, that my pride does.”

It could only be his pride. A man who ran as cold as Demery did not have a heart to hurt. But he was not wrong. Cate flushed.

“No,” she said. “There is no relationship.”

“Will there be a relationship, in future, with the man?”

“No.”

“Not with you — or your son?”

Tears pricked Cate’s eyes. “No.”

“Very well.” Demery let out another short breath. “I have been thinking a great deal over the past few months, Miss Balley. When I left the army and returned to England, it was my object to marry. The debacle of our engagement has not prejudiced my intentions. If I am not to marry you, I will marry another.”

If she had loved him at all, Cate might have been jealous. Instead, she felt only irritated that Demery had thought it necessary to tell her. No doubt he wanted to make her regret all she had lost in losing him. As though she were not already conscious of her disgrace and humiliation every hour of every day.

“Your future marriage can have nothing to do with me now.”

“I am afraid it does.” Demery cleared his throat. “We never ended our engagement, Miss Balley. The day your father informed me of your condition, I… I left in a temper, before anything could be resolved. That is why I am here today.”

Cate laughed in disbelief. “Do you think I need to be told that we are no longer engaged, Captain Demery?”

“You mistake my purpose. I came here to remind you that we are.”

The laughter died in her throat. “What.”

“Our engagement was never ended, Miss Balley.”

“Don’t tease me.” Cate sank wearily down into the lumpy, threadbare sofa. “Do what you will. Marry who you wish. But don’t do this. I’ve had enough of shame.”

“I do not mean to shame you.” Demery came closer. “A gentleman does not break an engagement. Only the lady has that privilege. Unless—and until—you release me, I consider myself engaged to marry you.”

She opened her mouth to tell him he was released, but a faint cry came from upstairs. She jumped to her feet and ran up the stairs. Luke, in his crib in the bedroom next to hers, had woken. She picked him up and rocked him against her chest, but his cries only grew louder. Not a hungry cry, but a pained cry. His teeth again. She shushed him, tears coming to her eyes in response to his cries. A shadow appeared behind her, and she turned to see that Demery had followed her up and was standing in the doorway, stooping a little under the low ceiling.

“Can I be of assistance?” he said.

“No, no. There is nothing to do.” Rocking Luke, Cate settled down into her nursing chair. “He’s teething.”

“That time, is it? My mother used to give us a cucumber to chew on.”

Cate looked up in surprise.

Demery shrugged. “I have four younger siblings.”

“I’ll try it. I’ll try anything.” She managed to get Luke down to a grumbling snuffle. “About our engagement. Of course I don’t expect you to uphold your promise. Not after I… did what I did.”

“But I will uphold my promise.” Demery’s eyes hardened. “I will not pretend that I am not hurt by your actions, Miss Balley. But I consider myself bound by our arrangement, regardless of the baby.”

Marriage. It was the only thing that could halfway raise Cate from the depth she had fallen.

But to Demery. If it were any other man. And how could he bear it, the reminder of betrayal in his bed every night? She bit her lip. “I won’t leave Luke.”

“I am not asking you to. I would provide a home for both of you.”

Instinctively, Cate tightened her hold on Luke, who squirmed and grizzled in her arms. It was impossible to believe that Demery could be kind to him — no, Demery must hate him. She shook her head.

“I won’t have Luke hurt.”

“And I will never hurt him. None of this is his fault.”

He spoke as though she had already given her consent. Cate wished she dared tell him no, that she could not stand him, that she would rather die alone.

But she had Luke to think of. A bastard child could not be protected by a ruined mother. Not once he grew past the age where his only problems were teething. But how could she even trust Demery to keep his word? What man would be kind to his wife’s bastard?

Perhaps Demery sensed her doubt. “Your father has given his blessing,” he said. “You need not worry that marrying me will cause any further friction between you and your family.”

Sir William knew. Cate’s throat went dry. Then she had no choice. Her father’s ‘blessing’ was as good as an order. She pressed Luke to her chest and kissed his tuft of dark hair, tears burning in her eyes.

“I cannot release you, sir.”

When he had first proposed, Demery had kissed her hand. Now, he only bowed. “Then we must fulfil our promise, and marry.”

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2022-09-3: I was going to post this tomorrow, but I was too excited to wait. Those of you who read An Indecent Gambit will be a bit familiar with Demery. Now you get to meet the very scandalous Cate, who has made a lot of mistakes in her life, and is probably going to make some more before I’m through with her.

Chapter Two: A Fine Name

A year ago, on a sunny September day, Cate had squeezed into her cream-coloured silk and lace wedding dress. It had been too tight, and her maid had wordlessly, swiftly, sewn extenders on the tabs. Now, that same dress gaped on Cate’s shrinking figure as she sat in the cart on her way to church under a slatey November sky, with Luke a swathed, sleeping bundle in her arms. Miss Skinner sat with her, wrinkling her nose every time the scent of vegetable scraps wafted up from the floor of the cart.

“Sir William might have sent a coach,” Miss Skinner said. “Riding in a cart! Like cabbages!”

The cart thumped over a rut in the road and prevented Cate from replying.

Nothing, however, could stop Miss Skinner from speaking, and she continued:

“I would have walked, you know. It would have suited me better than this. I am quite stout. I can walk a mile or three, even holding the infant. But you can hardly arrive at your own wedding with mud on your hems. What was Sir William thinking?”

Miss Skinner waited a few moments, in case Cate had some response to offer. Cate did not, and so Miss Skinner went on, loudly, over the creaking and bumping of the cart:

“Not that I mean to criticize him, of course, but a woman — Lady Balley — would have thought of the weather and your hems. He must have forgotten to consult her.” Miss Skinner looked up. “I do hope we shall not get rained on. The sky is very black.”

“I think the weather will hold until we reach the church,” Cate said.

“I’m afraid I have not your eternal optimism, Miss Balley.” Miss Skinner’s mouth twisted into the thin slant that substituted for a smile and she looked pointedly at Luke. “Though if I am to be accused of pessimism, at least it has protected me from the dangers of false hope.”

A sick knot of anger curled in Cate’s belly. “I made no such accusation, Miss Skinner.”

“Have I offended? You sound offended, Miss Balley. Calm yourself. I don’t mean to suggest that your father has intended any neglect. Indeed, you should be grateful for the efforts he has made for your restitution. I am quite sure he persuaded Captain Demery to renew his offer. Captain Demery could not have come to it of his own accord. The hurt you did him was far too great.”

“Captain Demery was quite clear on his motivations,” Cate said. “I do not believe my father had anything to do with it.”

Miss Skinner wrinkled her nose. Sometimes — rarely — she could be stunned into silence by a direct contradiction. It never lasted long, however. After a few moments, she started up again.

“If your father has forgotten a coach and your mother was not consulted, Captain Demery might have remembered and made the offer. He saw how poorly we were living when he visited. No, we should have had two carriages to choose from for this journey, and we have only a cart or our own two feet. If I were not certain it is merely oversight, I would feel it quite the insult on your behalf. Think of the people who will see you alight from the cart!”

They were approaching the church now, and the road was empty.

“Then I am lucky that there is no one to see,” Cate said. “And look, it has not rained, not at all.”

“No? I am sure I felt a drop just now.”

If Cate had felt one, she would not have admitted it, but she was sure that Miss Skinner was inventing it. Miss Skinner was in high spirits today, and when she was in high spirits she could be cruel.

The manservant pulled up the horse, and the cart stopped in front of the church. Miss Skinner clambered down first, then Cate handed Luke to Miss Skinner and got down herself. There was a little business to be taken care of in thanking the manservant for driving them, bidding him farewell, and pressing upon him a pen knife for him and a bottle of perfume for his wife. She had wanted to give them something for looking after her for the past year and had scoured her belongings for some suitable trinkets. Money would have been better, but Sir William had settled all her bills directly so that she would never have any.

By the time that was done, Miss Skinner was disappearing into the church vestibule. Cate had to trot after her, holding her skirts up out of the mud, and arrived a little breathless through the church doors. She had not been here since Luke’s christening in February. She had not felt welcome, despite the vicar’s insistence on Christian charity. Or perhaps because of. Cate did not feel as though she needed charity. Not the moral kind, anyway. And certainly Luke did not. He had not chosen his father to be a liar or his mother to be a fool.

In the front pew sat two figures, recognizable even from behind. Her mother, round and wide, wore a broad-brimmed bonnet dripping with paper flowers, while her father, equally wide but taller and all corners, loomed next to her in black. Cate shivered, and it had nothing to do with the chill of the church. Beyond them stood Demery, talking quietly with the vicar. They spoke of the weather, Cate decided: both Demery and the vicar were the kind of man who would.

There was no one else in the church. Cate had hoped her brothers or sisters might come — but then, Sir William thought she was a dangerous influence upon Madalene and Sophia. He would have forbidden them from coming, perhaps not even told them she was getting married. He might have let her older brother Luke come though. She had always been closer to him than her sisters, who were many years younger. When the baby was born, she had not had to think twice to know who to name him after — the only man who had ever truly been her friend.

Cate caught up to Miss Skinner at the end of the aisle and hovered there, uncertain of what to say. Everybody was looking at her. Then Luke started crying, and the silence was broken. Lady Balley — she never had been Mother, let alone Mama, to Cate — looked at the bundle of cloth that swathed him.

“I suppose I might look at my first grandchild,” she said.

Sir William cleared his throat. “Let us not call him that. No bastard has a father, let alone grandparents.”

Nevertheless, Lady Balley propelled herself to her feet and waddled imperiously to peer at the bundle in Miss Skinner’s arms. She sniffed. “He looks healthy enough. Mark those eyes will be brown before long though. They’re already muddy. Stop him crying, will you?”

Miss Skinner shushed Luke ineffectively. His wails echoed around the vaults of the church.

“Let me hold him,” Cate said. “I can hold him while I am wed, can’t I?” She looked at the vicar. “That’s not forbidden, is it?”

“There is no reason you cannot,” the vicar said. “It is all the same to God, I believe.”

Cate took Luke into her arms. He settled a little, grizzling against her chest. Perhaps he was hungry, but that would have to wait. She felt better, holding him. It made the weight of Demery’s impassive gaze more bearable somehow. Today, in respect to the occasion, he wore an embroidered ivory waistcoat and an Esterhazy-grey morning coat. She was not used to him wearing anything but black. He looked somehow even more sombre in pale clothes. He had not spoken since she had come within earshot.

“Let’s get on with it then,” Sir William barked. “We’re late enough already.”

The vicar fumbled for his pocket watch and peered longsightedly at it. “We are to time, Sir William.”

“We are a year behind! Or do you take the babe to be a premonition?”

The vicar coloured and pushed his spectacles higher on his long nose. “Yes, yes, of course.” He coughed to clear his throat. “If you will take your positions, ladies and gentlemen, standing, please. To my right, Miss Balley, next to your bridegroom.” The vicar cleared his throat again. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…”

The suddenness of the ceremony’s beginning startled Cate. She stumbled her way through the vows and, when the time came for the ring, shifted her hold on Luke just enough that Demery could slide it over her finger. It was a thin, rather dingy gold band, with the speck of a jewel glinting within it. Cate felt ashamed immediately for caring how meagre it was; it was more than she deserved to receive a ring at all.

After the service, the vicar issued a few brief prayers and a sermon, and then Cate went to sign the parish registry. For that, she had to relinquish Luke to Miss Skinner again. Her arms were tired from his weight and her hand trembled on the pen. It’s the last time I’ll sign my name Catherine Balley, she thought; I’m Catherine Demery now.

It was an alien, uncomfortable sound. But —

she glanced over her shoulder at the dark bulk of her father standing behind her — there was some faint relief in it too: Balley had been a weight on her shoulders for years.

They emerged out into the vestibule where through the open doors the countryside was beaten down under a now steady drum of rain.

“An inauspicious day for a wedding,” Lady Balley remarked.

No one had anything to say to that, perhaps because it seemed so inauspicious a marriage.

Sir William’s groom had been minding the horse and carriage under the shelter of some oak trees on the other side of the road. As they stood in the church doorway, he nudged his horses forward and around. Catherine’s heart leapt when she recognized his familiar, soft features. She darted down the church steps, into the rain, and ran across the road to meet him.

“Luke!”

Luke drew the horses up short and leaned down to meet her hug with one arm. “Cate!”

“They made you drive?”

“I begged them to let me.” He wiped rain from his eyebrows and blinked at her. “How are you?”

Cate tried to smile. “Better now I’ve seen you.”

“You’re thin.” He shook her shoulder. “Eat more! How’s baby Luke?”

“Fat.” Now, Cate found she could smile. “He’s as chubby as anything. I wish—” She looked over her shoulder to see her parents scowling at her from the church vestibule. “I wish they would let you see him. Or me.”

Luke shook his head. “I had to finagle to get them to let me drive them here. Bribed Dawson to pretend to sprain his wrist. They won’t even let Sophia and Madalene mention your name. Paul wasn’t sure you weren’t dead and no one had told him.”

Cate blinked back tears. “I might as well be, I suppose.”

“Don’t be silly!” Luke squeezed her shoulder. “Now that you’re married, things will— look out! Father’s coming!”

Sir William was bearing down on them through the rain, scowling and holding his silk hat over his slender crescent of hair. “Catherine! Luke!”

Cate drew back hastily. “Yes, Father.”

“Get in your coach. Over there, go on.”

There was a second coach, a very plain, dun-coloured coach, driven by a pair of plain, dun-coloured horses, coming up behind Luke’s. Sir William halted it by raising an arm, opened the door, and almost shoved Cate in. She looked back through the window as it moved towards the church. Sir William was talking fiercely to Luke in undertone. No doubt Luke would pay for this later.

The dun-coloured coach drew up in front of the church and Demery came down the steps to open the door for Miss Skinner, who passed Luke to Cate before climbing in herself.

“We should reach Shrewsbury by evening,” Demery said. “I will be riding behind.”

“Shrewsbury? Are we not going to London?”

“We are going to my home in Wales. Did your father not tell you?”

No one had told Cate anything, except when to be at the church and to have all her things packed beforehand, and that by letter. She had assumed Demery would be taking her to London. That was where she had met him and he had courted her. Where all the friends who no longer spoke to her lived. Where she had met Luke’s father. It was an unexpected relief to hear she would not be going to London — not for some time, at any rate.

“He told me nothing. Is there anything else I should know?”

Rain drummed down upon the shoulders of Demery’s Esterhazy coat, darkening it to the colour of iron. He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

He shut the door, closing her and Miss Skinner in the coach. Cate held out her hands for Luke, but Miss Skinner shook her head.

“You are wet,” she said. “You are dripping. You will give him a cold.”

Cate shivered in her sodden wedding dress. She had not really noticed the cold and damp until now, too eager to speak with Luke to care for the rain. “Do we have a blanket?”

There was a woollen blanket under the seat. Cate wrapped it gingerly around herself as a puddle started to form at her feet.

“And I must say, it is not very solicitous of Captain Demery to allow you to travel in such a wet dress. We might have stopped off at an inn for something to eat and a change of clothes.”

“I am sure we will later. Besides, I do not wish to stop off in the village here. I would much rather put this part of the country behind me.”

“Well!” Miss Skinner crossed and uncrossed her ankles in the way that always reminded Cate of a cat crossing and uncrossing its front paws. “I see you will brook no criticism of your new husband! I am sorry to offend!”

“I have taken no offence at all.”

“You have not? That is good. I do find it very silly when wives lose their minds once they are married and always take the part of their husband. I never had the blessing of marriage, but for that I have retained my independence of mind and spirit. It would be a shame for you to lose yours, Miss Balley.”

“I am not Miss Balley anymore, Miss Skinner.”

“You are right, but the change is hard to bear. Balley was a fine name.” Miss Skinner frowned. “I will call you Catherine.”

Miss Skinner had not called Cate Catherine since she was a girl in the schoolroom. Cate shuddered at the memory but made no protest. She did not wish Miss Skinner to be the first to call her Mrs Demery. It felt like it would bring ill fortune, and Cate had had enough of that already.

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2022-09-20: I enjoyed writing Miss Skinner way too much. She’s awful.

Chapter Three: New Friends

Cate hardly saw her new husband for the first four days of her marriage. Demery always rode behind the coach, regardless of the weather. Each night on the road, they stayed at inns where he would arrange private rooms for Cate and Miss Skinner before disappearing into the ale parlour. At some point during the second day, they crossed into Wales, although Cate was not exactly sure when. The countryside continued largely unchanged outside the window — wet and green. By the third day, they were near the sea. Sometimes, Cate caught a glimpse of it on the horizon, misty and sullen under a crown of clouds.

Late in the morning of the fourth day — their route was taking them entirely along a coastal road now — they climbed a steep green hill overlooking the sea and approached a gabled stone manor of castle-like appearance thanks to a fanciful tower and many narrow windows. Plas Bryn. Demery’s home. And Cate’s now too.

Demery introduced her to the servants, lined up and awaiting her arrival, then took her and Miss Skinner into the front hall. Here, the walls were painted in pale turquoise and the panelling varnished in warm honey tones. From the outside of the house, Cate had expected stone walls and tapestries, perhaps a suit of armour. It was a relief to find the medieval theme did not continue indoors.

“My grandfather built the house sixty years ago,” Demery said as he led Cate and Miss Skinner through the hall to a sky-lit stairwell. “Unfortunately, my uncle never liked it here. He spent the last years of his life in London and rather neglected the estate. I’ve been working on restoring it.”

Cate thought that deserved polite compliment. “I like what I see of it so far.”

“You have not seen more than the entrance hall. It would be foolish to make up your mind off that,” Miss Skinner said. “I will reserve my opinion until I have seen the rest.”

Demery’s manners were too polished to show offence, if he felt any. “Caution is always wise, Miss Skinner.”

They reached the landing at the top of the stairs and turned into a gallery overlooking the front lawn.

“This part of the house contains the family apartments,” he said. “Mine are beyond the first door, if you ever need me. Yours are here.”

He opened a door but did not go through, and through the gap Cate could see hints of a pleasant sitting room: pink and cream papered walls, and dust-blue armchairs.

“I hope you will find the arrangement suitable,” Demery said. “If not, you may alter it as you like. Miss Skinner, your bedroom is further along.”

Demery moved away down the gallery and Miss Skinner trotted after him.

Cate went into her sitting room. It was large and very well-appointed, with tall windows overlooking the sea in the distance. Further doors opened off it. One seemed to lead to Demery’s quarters, but when Cate tried it she found it was locked, or perhaps blocked off. The second led to a windowless servants’ passage with further doors off it and a bathtub leaning against a wall. Cate shut it again. The last door led through to a generous pink and cream bedroom, and a soft, welcoming pink bed. There were another two doors within this too: one leading back into the passage, and one leading to a further, smaller bedroom, complete with a crib, nursing chair, and sofa. This was done in cream and blue, and warm, thanks to the fire already going in the grate. Cate lowered Luke gently down into the crib. He yawned and blinked up at her, quite at home in his new surroundings.

Tears blurred Cate’s vision. She sank down onto the nursing chair and clutched a cushion to her chest, breathing hard. A suitable arrangement? It was perfect. She had not expected such kindness, such thoughtfulness. And she did not understand why it made her so sad.

It took her some time to regain control of herself, clutching the cushion and squeezing her eyes shut against the tears. When she felt recovered, Luke was asleep. She left him sleeping and went through the last door, which took her, as she had expected, back into the passage. There was one more door here. She thought it would take her to Miss Skinner’s room, but when she tried it she found it opened into an alcove in the gallery. She came out of the alcove to find herself face-to-face with Demery, who must have been waiting for her.

“How do you find the apartments?” he asked.

“They’re lovely. You have been very thoughtful. I cannot thank you enough.”

“I must confess I commissioned others to be thoughtful on my behalf. None of it was my doing.”

“Then you must pass my thanks on to your agents, though I know they would have done nothing without your direction.” Cate found tears pricking her eyes again and shook them away. “I’m very grateful, Captain Demery. Truly.”

Demery stared at her feet. “I’m glad to know they suit.”

Cate had always been afraid of Demery, with his height, and sombreness, and stilted, over-polite conversation. Now, in the rush of gratitude she felt on seeing Luke’s room, that was forgotten. His stilted conversation excused as shyness. His sombreness passed off as gravity. They could be friends, Cate thought. She very much needed a friend.

“We have not yet dined together,” she said. “Will we dine together tonight?”

“I don’t think so.” His tone was polite, but his reply was so instantaneous that Cate could not help but feel repelled. Silence hung like a veil between them for the space of several breaths. Cate waited for some further response, some explanation.

Instead, Demery changed the topic. “I am going to visit my mother and sister,” he said. “They live in the village, not far from here. I would like you to come with me. Will you?”

“I would be glad to, but I am not dressed for a social call and all my clothes are still packed away in trunks.”

Demery’s gaze ran up and down her figure. “You will not offend as you are. And I would like very much for you to meet them. My sister is about your own age. I hope that the two of you will be friends.”

Not offending was a rather dubious compliment, but Cate had nothing to lose by doing as Demery asked, and besides, there was something intriguing about the thought of a woman her own age for company. Miss Skinner was not precisely a friend.

“Let me ask Miss Skinner to look after Luke while we are gone. He is sleeping, and I do not wish to wake him.”

Demery did not smile, but he looked relieved. “Her room is the second door over.”

Cate went further down the gallery and found it. The door was open and Miss Skinner was standing in the middle of a spacious bedroom with her arms crossed, regarding the furniture suspiciously. Before she could open her mouth to criticize it, Cate interrupted with her own request. Miss Skinner was reluctant in the offices of making tea or answering doorbells, but she was always glad to look after Luke. Sometimes Cate even suspected her of holding affection towards him.

When Cate came out, Demery took her back downstairs again. There had been a change of carriages. The coach she had come in and the horses that had drawn it had been taken away, and a pretty cream and red curricle drawn by two chestnuts awaited them. This meant that Cate had to sit next to Demery, who was driving the horses. They had not driven together like this since he had courted her a year or more ago. Then, their drives had been full of well-mannered conversation and not much else. Today, they spoke not a word as they rolled down the hill, past fields of sheep and copses of trees, and onto a stony road leading down towards a harbour, on the banks of which lay a village of slate-rooved houses.

Towards the outskirts of this village, attached by a mile or so of stony track, stood a large white cottage. The curricle diverted towards this house and Demery’s attitude changed. Catherine was aware of a subtle stiffening of his posture. The air itself seemed to prickle with unsaid thoughts. That was one of the reasons Demery frightened her. In the long silences of their courtship, she had been acutely conscious of his unsaid thoughts. Other men could hide them with light chatter — or did not have them at all. Cate hated having to interpret, in the narrowing of an eye or the drawing of the mouth, displeasure at a word spoken, or disgust at a confession, or some other slight. At least now, she thought, it could not be her that brought it on — no, whatever upset Demery lay in the white cottage ahead.

When their carriage stopped in front of the house, the front door was already opening. A woman, about Cate’s age, dark-haired and pretty, stood in the doorway and watched as they got down from the carriage.

“David dear,” she said. “What have you brought home this time?”

“Laurie.” Demery’s tone was curt. “Is Mother in? I asked her to stay in.”

“She is. And Paul too.” Laurie’s eyes were all over Cate, curious and dancing with malice. She turned back to Demery. “Did you bring me a present? Something from London? Something nice?”

“I’ve brought you a sister-in-law.” Demery ushered Cate forward. “Mrs Demery. My younger sister, Laura Wynn.”

“How do you do?” Cate said.

Laurie made a little noise in the back of her throat in reply. She twisted her hand through Demery’s shirt cuff. “Something nice, I said. I was hoping for a bottle of perfume, or perhaps some lace gloves.”

“I had no time for shopping.” Demery shook her loose. “Where’s Mother?”

“Having a coze with Paul in her bedroom. I was not invited.”

Demery’s mouth tightened. He hitched the horses to an iron hoop by the cottage door and pushed past Laurie into the house, leaving Cate behind.

“David is not usually so forgetful of his manners,” Laurie said with a smile. “But then, Mother has a way of making people forget them. She wants to meet you. She’s very curious. I think Paul is too, or he would not be here.”

“Is Paul your… husband? Brother?”

The smile hardened. “Brother. There is no more Mr Wynn.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It is not your fault.” Laurie’s tone made it sound like it was. “Well, you had better come in.”

She led Cate inside and into a sitting room sparsely filled with hard and unwelcoming furniture. Perhaps some of the original furniture from Plas Bryn had been sent here. An ugly woman in seventeenth-century dress sneered down at them from an oversized oil painting over the mantel.

“We shall wait here,” Laurie said, sitting down on a wooden bench. “David will herd Mother down shortly. You are not as pretty as David said. But then, having a baby takes a lot out of one. How old is he now?”

Cate lowered herself gingerly to an uncushioned oak chair. “Eight months.”

“And you still have not recovered? It must have been a very bad birth. You have my sympathies.” Laurie’s smile was anything but sympathetic. “Then, I imagine it is harder to birth a bastard than a legitimate child. The guilt must weigh upon one. Forgive me if I speak honestly. I always did prefer open conversation.”

Cate had faced all manner of wanton cruelty in her life, but she had never before come up against such an onslaught of blatant rudeness. She was too out of her depth to come up with a response.

Laurie did not require one. She continued in the same merry tone:

“I never had the luck of children. I lost Mr Wynn before I could. I’m well-disposed to being a kind aunt towards the baby, you must know. I consider it a pity you did not bring him today — but then, perhaps it is for the best. Mother bears him a grudge.” Laurie cocked her head to one side as floorboards creaked upstairs. “She comes now. How the floor groans! She will bring the ceiling down upon our heads.”

From that, Cate got the impression that Demery’s mother was very fat, but when Demery walked into the room, the woman who followed him was slender to the point of gauntness, though with a thumping gracelessness to her bearing. Her bony face was sharpened further by the bitterness of her expression. Following behind her was a man with the same bony features, blunted under a layer of adipose and a mouth disposed to smiling.

Cate rose to her feet and curtsied.

“My mother,” Demery said. “Mother, this is my wife. Catherine.”

Until now, Demery had always referred to her as ‘Mrs Demery’ or, before then, Miss Balley. Catherine sounded unnatural on his lips. And, as it was a name Cate had never liked herself, unpleasant.

“You can call me Cate,” she said. “My friends all do.”

“I shall call you Catherine.”

Good manners would have dictated that Cate kiss her mother-in-law’s cheek, but that made it quite impossible.

The plump man pushed past Mrs Demery and held out his hand. “I’m Paul. The younger brother. How do you do?”

Cate shook his hand. “Very well, thank you. How do you do?”

Paul continued to shake her hand for longer than was comfortable. “But marvellous, marvellous! I have just been telling David some very good news. We have high hopes of a new arrival next summer.”

“It has been two years of high hopes,” Laurie said. “My expectations are correspondingly depressed.”

“No, no. Have heart, Laurie. Annabelle is feeling very poorly this morning, and she has had such strange dreams of late.”

“That sounds a great deal like indigestion.” Laurie’s mouth curved upwards in a catlike smile. “No, I am afraid the only baby we shall have around here is Catherine’s. But I am sure we will all be charmed by him.”

“Charming he may be. Most babies are.” Mrs Demery’s voice dripped with venom. “That does not make him less a bastard.”

Cate recoiled as though she had been slapped. “He’s— It’s not his fault.”

“Mother.” Demery crossed the room to stand next to Cate. “She is my wife now. I brought her here in the hopes that you would be friends. If that is impossible, I must, at the very least, insist upon civility.”

Mrs Demery sucked her upper lip. “You always do. Yet what civility has she treated you with, to get with child to another man? You would turn your cheek until your teeth are knocked out.”

“I must insist,” Demery repeated, more force than authority in his voice.

Mrs Demery sneered. “As you will.”

With a sinking heart, Cate realized that Mrs Demery was determined to be her enemy, despite what Demery said.

“I should like to be friends,” Paul said. “I always wanted an older sister.”

Cate eyed Paul confusedly. Surely he was older than her; she had not taken him to be less than thirty. But of all those in the room, he was the only one smiling. She would take him at his word.

“I am always happy for new friends,” she said.

“Too happy in the past, I think,” Mrs Demery said. “More caution would be advised.”

“Not of my own brother, I would hope,” Demery said. He took Cate’s arm in his. It was a gesture of possession rather than comfort. “I am trusting all of you to look after Catherine when I am absent from Plas Bryn. I know you will. But Catherine may find it easier to believe if she is shown some decency now.”

“I will not coat my tongue in honey for anyone’s sake. I never have.” Mrs Demery scowled. “But, yes, Catherine, have you ever any urgent need when David is absent, we will serve. The family does close ranks.”

Catherine did not think she could ask Mrs Demery for anything, ever. She hoped she would never need to.

Their visit did not last much longer. Mrs Demery half-heartedly suggested tea but made no efforts to organize it. They sat down on the hard benches and chairs and Demery exchanged news with his family. Cate listened silently, watching them, thinking. Laurie was rude, and Cate hated rudeness. Mrs Demery hated Cate. Paul appeared friendly, but there was something faintly repulsive about his manner. Too smiling. Which was quite an irrational complaint, because what she disliked about Demery was that he did not smile enough.

It was a relief when Demery stood and said they had to go. When they were rolling back up the hill towards home, Cate said, tentatively, “You said you would be absent from Plas Bryn? Will you be going away for a while?”

“Much of my business lies in London. I will return there as soon as I have seen you settled. Probably by the end of the month.”

“Will you be away long?”

“I will visit for Christmas, I think, and probably again in the summer. I usually do, when I can. The country is very pretty here in the summer.”

Visit. “I thought you lived here.”

“I planned to, once upon a time, but there is a certain convenience to remaining in London.”

It could be shops, Cate told herself. London had many convenient shops. Or it could be the banks, or some other matter of business. But somehow Cate knew that the ‘certain convenience’ was the two hundred miles of distance that would lie between them.

Demery had married her, but he had not forgiven her.

__

2022-09-25: But will I have much of a story if I let Demery run off to London and leave Cate behind? I might have to think of a way to keep him back…

Chapter Four: In Name Alone

Demery did not dine with Cate that night. After what he had said on the drive home, she thought she understood. Miss Skinner did not understand and remarked at length on the strangeness of Demery’s absence as she slurped, crunched, and gnawed her way through a meal which ultimately she deemed to be only edible. After dinner, they retired to Cate’s sitting room. Or rather, Cate retired to her sitting room, and Miss Skinner marched in after her, sat down on the most comfortable chair, and said that Cate must want a cup of tea to fill the spot that dinner had not. Cate, who was too timid to ever openly rebel, seized upon the rare chance for a left-handed victory and said mildly that she was quite stuffed and could not possibly fit in even a cup of tea.

Miss Skinner could not now decently say that she wanted a cup of tea. She moved her lips about as though trying to dislodge something stuck between her teeth. Cate hoped she would say good night and leave. It was barely eight, but the pink bed in the other room was beckoning her name.

Instead, Miss Skinner asked, “How did you find Captain Demery’s family?”

Had she asked immediately after Cate returned, Cate might have complained of her treatment. Now, the sting of the offence had faded, and she could even find it in herself to understand their position. They loved Captain Demery, and she had betrayed him, so they found it hard to like her. Miss Skinner would not understand that. Miss Skinner would cavil, as she usually did, and that would only make Cate feel bad again.

“They were well,” Cate said.

Miss Skinner was too occupied with sucking at her teeth to reply. To distract herself from the action, Cate added, “His sister is widowed. It must have been some time ago, for she does not wear weeds.”

“Mmm.” Miss Skinner’s cheek bulged as her tongue worked against her teeth.

“And the brother is married and lives in Wrexham,” Cate continued, trying to look anywhere but at Miss Skinner. “I understand that he is a solicitor. There may be a baby out of his marriage soon, but it is too early to be sure.”

That distracted Miss Skinner from the thing between her teeth. “Demery will have a nephew?”

“Or perhaps a niece. Or perhaps none at all. Mrs Wynn suggested that Mr Paul Demery was being too hopeful.”

“You should pray that Mrs Wynn is right. Were Demery to have a babe in his own family to give affection to, he might be inclined to mistreat Luke.”

That had not occurred to Cate. She thought doubtfully of the blue, perfect bedroom for Luke. That had been designed without any affection, and with every consideration. “I think that unlikely.”

“We must be prepared for any possibility,” Miss Skinner said. “Your position is by no means certain even if you are his wife. It is clear the man does not love you.”

Somehow, that was more a relief than a worry. Cate relaxed back a little onto the cushions. “For now, I feel secure enough here in this room.”

“Of course, you do,” Miss Skinner said. “You know I am here with you, to look after you.”

Politeness had been bred too deeply into Cate to reply with anything but perfect promptness. “I am very thankful for your presence, Miss Skinner.”

Miss Skinner smiled broadly, revealing a lump of lamb fat wedged between incisor and canine. Cate wondered if she dared go to her bedroom to retrieve a toothpick. No. Miss Skinner would think it an insult.

“But what of Demery’s mother?” Miss Skinner asked. “She must be about my age, I think.”

“I should put her at just past fifty.” Cate looked doubtfully at the creases around Miss Skinner’s eyes and mouth. Miss Skinner had never admitted her age. It was safer to say… “Some years older than you.”

Mis Skinner looked pleased. Of course, flattery was dangerous, because it was a deception, but Cate was loth to risk losing Miss Skinner’s often uncomfortable company. Miss Skinner had been her governess, and then her sisters’ governess. With Sophia still in the schoolroom, Miss Skinner could have continued in that position for a few years yet, but she had chosen instead to become Cate’s companion when Cate had been sent away in disgrace. Cate had never liked Miss Skinner, and could not like her more for this unasked-for act of mercy, but she recognized in her a protectress, and, thinking of Demery’s family, knew she might need one.

“Mrs Demery is a strong-minded, plain-spoken woman,” Cate said. “I confess, I found her a little difficult.”

“You always did like people to wrap their words in cotton wool around you. I would like to meet her. She sounds sensible.”

“I am sure you will soon. Captain Demery asked his family to look after me when he goes to London.”

“He is going to London?” Miss Skinner sat up straighter.

“Yes. He said by the end of the month.” Then, knowing Miss Skinner would find out eventually, Cate added reluctantly, “He will spend most of his time there.”

Miss Skinner’s eyes shone. “London! Of course, we will have to stay here for a little while. The scandal is still too fresh. But next year, perhaps, we can join him there!”

“I do not think he intends to ever bring me with him,” Cate said. “I do not think I could go, even if he wished. The scandal was too great.”

The light in Miss Skinner’s eyes went cold. “Do you mean to say he is to gad off to London and leave us behind in this— this seaside pile! He has married you just to abandon you!”

Cate had not thought of it like that. She looked around the pleasant pink sitting room, its windows now revealing the slatey mass of the Irish Sea under a silvery twilight sky, its fire crackling merrily in the grate. This was a far cry from the draughty cottage her father had sent her to. Sometimes, in the darkest days after Luke was born, she had wondered if her father had not sent her there in the hopes they would catch pneumonia and die. At the very least, he had chosen to deny her comfort. To punish her. Captain Demery was denying her nothing but his company.

“But this house is very comfortable,” she said. “And I cannot blame Captain Demery if he wishes to live apart from me. He married me for the sake of honour, despite the fact that I wronged him. It is a marriage of convenience on my part, and inconvenience on his.”

Miss Skinner got to her feet and paced back and forth, the same way she used to when drilling Cate on French verbs. “A marriage of convenience it may be, but that is no excuse for him to act the Bluebeard. If you let him live apart from you, he will fall under the power of other women and abandon you.”

“I am sure that is not true.”

“What trust you have in men, after all they have done for you!” Miss Skinner laughed scornfully. “Forever naive, Catherine. Women will be crawling all over him in London. Young, handsome, rich — and with an absent wife.”

Cate shuffled uneasily in her seat. Handsome? She did not think he was handsome. But, then, she had often been surprised by what other women found handsome. Her tastes inclined her to men of a certain manner, quick to smile, never at a loss for a word, and in full possession of easy confidence. Looks were secondary, and Demery was so serious and quiet in manner that she had never really considered his looks at all. She tried to imagine some London flirt cozying up to Demery, perhaps slapping him with her fan or pretending to lose an earring that he might replace it, and laughed. Demery would not know what to do.

“The idea is absurd.”

Miss Skinner must have thought Cate was laughing at her. The tip of her long nose went pink. “I am only trying to help you, Catherine.”

“I know, I know. And I’m grateful to you for it, but I simply cannot credit the notion. Demery is not the type.”

“But any man might— no, you are deaf to good advice, Catherine. You always were.”

There was nothing to say to that, so Catherine said nothing. They fell into silence. Miss Skinner sat down again and picked contemplatively at her fingernails. Cate thought longingly of the pink bed in the other room. The bone-deep exhaustion that had come over her after Luke’s birth had not yet entirely lifted, and now that evening had fallen she was acutely aware of the aftereffects of the past few days’ travel. Her back ached and her head hurt.

It did not do to dismiss Miss Skinner abruptly. She would hold a grudge for days. Instead, Cate yawned theatrically. When that drew no response, she said, “It has been such a long day.”

“It certainly has,” Miss Skinner agreed. “You will want a bath, I think. Let me call to arrange for one.”

The unexpected kindness surprised Cate. Miss Skinner was not normally so thoughtful, particularly not after an argument. Now she thought of it, hot soapy water seemed almost as seductive as the bed in the next room. And it would be wonderful, after the bath, to slip clean between fresh sheets and surrender to sleep.

“Why, thank you,” Cate said.

Miss Skinner got up to call for the servants and arranged it. It took time for the bath to be filled. While they were waiting, Miss Skinner pressed a glass of wine upon Cate, saying that it would help her sleep, and ordered about a maidservant in the finding of brushes and combs and towels and soap and the setting of the screen just so around the fire. The wine clouded Cate’s head a little, but not enough for her not to think Miss Skinner’s solicitude suspicious. Her suspicions dulled the pleasure of the bath. As she washed behind the screen, she could hear Miss Skinner bustling about her room opening and closing chests and drawers. When she came out, practically squeaking with cleanness and wrapped in a linen nightgown, Miss Skinner directed her to sit down and started to comb her hair. Her hands were rough and clumsy. Cate took the comb firmly away from her.

“I can do it myself.”

“No need to be touchy,” Miss Skinner said. “I am just trying to be helpful. Here, I have got the rose oil for your hair.”

She was definitely planning something. Cate rubbed the comb in oil and untangled her hair delicately. After Luke’s birth, her hair had fallen out in chunks. It was only now beginning to grow back properly. That, at least, was repairing. The shadows under her eyes were as dark and hollow as the day he had been born, and any colour in her cheeks was due only to the heat of the bath and the wine Miss Skinner had given her. Cate tried not to look at herself as she unsnarled the knots in her hair. Other women did not lose their looks after a baby. Perhaps Laurie was right, and illegitimate births were harder.

As if she could read her mind, Miss Skinner set a bottle of Olympian Dew on the dressing table in front of Cate. Cate looked suspiciously at it. Ordinarily, Miss Skinner insisted that nothing was needed for the care of the face than clean water and soap. She had a lot to say about women who applied lotions and powders to their skin.

“I think a good night’s sleep will do me just as much good as Olympian Dew,” Cate said.

“There is no harm in trying both. Besides, you may not sleep much tonight.”

“What do you mean?”

“Captain Demery will be expecting you.”

Cate stared at Miss Skinner, confounded.

“In wayside inns it was quite impossible,” Miss Skinner went on, as if that explained everything, “but in the comfort of his own surroundings, he will want to make you his wife.”

Had Miss Skinner missed the implication of their earlier conversation? No. She was not stupid. She must know what it meant for Demery to wish to live apart.

“I don’t think he does,” Cate said politely. “And I am far too tired anyway.”

Miss Skinner rapped a hairbrush against the back of Cate’s chair. “You cannot be too tired. You must stake your claim upon the man before he leaves for London. Tonight is best. The longer you leave it, the harder it will be to change his mind.”

“I have married him. That is all the claim I need.”

“Have you not been listening to me? Men are all the same, Catherine. They want what they can get. You know that better than I do.”

Cate flushed. “Don’t bring Luke into this.”

“I must. You have him to think of too. What Demery does for you he does because he loved you once. If his heart falls to another woman, he will neglect you — and your child.”

“I am not sure he did love me. He knew me a week before he proposed. That is not long enough to love someone.”

“It is for a man. Their hearts are easily taken. If you do not give him reason to remember you when he is in London, he will forget, and some other woman will steal it.”

“I cannot give myself to him so easily!”

“Why not?” Mis Skinner said coldly. “You did so for another man once before.”

“And it was a mistake.” Cate tugged at her damp hair. “I cannot repeat it.”

“A mistake only for its unhappy consequence. It will be no tragedy when you bear Demery a child. No. The tragedy will come if he does not get from you what every man expects from a wife — love and children. You must show him you can give him those things or he will seek them elsewhere.”

Miss Skinner pulled Cate to her feet. “Trust me. Go to his room and offer yourself up to him. Take him under your power. It is the only way to protect Luke.”

Cate did not believe Miss Skinner’s dire predictions. Not entirely, anyway. But she cast a glance at the door beyond which Luke lay sleeping. Were another woman to come into Demery’s life — even a mistress — his position would be more precarious than it already was.

Miss Skinner must have sensed her doubt. “Demery has no reason to protect him other than what he feels for you.”

“He promised.”

“And men never break their promises.” Miss Skinner’s tone was acid.

Cate bit her lip and dared glance at her reflection in the mirror. Pale, even after the wine and her bath. Thin, but for her milk-swollen breasts, and despite that thinness too soft in the belly. Damp hair lying flat over her shoulders, despite the oil. If Demery had thought her beautiful once — she had been, she thought — he would not tonight.

“I don’t want to.”

Miss Skinner scoffed. “I tried my best to warn you.” She turned away. “Good night, Catherine.”

When she left, Cate went into Luke’s room. He was sleeping soundly, for she had nursed him before dinner and given him some stewed pears. She had probably an hour before he woke and needed cuddling and fussing back to sleep again. There was little point trying to sleep for an hour. She hesitated, then flung a dressing gown over her shoulders. In an hour, she could get it over and done with. It could not be worse than the last time. This time, at least, she would have a bed, not a damp wooden staircase with splinters pricking her back.

She did not dare try the door between Demery’s room and hers, and so went around to his main door and knocked. Footsteps sounded from within, then it opened. Demery was still in his riding clothes. He must have dined in them, which meant, Cate thought, that he dined alone, preferring solitude to her company.

“Is something wrong?” he asked. “Do you need something?”

“No,” Cate said hastily. “Nothing is wrong. Nothing is needed.”

He looked at her in silence for a long moment. “Then what are you here for?”

“I… I thought you might… want me.”

“Want you?” His inexpressive eyes showed neither desire nor interest. “What for?”

“We are married. But have not… behaved as married couples do.” Cate’s cheeks burned. “I came to tell you, Captain Demery, that I am willing to… to participate. In such a manner as, um, as that.”

Demery’s expression did not so much change as set in place. He opened the door wide. “Please come in.”

Cate tiptoed into the room. There was no set of connected apartments here. Demery’s bedroom was simply that, though the addition of a writing table and a pair of armchairs, half-divided from the sleeping area by a broad archway, formed a sort of sitting room. A tray of empty plates on the writing table and an open book next to it hinted at the company Demery had chosen for his meal. Cate walked past it, through the archway, and sat down upon the edge of the bed. Demery would have to prepare himself first. Remove his coat and shoes. Perhaps snuff the candles. She would prefer it in the dark.

Fully clothed under the light of nine candles, Demery stood in front of her, looking down. The set of his eyes and mouth could not quite be called a frown, but they showed more displeasure than desire all the same.

“I think I must explain something to you, Catherine. I had thought you understood my intentions, but I see now I was mistaken.”

“What are your intentions?”

“Fulfilled.” Demery reached out and touched the meagre gold band on her finger. “With that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I agreed to marry you. Not to love you. Not to make love to you. I cannot. My feelings lie in quite the other direction.” His voice trembled with suppressed emotion. “I would forgive you if I knew how, but I do not. The best I can do is my duty, and having done it, to preserve myself, leave you well alone.”

His words washed over Cate like cold water. “You hate me.”

“Not by choice. It is like a poison, the feelings that come over me when I think of what you did.” He turned away from her, as though even the sight of her face hurt him. “Your kiss would kill me.”

Until now, Cate had never suspected Demery to be capable of deep feeling. His manner was so restrained and proper, his face so expressionless. She had thought him cold all through. Now, for the first time, she heard heat simmering in his voice, and she shivered.

“I’m sorry. I can see I have misjudged matters.” She slipped off the bed and pulled her dressing gown tighter around herself. “We will never…?”

“Never.” His voice was hoarse. “Do you understand now? Our marriage is a marriage in name alone. That is all it can ever be.”

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2022-10-8: So you say now, Demery…

Chapter Five: Gin and Hemlock

The wind whipped in from the sea as David slammed the front door behind him. The force helped release some of his fury, but he still felt sick with anger. He set off at a brisk pace down the drive, hands in his pockets, shoulders bowed against the weight of the world. What had the woman been thinking, offering herself up to him like he was an obligation and she a prize? He kicked at a lump of gravel and swore. And she had been damp from her bath, golden hair loose across her pale shoulders, rose-scented water seeping into the thin fabric of her nightgown, her shadowed, fragile gaze begging protection. She was a ruined beauty now, too thin, too pale, too tired to be pretty. He had not expected how ill she would look when he came to her cottage. It had shocked him. She had wilted and faded like a cut rose. Yet he was no less under her power for that. Lust had uncoiled in his belly when she sat patiently on his bed. Anger had risen with it, as sickly a combination as gin and hemlock.

His stride lengthened as he reached the road. Under the moonless sky, the world was nothing but shadows upon shadows and the faint flickering lights of houses in the distance. His feet, however, remembered the ground from his boyhood days, running wild over these hills with Paul, hunting rabbits, fishing, building fires, and then, inevitably, getting turned off by their uncle’s gamekeeper.

They were lucky Uncle Lewis never brought them up before the magistrate. He was spiteful enough to have done so, even if they were family, but too lazy.

David headed up the hill towards the cliffs, keeping well back from their edge. The sea stretched out black and treacherous to the horizon. He breathed in the salt air like a tonic. Long walks always relieved him of poisonous feelings, though in London, they never had the same regenerative effect as in the wilds of Wales. London crowded him. The sky was narrower there. You could never see it but hemmed in by rows of houses. Even Hyde Park felt constrained. The city hummed at its borders like sheets tucked too tight on an otherwise comfortable bed.

Why had he brought Catherine here? David swore out loud, the sound snatched away on the wind. He should have sent her anywhere else. Taken a cottage in some quiet spa town, made her comfortable, arranged her allowance, and then left her behind.

But that would be abandoning her. When he had seen the desolate cottage she lived in, its absolute isolation from all company but her baby, her cold companion, and her two servants, he had felt a stirring of anger on her behalf. It was cruelty to send her there, a prisoner in all but name. She needed people around her, and the people he trusted most were his family. They would look after her. They would give her what he could not bear to.

He would leave for London as soon as he could. He would learn to tolerate the narrow sky. Others did.

Without him being aware of it, his feet had taken him to the edge of a strip of dark, stunted woods between the village and Plas Bryn. A light burned in the window of a house at the edge of the woods. Baxter was still awake.

David headed for the house and — stopping himself from reaching for the iron knocker — tapped on the lit window instead. Through the glass he could see a cheerful kitchen parlour with a fire burning in the grate and a woman and a man sitting before it. The man got to his feet when he heard the tap and limped heavily, squinting, towards the window. Then he shook his head, laughed, and limped for the front door.

David came around as it opened.

“You’re back.” The man clapped David on the shoulder. “You married her then?”

“I did.” David came at his beckoning through the passage and into the parlour. “Good evening, Mrs Baxter.”

“Good morning is closer,” the woman said wearily. “Baby’s just fallen asleep. Don’t you dare wake her.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” David said, keeping his voice low.

“Would you like tea?” the woman asked, rocking the bundle in her arms.

“No, thank you. I’ve come for conversation.”

David lowered himself onto a stool and allowed Baxter to take the more comfortable armchair. The cannon shot that had torn Baxter’s right leg from his body at Waterloo could just have easily have hit David instead. Baxter had been his captain at the time. Pensioned off after the loss of his leg, he had nonetheless remained a friend to David and advised him on his career. Uncle Lewis never cared to help, and David’s father had died when he was a boy. When David had inherited his uncle’s estate, he had repaid his debt of gratitude by giving his friend a position as the estate’s steward — a position that allowed Baxter to at last marry the woman he had loved for years.

“Is this about the mine?” Baxter asked.

“No. I’ll leave business for business hours. This is personal.”

“Ah.” Baxter grinned. “You want to talk about your wife.”

“I think I’ve made a mistake. I hate her.”

“Oh dear.” Baxter always had been slow to choose his words. He stared at the fire for some time. “Is the mistake in hating her, or in marrying her?”

“Does it make a difference?”

“I think it might. If the mistake was in marrying her, it can never be undone now, but if the mistake is in hating her, that might be undone with time.”

“Impossible.” David shuddered. “The mere sight of her is like a shot of arsenic. I cannot be around her. I swear, it will kill me to try.”

Baxter rested his boot on the grate. “You took a sabre to the heart and it did not kill you. I think you will survive a woman.”

David traced the scar on his sternum through his shirt. “There was no force behind the blow. This woman…”

Mrs Baxter was watching them steadily through her tired eyes. It was impossible for David to say what he wished to say in front of her, so he said nothing. Baxter knew, anyway. He had heard everything David had to say about Catherine many times before.

“If you cannot be around her, what will you do?” Baxter asked after a while.

“I will go to London. It is all I can do. I have enough business to keep me there most of the year. Perhaps it will be a blessing in disguise, if I can find investors for the expansion of the mine.”

“Hm.” Baxter considered this for several long moments. “You will leave your wife here, alone, unguarded?”

“I have asked my family to look after her. And she has a companion — a cat of a woman, but an old governess, so I suppose there is history enough there.”

“You believe your mother will look after her?”

“In the essentials, yes.”

“But never in the peripherals. Mrs John Demery is not the type of woman who cares for such things. Does Mrs David Demery?”

David remembered Catherine as he had known her in London. Quietly beautiful, sitting on the edges of conversation and sweetly smiling, always with the right word to say when turned to. Sometimes he saw her talking with her female friends, intent and animated and lively. With men — with him — she was quieter. He had thought her a little shy of men.

She was never animated with Miss Skinner. He had not seen her animated since their first engagement had broken up, though the way she smiled at Luke made his heart ache.

“She may be lonely here,” David admitted. “I hoped Laurie would take pity her on. Laurie knows what it is to be in the heart of scandal.”

“Mrs Wynn pities no one, least of all herself,” Baxter said.

“She would never admit it,” David countered. “You do not know my sister as well as you might think. She hides her feelings. With time, I think, they will be friends. If I can persuade Laurie to forgive Cate on my behalf.”

“How ever will you do that if you cannot forgive her yourself?”

David shrugged. They fell into silence, but for the lapping of flames over the logs and the crackling of the fire. David’s mind began to drift back to the first days of his courtship with Catherine. He had newly inherited his uncle’s estate and sought marriage as a matter of duty. He had expected to take his time about it, perhaps a year or two attending the season in London before he found the woman he needed. And then, well, he saw her, and that was it. Standing quietly next to her mother with that sweet smile on her face and a sad look in her eyes. It was not merely that she was beautiful. There were many beautiful women in London. It was as though his heart had been sleeping til he saw her face. He asked the man next to him who she was. Catherine Balley, Sir William’s daughter, don’t you know? He did not know. Bit of old hat, really. In her fifth season, but never managed to get engaged. Too shy. Besides, Sir William was loth to let her go. Prouder of her than she deserved.

In his intoxicated state of mind, David had felt as though Catherine had been preserved for him by fate. He had asked for an introduction, begged for a dance. She had politely accepted. Her voice made his heart leap. The way her sad eyes would dart to his and then away thrilled him. He wanted to be the one to bring happiness to those eyes.

By God, what a fool he had been.

“I have no idea what to do with Catherine,” David confessed. “I’ve never been so confused, so mistaken, about anything in life as I have been about her. But I know I cannot be near her. For my own sake.”

“She is the one who sinned, and she is the one who should be exiled, if one of you must be.”

“But she has nowhere else to go.”

“There are few families in the area who will welcome her with open arms. An illegitimate baby would be less of a scandal in London.”

“In London, it would only be less of a scandal with the kinds of people no one should know. The kinds of people who would take advantage of Catherine for it.” David clenched his fist. “Men like the father of the poor brat.”

Mrs Baxter, who until now had been listening intently but silently, spoke. “There is the assembly ball at Holywell next month.”

David looked at her. “What of it?”

“If you took your wife, she might make a friend there. Your sister and mother, I think, cannot be more allies, but the surrounding families of the countryside will surely not all spurn your wife. Mrs Lewis, for instance, has had five husbands. I think she is sympathetic to how complicated relationships can be.”

“Complicated is too delicate a word to describe it.”

“Whatever happened must be far from simple.”

“I don’t want to know.” David scowled at the crackling fire. “I have no curiosity in that regard. She betrayed me, and that is all there is to it.”

Despite that, he ruminated on Mrs Baxter’s suggestion, staring at the fire. The trouble with Catherine was that he was her only support right now. His family had been openly rude to her, except for Paul, but that was only because Paul preferred stabbing people in the back to slapping them in the face. They might have begrudgingly offered Catherine their support, but it would only come if Demery asked them for it. If he could find Catherine some other friends — reliable friends — then she would require less of him. Even one other true friend would take some of the weight off his shoulders.

“It’s not a bad idea,” he said. “In fact, I think it a quite good one — the ball at Holywell. It has been a long time since I have been to a ball in these parts. I would enjoy it, even if it were not successful.”

Mrs Baxter smiled slowly and widely. “I am full of good ideas.”

“You will be there?”

“With the baby, I think not. And your wife, daughter of baronet and second-cousin to an earl, would hardly wish to be my friend if I were. No. She will have little to do with farmers’ wives and squires’ daughters. A far cry down from her usual crowd, I imagine.”

“Beggars cannot be choosers,” David said. “Besides, if she were to turn you down for such a reason, then I have chosen poorly indeed.” He laughed softly and bitterly to himself. “But then I have already proven that.”

__

2022-10-30: So. New Hero. Bit of a different type from the rest. What do you think of David?

Chapter Six: Crocodile Smile

There were certain things that well-bred ladies simply did not talk about. Cate was therefore protected from any open discussion about what had happened in Demery’s room that night, though Miss Skinner dropped some heavy hints at breakfast the next morning. She wished to know if Cate had slept well. Perhaps Cate was a little fatigued this morning — there were shadows under her eyes? Perhaps the bed had not been warm enough, or perhaps too warm?

Cate answered those questions with enough embarrassment that Miss Skinner seemed satisfied. When later that day, Demery came to visit them in Cate’s apartments to ask Cate to attend a ball with him, Miss Skinner seemed to take it as proof of the success of her scheme. She never referred to the matter again, and Cate left her alone to her assumptions.

The ball was an event of great anticipation for Cate — much of it unpleasant. She shivered to imagine the sly looks and whispers she would receive. On the other hand, though she had always been shy and unsure of herself, she used to enjoy balls. If you did not know what to say, you could always pretend to be listening to the music or engaged in the dance, and it was exciting to dress up and know, by the eyes that watched her, that men and women alike thought her beautiful.

Of course, now, her beauty had faded. Her looks were something of a cause of anxiety to her. What little capital she ever had in the world — her family, her position, her wealth, her character, even her good name — had dwindled to nothing more than her face and body. If she were to impress anyone, to have anything she could be proud of in society, she would have to look pretty, or at least prettyish.

Over the two weeks until the ball, she occupied herself chiefly with exploring the potential of her wardrobe and playing with arrangements of her hair. When her parents had sent her away after her disgrace became known, they had taken back most of her good clothes. She would not need them anymore, her mother said, and she did not deserve them. She had no ball gown with her, and no time to commission one before the ball. Cate settled on alterations instead, stealing the transparent lace overskirt from one morning gown and attaching it to the underskirt of a second, then shortening the sleeves halfway to her shoulders. Lace and ribbons, stolen from various bonnets and slippers, added prettiness to the bodice. To her surprise, she found it fun. It had been a long time since she had engaged herself in anything beyond looking after Luke or necessary chores.

Of course, it was not as charming as a professionally fashioned gown would have been, Cate thought, daring to look at herself in the mirror the evening before the ball, but it was a ball gown. Besides, it was only Wales. They could not be accustomed to fine things.

Her hair and face caused her more concern. The hollows under her eyes and weary lines on her brow were not fading. She patted them with pomade and oil, and even risked a little rouge on her pale lips and cheeks, hoping that Demery would not notice. She did not think he would approve.

They rode together to Holywell in the dun-coloured coach, Cate, Miss Skinner, and Demery. Demery was dressed as Cate had known him in London: a black suit, some ten years out of date, and a dark waistcoat with murky embroidery. Miss Skinner wore a claret-coloured evening dress that made her long thin nose look very pink — unless, Cate thought with a silent smile, she had been at the rouge too.

They arrived at the assembly rooms to find that they were already bustling. Cate had not expected such a crowd. Of course the rooms themselves were not very large — the summer parlour in her father’s manor was larger than the dance room here — and from the broadness of their shoulders and accents, she suspected that more than a few handsome young men about the room were of a class no higher than well-to-do farmers. Despite that, everyone was very well dressed indeed. It was not London finery. There were no rubies or sapphires glinting at women’s throats. But the fabrics shimmered and shone under the candlelight and were cut in graceful lines. Cate felt dowdy by comparison. She hung back next to Miss Skinner. Demery stood near them, looking around the room.

“I would like to introduce you to my friends,” he said. “There are many people here I do not know. A great crowd.” He frowned. “I am not overfond of crowds.”

Before Demery could spot a friend, a voice called out his name.

“You did come! What a wonder!” Laurie pushed her way through the crowd to stand in front of Demery. Cate noticed rather jealously that she was looking very pretty indeed in a dress of poppy yellow that set off her dark eyes and hair. “I never thought I would see you here. The card room is through those doors.”

“I did not come to play cards.” Demery glanced at Cate. “Well. Perhaps later. Look, can you introduce Cate and me to a friend of yours? I don’t see anyone I know.”

“I think I saw the Bevans earlier. I don’t know where they’ve got to.” Laurie looked around. “Nell Bevans is sniffing out a dance from that old man. I bet Julia is in the refreshment room.”

“Miss Julia.” Demery looked relieved. “Yes, she always was a nice young girl. Perhaps you would care for lemonade, Catherine?”

Cate did not particularly care for lemonade, but she could see that Demery wished to introduce her to Julia Bevans, so she politely nodded.

Demery waded off through the crowd and Catherine followed in the gap he left in his wake. He was as broad-shouldered as the young men she thought might be farmers. Perhaps that was just how they were grown in Wales.

The refreshment room was less crowded than the dance room. Demery made a beeline for a rather dumpy-looking creature with carroty hair in a pink gown that did her no favours.

“Good evening, Miss Bevans,” he said, with the cumbersome good manners Cate knew so well. “How do you do?”

The creature was thoroughly occupied with a glass of lemonade. She swallowed urgently, spilling lemonade down her chin and onto her gown. “But very well, thank you, sir. How do you do, Captain Demery?”

“Quite well, thank you.” Demery cleared his throat. “May I introduce my wife?”

Miss Bevans’s pale gaze slid to look somewhere past Cate’s left shoulder. “I’m sorry. I see my sister. I must go.”

She went. Cate looked at her broad, pink, retreating back with bewilderment. To be cut by a woman like that!

“I apologize,” Demery said quietly. “She is not normally rude. I thought the two of you might be friends.”

Why on earth would I want to be friends with that dowdy slob? Cate thought.

Cate said: “It was a kind notion, Captain Demery.”

“I am sure there are others… closer friends of mine…”

It was hard to imagine Demery having close friends. Cate watched as he scanned the refreshment room and tried to picture it. Someone he would tell his innermost secrets, someone he would laugh with — no, she could not imagine him laughing. She was quite sure she had never seen him laugh. But his eyes met someone’s across the room and he looked relieved.

“Mr and Mrs Sayer. Mrs Sayer is always very polite. Let me introduce them to you.”

They crossed the room. Mr and Mrs Sayer turned out to be a rather stout middle-aged couple, involved in conversation with a pair of elderly women. When Demery said good evening, they responded with warmth, but their smiles faded when he introduced Cate. One of the elderly women whispered to the other and they turned and walked away. Mrs Sayer and her husband were not so openly rude: Mrs Sayer managed to stumble out that it was a pleasure to meet her, while Mr Sayer gave Cate a long, interested, hungry look that made her shudder. She kept her hands clasped firmly in front of her, even when he held out his hand for hers. A long moment’s expectant silence elapsed, then he, too, turned away. After a murmured apology, his wife turned after him. His voice rose above the hum of chatter:

“Not as friendly as I heard tell!”

Cate felt Demery stiffen next to her and flinched, but when he spoke to her his voice was quite calm and low.

“I must again apologize. You need not be afraid that Mr Sayer is one of my frequent guests. Indeed, he will not be welcome at Plas Bryn after tonight.”

“It was only a comment spoken out of hand.”

Demery cast a swift look down at her. “Not only.”

There was, in the low timbre of his voice, some frisson of suppressed anger. Had he seen Mr Sayer’s look? Had he thought her receptive to it?

“If you would like to go the card room, please do,” she said. “I do not need an escort.”

“You know no one here.”

“I am capable of making my own friends.”

Demery kept her gaze for a long, silent moment. Cate’s cheeks started to burn. It sounded wrong like that. It sounded like she meant something else altogether.

“It would be very ill-mannered of me to abandon you to the company of strangers,” Demery said finally. “I must introduce you to my friends.”

But friends were seemingly absent tonight. Demery got Cate a glass of lemonade and they loitered in the refreshment hall for some half-hour trying in vain to make introduction to people. No one was reluctant to speak to Demery, but as soon as he tried to introduce Cate their voices became cold and they found excuses to leave. At least there was no one else like Mr Sayer, with over-familiar eyes. It was less embarrassing to be rejected than to be leered at. All the same, Cate was quite sure that more than a few ladies were staring at her and whispering behind their fans.

Eventually Demery gave up. “Let’s go and find Laurie,” he said. “Do you enjoy whist? Laurie is quite good at it.”

Cate did not enjoy whist, but she was willing to be bored for an hour or two if it meant getting out of the refreshment room. Then, perhaps, she could plead a headache and go home. Her earlier enthusiasm for the ball was entirely dampened now. It was clear by their eyes that no one thought she was pretty, except for Mr Sayer, and she would rather he did not. Nor could she really deny that anyone was wrong. Even if it was only a Welsh country ball, she had to admit that every other woman was dressed very well indeed, and she was underdressed by comparison. If only her mother had not taken all Cate’s best gowns away.

They went through to the card room where they found Mrs Skinner and Laurie playing dummy whist with a third woman Cate had not yet met. She was about Cate’s age, perhaps a little older, with willowy limbs and a long, solemn face, marked out by large, heavy-lidded dark eyes. She looked up as they approached, her eyes going first to Demery and then to Cate. Then she looked back down at her cards and calmly took the trick with the two of clubs.

“I would have won that!” Mrs Skinner said crossly.

“Yes, I know.” The woman played the three of clubs. “Laura?”

“Blast!” Laurie said, tossing down the two of diamonds. “You know I’ve no trumps left, don’t you?”

The woman shrugged. She won the last three tricks of the round, which soothed Miss Skinner’s ruffled feathers considerably, as she was her partner. Then she turned again to Demery and Cate.

“Good evening,” she said. “Is this your wife, Captain Demery? Perhaps she would like to join us at our table. We are not playing very high.”

“Catherine. Might I introduce Miss Elizabeth Vaughn? Miss Vaughn, this is my wife, Catherine.”

Miss Vaughn held out a long, slender hand and Cate shook it. It was not precisely a friendly hand, but it was the closest thing to warmth Cate had received all night.

“I suppose I can stand to lose a little of my pin money,” Cate said. “If Mrs Wynn does not mind partnering with me.”

“Not at all.” Laurie shuffled the cards with deft fingers. “After all, there will be pleasure even in losing if it means you do too.”

Cate sat down in the chair opposite Laurie. She felt rather the same way. The cards were dealt in such a way that they could not fail to win the first round, however, and they scraped a point in the second as well. Demery stood and observed them until halfway through the third round when he drifted away to the vingt-et-un table.

“Does Captain Demery not play whist?” Miss Skinner asked.

“Not, I think, when his wife is playing too,” Laurie said.

“I would give up my place. I am not very good at card games, I know.” Miss Skinner sighed. “I must be an unfortunate partner for Miss Vaughn.”

Miss Vaughn gave no response, perhaps because Miss Skinner had just wasted the king of clubs on a trick Laurie had led with the eight of diamonds.

“I do think that it does good for a husband and wife to play cards together,” Miss Skinner continued. “Or even against each other — cribbage, Catherine. You must ask Captain Demery to a game of cribbage in the evening.”

“He will refuse,” Laurie said.

“He is very fond of chess,” Miss Vaughn said, playing a diamond. “And that is my trick — but we have lost the round again, I fear.”

They had. Miss Vaughn took it nobly. There was no hint of impatience or annoyance in her heavy-lidded dark eyes. It was Miss Skinner’s turn to shuffle. She did so slowly and clumsily, dropping several cards on the floor, which Cate bent to pick up. As she raised her head again, she felt a wave of dizziness come over her and clutched the table.

“Are you alright, Mrs Demery?” Miss Vaughn asked quietly.

“Yes. It is nothing — a little faintness that goes very quickly.”

“Catherine is very delicate,” Miss Skinner said. “She always has been, and since… well. She is more delicate lately. Should I fetch some wine?”

Cate shook her head. “It is gone already.”

Laurie was watching her through narrow dark eyes. “I don’t suppose you’re going to sicken and die, are you?”

“I think it very unlikely,” Cate said.

Miss Skinner dealt the cards. “Catherine must take care of her health. I am not sure the sea air is entirely good for her. London would be much safer.”

“I hear Tunbridge-Wells is very good for invalids,” Laurie said cheerfully. “I will suggest it to my brother.”

“I have heard the sea air is very healthy,” Miss Vaughn said. “Healthier than London, I would think.”

Miss Skinner tutted and finished dealing the hands. “But you do not know Catherine’s health the way I do.”

“It is hardly worth talking about,” Cate said. “Clubs is trumps, is it not?”

It was. Cate led with the ace of the suit, the only trick she was likely to win that round.

“David has poor health too,” Laurie said, placing the two of spades on top of Miss Vaughn’s four of clubs. “He took a sabre to the heart at Morales. He was barely more than a boy at the time. But you would never hear him complain.”

“I do not mean to complain,” Cate said. “Really. I would as soon we stop talking of my health altogether.”

Miss Skinner frowned at her hand, then carefully drew out and played the two of clubs. “I did not know Captain Demery was injured. Was it very bad?”

“Awful. The scar is quite hideous, is it not, Catherine?”

“I have not seen it.”

“Ah.” A crocodile smile spread across Laurie’s face. “I see.”

Too late, Cate realized what Laurie saw. There was an air of quiet satisfaction about her as they proceeded to lose all but two tricks that round. Sometimes, she looked across to her brother at the vingt-et-un table and smiled to herself. There was something enraging about it. Thankfully, the implication passed Miss Skinner by, though Cate was sure Miss Vaughn had picked up on it; once or twice she gave Cate a rather considering look.

Cate took the cards to deal the next round, her fingers clumsy. She felt the need to make some claim upon Demery, to prove to Laurie that there was something more between them than convenience.

Through ill-managed play, they lost the last hand by several tricks, giving Miss Skinner and Miss Vaughn the game.

“Another?” Miss Vaughn asked. “Perhaps with a change of partners?”

“You’ll have to excuse me.” Cate got up from her chair. “I owe you, I know, but I wish to speak with Cap— my husband.”

She slipped through the tables and chairs to where Demery was sitting at the vingt-et-un table and quietly, deliberately laid a hand on his shoulder. He turned and, on seeing her, as quietly and deliberately twisted his shoulder out from under her hand.

“What is it?”

For an instant, Cate felt the absurd compulsion to demand to see the scar on his heart. She controlled herself, well aware that Laurie was watching. “I’m sorry to interrupt you. I don’t feel well.”

“What do you mean? Headache?”

That he had guessed the malady she planned to invent flustered Cate. “No, I feel… dizzy. I think I am overtired. If it’s not too much bother, I’d like to go home.”

He frowned at her. “It’s no bother.” He turned back to the table. “You can take the carriage with Miss Skinner. I’ll get a lift with Laurie.”

This was not how Cate had expected him to respond. It did not seem somehow gentlemanly. He had never before shown a want of concern for her safety — not of course that tiredness demanded a man’s protection, nor that she actually felt tired, but she was keenly aware that Laurie was watching them. Tears pricked her eyes.

Demery asked for a card then sighed and tossed the dealer a shilling. He turned back to Cate as the play continued. “Are you going home then?”

Cate looked away so he could not see her tears. “Yes. I think I will.”

“Miss Skinner will be disappointed.” Was there amusement in Demery’s voice? It was hard to tell. “No matter. I will see you tomorrow, Catherine.”

Cate moved away without saying goodnight. She beckoned to the claret-coloured blur of Miss Skinner, asked her in a low voice to make their excuses, then marched towards the door. The candles of the dance room were streaks of brightness above the brilliant swirling silks of the dancers. Cate bumped into someone and muttered an apology. She could hardly see where she was going for the tears in her eyes but she was determined to get out of sight before she let them fall. At last she made it to the entry hall and sent for her coach. After a few minutes, Miss Skinner caught her up.

“I must say, I do not like Miss Wynn,” Miss Skinner said. “She was not concerned about your health. Not at all. She suggested a dip in the sea would fix it — in this weather!”

“She is teasing you.” Cate swallowed the lump in her throat. “Cruel woman.”

Miss Skinner peered at Cate. “You are a funny colour. Very flushed. I hope you do not have a fever. In London, you know, you could have the best of doctors.”

“We won’t be going to London. Demery will not countenance it.”

“Hm.” Miss Skinner chewed on a fingernail. “Maybe.”

__

2022-11-21: I had originally intended Cate to be unfairly bullied this chapter. She was going to be an innocent victim. Instead, she’s a passive, manipulative, insecure idiot.

Chapter Seven: Ogre in Disguise

David and his sister were never very conversational at the best of times. When, in the early hours of the morning, they left the assembly hall and got into their mother’s coach to go home, they said barely a word to each other for some half-hour. Laurie sat opposite him, with her arm against the window, staring out into the dark of the countryside. David was busy enough with his own thoughts that it was some time before he realized that she, too, had something weighing on her mind.

“Is it Wynn?” he asked.

“Hah!” Laurie scowled. “I wasn’t thinking of him at all til you mentioned him.”

That was a lie. She hardly stopped thinking of him. David watched her face under the colourless light of the moon. Shadowed and thinly lit, the unpleasant sharp lines at the edges of her eyes disappeared. It had been Wynn who put them there. Until she married him, Laurie had been bright and laughing and carefree. Wynn had made her laughter bitter and dimmed her brightness.

“Paul’s the only one of us who made a good marriage,” David said. “He chose well.”

Laurie laughed. “I would not call it that! Not even by comparison to us. Annabelle is the stupidest woman I ever laid eyes upon. I would rather be afflicted by cruelty than stupidity.”

Wynn had been clever, at least. David had to admit that. Clever enough that no one had suspected the kind of man he really was until it was far too late.

“Do you ever miss him?” he asked.

Laurie’s eyes were black under the moonlight. She kept his gaze for an uncomfortable amount of time. “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. I just thought… I mean, it wasn’t all bad, was it? You did love him.”

“Once. Before I knew him.” She gave him a bitter smile. “But that isn’t really love. It’s just an illusion. You would know.”

But it hurt the same way. And if he had not really been in love with Catherine, then he had never been in love. There had simply never been anyone else for him.

“I’m happy to hear you’re out of it now,” Laurie said after a while.

“What do you mean?”

Laurie looked back out the window, as though she could not meet his eyes. “You never consummated the marriage.”

David tried to cough and swallow at the same time, and ended up choking. Laurie made no effort to help him as he recovered.

“She told you?” he managed.

“Of course not. I put two and two together. She’s not seen your scar. But I am glad, David. I was worried, when you brought her here, that you were still under the illusion of love.”

“I’m under no illusion about her. Trust me, I see her now for exactly what she is. She tried to lie to me tonight. She pretended she was ill so we would leave. But I could feel her insincerity in the way she touched me.” He shuddered. “Why is it so easy to see now, when for the four months of our engagement, I was blind?”

“Hm.” Laurie tapped on the edge of the window. “I question your vision, then and now. You’re too honest to easily tell truth from lies. And she had a dizzy spell when we were playing cards.”

“Did she?”

“I don’t think she was acting. But a dizzy spell is nothing. I’m glad you did not coddle her and go with her. She and her gorgon can manage.”

“I didn’t think she was actually unwell — if I had…” For a moment, David felt a stab of concern. He suppressed it: if she had not lied tonight, she had certainly lied to him before, and a dizzy spell was hardly deadly. “…I must do my duty by her.”

“You always do. Your duty by Catherine. Your duty by Mother. Your duty by Papa. What about all that is due to you, Davie? Catherine will not care to think of it. Mother always wanted her own way. And Papa… probably never wanted what Mother always told us he did.”

“I have you.”

“No, you don’t.” Laurie shook her head firmly. “I’m too busy looking after my own interests. I can’t take on yours as well. All I can do is warn you not to let Catherine take advantage of you.”

“She won’t have the chance. I’ll be in London most of the time. I plan to hardly see her.”

“Yes, effectively exiled from the land you love to avoid the wife you hate. Uncle Lew will be laughing in his grave. His one ambition was to prevent you from inheriting Plas Bryn. And Uncle Lew failed. Only for you to end up achieving his ambition for him. Plas Bryn will never be your home while Catherine is here.”

“I can’t restore the place without money. The slate mines must be expanded and that requires investors. If I go to London—”

“Taradiddle! It should be Catherine who leaves, not you.” There was a particular venom in Laurie’s voice. “The trouble with you is that you always were too soft.”

“The trouble with you is that you were cut from black jade.” David breathed out sharply; there was no point fighting with Laurie. It was not like when they were children. They were friends now. “I mean, Laurie, what I said, I must go to London for investors. I will be living there, mostly for a year or two, while Catherine stays here and the scandal dies down. After that, maybe…” He could not send Catherine away. Not ever, really. Nor could he live with Catherine. “…I am going to restore Plas Bryn one day. I promise.”

“You’re already halfway done. You could enjoy the house as it is, if you just lived there. Without Catherine.”

“One day, perhaps I shall. Perhaps you will live there with me, rather than with Mother.”

Laurie raised an eyebrow. “And who would murder whom first?”

David laughed. “Alright. Perhaps not.”

They were on the hill road approaching Plas Bryn now. With the full moon behind it, it looked like something out of a gothic play. When David had been a boy, he had thought of it as a castle taken over by an ogre, his uncle Lewis, and of himself as the boy-knight fated to rescue it. There had no maiden in the fairy tale he constructed for himself: his cousin Sarah was too self-assured to ever need any rescue, and he had always believed maidens ought to be flaxen-haired anyway. It came to him now that he had succeeded in rescuing the castle, which had indeed been his fate, or at least his inheritance. Only the flaxen-haired maid he had installed in it was an ogre in disguise.

There was probably a fairy tale for that too. One without a happy ending.

“Why are you smiling like that?” Laurie asked suspiciously.

“It’s nothing. A little joke I thought of. Not worth repeating.”

They spent the rest of the journey in silence. Laurie let David down at the front of Plas Bryn and he made his way in the dark through the scullery entrance and up the stairs. In his room, he paused. There was a light glowing from under the door that led to Catherine’s apartments. It was not a bright light, perhaps only a single candle, but enough to make him a little concerned. It was very late for her to be up, after claiming to be unwell, unless of course she really was unwell and could not sleep. David hesitated a moment, then knocked firmly at the door. He waited a long moment, but there was no response. Uncertainly, he unlocked the door and pushed it open slightly. The gap revealed a single candle lit and placed on a side table near the door. It was burning very low, barely more than a stub now, and wax was flooding the candlestick. Catherine must have forgotten it on her way to bed.

David entered the room to snuff it out. Only then did he discern a faint movement from the nearest sofa. Catherine lay upon it, one blanket over her knees, another in her arms. Only it wasn’t just a blanket. It was the baby, clutched against her chest and softly snoring.

David felt a strange stab of bittersweet hurt. The picture was so charming, a sleeping woman with her sleeping baby. It was the kind of picture he had dreamed of when he was engaged to Catherine. Only it wasn’t his baby.

He would have blown out the candle and left, but even as he thought about it, Luke awoke and blinked bleary-eyed up at him. Then, suddenly, he gave a gurgle of laughter and smiled. It was impossible not to smile back.

“No, don’t move,” David said softly. “You’ll wake her.”

Stubbornly, Luke wrested one tiny arm free of the blanket that covered him and struggled determinedly to free the other. He wobbled, dangerously close to the edge of the couch and a tumble to the floor. Gently, David knelt and pulled him from Catherine’s chest. He bundled Luke into his arms and joggled him slightly. His weight and warmth were somehow unexpected. Perhaps twenty pounds of warm, soft humanity, and one very curious fist tugging at David’s hair.

“Ssh,” he said. “You’ll wake your mother.”

Luke gave a yell of joy, as though that prospect appealed to him.

On the sofa, Catherine stirred, then sat up abruptly. She stared, wide-eyed, at David.

“I… I didn’t want him to fall off the couch,” David said, feeling absurdly guilty under her gaze.

She kept staring at him, wide-eyed. She still seemed half-asleep. And the blanket, which had lain over her chest, had fallen into her lap. It revealed her nightgown, the front of which had been opened to reveal one pale round breast. David’s cheeks burned, but he could not bring himself to break his gaze nor think of words to speak. Catherine gasped and dragged the blanket up to cover herself again.

“What are you doing in here?” she hissed.

“I saw a light. I thought you’d left the fire burning. Then I… I saw you were sleeping and Luke tried to crawl and I thought he was in danger of falling so I picked him up.”

Catherine’s gaze went to Luke in his arms. She gave a long, soft sigh. “I fell asleep. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” She started to reach for Luke, then stopped. “Can you turn around, Captain Demery?”

David turned, his cheeks still burning. He could hear the sound of clothing being tugged and pulled behind him. Then soft footfall on carpet and he felt a tap on his elbow. He turned. Catherine had fixed her dress, though her cheeks were suspiciously dark in the dim light.

“I’ll put him to bed,” she said.

“He seems quite awake.” Luke was now investigating David’s earlobe as though trying to discover if it could be unattached to his person.

“All the more reason.”

She held out her arms and David carefully transferred Luke back to her. She stroked his downy hair as he wriggled in her arms and babbled. Then she turned and went through the bedroom door. David picked up the candle stub and followed her to light the way. She went through the bedroom and into Luke’s nursery where she laid him down in the crib and shushed and settled him. David watched her. He thought there were shadows beneath her eyes again. But perhaps it was just the candlelight.

“Do you feel well now?” he asked, perhaps more than a sliver of malice in his tone. “Laurie said you had a dizzy spell.”

“I have them sometimes.” Cate’s own tone was, to his ears, defensive. “It is nothing.”

“There is a very good apothecary in the village.”

She shook her head. “I’m a lot better than I was. There is no need to think of it. But I was… I was tired tonight.”

David wasn’t going to press her in the lie. “Alright. Good night then, Catherine.”

“Wait.”

He stopped at the door. She was standing by the crib looking uncertainly at him.

“Laurie said you were wounded,” she said. “She said you were stabbed in the heart with a sabre at Morales. Is it true?”

“It did not reach my heart, but it was close. It was a long time ago. There’s nothing but a scar left now.”

Her gaze was somewhere in the middle of his vest, as though she were trying to imagine it. “Can I… Will you show me?”

“Why?”

“I— I don’t know.”

“Then you cannot see.”

She looked oddly hurt — her pride, he realized. She did not like being told no. How had he not noticed that over the period of their courtship? Seen it for the warning it was.

“You saw all of me,” she said accusingly.

David was in no mood to apologise for an honest mistake. Not when he was being faced with dishonesty, or at least deceptiveness. He looked down the thin fabric of her nightgown to the triangular shadow where it gathered between her thighs. “Not all of you.”

Her cheeks flooded scarlet and she froze. He had the strange triumph of knowing he had shocked her. Had she thought him too much the gentleman to say such a thing? He had thought about it — about her — often enough.

He was better off not thinking about her.

He turned away. “Let us not reveal more of ourselves than we have to, Catherine? We might not like what we see.”

__

2022-11-29: David is strangely composed about Cate flashing him.

Chapter Eight: Fever Dream

After the first few weeks of unsureness and confusion, marriage somehow became easy. Cate hadn’t expected that, but then, she had expected to see her husband more than once or twice a day for a few moments at a time. Demery wanted very little to do with her, it seemed, and only talked to her about matters of convenience — to ask her whether she might desire the coach to take her to church, or to inform her that his mother was coming to tea. For the most part, Cate and Miss Skinner were let well alone in her apartments. The weather was too miserable to consider going out, so they remained indoors and played with Luke or amused themselves with books and cards and sundry chores. In the morning and evening they dined together in a small and rather shabby dining room downstairs. Demery never dined with them. If he ever visited any friends, he never invited Cate to join him, and if he ever had any guests, he must have entertained them in a different part of the rambling manor. It was better that way, Cate thought. She would not know what to talk of with Demery for the full hour of a dinner. Their conversation could barely fill five-minute intervals. Besides, Luke was getting very inquisitive about meals. He liked mashed cauliflower and stewed pear and boiled carrots. Sometimes he enjoyed gumming on a biscuit or a cucumber. Cate liked to sit him on her lap as she ate and share little bits and pieces with him. Sometimes it got messy. More than once Miss Skinner had had to dodge a flying lump of potato. Cate did not imagine Demery would approve such happy chaos.

In late November, Demery prepared to leave for London. He would be gone for several weeks, until almost Christmas, and then leave again in the new year. Cate secretly looked forward to his going. She felt quite content in the company of Miss Skinner and Luke. To be sure, Miss Skinner was not always pleasant company, but her unpleasantness was of a tolerable, familiar sort. Cate had no desire to get to know the rest of the neighbourhood, no desire to become better acquainted with Laurie or Demery’s mother, hardly even any desire to go to the village or nearest town, as she did, occasionally, to amuse herself by spending a little money on some trinket for herself or present for Luke.

The night before Demery was to leave, the first snow of the year fell upon Plas Bryn. Cate stood at the window watching the flakes drift down through the darkness. Luke had already been put to bed, so it was just Miss Skinner and Cate in the sitting room. Miss Skinner never saw the delight in snow and was on the sofa reading her bible. Every year around the beginning of December, she became fervently interested in her bible, though she never reached Christmas Eve before becoming mired in Leviticus and putting aside her resolution to read it through. Cate wondered if it snowed out at sea. It seemed very strange to think of snowflakes hitting the slatey Irish Sea, roiling out in the distance. Did the snowflakes melt into the sea, or would they float?

One of the fishermen in the village would probably be able to tell her. Or perhaps Demery, but she did not wish to ask him something so inconsequential.

“Close the curtains,” Miss Skinner said. “The chill is creeping through.”

It was, a little, but the view was too pretty for Catherine to care. Besides, Miss Skinner was wrapped in a wool blanket and in front of a cheerful fire. She could not be too cold.

“I want to watch the snow.”

“You will catch your death there.”

“I am quite warm.”

“There is nothing to see! It is night!”

“The snowflakes are tinted gold in the candlelight coming through the window,” Cate said. “It’s very pretty.” An idea came to her suddenly. “It is Luke’s first snow. I will show him.”

Ignoring Miss Skinner’s protestations, she passed through her bedroom to Luke’s room. He was deeply asleep in his crib where she had put him three hours before. She stopped a moment, as she always did before waking him, to watch him and delight in the mere fact of his being. His tiny chest swelled rapidly in and out under the soft woollen blanket she pinioned him with.

“Darling,” she whispered. “Sweetheart, wake up. I want to show you something.”

Luke did not stir. His eyelids remained firmly closed and his little chest did not break its rapid rhythm.

A chill ran down Cate’s spine. Something was wrong. His sleep was too deep, his breathing too rapid. She touched his cheek with two fingers then drew back with a start. He was burning hot, though the room was only warm.

Gently, she shook him, but his eyes remained firmly shut and the breath rasped thinly between his open lips. His neck pulsed with every breath. She whispered his name urgently but still his eyes did not open. She touched his little hands and found them limp and clammy.

For several desperate minutes, she tried to wake him. Nothing could open his eyes, not even pinching his burning cheeks. Nor was he sweating. He was simply hot, burning hot, with thin, rapid breaths, occasionally punctuated by terrible pauses. Cate bundled him into her arms and hurried back to the sitting room. Miss Skinner was still on the sofa ploughing through Genesis.

“Luke’s sick,” Cate said. “He— he’s hot. He won’t wake up.”

Miss Skinner dropped the bible and looked up. “What? He has a fever?”

“Fever.” That was the word. “Yes, yes, he has a fever. He won’t wake.”

Miss Skinner got up and took Luke from her. She patted his brow and pinched his palm, exactly as Cate had. Exactly as with Cate, it had no effect. Luke slept on.

“Hot salt water,” Miss Skinner said. “Or brandy and ice.”

“No. We need a doctor.” The thought of giving Luke salt water or brandy brought some sense back to Cate. “No salt. No brandy.” She looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was past eleven already. “Where can we get a doctor at this hour?”

“In my experience, there is little that a doctor can say that makes more sense than what I already knew. Hot salt water has never failed to cure me of a fever.”

“And it has never failed to make me ill for all the years you’ve been swearing by it!”

Cate strode past Miss Skinner to the door that led to Demery’s room and tried the handle. It did not budge. He must have locked the door again after the night he had come in. She drummed on the door with the heel of her hand.

“Captain Demery!” she shouted. “Demery!”

“You’ll wake the house,” Miss Skinner said. “He’s probably asleep already. He has a long journey tomorrow.”

“I don’t care. Captain Demery! Wake up!”

So suddenly it almost clipped her on the chin, the door opened. Demery stood on the other side, not asleep at all, but wearing a threadbare banyan over his shirt and trousers as though sleep could not be far off.

“It’s Luke,” Cate said. “He’s sick. He has a fever and won’t wake up. We need a doctor.”

Demery looked at her for a moment, then past her to Luke in Miss Skinner’s arms. He slipped past Cate and rested two fingers on Luke’s forehead. “He’s very hot.”

“I know. And he won’t wake.” Cate was trying not to panic because she knew it would make things worse, but her vision was blurred with tears. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Cold damp towels, to start with. Cool him down a little.”

“Towels, yes. Where are towels?”

“Miss Skinner will fetch them.” Demery gently took Luke from Miss Skinner’s arms and brought him back to Cate. “Here. He’ll feel most comfortable if you’re the one holding him. Miss Skinner, you might want to try Mrs Demery’s washstand. There should be fresh water there too.”

Miss Skinner was never one to appreciate orders, but either the urgency of the situation or the calm firmness of Demery’s voice quelled her natural bellicosity. She went to fetch the towels.

Demery crossed to the bell cord and pulled it. “I’ll get the maid. I think we’ve an old medicine box somewhere that used to belong to my aunt. There might be something useful in it.”

“But I don’t know what is useful. And he won’t wake up.”

“Probably needs his sleep.” Demery came back to Cate and brushed Luke’s tuft of hair back from his eyes. “He’s not sweating. The fever hasn’t broken yet. How is the fire in his room?”

“High.”

“Well that’s not helped. Here. Loosen that frock he’s wearing. And sit down.”

Demery grasped Cate firmly by the elbow and pulled her down onto the sofa Miss Skinner had vacated. She tugged the ties on Luke’s frock loose and let the air wash over his chest. Even that was covered in a mottled flush and hot to touch.

“We need a doctor,” she said.

“There is no doctor in the village. Only the apothecary.”

“Then we must send to the nearest town.”

“That would be Rhyl. In this weather, it’s an hour away. By the time I get back with the doctor, Luke might be all better. The apothecary can be here in twenty minutes.”

Cate bit her lip until she tasted blood. “But an apothecary is not a medical man. He is a shopkeeper.”

“Who sells medicines which can calm fevers.”

“But he cannot prescribe, he cannot diagnose. Not with a doctor’s expertise.”

“Mr Jones has his own expertise, Catherine. He is very good at what he does.”

“But he is not a doctor!”

Miss Skinner returned at that moment with a basin of water in her hands and several towels hung over her arm. She set the basin down on a table and dipped and wrung out a towel. Cate patted it gently on Luke’s brow. He gave a peculiar little shiver but still did not wake.

“I am begging you, Captain Demery,” she said. “Please send for the doctor.”

“You don’t need to beg. I will go myself. I will go immediately.”

He turned and went back through the door to his own room, shutting it behind him.

“He might have sent a servant,” Miss Skinner said, wringing out another towel. “Really. Some men have no sense of practicality. Has he woken?”

“No. He keeps sleeping.” Cate swallowed a lump in her throat. “The towel is already warm.”

“We’ll change it. Here.” Miss Skinner handed her another towel. “Calm down, Catherine. Panicking never helped anyone. You must learn to control your emotions. You always were far too sensitive.”

The lump in Cate’s throat swelled. She could not even deny it was an apt criticism; every major mistake she had made in her life had been the result of being too emotional.

There was a knock at the door and a maid entered. She carried a large wooden box in her arms.

“Captain Demery said the baby was sick,” she said. “I’ve brought the medicine box. And there’s tea coming, strong tea for you.”

“Thank you.” Cate had never felt so grateful to a servant in her life. “Thank you ever so much. Is there something for fever?”

The maid set the box down on a table and opened its lid. She squinted at the labels. “Cal-keen-ed mag-ness-ia,” she pronounced slowly. “Cas-tor oh-il— oil. The old master used to use those two a lot.”

“What did he suffer?” Miss Skinner asked with genuine interest.

“Indigestion, mainly.”

“I don’t think that will help us,” Cate said. “What is there for fever?”

Miss Skinner went to examine the box. “Zinc sulphate. Tar. Tartar. Oils of various kinds. Lavender oil on the temples might help. But there’s no fever powder. Ah. Epsom salts. I tell you, Catherine, a little epsom salt dissolved in warm water will calm the fever.”

“Give me the lavender oil,” Cate said. “Here. I’ll put it on the towel.”

She took the bottle and shook a few drops into the basin of cold water then refreshed her towel. Luke slept on, though she thought he felt a little cooler to her touch.

Tea came and Cate and Miss Skinner drank it. The towels were refreshed several more times, and the water changed. Luke was not so burningly hot as he had been. He began to sweat and, still asleep, mewl, seemingly in some sort of fever dream. Cate wiped away his sweat and stroked his damp tuft of hair.

After an hour, he finally woke and began to cry, softly and lethargically. Cate kissed him all over and petted him and whispered that it was alright, Mama was here.

“Let me hold him,” Miss Skinner said. “Take a break.”

“No. I don’t want to.” Cate kissed him again. “I’m not letting him go.”

He began to shiver, and she wrapped him up tightly in a blanket and sat by the nursery fire. From then on, he was either shivering or hot or both at once. But at least he was awake, and his fever breaking.

–

2022-12-10: Life before baby Tylenol was pretty rough.

Chapter Nine: The Shameful Truth

It was well past midnight when Demery returned. By then, Luke was merely warm and fitfully sleeping. The doctor was a fat middle-aged man with a thick beard and scowling eyes. He poked and prodded Luke, who woke up with a cry, listened to his heart with a stethoscope, and stuck a stubby finger in his mouth to look at his tongue. Cate watched, her own heart hammering.

“A febrile episode,” the doctor declared. “And almost over. Calm yourself, Mrs Demery. There was nothing to be concerned about.”

After everything that had happened, it was the ‘calm yourself’ that sent Cate over the edge. She dropped onto the sofa and began to cry helplessly. The doctor muttered something about new mothers and mother hens.

“Of course, new mothers are naturally anxious about their babies,” Demery said. “And greater knowledge will help allay that anxiety. Why is he sick? What should we do?”

“Why? Sometimes babies get fevers. Cold compresses and boiled Peruvian bark are all that should be given. But this child’s fever has broken and he can be put to bed and left alone. There is certainly nothing for me to do here.” The doctor clicked his tongue. “All that way through the snow to get here, and all for nothing!”

“But not for nothing,” Demery said. “We now know it is not out of the usual. We know what to do next time. Let us leave the women to the baby. I have some very good brandy downstairs if you would like something to ward off the chill…”

The doctor and Demery left the room. Cate stayed weeping on the sofa while Luke wriggled and cried softly in his bed — perhaps in response to her tears.

Miss Skinner had never been the maternal sort. She sat gingerly next to Cate and patted her on the knee. “There. You see. Nothing to worry about. I knew it wouldn’t be.”

She had known nothing of the sort. She had fretted and worried all night.

“And what did I tell you,” she added. “The doctor did not have anything of any sense to tell us. They never do. Now stop crying, Catherine. It does no one any good.”

Cate rubbed at her eyes and tried to stop weeping, but the tears kept coming. She felt even worse to know that the doctor and Demery had gone out through the cold and dark to no real effect, and that Demery was right and the apothecary would have been a faster, wiser choice. The apothecary would have had Peruvian bark. That made her cry harder.

“We must buy Peruvian bark tomorrow.” Cate spoke through tears. “We must always have some ready.”

“It is wise to have a well-stocked medicine box,” Miss Skinner said. “Though I do not know that Peruvian bark is any more powerful than other remedies.”

“We must buy other medicines as well. I should have thought of the matter before now.”

“Better late than never,” Miss Skinner said. “Though, of course, a stitch in time saves nine. I suppose we’ll save our stitches next time. Ah. Captain Demery.”

Cate looked up. Demery’s dark figure loomed in the doorway, blurred through her tears. She blinked at him. For the first time, she noticed that he still wore the threadbare maroon banyan, and he had not had time to change. He could not have done more than put on his greatcoat and boots before leaving the house.

“I’m sorry I made you go through the snow,” she said.

“You did not make me. You asked and I agreed. Here. I have some wine. I think you should drink it.”

He came closer and pressed a glass into her hand. She sipped it slowly. Some of her tears mixed in with it and it was too strong for her taste anyway, but somehow the alcohol did calm the ache of guilt in her belly.

Miss Skinner looked crossly at Demery. “Now is hardly the time to start drinking wine.”

“A little wine helps settle the nerves,” he said. “Perhaps you would like some too, Miss Skinner?”

“I was not hinting that I had been neglected. Though it comes to me now that I was. You only brought wine for Catherine. Of course, she is your wife, but the more you mention it, the more pointed the omission feels.”

“I apologize for overlooking you,” Demery said. “I thought you to be in no need of a stimulant. I will go at once.”

He made a movement towards the door but Miss Skinner rose to her feet and stalled him.

“No, no,” she said. “I am quite in control of my nerves. They do not trouble me at all. The crisis is over and I am going to bed.”

She departed before he could even say good night.

“She is right,” Demery said. “The crisis is over. We can all go to bed.”

There may have been some faint, dry humour in his voice, but Cate was in no mood for even a smile. She worried down some more wine. “I can’t sleep. I want to watch him.”

“May I stay and watch him with you?”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t think your eyes are in any condition for watching yet.” He crossed to Luke’s crib and looked down upon him. “And because I was worried too.”

That made Cate cry again, a river of hot, painful tears running down her face. Then Luke began to cry too, and she downed the rest of the wine to attempt to halt her tears. Through blurred vision, she saw Demery pick him up and soothe him gently against his broad shoulder. Luke looked so tiny in his arms. And so safe.

“Do you want him?” Demery asked.

“No. You… you do it.” She wiped her eyes on her damp sleeve. “I don’t trust myself not to drop him right now.”

“I trust you.” Demery sat down on the other end of the sofa and nestled Luke against his chest. “The last thing you would do is drop him.”

She could not quite believe it, not right now. She set the empty wine glass down on the floor and took raw, salty breaths to try to control herself. As her tears dried, she could see Demery more clearly. He looked incongruous in the softly furnished room, shabby and windswept and out of place. His hands, so powerful and strong, yet so gentle, holding Luke. His face was tilted away from her, giving her the opportunity to study it. A rather long, solemn face, with such a heavy brow and such dark eyes. The lines around his eyes told of years spent outdoors, but the lashes that surrounded them were long and dark. She had never particularly noticed them before.

His dark eyes rose to meet her gaze and she quickly looked away.

“He’s sleeping again,” Demery said. “I’ll try to put him back to bed.”

He rose and nestled Luke back in his crib. After a little wriggling and whimpering, Luke fell silent, but Demery did not leave. Instead, he came back to sit down on the other end of the sofa. There was weariness in his movements. Guiltily, Cate remembered that he was to begin his journey to London in the morning, which was not far away now.

“Thank you,” she said. “For going to get the doctor, and in the snow too. I asked a lot of you. I’m truly grateful.”

“I will always help you if you ask, Catherine.”

Of course he had said so before now, he had even proven it. He had provided her with pin money, given her these apartments, and treated her with courtesy, albeit distant, but until now it had not felt personal. It had been money and manners, not kindness.

For the first time, Cate felt the need to make him understand. It did not seem right to accept his kindness without him knowing the shameful truth behind her disgrace.

“I want to explain myself,” she said. “The choices I made last year that led to me having Luke. I’m not asking forgiveness. I just want you to know. Will you listen?”

He thought about it for a long moment before responding. “If you wish.”

She took a deep breath and tried to think of a way to begin that would not hurt him. Perhaps it was impossible. She launched clumsily in:

“I wanted to say no,” she said. “When you asked me to marry you, I wanted to refuse.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I could not. You asked my father’s permission first, you see, and he gave it to you. So I had no choice but to say yes.”

Demery shook his head but said nothing.

“It felt like I had been bought and sold,” she said. “One dance at a ball, and the next day, I was engaged to marry a stranger. I was so angry. And terrified. I knew nothing of you at all. But all my friends told me it was such a good match and my father so very pleased and my mother so very proud.”

She looked at him, in case he had some reply, but he was only leaning against the arm of the sofa and staring off into the distance. He might not have been listening at all.

“The more time I spent with you, the more scared I felt,” she said. “You were so very severe and serious. I could not understand you at all and I could not imagine being your wife. I thought you were some sort of Bluebeard and I your chosen victim. I would rather be engaged to anyone else I knew.” She shut her eyes. “And I knew someone else. I thought he was a friend, I trusted him.”

Demery was silent. The only sound in the room was Luke’s soft breathing. Cate opened her eyes and let out a short, sharp breath. She could not stop telling the story now, no matter how much it hurt to recall it.

“This… man, Luke’s father, he had a flirtatious manner. I thought with a little encouragement, he might ask me to marry him. It seemed the only way I could escape my engagement to you.”

She paused for a moment to wonder at her thinking. She had not loved Luke’s father, not even close. She had merely been trying to trade one cage for another.

“He saw in my encouragement something else,” she continued. “And I saw in his flirtation something that was not there. So I allowed him to make love to me, thinking it might precipitate the proposal he had not offered. But it did not.” She swallowed sudden tears. “Afterwards, he promised me that he would never tell anyone. He had never seduced a virgin before, and he did not wish to ruin my reputation or my engagement.”

She waited, in case Demery wished to speak, but he still leaned silently against the arm of the sofa with his head bowed. He might even have been asleep. From this angle, she could not quite tell if his eyes were open or closed.

“I began to see then how foolish I had been. I begged him to take me as his wife as honour demanded. He said that he was very sorry, but he was poor and could not support a wife — not unless my father would help.” Cate laughed bitterly. “He said he could not risk an elopement unless he was sure of at least a thousand pounds a year afterwards. I said that, knowing my father, the only thing he could be sure of was my love. And he said he was flattered but one cannot eat love.”

Even now, the memory of the sudden cold condescension of his tone made Cate shudder. Everything in his voice had said that he thought her a fool — and she had been.

“I pretended it never happened. I told myself it had all been a bad dream and that if I did not tell anyone about it then it would fade from memory, the way bad dreams do.” She looked at Luke’s crib. “Then I found out about Luke. I went down on my knees and begged his father to marry me. He refused.”

It had been more than a refusal. There had been words said that Cate shuddered to remember. She did not think even Demery would agree with them. Although, slouched against the end of the sofa, he appeared to hardly be listening.

“Are you not going to ask for his name?” Cate asked.

“No.”

Was he angry? He sounded more tired. Cate settled back against the cushions.

“I was even more terrified of you then,” she said. “I knew I had to tell you before we were married, but I thought you would kill me when you found out. Only on the morning of our wedding day, I still had not said. I did not dare. So I told my father instead and made him tell you. I’m a coward.”

There was a long silence.

“And I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Perhaps he really was asleep. He was making neither sound nor movement. Then he stirred.

“Catherine.”

“Yes?”

“I need to go to bed. And so do you. Or else it will soon be dawn.”

“I’m not leaving Luke. Not tonight.”

Demery only grunted. He got to his feet and went through the door to her bedroom. A few moments later he reemerged carrying the bulk of her bedding in his arms. He dumped it unceremoniously on top of her. She extracted a pillow from the pile and slipped it behind her head.

“Thank you.”

“Mmm.” Demery went to the door and stopped. “Catherine.”

“Yes?”

“Are you still afraid of me?”

For some reason, the question made her heart race. “Not anymore.”

Perhaps it was only the flicker of the candlelight in the draft, but she thought she saw the briefest of smiles cross his face. “Goodnight then, Catherine.”

“Goodnight.”

__

2022-12-15: This was the scene that kind of formed the basis of the whole story. I thought it would be really poignant and dramatic. Then somehow when I wrote it I felt like it went a bit flat. Maybe I need some time to see it more clearly and fix the little bits that need to be fixed.

Chapter Ten: What Strange Game

David arrived in London a few days later than he had initially intended, having stayed on in Wales to make sure Luke was well again. During his courtship of Catherine and the year of misery that followed after, he had leased a house in Mayfair, but at the end of last season, he had let the lease lapse and now he had arranged to stay with his cousin Sarah at her home in the significantly less fashionable quarter of Finsbury. She had inherited the property from his Uncle Lewis, along with every other scrap of capital he was free to will her, making her a woman of wealth and independence. Sometimes David wondered if knowing what was coming to her one day had cautioned Sarah against entering into marriage and ceding power to a man. Sarah had always been rather like that. As children together, she had always dominated their games, set their rules, and refused to admit defeat. In fact, David recalled as he knocked on her front door, she had been rather a bully.

There was nothing of the bully about the woman who answered the door tonight. She gave him a warm kiss on the cheek and led him straight into her library where a cheerful fire burned and a pot of cocoa waited by the fire.

“I hope you don’t mind,” she said, sitting down on the hearthrug with her legs under her and warming the cocoa. “I always prefer cocoa to wine in the evenings. Dreadfully unfashionable of me, I know, but I have never pretended to be fashionable.”

David looked skeptically at Sarah’s gown. It was of a dark greenish blue that reminded him of the sea, very satiny and full in the skirts and sleeves. Her ankles peeped out from a frothy profusion of petticoats, delicately stockinged in champagne silk. About the only unfashionable thing about her was that she was not wearing slippers, which struck him as very odd in such chill weather.

Perhaps Sarah sensed his silent disagreement. “If you would like wine I will send down for some.”

“Cocoa will be a nice change,” David said. “I haven’t had cocoa since I was a child.”

“Home comforts.” Sarah stirred the cocoa with a smile. “My mother used to make it for us, didn’t she? I’ve improved upon her recipe. I add the whites of two eggs.”

“Decadent,” David said politely.

“I’m not sure my servants like me tinkering about in the kitchens, but I must occupy myself somehow, and I find society very fatiguing.”

“That surprises me. I would have thought you rather lonely, living by yourself. My mother and Laurie are always squabbling, yet neither of them would wish to live alone. Even my wife has kept on her paid companion after her marriage, though I cannot fathom why; the woman is the prickliest most ill-pleased snob I’ve ever met.”

Sarah looked over her shoulder at him, eyebrows raised with interest. “I did not think I would prise it out of you within the hour, and yet you speak of it within the first few minutes. Fancy, there is not even the slightest hint of anger when you say the phrase, ‘my wife’. I am very impressed, David. You must be the most forgiving man I know.”

“I am not forgiving. I do not forgive her.”

“Hm.” Sarah took the cocoa off the fire and poured it into two cups waiting on the hearthstone. “Tell me if it’s good, will you? I do think the egg makes a difference.”

David took his cocoa and sipped carefully. He could not really remember how Aunt Susan’s cocoa used to taste, but no doubt Sarah expected a compliment in the comparison. She had always had a rather scornful attitude towards her mother, possibly inherited from Uncle Lewis. It was a pity, David thought, because Aunt Susan had been a sweet-mannered little woman without a malicious bone in her body.

“It’s quite nice,” he said. “Very suitable on a cold night.”

Sarah looked slightly disappointed. She remained on the hearthrug with her feet poking out beneath her skirts, sipping her own cocoa.

“Should I fetch a chair?” David asked.

“Oh, no thank you. I am quite comfortable here.” She stretched her feet out a little further as though to prove the point, revealing another inch of stockinged ankle. “Then, you do not forgive your wife?”

“How can I? What she did was unforgivable.”

Sarah swirled a spoon thoughtfully through her cocoa. “If you do not forgive her, then it is remarkably generous of you to marry her. Or perhaps remarkably cruel. It cannot be pleasant to be married to a man who bears you a grudge.”

“Nor is it pleasant to be the man married to a woman who betrayed him. But my hopes of a pleasant marriage — and hers — were dashed when she committed adultery.”

“You are far too pessimistic. Only her hopes were shattered. I am sure there is a woman somewhere in London who would have been everything your heart deserves. Someone loyal, kind, and warm.”

There was a rather pregnant pause after this. David wondered if Sarah had had someone in mind for him. It was a little interfering of her, if so. Besides, the endeavour was useless. He had spent the past London season making limp attempts to find another woman. The women had even made themselves easy to be found. They had been so sympathetic and kind. But it was as though Catherine had not just broken his heart, but excised its tattered remnants from his body. He felt nothing for any of the women interested in him. It did not seem fair to offer any of them marriage. And in that state of mind, it had not seemed too much of a sacrifice to marry Catherine for honour’s sake and feel nothing for her.

If he only did feel nothing for her.

“David?” Sarah broke into his thoughts with a gentle word. “You look so sad.”

“Have I not reason to be?”

“Many. But there are always second chances.”

“Oh, I have many consolations. I am young, healthy, out of the army for good, and in possession of independent means. But a little sadness shadows me at present. I should hope that in the presence of family I might be forgiven showing it.”

“And I would hope that you would never feel the need to hide any feeling from me, however dark, but that is not what I mean.” She rammed her hair back from her brow, as though heavily vexed. “What I mean, which I am finding hard to express, is that you never know how things might change from year to year. Or even overnight.” She blinked earnestly up at him. “Today’s sorrow may become happiness tomorrow.”

David was not easily given to laughing these days, but he did bite back a smile. “Yes,” he said. “I may hit my head and lose all memory of the past, and wake and believe the babe is mine and Catherine loves me.”

“You are too cynical,” she said severely. “All I mean is that this current state of affairs will not last forever. You may fall in love with her again.”

Now, David could not hold back his laughter.

“Very well,” Sarah said. “She may run away with her lover and set you free.”

“She will not.” David’s laughter died in his throat. “That is not a possibility, Sarah.”

Sarah watched him through wary dark eyes. “It is not?”

“It is not.”

He could tell by her expression that Sarah was intensely curious, but she asked no further questions, merely kept her gaze shifting back to him as the silence deepened. Unwilling to speak further and risk exposing truths that were not his to reveal, David sipped his cocoa. It had cooled a little now, and the texture had become oddly grainy. He put the drink aside and stared at his knees. It had made him feel no better to hear that Catherine’s lover had abandoned her. He had known already that the man must be married, dead, or a villain. Nor did he want to know the man’s name. Knowing it would leave him with no option but to seek retribution — but for whom? It was Catherine the man had wronged, not him. He had been wronged only by Catherine, who had chosen such a corrupt, cowardly manner of getting out of their engagement and got them all caught in her trap.

Because she had been afraid of him.

He unthinkingly picked up the cocoa again and took a gulp. It was cooler now, and grainier still. Little bits of egg white, David realized. He forced the mouthful down and put the cocoa out of sight on the floor by the foot of his armchair. He had never meant to scare Catherine. He had intended a long engagement, time for them to get to know each other, and he had taken things very slowly, to give her that time. He had kissed her only on the cheek or the hand, kept the intensity of his feelings unspoken. He had not wanted to overwhelm her. And that had frightened her, while a tumble in the grass with a fly-by-night malefactor had not?

It made no sense. She could have simply told him she did not wish to marry him. He had given her no reason to be afraid of him or think that he would not respect her wishes.

So why did he feel guilty?

“You’re in a brown study,” Sarah said. “Your cocoa’s gone completely cold.”

David jerked out of his reverie. “What a pity. I’ve wasted it.”

“I could always warm it up again.” Sarah shuffled over towards him on her knees and pushed a spoon around the cup. “It makes for a wonderful nightcap with a bit of brandy.”

The idea of wasting Uncle Lewis’s French brandy on Sarah’s cocoa made David shudder. “No, I couldn’t. Actually, I’m half-asleep already.”

“You poor thing,” Sarah said. “You must be so tired. I’ll take you to your room. Help me up.”

She held her hands up towards him like a child. David politely stood so that he could pull her to her feet.

“I can feel the callouses in your hands,” she said, turning his hands over and looking at them. “They’re so big and strong. Not at all like when you were a child.”

David slipped his hands from her touch. “It would be very strange indeed if they were.”

“It would.” Sarah laughed and took up a candle from the mantelpiece. “Here. Your room is upstairs.”

She led the way up two flights of stairs and stopped outside a door. “I’m just across the hallway,” she said. “I think I’ll follow your example and go to bed early too.”

“Good night,” David said.

“Good night, cousin David.”

She turned and went through the door opposite. David opened his own door and went, perplexed, into the bedroom. Was it his imagination, or had Sarah been flirting with him? No, it was not his imagination. That was quite definitely a flirtatious remark. It could be seen in no other light. And she had been sitting with her ankles on full display.

What strange game was she playing at now?

__

2022-12-28: Introducing a new villainess. I mean, she’s not evil, but she’s definitely going to make trouble for Cate.

Chapter Eleven: Blackmail

After Demery left for London, Cate found herself becoming more confident in her position as lady of the house. She explored the manor, in the process discovering which rooms had been renovated and which remained in a state of shabby disrepair. She even stole into Demery’s study and looked curiously around. Nothing was renovated here. The walls were covered in peeling, faded paper and the furniture needed reupholstery and revarnishing. Dark squares on the wallpaper suggested the removal of dozens of small paintings. By their size and number, Cate thought they might have been landscapes. She did not think it right to open any of the desk drawers, but she did peer through the dim glass of the bookcase. It contained nothing more interesting than ledgers and rolls of parchment, though Demery always seemed to be reading a book. Cate wondered where his library was.

Later, Cate found both the missing paintings and the books.

The books were in a music room at the back of the house, haphazardly laid out on top of a locked piano, spilling from dusty trunks, and stacked in crooked piles on chairs. They were mostly old diaries, histories, or plays, some of which were in Italian or German. There was, however, a three-volume copy of The Expedition of Humphrey Clinker and, even more excitingly, a two-volume set of Sophia, which Cate’s mother had never let her read because it was full of silly ideas. Cate took it to her room, brushed the dust off it, and enjoyed those silly ideas very much. When she went back down to the music room to return it two days later, she discovered a new case just arrived from a London bookbinder. She did not dare open it, but she wondered if she could write to Demery and suggest, if he was buying books, to not forget that novels made excellent additions to libraries.

In the end, she did not dare. Instead, she read Humphrey Clinker and deciphered the Italian plays and, when that joy passed, took to exploring the house again. She knew she was being unforgivably nosy, but she argued to herself that most of the house was not really private — Demery’s room she did not go into, nor his study after the first time — and the rest of the place was mostly reception rooms or half-empty, long abandoned bedrooms. In one of them, Cate discovered chests full of old-fashioned men’s clothes which must have belonged to Demery’s Uncle Lewis. There was something rather fun about trying on frock coats thirty years out of date and wondering about the man who had once worn them. By their size and the lingering scent of snuff about them, Cate decided that Lewis must have been a sort of nice, fat, cheerful uncle, rather like her own Uncle Percival, who always seemed to have a linty biscuit or sticky coin in his pocket for Cate when he visited. She was perhaps more convinced in this idea of Uncle Lewis by the fact that Laurie had once described him as a vulgar old miser. Cate did not trust Laurie’s opinion about anyone.

She was up in the attics when she discovered the missing paintings, which proved her wrong. They were piled in a stack by the wall, covered in a dust cloth. Cate uncovered them curiously. They were not landscapes after all, but prints of cartoons. The first in the stack was a crude ink drawing of a crying woman with her clothes being torn off by a grinning fox. There was something rather vile in the contrast between the fox’s grin and the woman’s scared eyes, but Cate supposed men sometimes liked to look at pictures of naked women. The second was a printed illustration of Captain Kimber’s murder of the slave girl, with lascivious detail paid to the slave girl’s naked body. Cate put that hastily aside. The third print involved two women together in bed, who at first Cate took to be sisters. When the truth of the situation dawned upon her, she found she needed to sit still for quite a long time to think about it. She had known that two men might end up together in bed — that, she suspected, was why her parents never talked much about Uncle Percival — but it had never occurred to her that two women might do the same, nor that a man might want a picture of it. It did not seem right to her that Uncle Lewis had had such a picture, and seemingly had had it displayed in his study, in full sight of everyone who entered. It seemed even more wrong to think of it in the company of the picture of the woman being attacked by the fox or the slave being lashed.

Cate should have stopped looking at the paintings then, but some perverse compulsion kept her going. Each one seemed worse than the last, though they did not all involve naked women. Some involved ugly women, or old women, or poxed women, in varying states of degradation. Quite a few depicted stupid or cuckolding wives. When Cate finally reached the end of the stacks, she felt sick with the spite and lechery she had exposed herself to. She could well understand why Demery had removed these prints from the walls. She could not understand why he had not immediately burned them.

Feeling ill, she went back downstairs to her apartments where Miss Skinner sat in an armchair by the fire watching Luke push a ball about the hearthrug.

“There is a letter for you on the table,” Miss Skinner said without looking up. “It is from Captain Demery.”

Cate went to the table and slit the letter open with her finger. It was not long.

Dear Catherine, it read,

Business and bad weather keep me in London. I will not be able to visit Plas Bryn for Christmas as I intended; I will likely not return at all until summer. I trust that this will not greatly disturb any arrangements you have made for Christmas.

If there are any commissions you would like me to undertake while I am in Town, please respond to this letter naming them. I had wished to send you a Christmas present but could not be sure what you would like.

I hope you and Luke are well.

Yours,

David

Hot air on Cate’s cheek told her that Miss Skinner was reading over her shoulder and she jumped.

“He is not your David,” Miss Skinner sneered. “You never refer to him as such. And if he were yours, he would have taken us to London with him. Cheek, I call it.”

As the weather had got worse over winter, Miss Skinner had become more bitter about living in Wales. Cate was tired of arguing with her about it and only shrugged.

“Is there something you want from London?” she asked.

“Everything anyone could ever want is in London. But I cannot spend your husband’s money.”

“He offered,” Cate said.

“To you,” Miss Skinner countered. “He did not even enquire after my health.”

“He probably did not know you were going to be reading over my shoulder.”

“Now don’t get sharp,” Miss Skinner said. “There was nothing secret in it.”

“You did not know that before you read it.”

“If I can’t be excused a little concern with your affairs!” Miss Skinner looked offended. “I could very well have remained your sisters’ governess rather than become your companion, Catherine. I took this position because I worry about you. You always were my favourite child. You always were everyone’s favourite child, until…” She cast a meaningful glance at Luke who was still happily playing with the ball on the rug. “But who stood by you through all that? Think, Catherine. It was not your parents. They sent you away. It was I, who went with you.”

Cate shifted uncomfortably on the balls of her feet. It was true that she had been her father’s favourite child. Unlike her brothers and sisters, she never argued back or made trouble. She had always been quick to register the first signs of anger in her father’s eyes and avoid provoking him. She had always known, without having to be told, exactly what he expected of her and done it with a smile, even if smiling hurt.

Until baby Luke.

“Oh, don’t cry,” Miss Skinner said. “You’re far too sensitive, Catherine! I was merely trying to explain that I am concerned for you.”

“I’m not crying.” Cate blinked back the tears that pricked at her eyes, went over to Luke, picked him up and hugged him. “I am very grateful for your company.” That was true, even if she did not — could not — like Miss Skinner. “But it was my letter. From my husband.”

“It might as well have been a circular,” Miss Skinner retorted.

She went back to the armchair closest to the fire and settled herself into it. She picked up her bible from the side table, opened to her bookmarked page, looked at it a moment, then closed it and put it virtuously in her lap. From the slowing pace of her reading, Cate gathered she was up to Leviticus. Cate sat down on the hearth rug with Luke and rolled the ball towards him. He stared at it intently for long after it came to a stop then patted it inquisitively with a hand.

“Good job,” Cate said. “Clever boy!”

“Bah!” said Luke.

Miss Skinner watched them unsmilingly. “Aren’t you going to respond to the letter?” she asked after a while.

“Tomorrow,” Cate said. “I’m too tired to write tonight.”

She wanted to do it when Miss Skinner was not around to look over her shoulder.

Miss Skinner looked at the clock. “It is not yet six. I will fetch the writing box.”

“I said tomorrow!” Cate spoke so sharply that Luke let out a frightened squawk. She pulled him into her lap and shushed him. “Sorry, darling. Sorry. Mama’s tired, that’s all. Mama’s not angry with you. Poor baby.” She kissed him and rocked him. “Poor darling.”

Miss Skinner’s thin lips pressed tightly together until they all but disappeared. “I only meant to do you a kindness.”

“The best kindness you can do is accept what I say.” Cate made sure to speak softly so that Luke would not worry. “I told you, I will not answer it tonight. Tomorrow will be soon enough.”

Miss Skinner clicked her tongue. “Very well. Put it off to tomorrow. You always did prefer laying nine stitches to one.”

And she turned her eyes virtuously to her bible for the rest of the evening.

The next day, Cate woke up with a pounding headache and a raw throat. Miss Skinner, who could usually be expected to bear a grudge for days after an argument, was surprisingly sympathetic and helpful. She marshalled the servants to produce hot ginger tea and high fires, and looked after Luke so that Cate could rest. There was, of course, an element of officiousness in her sympathy. She insisted that Cate did not read or try to occupy herself with mending and, when the maid brought in the writing box in the late afternoon at Cate’s request, shooed her away.

“You will damage your eyes by writing when you are ill,” Miss Skinner declared. “There is no urgency about answering the letter.”

Cate was tired enough not to wonder too long at Miss Skinner’s change of mind. Nor could she muster up the energy to protest about the letter the next day when she was sneezing every two minutes. Or the next day, when she began to cough.

Christmas Day came and went without Cate really getting out of bed. At times, she sat by the fire sniffling and drinking herbal tisanes. And, of course, she still had to nurse Luke four or five times a day. Sometimes, she had the urge to walk the gallery outside her rooms to stretch her legs, but Miss Skinner insisted she rest. Word of her cold must have spread about the village, because once Mrs Demery came to call. When the maid told them that Mrs Demery was waiting below, Miss Skinner bustled Cate up off the armchair and back into bed.

“Now you lie there,” she instructed. “I’ll get rid of That Woman for you.”

Cate was certainly not going to protest that, but Mrs Demery was evidently not so easily gotten rid of, for a few minutes later her clumping footsteps sounded outside and she opened the door with a bang to glare down at Cate.

Cate looked meekly back. A moment later, Miss Skinner arrived, slightly out of breath.

“Now, Mrs Demery, she’s not—”

“She is ill,” Mrs Demery said.

“And as I told you—”

“She looks sickly.” There was no concern in Mrs Demery’s tone. “Her face is puffy.”

“It is just a cold,” Cate said. “I feel much better than I was.”

“She was very bad indeed,” Miss Skinner said. “She does not like to complain.”

“Humph.” Mrs Demery looked suspiciously around the room. “She has nothing to complain of. Look at how David keeps her.”

“He is all kindness.” Cate was surprised to find she really meant it. There was no platitude here. She remembered his unanswered letter guiltily. It was probably too late to send a reply now.

“But the air in Wales is poisonous to the lungs,” Miss Skinner said. “And this room does get damp.”

“You speak nonsense, woman,” Mrs Demery said. “The air in these parts is perfectly fresh. If she finds it bad, then her lungs are to fault.”

“It is possible,” Miss Skinner conceded. “She was a weak child.”

That was not true. Cate had been a stout, active young girl. Only after Luke’s birth had she really understood what frailty felt like.

“I was not weak,” she said with a cough. “I never was.”

“I have often found that those with weak minds often have weak constitutions as well,” Mrs Demery said sneeringly. “Never mind. I know now that it is only a cold.”

She left without saying goodbye. Cate sighed, which turned into another cough.

“See,” Miss Skinner said. “She has tired you, but she would not listen, silly woman.”

“Oh, really, Miss Skinner. It’s just a cold.” Cate kicked the sheets away and crawled out of bed. “I am almost better.”

A strange, sly look came to Miss Skinner’s eyes. “Well, she doesn’t need to know that, does she?”

“What do you mean?”

“A little sickness might inspire some sympathy.” Miss Skinner raised her eyebrows meaningfully. “If you understand me.”

“Mrs Demery is never going to be sympathetic towards me.”

“But Captain Demery might. If he believes you to be really ill, he might send you away for a health cure. Bath or Epsom may not be London, but I will take either over this salty little village.”

Cate stared at Miss Skinner. “What?”

“Surely you do not wish to stay here, in this sea-brined pile, while your husband gads off to London? Leaving you and your baby behind?”

“There is good reason for Luke and me to remain here. I have no place in society anymore.”

“Pah! You are married. The daughter of a baron. The wife of a captain of the army. Society will not remain closed to you forever.”

“But for now, it is. And even if it weren’t, I won’t pretend to be ill so my husband sends me away! As long as he wants me here, here I will remain.”

Miss Skinner scoffed. “You always let men put you in your place, don’t you, Catherine? First, it was your father. And then your lover. I cannot imagine you put up much of a fight when he told you he would have nothing to do with a baby.”

“I begged him on my hands and knees.”

“Exactly. You begged. Pathetic.”

The word felt like a punch to the stomach. Cate could not even speak to defend herself.

“I don’t beg,” Miss Skinner said crisply. “And I won’t let you beg Captain Demery either. Begging doesn’t work. We will get what we want by taking it.”

“I won’t do it,” Cate said. “I won’t lie to him.”

“But you are, every day. He has no idea of the truth about your seduction.”

“I told him. I told him everything.”

Miss Skinner stopped short. “You did?”

“Yes. I wanted him to know.”

Miss Skinner fell silent, chewing at her top lip. Then, slowly, the sly smile returned to her face. “And what about your father?”

Cate stared at Miss Skinner in cold dread. “Don’t. You know what he’s like.”

“I know you were afraid to tell him the truth about your seduction, about Luke’s father. Afraid to tell Captain Demery once too. But if you have told the one, I am sure you will survive telling the other.”

“He’ll kill me.”

“Come now. He has never so much as laid a finger on you. Your fear of him is entirely misplaced. I will prove it. I will write and tell him—”

“Don’t! Miss Skinner, you can’t. Please.” Cate glanced at the door to Luke’s bedroom, hoping she had not woken him with her raised voice. “Please, Miss Skinner, don’t tell my father.”

Miss Skinner watched Cate, a sickening smile on her face. “It is for your own good, Catherine. If you are determined to be honest with men, you should begin with the man who has loved you most.”

“No. Please, no. I told you in confidence what happened. I don’t want anyone else to know. Least of all my father.”

“Then let us discard honesty. Go back to bed. Become an invalid. I think after a few weeks we should be able to suggest to your husband a change of air.”

Cate remembered how Demery had gone through the snow in his banyan and greatcoat to fetch the doctor for Luke. There was no doubt Miss Skinner’s plan would work. Demery had that sort of kindness. It was cruelty to take advantage of it. But the cold, superior look in Miss Skinner’s eye told Cate that if she refused, the first thing Miss Skinner would do would be to write to Sir William.

“Promise me you won’t tell my father.”

“I will keep all your secrets if you do as I say.”

Cate eyed Miss Skinner desperately. It was blackmail, pure and simple.

But what choice did she have but to obey?

__

2023-01-12: I’m not sure I love the ending of this chapter. I think it’s a bit weak. Hm. But Miss Skinner needs to do this because Plot. Happy New Year all :)

Chapter Twelve: Ulterior Motive

During the first week of his stay at Cousin Sarah’s house, David sometimes wondered if he would not be more comfortable at a hotel. It was true that Sarah was a solicitous host. The trouble was, she was too solicitous. He could not reach for the salt pot at the dinner table without her bustling up from her seat to hand it to him herself. She always insisted he sat in the most comfortable chair closest to the fire, even if he had no wish to sit at all. Every morning, he was woken by a chambermaid bearing a pot of steaming, gritty chocolate. The pot of ivy on the mantelpiece was beginning to look quite sickly as a result. But of course, it was all done to be kind, so David thought it would be rude to complain.

The other problem was that sometimes he was quite sure she was flirting, which puzzled him greatly. When they had been younger, she had never betrayed any suspicion of tenderness towards him. Indeed, he might have suspected quite the opposite from the way she had ordered him about and teased him. It seemed exceptionally peculiar for her to begin with flirting now.

For a few days, he stonily ignored all her attempts at flirting. When she complimented the fit of his coat, he pretended he did not hear her. When she remarked on the intimacy of dining alone together, he suggested she invite some friends to join them. When she found excuses to touch his shoulder or hands, he simply moved away. Eventually, to his relief, her flirtations ceased and she treated him in a much more normal manner. He decided she had merely been lonely.

Thankfully, David’s business kept him out of the house more often than not. He was around his old clubs, around his old army friends, trying to find investors to pay for the expansion of the slate mines. Tunnels would have to be dug deep into the hills to access a rich but hard-to-reach ore deposit. Once the tunnels were dug, he would be able to mine and sell vast quantities of slate, but until then, it would be all expense and no income.

Several of his friends or acquaintances pledged small investments, but the highest of his hopes were pinned on Lord Varley, a viscount, a little older than David, who had recently come into his title and inheritance and was determined to make something of it. Before any real arrangements could be made, however, Lord Varley left town for his Sussex estate to attend his wife who was expecting a baby very soon. He promised David that he would let him know when he returned but could not commit a date or time. Until then, David had little to do but amuse himself in London.

It was easier not to remain alone in the house with Sarah. David went to clubs and dinner parties and the theatre. It was while he was shopping one morning in James Street that he quite literally ran into Luke Balley as he came out of a tailor’s shop. After the first reflexive apologies, Luke looked sheepish and uncertain, as if he did not know whether to say goodbye or hello.

“A funny coincidence meeting you here,” David said, trying to be helpful. “Good day, Mr Balley.”

“Wait.” Luke trotted after him. “I must ask. How is Cate?”

David stopped with a frown. He had received no response to the letter he had sent, and he had not wanted to send another. He had nothing more to say. “You would know better than me,” he said. “She writes to you, does she not?”

Luke shook his head. “My father forbids it. We are none of us to make contact with her. She knows well. He will only punish me if she sends me letters. And that old weasel is spying on her, I’m sure.”

It was too easy to guess which ‘old weasel’ Luke meant. David considered him thoughtfully. When he had been courting Catherine, Luke had never impressed him as anything more than an over-energetic and rather childish young man with too much time on his hands. Despite that, David knew Catherine was fond of him, for whenever she mentioned him a light came into her sad eyes. It seemed monstrously unfair to refuse them even the right of correspondence.

“Why don’t you write her a letter,” David said, “and I’ll give it to her. Your father will never know.”

Relief broke over Luke’s face. “You’ll do that for me?”

“Of course.”

“I’ll write it immediately,” Luke said. “Will you be home this afternoon?”

“I can be. I am staying with my cousin in Finsbury. Do you have a pencil? I will write the address.”

Luke found a grubby pencil and a scrap of paper in his pockets and David wrote the address down for him.

“You may rest assured that any letters that Catherine receives from you through my hand will be in absolute confidence. I will make sure neither Miss Skinner nor your father ever find out.”

“Thank you. You’re a real swell.”

It was not a word anybody had ever used to refer to David before, but he found he rather liked it.

Luke came by early that afternoon as Sarah was trying to persuade David to allow her to make him his fifth cup of tea for the day. When she learned that Luke was Catherine’s brother, she gave him a very curious once over.

“I never met your sister,” she said, “so I am looking at you to imagine her countenance. Are you alike?”

“As siblings usually are, I suppose,” Luke said. “Well, my colouring is a little darker than hers. She is very fair.”

“Oh. You did not tell me that.” Sarah looked at David.

“I was not aware it would interest you,” David said.

Sarah took the rebuff with a smile, but perhaps it motivated her to say, “I suppose you men will want to talk; please make use of my study,” and go away up the stairs.

David took Luke into the study and shut the door.

“I’ve got the letter,” Luke said, taking a thick, folded sheaf from his pocket. “It was hard to write it. For the past year and a half, I’ve been missing her so much that I didn’t realise how angry I was. It’s the first secret she’s ever kept from me, being seduced.”

The angry sheen in Luke’s eyes made it seem like a confession. David thought he understood; it seemed that there was no one he could talk to in his family about this. All the same, it made him uncomfortable. His own feelings about Catherine were far from sympathetic. He did not want to be put in the position of having to defend her, yet he thought that was what Luke was asking for.

“I’ll give it to her as soon as I get home.” He took the letter and slipped it into his own pocket. “And whatever she writes in return, I’ll make sure it gets to you safely.”

Luke was not as easily put off as Sarah; he sighed and flung himself down into an armchair. “I would have helped her. I would have dragged Redwood to the altar and made him marry her. Why didn’t she trust me?”

David was beginning to regret his impulse to help Luke. Why had he not remembered now that the boy — Luke was twenty-five and did not often behave it — was a self-centred nuisance? To be sure, it was cruel for their father to refuse the two all contact, but to offer to do them a small favour did not mean he wished to make himself a confidant.

“I do not know,” he said politely, refusing to sit down himself in case it encouraged Luke to stay longer. “Though you do Redwood wrong, Mr Balley. He is not the baby’s father.”

“That’s what he says, of course, but Cate named him. She would not lie.”

“I am afraid she did. She told me as much.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“When she answers your letter, perhaps she will explain herself. I cannot attempt to do so on her behalf; I do not understand her motivations.”

Because fear was not an excuse. Not for the level of deceit Catherine had sunk to.

Luke stared at David. “No. I cannot believe it. Cate does not lie. She never lies.”

“Under great pressure, perhaps, anyone might lie.”

Well. There. He was defending Catherine despite himself. But Luke was shaking his head.

“You are mistaken,” he said with absolute conviction. “Not Cate.”

There was little to say to that. David leaned against a chair, the letter in his pocket crinkling, and wondered how long Luke intended on staying here. It was natural for him to miss his sister, of course, but was he truly insensible of the awkwardness of seeking David as a conversational partner in this topic?

The door opened suddenly, without a knock, and Sarah poked her long chin through. David had never been so relieved to see her in his life.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said. “Some letters have just arrived for you. One is from Lord Varley. I thought it might be important.”

“Thank you.” David stretched his hand out and took the letters gratefully. When Sarah did not leave the room but hovered in the doorway, he made no attempt to remind her of privacy. If she stayed, Luke might find motivation to leave.

He opened the letter from Varley without even looking at the others. It was only a memorandum saying that he would be back in town briefly in three days and could arrange an interview with David then. Beyond that, he would be in Sussex until the opening of parliament in February because his wife and new baby were very delicate.

“He is coming back to town soon,” David told Sarah. “If all goes well, I’ll be out of your hair by the end of the week.”

“You are no trouble at all,” Sarah said. “You must not think you are.”

“I did not really think I was,” he said. “It was only a turn of phrase.”

He glanced at the other two letters. One was from his mother, but the other… he frowned. Why on earth was Miss Skinner writing to him?

He slit the letter open. Miss Skinner wrote in a sharp, regular hand, unpleasantly reminiscent of her sharp voice.

Dear Captain Demery,

Pray do not be alarmed by the content of this letter. I write to inform you that Catherine is unwell. She suffers a malaise of the lungs brought on by a long flu. She urges me not to write to you but I consider it my duty.

As I have said, there is no cause for alarm. The illness is of a chronic, but not dangerous nature. Doctor Priddy says she will improve. He recommends bed rest and a bland diet. Catherine is well enough, at least, to complain of gruel.

I will write to you again if there is any change.

With regards,

Judith Skinner

David put the letter down. He was not alarmed, exactly, but there was a stirring of unease in his belly. A malaise of the lungs sounded serious.

“What’s wrong?” Sarah asked.

“Catherine is unwell. She had the flu.”

“She’s sick?” Luke sat up straight. “Is it serious?”

“Serious enough for Miss Skinner to write of it, but not serious enough for alarm.” David put Miss Skinner’s letter aside and picked up the one from his mother. “Perhaps Mother writes of it also.”

He skimmed his mother’s letter, past the usual village gossip and family news. Towards the end, Mrs Demery wrote of Catherine:

Your wife has been ill. I saw her shortly after Christmas. It is only a cold, a trifling cold, and yet she was bundled up in bed with red eyes and white cheeks looking like death warmed over. Not in possession of a strong constitution, that one. She has remained at home for three Sundays now. The vicar asked after her when last he came to tea. I had to confess that I did not know. Laura will visit her next and inform me. I do not wish to go again. I have always despised sickbeds.

Love,

Mama

Two weeks at least of illness, if not more. There might not be cause for alarm, but there was certainly cause for concern. David breathed out slowly. To send a letter demanding more details would take at least four days to return, and the letters he had in his hand were already two days out of date. But there was no speedier resolution; he could not leave London until Lord Varley returned.

“What does your mother say?” Luke asked. “Does she speak of Cate?”

“She says she has been sick for two weeks. My sister is going to visit her — will already have visited her, I suppose.”

“Two weeks?” Luke got to his feet. “Lend me a horse and I will go to her!”

David shook his head. “If what you say is true, you will bring your father’s wrath down upon you both. Besides, Miss Skinner writes that the illness is not dangerous. No. I will go to her myself, as soon as I have met with Lord Varley.”

“Then meet with him and go,” Luke said. “Where is he?”

Demery coughed. “In Sussex. He will be in London three days from now.”

“Three days? You would wait three days before leaving?” Luke paced the floor. “You cannot care for her at all.”

“Catherine is not my only responsibility. The people who live in Porthalen depend upon my slate mines and my farmland and my village for their livelihood. And my mines require investment which Lord Varley might offer.”

“Oh, there’s always money,” Luke said impatiently. “Someone, somewhere, always has money. Money doesn’t die. It doesn’t get sick. People do.”

“She’s not going to die,” David said.

“Of course not, but she’s still sick. Sick two weeks now. I don’t know how you’re not more worried.”

“Certainly,” Sarah said from the doorway. “It is concerning. If she falls ill, what happens to the baby?”

That was a dark thought. Catherine was the only person who truly had a reason to love and care for baby Luke, who was so intensely vulnerable. If she became very ill, what would happen to him? He would need a protector. Someone to make decisions for him until he was old enough to make them himself. Miss Skinner did not count. His grandparents were an impossible prospect.

David cursed out loud. The trouble was, Luke was right too. Money was far less important than people. Even people you hated.

“I had better go,” he said grumpily to Sarah. “The sooner the better. Do you think you can have the servants pack my things and prepare my coach? I would like to leave before the hour is up if I can. There’s enough daylight left to pass twenty miles.”

“Of course,” Sarah said. “I will tell them to hurry.” She hesitated. “Might I come? I am a little afraid of travelling on my own, but I have been wanting to visit Wales for a while now. It is a long time since I have seen my old home.”

David recalled Sarah’s flirtations uneasily. No doubt there was some ulterior motive in her request. But she had crossed no tangible boundaries and it was a small favour from a cousin to a cousin.

“If you wish,” he said. “But you must have your things packed quickly too. I will not be delayed on your account.”

__

2023-01-22: I don’t think Miss Skinner will be happy too see Demery so soon.

Chapter Thirteen: No Less and No More

For a week, Cate lay in bed despairing how she was to foil Miss Skinner’s plan. It was true her cough lingered, but she suspected that her frailty was compounded by being forced to keep to her bed and eat a diet of gruel and plain toast. It was hard to look after Luke like this too. He wanted to crawl and explore and play. When Miss Skinner wasn’t around, Cate got out of bed and crawled around on the floor with him, amusing him by making a tent out of a bedsheet or a rattle out of buttons in an empty powder case. It would have been much more fun for them both if she could go into the gallery, or even the sitting room, but Miss Skinner insisted she keep to her bedroom.

There seemed to be no way to persuade Miss Skinner to back down from her plan. Cate tried, but Miss Skinner was implacable. She could not believe that Cate did not want to leave Wales, would not countenance the idea of staying until the scandal was forgotten, and could not be convinced that Demery did not plan to abandon them both. His leaving for London without Cate was proof of his want of affection for her. Cate did not think it wise to point out that he had no reason to be affectionate to her. That only gave weight to Miss Skinner’s conspiracies.

One path lay open to Cate, though she was afraid to take it. She could write a letter to Demery, explaining Miss Skinner’s plot, and ask a servant to send it in secret. But that would expose Miss Skinner, and Cate was afraid to do so. Miss Skinner was not always her friend, but she was her only ally. If Cate told on her, she would never forgive her. Besides, that would only give her motivation to tell Sir William the truth about Luke’s father. Cate would rather die than let her father know the true extent of her humiliation.

A week into her enforced bedrest, Laurie visited. When the maid announced her arrival, Miss Skinner leapt into action, making Cate lie back against the pillows and dusting some powder over her cheeks to dull their colour. Cate did not know whether to hope Laurie saw through the deception or not. If she did not believe Cate was very ill, perhaps Miss Skinner’s plan would not work.

Laurie entered looking the height of health, rosy-cheeked and bright-eyed, with her glossy dark hair lying in fat curls across her brow.

“Mother said you were ill,” she announced. “You do not look so bad.”

Miss Skinner, keeping vigil in a chair by the bed, cleared her throat. “Catherine hides her suffering.”

“Pish,” Laurie said. “I can see her right here.”

As though bored of the topic of Cate, she wandered aimlessly about the room, sampling the perfume on the dressing table and feeling the softness of the curtains.

“It’s rather a nice bedroom though,” she said. “If I had one like this, I would stay in it too. Where’s the boy?”

“He’s in his cot,” Cate said. “Having his afternoon nap.”

Laurie crossed to the door to Luke’s room, opened it, and went through. “Oh, sweetheart.” Her voice came clearly through the open door. “You’re drooling.” A short silence then a soft laugh. “I wonder what you dream of.”

There had been a few occasions now when Laurie had displayed interest in Luke, when coming to tea with her mother or during church when they all sat in the same family pew. It unnerved Cate because she knew very well that Laurie disliked her. More unnervingly still, an angry frown appeared on Mrs Demery’s face whenever Laurie cuddled or played with Luke. But there was nothing but innocent joy, or perhaps a little wistful sadness, in Laurie’s manner towards him, and Cate could not find it in her to refuse Luke a friend.

A moment later, Laurie came back into the room, her cold dark eyes a little warmer than before. “I didn’t wake him,” she said. “Poor cherub. I hope he doesn’t catch your cold.”

“I think he is safe from danger now,” Cate said. “I am… I am much better.”

“The cough lingers,” Miss Skinner said. “It’s quite terrible at night. I hear her all the way from my room.”

“Oh, that could be the rats,” Laurie said. “They live in the roof and sometimes they make the oddest sounds.”

Miss Skinner shuddered. “Surely we do not have rats!”

“Perhaps they are bats then,” Laurie suggested. “I often see swarms of bats flying overhead on warm nights.”

“I’ve never seen a single bat or rat,” Cate said. She knew Miss Skinner could not handle the thought of vermin in the house, which was probably why Laurie had brought it up. “I am sure we do not have them. And if we do, they do not cough.”

“Oh, well,” Laurie said with a shrug. “It could always be a coughing ghost.”

But Miss Skinner did not believe in ghosts and was unconcerned. She merely folded her hands in her lap and looked squarely at Laurie. “Catherine coughs at night. It keeps me awake. I am sure it disturbs the baby’s sleep too.”

“Then Catherine must learn not to cough. How disgustingly selfish of you, Catherine, to cough when your baby sleeps next door.”

There was humour in Laurie’s voice, but Cate knew she was laughing at her as much as at Miss Skinner and could not like it. “I have not slept a full night through since he was born,” she said. “I think he will forgive me if I, once in a night or two, wake him.”

“Perhaps that explains the shadows under your eyes,” Laurie said.

She wandered about the room again, stopping by the window and looking out over the sea in the distance, then coming back and idly straightening the bottles and cases on Cate’s dressing table. Cate’s heart skipped a beat when she touched the jar of powder that Miss Skinner had used to make her look pale. Did her fingers linger on it? Did Cate want her to understand or not?

“I won’t keep you up,” Laurie said, turning away from the table. “I just came to see that you weren’t dying. There is gossip in the village that you are. I shall have to set them straight.”

That did not suit Miss Skinner at all. “It is better not to remark upon gossip,” she said. “To counter it only feeds it.”

Laurie waved the matter away. “It would not do to raise the undertaker’s hopes unduly. I must let him know where the matter stands.”

On that note, she departed. Miss Skinner stared vexedly after her.

“That woman might ruin it,” she said. “What a thoroughly unsympathetic creature! You should have coughed, Catherine. You should have looked ill.”

“But I’m not ill,” she said. “I can’t lie so easily.”

“You have before,” Miss Skinner said. “You lied so easily about Luke’s father. You quite took everyone in.”

“And I wish… I wish I had refused to tell them anything. I wish I had never told you.” She blinked back the tears that came to her eyes. “I trusted you.”

Though she hadn’t, really. It had simply been that there was no one else to tell and she had to tell someone. It was at the beginning of her labour, when her body seemed like it was splitting in two. The manservant had been sent to fetch the local midwife and the maid was in the kitchen boiling water and fetching rags. Miss Skinner had remained in the room, hushing Cate’s screams and offering her useless platitudes. Cate had been terrified. She thought she was going to die. It seemed just punishment for her sins. And if she was going to die, then she wanted someone to know who Luke’s father really was, so that he would have, at least, one friend in the world. She had told Miss Skinner and begged her to find him if she died. Later, when Luke had been born, she had realised how stupid she had been. Luke’s father had already abandoned him. He would never be a friend. And now Miss Skinner knew his name, though she never uttered it in Cate’s presence.

“If you trust me, then trust my judgement,” Miss Skinner said.

“Please reconsider this,” Cate said. “I will ask Demery to send us somewhere when he returns from London. But to trick him into sending us away is cruel.”

“Hah! He will never send us to Bath just because you ask. He cares nothing for you. I sent him a letter a week ago saying you were ill. He has not replied. What say you of that?”

“You sent him a letter already?” Cate’s heart leapt unpleasantly. “Then he thinks— What did you say?”

“Nothing that was not un true. That you are in bed. Have a cough which lingers. That there is neither danger nor cause for alarm.”

“But you know exactly what he will take of that!”

“But he has taken very little from it, if he has not even bothered to send a letter. I think in a week or two I will send him another, mentioning that your cough has not improved and that you are still in bed.”

“I can’t stay in bed for another two weeks. I really will end up ill if I do.”

“Then you may soothe your conscience,” Miss Skinner said. “For then you will not be lying.”

Cate found her hands were shaking. She clasped them together to stop it. “But we are lying, Miss Skinner. It is a cruel, selfish lie. I cannot go any further with this. I— You must write to Demery and tell him I am getting better. We can stop it here.”

“And end up mouldering in Wales the rest of our lives?” Miss Skinner was scornful. “If that is what you wish, Catherine, then I will follow your bidding, of course, but I must insist upon equal treatment for your father and your husband. If you are honest with one, you must be honest with the other. If I write to Demery, I write to your father as well.”

Cate pressed her face against her knees and clutched at her hair. Both options were impossible.

“Well?” Miss Skinner said. “Which is it to be? Tell me, Catherine. I will do only as you bid.”

There was a hard, heavy lump in Cate’s throat. “Don’t tell my father,” she said into her knees. “Just don’t tell him.”

“As you wish,” Miss Skinner said. “Now put your chin up, Catherine. So melodramatic! Once we are out of Wales, you will remember what it is to be happy. I am quite convinced that no one could be happy in this over-rusticated nowhere.”

Slowly, Cate raised her face. The blood seemed to freeze in her veins. Miss Skinner was standing in front of the doorway, facing Cate, a triumphant smile on her face. Behind her, a hat tucked under his arm, stood Demery. By the cold look on his face, there was no doubt he had been listening for some time. Miss Skinner frowned at Cate’s expression, then turned. When she saw Demery, she put a hand to her heart.

“Captain Demery! You… How do you do?”

“If you are unhappy here, Miss Skinner,” Demery said, ignoring her pathetic attempt to smooth things over, “then you may leave any time you like. In fact, you may leave right now.” He pulled a watch from his pocket and glanced at it. “It is a quarter past four. If you hurry, you will be able to catch the five o’clock mail from the village.”

“Captain Demery.” Miss Skinner tried to smile. “I think you are having a jest on us.”

Demery looked down at his watch again, as if he had not heard her. “If you do not catch the five o’clock mail, Miss Skinner, you will find yourself walking to London.”

“Sir, I do not know what you imply, but—”

“Then I must be clear. You will leave my house by five o’clock this evening and you will never return. Your position as my wife’s companion is finished. You are forthwith dismissed, your presence unwelcome, your conduct despised, your opinions irrelevant. Now, get out!”

At the very last, he raised his voice. It interrupted Miss Skinner as she had been about to make a protest. Her hand fluttered about her breast. She cast one pleading look at Cate, who could think of nothing to say, floating uneasily between relief and terror. Relief, because Miss Skinner’s plans were thwarted, and terror because of the look on Demery’s face.

“Catherine,” Miss Skinner bleated. “You must—”

“Out, Miss Skinner!” Demery roared. “Out of my house!”

Cate had never realised that Demery could shout like that. It was so loud it seemed to shake the very foundations of the house. Miss Skinner scurried from the room. Demery stood watching the doorway until her footfall faded away, then he turned to Cate. She shrank back into the pillows as he came closer. He looked down at her, his expression icy. She whimpered. His expression tightened.

“You said you were no longer afraid of me,” he said, his voice quiet again.

She knew of nothing to say that would not anger him further, and so said nothing.

“I will not give you reasons to fear me,” he continued softly. “I will not shout at you. I will not strike you.”

She nodded silently.

“Have I given you any such so far?” He waited. “Catherine?”

“No. You have not.” She clung to that fact and breathed out a shaking breath. “You have been very…” Gentle was not the word; his expression was far from it. “…dispassionate.”

“Only in manner, I assure you. My feelings right now are—” his mouth tensed then released “—hurt. Justifiably, I think.”

“I’m sorry.”

They were useless words, which was perhaps why he ignored them. He leaned against Cate’s chest of drawers and regarded her sullenly. At the receiving end of his scowl, something very strange happened to Cate. It was as though a shiver of electricity ran through her body. She looked quickly down at her knees and tried to suppress the feeling. It felt indecent, forbidden.

“God,” Demery said in disgust. “You can’t even look at me. Am I so monstrous, so terrifying that you cannot even look me in the eyes? I’m trying not to be, but I can’t understand why you are terrified of me to begin with.”

“I’m not terrified.” Her heart raced for quite a different reason. “I’m not afraid of you anymore.”

“Then at least do me the grace of looking me in the eyes.”

She forced herself to look up and meet his dark eyes. The hurt was clear in their expression. It made her feel so guilty. But she could not explain to him why she found it so hard to meet his eyes. She barely understood it herself, but she was quite sure it would disgust him. He hated her, after all.

The force of his gaze made the brief silence feel oppressive.

“Call me Cate,” she blurted. “I never liked Catherine.”

He looked surprised. “I beg your pardon?”

“I don’t like it when people call me Catherine. My friends—” she choked into silence and tried again. “Anyway, I prefer Cate.”

“Cate.” The charred timbre of his voice made her name sound very different on his lips. “I can call you Cate, but I cannot call you my friend. You are my wife, no less and no more.”

“No. I understand that. I am not asking for more.”

He was still gazing levelly at her. “Of my wife, I ask honesty and honourable dealings. Not manipulations. Not pretence and lies.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Then change.” His voice was suddenly brutal. “This is the second time you’ve played games rather than tell me how you felt or what you needed. Make it the last.”

Apparently, he thought the conversation was at an end, because he swivelled on his foot and left the room. Cate waited, thinking she would hear a door slam, but he left nothing in his wake but silence. She slumped down into the pillows, one hand on her racing heart.

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2023-01-29: This is an unedited chapter. I’m posting it unedited because I won’t have time to edit it til next weekend. I think the argument between Cate and Demery needs some attention. I know it does, actually. Any suggestions or comments on it are welcome.

Chapter Fourteen: The Battlefield

In the gallery outside the door to Cate’s apartments, David sank against a wall and took deep, strained breaths. The blood was pounding in his ears and his hands were shaking. He wanted to hit something.

That lying bitch.

That filthy, conniving old woman.

He clenched his fist then forced himself to slowly release it. Violence would only make him look more the fool. Besides, it was the first recourse of halfwits and blackguards. He had seen enough of those in the army. Men who never applied their brains to a problem until after their fists had made it worse. Not that there was much opportunity to apply his brain to this problem: Catherine had lied to him. Neither brain nor fist could fix that.

To be sure, it had all been Miss Skinner’s idea, but Catherine had not opposed her. Not seriously, anyway. She was not merely dishonest, she was a coward.

His fist closed in on itself again. David took another deep breath. He had already known that. The real problem was that he had lost his chance to settle the bargain with Lord Varley. And that could be solved, yes, there were several solutions. There was no need to worry about the mines. No need to panic about the finances.

As the first heat of his anger cooled, David became aware of the hurt beneath it. He had believed Catherine to be in danger. She had played with his emotions, twisted him into believing it. Treated him like a puppet. Oh, to be sure, it had not been her plan. He had heard enough to understand that Miss Skinner had been the originator and architect of it. He had stayed by the door silently listening, hoping that Catherine would fight for him. And instead, she had deserted him. He meant that little to her.

He shook himself from head to toe. It did not matter what she thought of him. There was no point being hurt by her disregard or her fear. They were her feelings, which she owned entirely, and which he had done nothing to earn.

Steeling himself, he went downstairs, where he found Laurie and Sarah standing in the hall regarding each other with all the suspicion of two stray cats meeting unexpectedly in an alley. Sarah and Laurie never had got on.

“She says you invited her to stay for a while,” Laurie said suspiciously.

“She invited herself,” David corrected. “But that might forgiven in a cousin.”

“Hmph.” Laurie did not look impressed. “What happened upstairs? I heard you yell.”

“A lover’s tiff?” There was a teasing spark in Sarah’s eyes.

“Not exactly.” David did not wish to explain it in front of her. “Why don’t you go up and introduce yourself to my wife, Sarah? She will forgive the imposition, I am sure.”

“She is not too unwell for visitors?”

David did not wish to admit the truth he thought Sarah must already suspect. “On the contrary, I think the diversion will lift her spirits.”

“Hm.” Sarah looked from him to Laurie and back again, but her curiosity about the new was greater than her interest in the old. “If you think it wisest.”

She went away up the stairs, holding her skirts six inches off the ground. Laurie watched her go with a scowl.

“What’s she really doing here?”

“She said she wished to see Wales. I own, I had rather hoped she meant to stay with a friend.”

“In which case, she would be limited to the hotels of Bangor.”

David laughed then bit it back. “She has been very kind to me in London.”

“Because she wants something.”

“I can’t imagine what.”

“You can’t?” Laurie raised an eyebrow. “Huh. Well.” She turned away and looked up the stairs. “What were you yelling about?”

David breathed out through his teeth. “Nothing good. I lost my temper.”

“With Catherine?”

“Miss Skinner. And, I suppose, Catherine too. Cate.” The name was foreign on his tongue. “She is not really ill, Laurie. Miss Skinner had some stupid plot for Catherine to pretend to be very ill so I would pay to send them both on a health cure.”

“I thought she looked sturdy enough.” Laurie scowled. “So she took advantage of you, again.”

“It is the last time I let it happen. I swear. That woman has taken so many miles she cannot have another inch. I will not let her.”

“That’s the spirit. You’ve given her far too much already. Marriage, for one.” She sighed. “Never mind. That cannot be undone now. What are you going to do about this?”

“I sent Miss Skinner away. Told her that she must pack her things and leave. But I don’t know what I can do about Cate. If she really wants to leave Wales, I would send her away somewhere. But it would be an unnecessary expense and I fear a little scandalous as well. Right now, I need both money and public respect. She lost me my biggest investor with this trick. I had to leave London before I could sign a contract with him, and now… I fear it’s too late.”

“I say keep her here. Not that I enjoy her company, of course. But I resent you spending your money on her. You’re far too generous. She sleeps in a room fit for a princess. You should throw her in the scullery like Cinderella.”

“I won’t mistreat her.”

“I know. You won’t.” Laurie looked annoyed. “You never mistreat anyone, no matter how badly they treat you. You and your cursed honour.”

“Decency,” David corrected. “Father always insisted that it is the mark of a man to treat others with kindness and respect.”

“Well, I am not a man, and I cannot find it in myself to be kind towards Catherine. Or Sarah, for that matter.” Laurie looked suspiciously up the stairs. “I wish you hadn’t brought her with you. She’s going to make trouble.”

“She’s been a perfect host to me in London. I am merely returning the favour. Besides, with Miss Skinner gone, perhaps she and Cate will make friends.”

Laurie made a strange noise in her throat, halfway between a laugh and a cough. “I do not think that likely.”

“Why not? If Cate can find a companion in Miss Skinner, she should be able to find a friend in someone at least closer to her own age and situation.”

“Perhaps the problem is that they are a little too close.” Laurie gave him an enigmatic smile. “Never mind. I will enjoy seeing it play out, whatever happens. After all, I don’t believe you to be in any danger, so a casualty on the battlefield would not trouble my heart.”

She turned and left, leaving David wondering exactly what she had meant.

---

After Demery left, Cate went into Luke’s room and picked him up and held him sleeping to her chest to comfort herself. Cuddling him seemed to be the only thing that could still her racing heart and lessen the lump in her throat. She was standing over his cradle and holding him, trying not to cry, when there came a knock at the door. She turned, thinking it was Demery, but the person in the doorway was a stranger to her: tall, dark, a little older than herself, and wearing a cautious smile. She had donned that smile with as much as care as her neat indigo travel dress. Cate was not ordinarily perceptive about such things, but she had worn too many similar smiles herself while in company she did not care for not to recognize it.

“I hope you’ll forgive the intrusion,” the woman said, in a soft, breathy voice. “David said you would not mind.”

“David?” Cate looked the woman up and down again and saw now the resemblance between the two of them, the same height and long face and impossibly dark eyes. “You are his…?”

“Cousin. Sarah Demery.” The woman held out her hand and Cate gingerly shook it. “I begged him to bring me to Wales. It has been years since I have stepped foot in the place.” She sighed and looked about the room. “It has changed so much, and for the better. It looks so comfortable. It used to be my school room, did you know?”

“No. Demery did not tell me.”

“Demery?” Sarah’s smile broadened. “Is that what you call him? I could not, for I share that name.”

“As do I, now.” Cate joggled Luke a little; he was beginning to get heavy in her arms. “Do you mind if we go to the sitting room? I’d like to sit down.”

“Of course. David said you were unwell.” Sarah’s tone was all sympathy as she led the way back through the bedroom to the sitting room. “But you do look much better than we thought. The letter we got made us think that you were very poorly indeed.”

Cate did not feel she could say anything to that and so said nothing. She sank down onto the sofa and repositioned Luke to a more comfortable position.

“I hope you are feeling better now?” Sarah continued solicitously.

“Yes. Much.” That was an easier lie, but still Cate felt uneasy. She rocked Luke back and forth. “It was just a cold, really.”

“Oh.” Sarah wore another smile. “What a relief.”

There was a strange, awkward silence. Neither seemed to know exactly what to say. At last, Sarah said, “How do you like it here?”

“I think the house is very interesting. And I love waking up every morning and looked out over the sea.” Cate jogged Luke in her arms a bit as he began to stir. “I have not yet taken Luke down to the beach because it is so cold, but when the weather warms up, I will.”

“Yes, the sea is…” Sarah looked at the windows. “…Beautiful. I sometimes forget how beautiful it is. I have spent so long in London. We used to go walking down on the beach, David and I. We were very close in age, so we were more often together than he was with Paul and Laurie. When we were young we would make sand castles. When we were older we would just walk and find drift wood and talk about what lay on the other side of the sea. It is Dublin to the west and Dumfries to the north, but when we were about fifteen it might have been anywhere at all. It seemed so far away.”

Sarah’s description spoke of a sentimentality that was at odds with her very neat and fashionable dress. Nor did it quite seem true of Demery. Cate had no doubt that he had always known that it was Dumfries or Dublin, and even the number of miles between them. Nevertheless, she was not going to quibble with a woman who showed even the faintest hint of amicability. She could afford to lose no more friends, even if Miss Skinner had not precisely been such.

“It sounds lovely,” Cate said. “You must have had a wonderful childhood. Demery— David has not told me much about it.”

Because even when they were courting, he had not talked much about himself, and now he talked even less.

“I do not know if it was as wonderful for him as it was for me,” Sarah said with a smile. “He was quite the poor cousin. His father went into law but never managed to make much of himself. Whereas my father owned Plas Bryn and doted upon me. I knew it was all going to go to David one day, of course. His father refused to break the entail and there seemed no chance I would ever have a brother. Indeed, sometimes I thought of David as my brother. But not quite.”

“It is the surrounding country I mean, and the freedom to roam in it. Particularly for a boy.” Luke was waking now, making little mewling cries and kicking his feet against Cate’s waist. She kissed the top of his head. “I hope Luke enjoys it, when he grows up. My own father would never let us walk on the beach without supervision. I could not even walk in the garden without a servant until I was seventeen.”

“Yes, my father was not so protective. Or perhaps I did not let him protect me. I was an independent child. I think I had more spirit than David, actually. It was he who required protection. From his mother.” Sarah smiled. “She’s rather a dragon, don’t you think? She was always yelling at him. She used to order the whole lot of them about, even his father, when his father was alive. It was she who insisted David go into the army, though he had much rather gone into the law, after his father. She wanted that for Paul instead. I don’t know she did not choose right. Paul always was rather twisty and honeyed with his words.”

“What about Laura?” Cate asked. “What did Mrs Demery want for her?”

Sarah laughed. “Not to run away with a red-coat. Well. It was not really running away, though she threatened to. Laura’s the only one of them who ever managed to stand up to her mother. And look what it got her. Poverty and unfaithfulness.”

“She is hardly impoverished.”

“She would be, if she had gone with him. Mr Wynn never could lay his hands on a silver guinea without it turning to lead. Now she lives with her mother, on her mother’s income and David’s pity. Sometimes when I think of Laurie, I am glad that I never married.”

Cate thought there was a certain self-consciousness behind those spiteful words. As little as she liked Laurie or Mrs Demery, she could not quite respond in turn. She repositioned Luke so that he could blink sleepily out at their visitor. He liked people, and smiled and babbled cheerfully at Sarah.

“Of course,” Sarah continued, “there are certain advantages to the married state. You have a beautiful baby, I see. Though you did not require marriage to get him.”

“I was… very foolish. And David was very kind.” Cate did not wish to explain it further. She was wary of the curious glint in Sarah’s eye. “Would you like to hold him?”

That might distract her. No doubt she would pick up the gossip from someone else, perhaps from Laurie, but it was easier to know that people were talking about her than have to parry their attempts to dig information from her.

“Oh, I’d love to. How sweet he is.” Sarah held out her arms and Luke allowed himself to be transferred over. He squirmed a little in Sarah’s arms. The heavily buttoned front of her dress looked uncomfortable. “What a darling.”

Luke squirmed more. Then, with a heave of his tiny chest, he gave a momentous burp. The dregs of his last meal came up with it. Sarah shrieked, but, to her credit, kept hold of him. Cate hastily pulled him into her arms and patted his back gently.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “He doesn’t normally do that until after he’s eaten.”

Sarah patted at her dress with a thin silk handkerchief. Her cheeks were very red. “Think nothing of it. He is a baby after all.”

Cate tugged a more sturdy cotton handkerchief from her pocket. After Luke was born, she had grown very distrustful of silk handkerchiefs. She gently patted Luke’s face dry. “But I really must apologize. I will get you a damp cloth. And our maids do a wonderful job with the laundry.”

Sarah cleared her throat. “No. Of course. It is no matter really. I think, though, that I will go and get changed. If you don’t mind. It was wonderful meeting you though. I’m so glad I can finally make your acquaintance.”

She got to her feet and left the room. Cate hugged Luke thoughtfully to herself. There was something rather cold about Sarah. She was not sure she liked her. On the other hand, she had talked quite readily to Cate. There were not many people who did that, these days.

“What do you think?” she asked Luke.

“Gayah!” he said.

__

2023-02-12: I’ve pretty much accepted that I won’t be able to post anything this month if I try to edit, lol. Thankfully, I write pretty clean to begin with. So I’m hoping I can plough on with the story even if it’s not perfect. Anyway, Sarah got puked on. A cruel and unusual punishment.

Chapter Fifteen: Uninvited

Miss Skinner left Plas Bryn that afternoon. She was not entirely embarrassed; the servants prepared a carriage for her and the stable master drove it. Yet her pride must have been smarting, for she did not come to say goodbye to Cate.

Or perhaps Demery arranged it that way. He had arranged some things, anyway, because after Miss Skinner was gone, a servant came to tell Cate that she would be dining with Sarah downstairs and did she wish to get dressed and do her hair? Cate did not wish; she was tired and upset and the thought of wearing her best dress next to someone as polished as Sarah made her miserable.

At six-thirty, Sarah’s maid came to ask if Cate knew that Sarah preferred red wine to white. Cate considered herself informed.

At a quarter-to-seven, Sarah’s maid returned to ask if the soup contained mushrooms, for they gave Sarah indigestion. Cate said it did.

At five to seven, Sarah’s maid came back again to ask if the mushrooms could be removed from the soup. Cate, who was beginning to feel rather bothered by the intrusion, sent for the housekeeper, who sent down to the cook, who sent back that as it was mushroom soup, the mushrooms could not be removed from it.

For half-an-hour, there was peace. Cate put Luke to bed and then lay on the sofa, still in her morning gown with a thick woollen shawl over her shoulders, staring at the ceiling and letting her thoughts drift. She was not looking forward to the dinner. She had much rather dine alone, particularly as it seemed that Sarah was fussy. But she supposed it would be rude to ask a guest to dine alone on the first night of her visit — even if the guest was uninvited.

At half past seven, Sarah herself came into the room, after a polite but determined knock. She now wore a claret-coloured evening dress. It set off her dark hair and eyes and made her face seem ivory-white and very smooth.

“You are not dressed!” She said. “Do you feel unwell?”

“I was just about to get ready,” Cate said.

She had meant to brush and pin her hair and get rid of her shawl. It had not occurred to her that Sarah would wear an evening gown. It seemed very extravagant for a quiet country dinner à deux, but it made Cate unsure of her own appearance.

“Then I won’t disturb you.” Sarah retreated back to the door. “I just wanted to ask you if you know if David will drink white wine or red, for I can drink white if no one else wants red.”

Cate sat up straighter. “David is coming to dinner?”

“Why would he not be? He must be hungry.”

“Yes, but…” Cate trailed off. She had not dined with Demery since their marriage. Of course, he did not wish for her company. He had made that clear. But when there had been guests to tea she had come down a few times, offered Luke up to meet them, and played the part of the polite hostess. Sarah was a guest. Perhaps that changed things.

Cate looked down at her morning gown, crumpled and stained with Luke’s drool. “I think I should get dressed.”

“But about the wine?” Sarah hovered by the doorway.

“You should drink whatever you please.”

Sarah looked doubtful.

“It will make no difference to Demery or me,” Cate said. “Truly.”

Sarah pursed her lips together. “Then I will drink red.”

She left. Cate scrambled up from the sofa and rang the bell for her maid. She was untangling the knots in her hair and trying desperately to decide between a pale pink evening gown which made her look washed out and a poppy orange day dress which might be elevated by jewellery when her maid arrived. Her maid was a forthright, perceptive woman who made the decision for her: Cate went downstairs only slightly late for dinner in a plain white day gown with a Marie-Louise blue dressing gown over it. She was, after all, meant to be sick, and her maid said that the blue brought out her eyes.

When she entered the little dining room, she found Sarah sitting alone at the table. The dishes sat under silver covers and a glass of red wine sat untouched at Sarah’s side.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Cate said. “Is Demery not here yet?”

“He has not come down. It is unlike him to be late.” Sarah frowned. “I shall go and fetch him.”

It was Cate’s house, and she ought to have done the fetching, but it was easier to let Sarah go. Cate went to the sideboard and poured herself a glass of soda water. The aroma of mushrooms and beef gravy rose from the covered dishes and made her stomach rumble. She was keenly aware that she had not eaten much more than porridge and toast for days. She lifted the cover on a dish of stewed vegetables and debated stealing a carrot. No one would notice. As she was debating, a serving maid entered and she hastily put the cover back and went to sit down. She paused. For the first time, she noticed there were only two places set at the table.

“There should be another place,” she said. “Would you fetch another setting please, Mary? We will all be dining together.”

The maid bobbed her knees. “I beg pardon for the contradiction, Mrs Demery, but the master said he would dine in his room.”

“But Sarah said…” Cate frowned, as the truth of the situation came to her: Demery had arranged for them to dine together because it would be rude to ask a guest to dine alone, odd to dine alone with a female guest while his wife stayed upstairs, and impossible to dine with her. She should have known. He had done everything he could to avoid her since their wedding and after what he had said to her, what he had overheard this afternoon, he was no doubt more resentful of her than ever. “Oh.”

“Should I send a message to Mr Demery?”

“No, thank you. I will wait.”

It was a long, hungry wait. Cate thought sadly of the food growing cool under the covers as she sipped her soda water. When Sarah finally returned, Demery was following her, his shoulders hunched like a scolded dog. He gave Cate a very correct bow and wished her good evening. Mary silently went to get another setting.

“Will you drink red or white?” Sarah asked. “I am drinking red.”

Demery glanced at Cate’s glass of soda water. “Red, then.”

They sat and sipped. Sarah looked around the room with interest.

“You have not yet renovated in here.”

“Not yet.”

“Have you thought about colours? I like the deep red wallpaper, though it is shabby now.”

“I will defer to my wife’s opinion, but the renovation of this room is not a priority.”

“What a pity for your entertaining.”

“We will not be entertaining much.”

The maid returned, set Demery’s place, and ladled bowls of mushroom soup. It was cool enough that Cate could gulp it down. Demery sipped it more sedately while Sarah sat without touching it, looking virtuous. That she was not eating gave her the chance to soliloquise while the others ate.

“I do think that you could liven up the country if you chose. My father’s dinners used to be quite famous. People would come all the way from Bangor. Not that he was extravagant, like Londoners are. There were no peacocks or pineapples or, or… ice sculptures. Just good, plain food and good, plain drink, and good, plain company.”

“Sometimes—” Demery swallowed a mouthful of soup “—the company was very plain indeed.”

Sarah giggled. It was a rather awkward sound, coming from a woman so tall. “Well. I confess I enjoyed it. But I’ve never been, how should I put it… an over-delicate woman.”

“No. I would not say you have.”

Perhaps Sarah was disconcerted. She observed them eating for a few solid minutes, then she continued, “I just mean that everyone is so sleepy and sedate around here. There is little to do. The assembly ball every month or two in Holywell. Church on Sundays. Walking when the weather is good, which is not often. Sea-bathing very rarely. A few quiet dinners at a few quiet houses — you probably dine with the Vaughns and the Bevans and Sayers every other week. And at those dinners, you probably talk of the rain, and inquire about so-and-so’s health and then you play whist for ha’pennies and perhaps somebody’s wife or daughter ventures to sing, or play the pianoforte, and I do not know that anybody around here sings very well, so you all take another stiff round of port and eventually someone says that it is getting on, though it is not yet eleven, and everybody calls for their coaches and goes home. My father’s dinner parties were quite different. To begin with, I was not allowed to sing, and we played backgammon or farro. And nobody ever talked about the weather. I am quite sure, David, that if you took to holding dinner parties, you could give people something better to talk about than the weather.”

David shrugged. “We do not dine with the Bevans and the Sayers.”

Cate scraped the last of her soup from her bowl. “We do not dine at all.”

“But why on earth not? There is nothing else to do here.”

Demery was still eating his soup. Cate pushed her plate away.

“I am not in a position to dine,” she said flatly. “My standing in society is… shadowed.”

“You mean the baby. People will forgive that sooner or later. After all, they forgave Laura.”

Demery’s spoon clinked into his soup bowl. “Laurie did nothing that deserves forgiveness. She was the one wronged.”

Sarah let out the awkward giggle again. “I know that. But in the eyes of society, David, it is all the same.”

Cate wondered what exactly Laurie had done — or what Mr Wynn had done, more likely. How had he died? If Demery had not been there, she might have asked Sarah. But she did not dare while he looked so cross.

He was finished with his soup. The maid took the bowls away and lifted the lids on the dishes. Demery stood to carve the beef. His hands on the carving tools were all sinewy, brown, and strong. Cate shivered and looked away.

When they were all served beef and potatoes and stewed vegetables and devilled oysters, nothing but the clink of cutlery on china disturbed the peace. The soup had sated Cate’s ravening hunger, and she was able to eat with tolerably good manners. Demery ate in determined, steady silence. Sarah sucked oysters down her throat and sipped wine at a leisurely pace. Eventually, she began to speak again.

“It is like a monastery in here!” she said. “Shouldn’t we have some conversation?”

“If you wished for conversation, you had better have stayed in London,” Demery said.

“Yes, but I wanted good conversation. Intelligent conversation.”

“I am in short supply.” Demery ploughed on determinedly through his stewed vegetables.

Sarah put her elbows on the table and looked at Cate. “Does he not vex you?”

“For not speaking?” Cate was confused. “No. I am in the mood for silence.”

For all of five minutes she had it. Sarah sucked three more oysters and nibbled at some potato.

“What do you think of that new bridge?” she asked to no one in particular. “It has just opened up, I believe.”

“The Menai Bridge?” Demery asked. “I have not yet seen it. But I believe it will be very convenient, yes, to have a bridge to Holyhead.”

Cate was vaguely aware of the construction of the bridge. It had been in the newspapers.

“Apparently it is an architectural marvel,” Sarah said. “Perhaps you will take me to see it, David, now that I am here?”

“I was not aware you were interested in architecture.”

“I am interested in many things.”

“I will take you if you wish, but it is no interest of mine. A bridge is a device to take you somewhere else, to cross a river or an abyss. It is not a place to go for itself.”

“I am sure your wife would not agree with you!” Sarah looked at Cate. “What do you think?”

“I do not have a particular opinion,” Cate said.

That avoided the necessity of agreeing or disagreeing with Demery. But a small part of her thought it would be rather nice to show the bridge to Luke, if it were an architectural marvel. Or even if it weren’t. He had never seen a really big bridge before.

“What do you have opinions on, Catherine?” Sarah asked. “Are you passionately fond of music or art or anything?”

“I enjoy music. I can play a little.”

“There are instruments somewhere about the house. A harpsichord that I brutalized. I never could get the hang of it. It should still be here somewhere.”

“I believe it is.”

There was another long silence.

“David has never been musical either,” Sarah said. “I am afraid it does not run in our family. I don’t think he even likes to listen.”

The last was said in an accusing tone, as though she expected him to defend himself, but he did not even look up. He was concentrating on the potatoes.

“Then perhaps I will give up playing and spare him,” Cate said. “Though I don’t think I have played, really, since…”

Demery looked up from his potatoes. There had been days during their courtship when she had played a little piano for him. She had not played since. Perhaps he had only pretended to enjoy it, if what Sarah was true. Perhaps it was for the best that the piano here lay under a dust sheet and was out of tune.

“I understand married women often give up playing,” Sarah said lightly. “I suppose it does its job to get you the husband to begin with, but it must be rather a chore — I always found it a chore. But then, I had no talent.”

Sarah stopped speaking to nibble on some stewed carrots. For some minutes there was peace. Then Sarah finished her carrots and resumed her soliloquy.

“I do think it is amusing what some women give up once they are married. Their looks, their figure, their wit, their talents. As though once they are secure of a man, they can stop trying to deserve him. For me, I maintain my reading and my dancing and my figure and my looks because they give me joy, not because I hope to earn a man’s house with them.”

Cate tried to think of something polite to say. “That is very diligent of you.”

“But then I never had put all my hopes on marriage. Which is perhaps a good thing, for I doubt I will marry now.”

Cate doubted it too. She did not think men liked women like Sarah. Sarah was so very certain of herself.

After that, conversation mostly halted, other than a few other remarks from Sarah about Plas Bryn or the surrounding country. It did not take them long to finish the meal. Unprepared for guests, the servants had been able to prepare only the soup and five dishes. The maid removed the last of the plates and placed a bowl of walnuts in the middle of the table as substitute for a second course.

“I despise walnuts.” Sarah pouted. “Shall we go to your sitting room Cate, and have a chat? The drawing room has too chilly an atmosphere for two.”

“I’m a little tired for a chat,” Cate said. “And our dinner was late. I had much rather just go to bed.”

Besides, she resented that Sarah had invited herself into her sitting room. That was Cate’s private place. And it was Cate’s place too to suggest they leave the table. Not for Sarah, the guest, even if it had once been her house and she mistress of it.

“You and David can chat,” Cate said. “Perhaps have another glass of wine. It might improve the walnuts.”

That was a little rude of her, perhaps, but she was not sure she liked Sarah, and, besides, she suspected Sarah was the kind of person who did not clearly see rudeness offered to her or the rudeness she did to others.

She stood and left, only stopping at the door to say goodnight to them both. Upstairs in her apartments, she went to her bedroom and divested herself of slippers, stockings, and day gown, before slipping back into the dressing gown and slowly unpinning her hair. She realised that she was tired. Or perhaps merely sad. Demery had sent Miss Skinner away. She might tell Cate’s father the truth about Luke. And Demery would not forgive her for what she had done. Nor could she blame him. A lump grew in her throat and tears pricked at her eyes. She put down her comb and went through to Luke’s room, where he was sleeping peacefully in the cradle, his little chest rising in and out. She wiped tears from her cheeks and watched him. To hold him would make her feel better, but she did not wish to wake him.

A soft knock at the door broke through Cate’s tears. She turned to see Demery in the doorway. He could not have remained long with Sarah in the dining room. When he saw her tears, he drew back a little.

“Is something wrong?”

“I’m only sad. That’s all.” She wiped her eyes. “Did you need something?”

“I came here for a conclusion to our earlier conversation.”

“Was it not concluded?”

“No. I left in a temper. I had something more to say.”

“Then, please, say it. I am listening.”

He pressed his lips together. “I want you to understand that I left London to attend to you, believing you to be very ill. In doing so, I lost the chance to garner the support of an important investor in my mines. I am hurt and angered by your deception, Cather— Cate. But the financial consequence — you will share them with me. And the people of this village, my labourers and tenants, they will share them too. I want you to understand that.”

Cate took a deep breath to ward off more tears. “I’m sorry.”

“I did not come here to seek apologies. I came so that we might understand each other. You are not my only responsibility, and you, too, have a responsibility towards me and the people who make their livelihood from my land. You failed to uphold that responsibility by allowing Miss Skinner to do what she did, to treat you, and me, the way she did.”

His tone was serious but unheated. Cate shut her eyes. She had never before considered her responsibility towards Demery. She was not his wife in the true sense of the word, but that did not mean she did not owe him something. At the very least, honesty.

“I really, truly am sorry.”

“I know.”

“I won’t lie to you again. I promise.”

Demery kept her gaze for a long moment, then nodded. “Then tell me why you didn’t oppose Miss Skinner. She’s little more than a servant, Cate. She’s no threat to you.”

“She said she would tell my father the truth about… about Luke’s father. And what I did.” Cate stroked a lock of Luke’s hair. “He would kill me.”

“That’s hyperbole, Cate. Let us think logically. Anger would be a natural response, certainly. It is never pleasant to find out your loved one has lied to you. But your father already has reasons to be angry with you, and he did not kill you. He sent you away to have the baby, and supported your exile from society. And then he sent you to marry me, so that you might recover some standing in society. The consequences of his learning the truth would be further hurt for him — that he would discover further betrayal. You would unharmed.”

Cate shook her head. “You don’t understand.”

“Then explain it to me.”

But she could not. There weren’t the words.

After a brief silence, Demery continued, “Miss Skinner’s threat to you is only as powerful as you allowed it to be. You could not be afraid your father would hurt you. You were afraid he would understand you, and that you would be humiliated by his understanding.”

Every word he spoke was like a knife to Cate’s heart.

“Am I wrong?” Demery asked after a moment. “Or do your tears indicate I have struck something close to the truth?”

“Don’t torment me. You don’t know what my father is like.”

“I know he is strict and cruel. But you may tell me the details. I am happy to hear anything you wish to tell me.”

Cate shook her head. “I don’t want to speak of him.”

“Then let us speak of your brother. Why could you not tell him the truth?”

Cate’s heart skipped a beat. “You saw Luke?”

“In London.” Demery reached into his pocket and took out a letter. “He wrote this for you. I suppose I’m just surprised, really, that you could tell me the truth, tell Miss Skinner the truth, and not your brother. I thought you were close to him.”

“Haven’t you ever had a secret that you would sooner tell a stranger than someone you love?”

Demery stared at her. “No.” He seemed absolutely bewildered. “The people I love are those I trust most.”

“It’s not about trust. I don’t want him to think badly of me. But you… you already do.”

“So a little more won’t hurt?” Demery shook his head. “You confound me, Cate.” He held the letter out towards her. “Never mind. When you have a reply, give it to me, and I will ensure it is given to your brother without your father knowing.”

She took the letter. “Thank you.”

Demery gave her a brief nod in response. He looked down at Luke, asleep in the cradle, then bent and kissed his brow. He was so gentle that Luke did not even stir. Cate’s heart ached with inexplicable yearning.

“Good night, Cate,” he said in an ungentle voice. “I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow.”

__

2022-02-27: Long chapter is long.

Chapter Sixteen: Until You

His first morning back at Plas Bryn, David awoke to the sound of Luke wailing. It was very early, the first hint of light filtering through the curtains and a steady drumming rain beating outside. He waited for Luke to quiet so he could get back to sleep. Luke did not quiet. Eventually, David pulled himself groggily out of bed, slipped into a dressing gown, and followed the sound to Cate’s bedroom door. He knocked, but did not open it.

“Yes?” she said.

“It’s me. May I come in?”

“Please.”

He opened the door and looked through the gap, not entering the room. Cate was in her nightgown, rocking Luke against her chest. His little face was scrunched up with the force of his tears.

“Is he alright?” he asked.

“He’s fine.”

“He’s crying.”

“Sometimes, he does, for no reason. Perhaps he had a bad dream.” She kissed his hair. “Shush, darling. Shush. Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“No, no you’ve nothing to apologise for. Is there nothing I can do?”

She shook her head. “He’ll wear out soon enough.”

David should have left then, but instead he leaned against the door jamb and watched her. In the dim light, she looked younger, the lines on her brow disappeared, the shadows under her eyes faded. It would have been a peaceful, charming picture, had it not been for Luke’s screams. The sort of charming picture of married life David had thought lay in his future, when he was courting Cate. And now he had it, but it was not his picture. Not really. Cate was not his lover and Luke was not his baby.

“I return to London tomorrow,” he said, making up his mind that moment. “I’ve no reason to stay here longer. And I’ve business to attend to.”

“Oh!” Cate looked surprised, then guilty. “What about Sarah?”

“She wants to visit her old haunts, I believe. Can you tolerate a guest?”

Cate bit her lip. “I do not wish to be entirely alone, certainly. Perhaps I would be happier with a guest.”

And happier still if that guest were not Sarah, David saw. But he had no wish to return to London with Sarah in tow. He had had enough of her, most acutely last night when she had come upstairs to bully him into dining together with them and then made such uncomfortable conversation. Not only had her conduct at the dinner table been embarrassing, but once Cate had left she had remarked upon Cate’s manners and mode of dress in a sort of pitying manner that had been far more insulting than if she had outright called Cate ugly and rude. Cate, for all her flaws, was well-mannered and understood the value of silence.

“She seems quite friendly,” Cate added optimistically.

“She is.” David quelled the whisper of guilt inside him. Sarah might be an infliction upon Cate’s society, but she would treat her better than Miss Skinner had. “Well. I just came to see if you were alright. I’m going back to bed now.”

“Sorry for disturbing you.”

“Think nothing of it.”

He did go back to bed, though he could not fall asleep again. At the earliest polite hour, he dressed and left the house to see his steward. Baxter was not surprised to see him, as word of his arrival had spread the afternoon before. He had strong, sweet tea ready, and they drank it by the kitchen-parlour fire.

“You’re back quickly,” Baxter said. “I hope that means you were successful in London.”

“Partially. Some people pledged small funds to me. I’ve got the receipts in my study, waiting for you.”

“Partially.” Baxter looked skeptically at David. “Partially isn’t good enough.”

“I know. I thought my wife was sick, so I came home early. Lost a valuable investor by doing so as well.”

“How is she? I noticed she hasn’t been at church for a while.”

“There was nothing wrong with her. It was all a mare’s nest.” David sighed. “She and her stupid companion had a plot to pretend she was sick so I would send them away from here. It was mostly her companion’s doing, but Cate didn’t stop it.”

Baxter was not a man easily given to anger, but now a dark flush slowly suffused over his cheeks. “Of all dirty tricks! Didn’t she think what she would cost you? Doesn’t she know what she has cost herself?”

“I tried to explain it. I think she is sorry, not that that fixes anything.” Somehow, seeing Baxter’s anger made David feel better about it all, as though he was right to feel wronged. “I got rid of the companion, warned her off. A poisonous influence.”

Baxter’s top lip curled. “Indeed. In the village, people were beginning to say that her nose was always held as though she had shit smeared on her upper lip.”

David sputtered, trying not to laugh. “Don’t. It’s not polite.”

“But it is true. And good riddance to her.”

“I’ll drink to that.” David raised his cup of tea. “And what are they saying of Cate?”

Baxter looked away. “What you would expect of a woman who has a baby out of wedlock. Not much more. She treats her servants well and she’s pretty, so some are sympathetic to her. Others, more loyal to you, are less forgiving. And the gentry look down upon her, as far as I can tell.”

Baxter’s unwillingness to meet David’s eyes was suspicious. “And what are you saying of her?”

“Nothing. I do not speak of her. I am no gossip.”

“You’re gossiping with me right now.”

“Well, I don’t gossip of you or your family. I know what side my bread is buttered.”

“You’re too kind. What do you think of her?”

Baxter shrugged. “A great deal less, after what you’ve told me this morning. It’s not just your livelihood and hers. It’s the people who live here. The miners. Their wives. Their children. The village that has grown from the wealth of the mines. Expanding them would mean prosperity, perhaps not what would you consider prosperity, but mouths fed, fires lit, rooves and boats mended, and comfort, in some small measure, for so many. I don’t think she understands that.”

“I tried to make her.”

“And did you succeed?”

“I don’t know. She is remorseful, but perhaps more for what she did than for its consequences.”

“Hmm.” Baxter poured himself another cup of over-brewed tea, sipped it, grimaced, and put it aside. “Would she try to make up for it?”

“What do you mean?”

“It occurs to me that, having lost you one investor, she might help you find a second one.”

“I don’t see how she could. If she returned to London with me, no one would speak to me.”

“Not in London.” Baxter rubbed his knee where his false leg attached. “At her home. Her father is very wealthy, is he not?”

“Significantly. But I can hardly ask him. He hasn’t forgiven Cate for having the baby. In fact, I have the impression that he saw our marriage as a way to excise her permanently from the family circle. Since the day of our wedding, he never sent a single letter to either of us. He forbids her siblings to communicate with her. I believe he would refuse because I’m Cate’s husband.”

Baxter raised his eyebrows. “Blue blood isn’t thicker than water then.”

“His at least, is not.” David frowned. “Though I don’t know. He did love her, perhaps still does. The night I first asked him for her hand, he spent hours interrogating me. Wanted to know my financial position, my social position, my history, my character. Wouldn’t take my word for it. Sent out to Major Bouverie that night to get his opinion of me. And kept looking into me after, when I was courting her. He heard the story about what I did to Wynn, somehow. He was very taken with that. He said he knew I would protect his daughter. But if he did love her, then it might be all the harder to forgive her.”

“You’ve nothing to lose by asking him. If he won’t do it for love of her, then he might do for love of money.”

“Maybe.” David rested his boots on the edge of the grate, feeling the flames warm his toes. “But she’s the one he can’t forgive, not me. I can hardly extend an olive branch on her behalf.”

“Then ask her to do it. She owes you, doesn’t she?”

That was a solution so elegantly simple David did not wish to believe it. The truth was, he had no desire to see Sir William again. Sir William did not have a warm, inviting personality. But Baxter was right that there was a opportunity there.

“I’ll ask her,” he decided. “She can write to him and ask to be invited for a dinner together, a visit. A chance for them to see Luke. If he refuses, well, I’ll find someone else when the season really gets going.”

“That’s the man.” Baxter looked pleased. “And if he does refuse, well, you’ll know he really is a foul creature.”

Their talk turned to other topics after that. Baxter’s daughter was learning to crawl and he had many amusing tales of trouble she had gotten into. An hour or so later, when the rain had eased, David left Baxter’s cottage and headed back to the manor. It was around noon now. He found Cate downstairs in the old music room, sifting through stacks of books while Luke explored the land beneath a dust-sheet-covered piano. She looked up guiltily when he came in.

“I just wanted to borrow something to read.”

“You can read whatever you like.” He was surprised she looked so guilty about it. “I haven’t managed to arrange a library yet. It was one of the things I always looked forward to, when I was in the army, but now that I can…” He stopped himself from speaking further. Cate probably did not care to hear about his book situation. Laurie had heard enough of it to declare herself violently bored. The trouble was, he wanted it done right, which meant making decisions, and he was not very good at this kind of decision. Even now, as Cate knelt with a black leather and red marble paper book in her lap he wondered if the choice was not too dark and gloomy. He had intended to get all his books rebound in that same design, but suddenly he was not so sure.

“Anyway, the book are yours to read as you would like,” he said. “I came here to ask you… a favour, actually.”

“A favour? What can I do?”

“I’d like you to ask your father to invite us both to dinner. And, given the distance, a night or two at his home.”

The faint pink of her cheeks drained to white. “No.”

He had expected refusal, but he had not expected it to be so quick and definite. She set the book in her hands back on a stack and crawled towards Luke, pulling him into her lap and rocking him. He waited, unwilling to try to persuade her, but knowing he must try.

Eventually she said, her voice quavering, “Why do you wish to speak with him?”

“Business. He has the power to make a significant investment in my mines.”

“I do not need to be involved.”

“You are his daughter and my wife,” he said, as gently as he could. “I cannot talk to him without your involvement to some degree.”

Her fingers shook as she tidied Luke’s hair. It was getting long now, curling past his ears and haloing up around his head. It was impossible to keep it tidy. Every time he wriggled in her arms, more fine locks rose into the halo. It would be curly, David thought. Curly and black, not unlike his own.

“All I am asking you to do is write him a letter,” he continued softly. “Is that too much?”

“That is not all you’re asking me to do.” Her voice was even softer than his, not with gentleness but with fear. “You are asking me to visit him with you. If it were just a letter, I might write it, but if it were just a letter, there would be no need for me to write it.”

David sighed. There was too much logic in that statement. “You are right. It is not such a simple favour. Still, I ask it.”

“And I have told you no.” Tears shimmered in her eyes. “If you must do business with him, do business with him, but I will not take part in it.”

“I cannot do business with him if you do not have a part in it. You must see that. He will not do business with me as your husband until he cares to again claim you as his daughter.”

“He never will. What I did was unforgivable.” She bent her head and kissed Luke. “You know that as well as he.”

The parry was unexpected. David gritted his teeth. “If I can marry you, he can spend a few days with you.”

“But you are nothing like him.” Luke was squirming, so she let him slide down her lap to the floor. “No one was ever good enough. No one could ever follow all his little rules. Except me. And that was worse.” She took a short breath then let it out. “I never dared do anything he did not approve of. No. I lived to seek his approval because I was terrified of earning his disfavour.”

Luke had crawled over to David’s foot and clung to David’s calf, trying to pull himself to his feet. David looked pointedly at him. “Until Luke.”

“Until you!” She bit her lip. “I’m sorry.”

They were coming close to an argument again, which was strange, because David rarely argued with anyone, even Laurie.

“I’m sorry,” Cate repeated. “I told you I’m a coward. I was afraid of you. I’m still afraid of my father. I can’t do this for you.”

It was a coward’s euphemism, to say can’t where she meant won’t, but there was no point arguing it. She had refused and he could not persuade her.

“Then you can’t.” He pushed Luke gently away from his boot and got to his feet. “Enjoy your reading, Cate.”

__

2023-03-13: I’m sleepy, but I updated.

Chapter Seventeen: Dirty, Deceitful Deed

Demery would have left for London the next day, but his stable master discovered that his lead horse was starting to lame and insisted on stall-rest for at least a week. Cate was half-relieved and half-anxious to hear it. The relief was because it meant she would not be alone with Sarah, who was a stranger to her. The anxiety was because she thought that Demery must blame her for this too, as it was in travelling to see her that the horse had started to lame. Certainly, he was colder than normal towards her: none of Sarah’s slyest machinations could bring him to the dinner table in the evening and if Cate happened to run into him during the day, she received no more than a scowl of acknowledgement.

After a while, even Sarah noticed.

“David has been gloomy lately, hasn’t he?” she said at the dinner table one evening. “I mean, he always is rather gloomy, but he seems quite stormy lately. I pointed out that there is a robin nesting outside my window and he said that baby birds are a cawing nuisance.”

“He is upset about his business,” Cate said. “He lost an investor by coming here, and the longer he stays, the more time he loses to find another.”

“Lord Varley.” Sarah nodded over her steak and potatoes. “It was all but certain he would invest if David could just have stayed to meet him.”

Cate picked at her food uneasily. She knew Lord Varley. He was very wealthy, youngish, handsome and rather pleasant. She had been slightly disappointed when he had married two years ago. Disappointed for nothing, since Lord Varley had barely noticed her existence, but it had been nice to daydream about what might happen if he ever did. It would have been useless anyway: her father hated Varley because once Lord Varley had made him the butt of a joke at a dinner party. It was a clever joke, if not entirely kind. Anyone else would have laughed it off. Not Sir William.

“But not to worry. When David goes back to London, he will find another investor soon enough. It is a very good proposition, I understand.” Sarah was sanguine as she sliced her carrots. “At least, David tells me it is good, and I believe him.”

He had not told Cate much at all. She suspected she would not understand if he did. Slate was a rock, she knew. It came from the ground. It had to be dug up. Then it could be sold to make roofs and roads.

“David wanted to ask my father to invest,” Cate said. “I think my father would, if he knew there was money to be made.” And if he thought he was cutting Lord Varley out. “It would have saved David time and his trip to London, but I… told him I… did not like the idea.”

Sarah nibbled thoughtfully at a carrot. “I do not see why your father should be involved, if there is no loss of love there. When the London season takes off, David will return to have his pick of eager investors. Perhaps Lord Varley will be even more eager to invest then. After all, he left town to attend to his wife who was having a baby. So, perhaps David leaving town to attend to you will impress him more than if David had kept the interview.”

“That’s an optimistic perspective. I don’t think David feels the same way. He seems to think that Varley will not consider the investment now.”

“He always was a pessimist.” Sarah shrugged. “Even if Varley falls through, there will be others. London is full of rich men.”

That made Cate feel a little better. She had been feeling guilty about refusing to ask her father to speak with David. She was very much aware of how much she owed David, and this was the only thing he ever had asked of her. But it was quite impossible to give it to him. She could not bear the idea of seeing her father again.

“I might return to London with him,” Sarah said, offhand. “Wales is beginning to bore me already. Oh, it’s not your company, dear cousin. It is just…” She waved her hand in the air. “…Wales.”

“You’ve not even been here a week,” Cate said. “I thought you wanted to see old friends, visit old haunts.”

She was disappointed, even if Sarah was not entirely charming company. It would not be easy to be here all alone.

“I have seen my old friends and visited my old haunts. And it was very pleasant, yes, but if I want to attend the theatre or go to a ball or even an art gallery with my old friends, well, there is none to be found.”

“Their company is not amusement enough?” Cate wondered exactly who Sarah’s old friends were. Sarah had made a few social calls, certainly, but most of her time had been spent in the house with Cate.

“Our conversation consists entirely of them asking me about the goings-on in London,” Sarah said. “They simply don’t have much to contribute, poor dears. If I don’t go back to London soon, we’ll have nothing left to talk about but the Sunday sermon and our aches and pains, and I don’t have any aches and pains and, I confess, I am not very sympathetic to other people’s.”

“Laurie always comes up with something interesting to say.”

“Yes, and it is always something I do not like.” Sarah sighed. “I pity her, really. It must be quite hurtful, to be in possession of such a bitter heart. And once upon a time, she was a sweet girl, you know.” Sarah corrected herself: “Not exactly saccharine, but innocent. I blame Mr Wynn.”

“A broken heart can do that to a woman,” Cate said.

“I wouldn’t know.” Sarah touched her chest lightly. “Mine has never broken. But then, I have never given it up to the care of unworthy men. I have never been in love, Catherine. And I don’t know if I should pity myself or be proud.”

Cate had never been in love either. Not really. A few one-sided infatuations and the bodily entanglement with Luke’s father, but not love. All of her heart was reserved for Luke, but that was not the same.

“You should pity yourself,” she said. “It is a lonely way to live.”

The day after that was wet, grey and lonely. Sarah had persuaded David to take her to visit an old friend in Bangor, leaving Cate alone in the rambling old house, except, of course, for Luke. Dinner came and went without their return. Cate told herself she had nothing to worry about; Demery had suggested that the inclement weather and the length of their journey might have them returning after midnight. But, after putting Luke to bed, she drifted aimlessly around the dark halls of the house with a single candle lighting her way. She did not wish to read. She felt jittery and unsettled, unable to sit still and concentrate. Nor she could walk about the garden, for the rain was still steady, if no longer very heavy.

The conversation she had had with Sarah last night had been echoing in her thoughts all day. She did not pity Sarah at all, nor did she even pity herself really, but she realized that there was a passage of her life that she had thought would come to pass that now never would. Love was a lost cause within her marriage, and love outside it would be a dirty, deceitful deed, not worthy of the name. But perhaps she was incapable of feeling that deeply for anyone. Perhaps there was a piece of her heart that was just missing. Or surely, before now, she would have felt something for someone, and had that feeling returned.

She was broken. No wonder she had ruined everything.

She was drifting through the entrance hall on her way up the stairs to bed when someone knocked at the front door. Thinking it was Demery and Sarah, back at last, she unbolted and opened it, but the man who stood outside was a stranger to her. By the light of her candle, she could see that he was middle-aged and sun-worn. There was something familiar about his face, but she could not recall a name.

“Do you need some help?” she asked, wondering if she should call for the servants. “Did you get caught in the rain?”

“I wanted to be. Came for a walk. Thought I’d drop in and see Captain Demery.”

“He’s not here. He went to Bangor and won’t be back until very late, he said.”

The man scowled. “Tell him Baxter called, if you please.”

“The steward.” Cate realized at last who she was actually talking to, and now recognized his face from the back pews in church. “Why don’t you come in and write him a note? I’ll call for tea, or something stronger if you’d like, and you can dry off a little by the kitchen fire. I’d offer you the study, but it’s freezing in there.”

Baxter shook his head. “It’s not worth writing a note about it. And if I come in, I’ll drip all over your carpet.”

“You must not mind that. It’s only a little rain.”

“It’s really not worth writing a note.” He turned away, then stopped. “Though… there is a matter I would like to speak to you about, Mrs Demery, if you would be so generous with your time.”

“Me?” Cate stared at him. “Why— what is it?”

Baxter inched his way over the threshold and stood dripping in the corner behind the front door. “I understand you refused to write to your father on Demery’s behalf.”

The bluntness of his response surprised Cate. She stepped back. “What has that to do with you?”

“I was the one who suggested he ask your father to invest, as recompense for the investor your antics lost him.”

The chill in Baxter’s tone was apparent now. Cate looked warily at him. She had always been very sensitive to raised voices and harsh tones, but it was certainly not a steward’s place to rebuke the lady of the manor and she resented that he had tried.

“Then you have interfered beyond your duties,” she said, trying to sound firm. “You should not have spoken of my father.”

“My duties are to your husband, his estate, and the people who depend on it. This place was a mess when he inherited. His uncle was too lazy to do anything but spend the money his forebears had earned. The previous steward was too drunk to care. Rents were unpaid. Cottages were falling apart. Farms were poorly managed. The surface quarry was running barren and the quarrymen were leaving. It’s been two years since your husband inherited. The cottages have been repaired, the farms have been improved. But this is slate country and it’s going to waste. The quarry is virtually abandoned. If we can tunnel under it, into the earth, we can dig a mine and reach bigger, richer slate deposits. The quarrymen will come back. Their families. Everyone who lives here will prosper. But that takes money your husband does not have.”

“And it will happen. There will be other investors.”

Baxter pressed his lips tight then shook his head. “Yes. There will be. We will find them. And you will profit from them.”

“I don’t care about the money.”

“Only a rich woman would have the luxury of saying that. The poor have no choice but to care.”

“You don’t— I’m not—” Cate found she could not refute the accusation. “The village is not poor. It seems lively.”

“It survives. When the mine is built, it will thrive. Unless it is not built. Unless enough investment is not raised. Unless your chicanery leads to delay and the investors we have found quit. Unless other investors decide they would rather take their money elsewhere because Demery’s wife is…”

An adulteress. The word hung unsaid in the air. Cate’s cheeks burned with guilt and anger. “You must think I am a terrible person.”

Baxter was silent for a long time. “That is a strong word. I would not use that word. I do not.”

“Then what words do you use, Mr Baxter?”

A flush suffused his cheeks, dull under the light of her flickering candle.

“What words, Mr Baxter?” A sadistic, proud streak drove Cate to continue: “I know they cannot be kind ones, but they cannot be crueller than what I call myself.”

There was no way for him to reply without stepping far outside his place, and she knew it. All the same, she could read the words he would have said in the bitter tension of his mouth and eyes.

“I have said my piece,” he said stiffly. “I apologize if it was spoken out of turn. I will take my leave.”

He turned and limped back outside, down the front steps and into the rain. Cate shut and bolted the front door slowly behind him. It did not really matter what Baxter thought of her. He was only a steward. It did not matter if the village thought the same. Nor if all London condemned her still.

It did not matter. Not even if they were right.

She sat down upon the staircase with her dying candle. They were not right. They could not be right. She had always been kind, patient, gentle. She had prided herself on it. Unlike her cold father and her cruel mother, she was warm and kind, particularly to those beneath her. But she had not been kind to Baxter tonight. She had demanded he say what she very well knew he decently could not. Nor had she really been kind to the villagers. She might speak gently to them and give vails, but she had not done them the kindness of looking after their interests. Kindness! No, the duty she owed them, as Demery’s wife. Even when that kindness demanded as little from her as writing a letter.

It was just a letter.

He probably wouldn’t even write back.

__

2023-03-26: Oh Cate. You won’t do for David what you will for some NPC villager? Shame. Shame.

Chapter Eighteen: Foolish, Dangerous Hope

The letter was written that night, in a shaking hand, and sent the next morning. Cate calculated that her father would respond immediately or not at all, which meant that if she did not receive a reply within five days, the effort had been futile and Demery need not have bothered to ask her to do it in the first place.

For that reason, she did not tell him what she had done. It would only be embarrassing to them both if a reply never came. If it did come, however, she would tell him then and happily surprise him. Her plan was tested, however, when the afternoon after she sent it he came to her sitting room to tell her that in two days he would be returning to London.

“You can’t!” she said in dismay.

“Why not?” Demery raised his brows. “The horse is recovered. I’ve no reason to stay.”

“I mean, of course you can but I… I’m just surprised.”

His lips were pursed in the displeased not-quite scowl becoming familiar to her. “I’ll probably be away until Easter.”

It did not matter when he returned; he would be leaving before she could receive a reply from her father. It would not matter, of course, if her father did not reply, but if he did then she would have to write to Demery in London to explain herself. Or explain herself now, which seemed equally awkward.

He must have read her expression, because he said, somewhat apologetically, “Sarah says she wants to come back to London with me. She is bored of Wales already.”

“Yes, she told me.” Cate did not care about Sarah. She tried to think of a way to persuade David to stay longer without explaining everything. He kept speaking while she thought, distracting her.

“Is it too long to leave you alone? I have deprived you of Miss Skinner, but I do not wish to isolate you. I had hoped Sarah would stay here, be a… friend.” He hesitated. “I could persuade her, I think.”

Cate shook her head. “It’s not being alone. I have Luke.”

“Yes, but that’s not quite the same.”

“No, but Sarah isn’t… I don’t need Sarah to stay.” She wondered if David would stay if she asked. “She’s pleasant, but not a friend.”

“She could be company.”

“I suppose.” Cate drummed her fingers on the book she had been reading. The only thing to do, really, was simply ask him. “I won’t be lonely, David, but I… I would like you to stay another week, please.”

“I have lost much valuable time already, Cate.”

“I know. And I’m sorry, truly sorry.” She looked away from him, nervous in her white lie. “It’s my birthday next week. Will you stay until my birthday, please? I don’t want a present. I just want you to be here for it.”

He gave a long, heavy sigh. “Cate…”

“Please. It is important to me.”

He was silent for a long time, the not-quite scowl deepening to a proper one. “As you wish. I will leave the day after then.”

Cate sighed with relief. “Thank you.”

It only gave him another reason to resent her, of course, and she felt it, or suspected she felt it, over the coming days. Sarah occasionally beguiled a polite smile out of him, but he was not so courteous to Cate and she was too intimidated to make the attempt anyway. On the morning of her birthday, he surprised her by coming down to breakfast with them and giving her his best wishes. That brought on a wave of self-recrimination from Sarah, who had not known and could not forgive herself for the ignorance. David finished his coffee and disappeared in the middle of her regretful soliloquy before Cate could get a word in edgewise to thank him. Nevertheless, she found herself peculiarly happy for the rest of the morning, even though Sarah insisted on spending every minute of it with her. Shortly before noon, the post came. As Cate never got letters, she knew when the servant brought one in to her that it was a reply from her father. Sarah must have seen something was up by the look on her face.

“What’s that?” she asked. “How nice to get a letter on your birthday.”

It was not a nice letter. It was short and cold. Cate folded it up again to hide the cold words it contained. “Yes, it’s quite the surprise. If you’ll excuse me a moment, it reminded me of a chore I must do.”

She had a little trouble losing Sarah, however, who insisted upon helping her and wanted to know what the chore was. In the end, Cate had to resort to trickery: she said she was going to check on Luke first and slipped into the servants’ passage from the nursery, then through that out into the gallery. Downstairs, a servant told her that David was in the garden. She found him in a small glasshouse near the kitchen, contemplating a sickly-looking orange tree. He looked up when Cate entered.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“I have something to discuss with you.”

“Alright then. Let’s go to my—” Demery glanced at the house, towards Sarah’s bedroom window. “Let’s go for a little walk.”

They made their way through the kitchen garden to the tall wall that separated the gardens from the wilderness leading towards the cliffs. Demery opened a door in the wall and they went through. It was not entirely a coincidence, Cate thought, that he walked close to the wall, where no one could see him from any of the house windows. It surprised her that a man who could so easily get rid of Miss Skinner would be so tentative in dealing with Sarah. But then, Sarah was his cousin, and that probably made a difference.

It was not quite a sunny day, but every now and then the clouds shifted and light hit the sea in the distance and the breeze rustled sparse wildflowers in the grass.

“It must be lovely here in summer,” Cate said.

“It is. Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

“No.” Cate hesitated, wondering how to bring it up. “I, um…”

“Wait.” David stooped and picked something up from the ground. “Here. Happy birthday.”

It was a snowdrop.

“I didn’t have any roses,” he said apologetically. “And the fruit is not at its best this time of year.”

“Thank you.” Cate was oddly touched. She tucked the flower into her hair. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I didn’t. Not really. It was just growing there.” He shrugged. “What did you want to tell me?”

“Um.” She pulled the letter from her pocket. “I wrote to my father.”

He stopped walking and stared at her. Then he laughed softly. “And I’ve been cursing you a hundred ways all week. I suppose this is why you really asked me to stay?”

“It is really my birthday.”

“I know. What does the letter say?”

“You can read it.” She held it out to him. “Please.”

It did not take him long to read the sparse few lines her father had deigned to write. A deep frown grew between his brows. “It is more of an order than an invitation, isn’t it?”

“It usually is.” Cate found her hands were shaking. “He’s like that.”

David looked searchingly at her. “You’re still afraid.”

“Yes. Very much. And I know I’m a coward, but—”

“I won’t let him hurt you.” David took her shaking hands in his. “I promise you that.”

The touch of his hand sent a warm shiver up Cate’s arms. He squeezed her fingers gently and let her go. The shiver lingered behind. It made her feel giddy and weightless. For the first time she wondered what he really felt about her. Hurt, yes, but perhaps— could there not be— was it so foolish— so dangerous to imagine that there might be something else too?

And in a heartbeat, imagination turned to foolish, dangerous hope that lingered long after the shiver had faded from her arms.

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2023-03-30: Yes, this chapter is super short. But, hey, I posted it super quickly!

Chapter Nineteen: Dutch Courage

The good thing about the whole event, David decided, was that Sarah was staying at home. Even Sarah did not have the gall to invite herself to a stranger’s house. At least, not when the stranger was a baronet with a reputation for a sour temper. It was strange how his spirit lightened as the kisses Sarah blew them receded into the distance as they drove away from Plas Bryn.

Four days later (they were travelling slowly, thanks to Luke and the weather) they arrived at Sir William’s sprawling new Oxfordshire estate. Despite the glinting whiteness of the new bricks and the unblemished slate of the roof, there was something grim about the house. It was too clean, too tidy. It looked as though the wind itself would not dare disturb its cropped lawn.

He looked at Cate. She clutched Luke to her chest, eyes wide and dark, cheeks pale. It was useless to say that he would protect her from her parents — whatever it was she was afraid of, it was not something she believed he could protect her from. Instead, he said quietly, “I am very grateful for what you are doing for me, Cate.”

She nodded mutely and clutched Luke tighter.

The coach stopped and the grand front doors of the house opened. David got out of the coach, then helped Cate down. Her hand shook in his. He would have kept holding it as they entered the house, but she was holding Luke and that demanded both of her hands. Instead, he stayed close to her. Inside the front hall — a cold marble cavern in white and gilt — Lady Balley awaited them. He kissed the hand she offered him, but Cate, he noticed, was not offered a cheek to kiss, nor even a hand to shake. Lady Balley looked dispassionately at Luke, who stared curiously back at her.

“His eyes are brown,” she said. “I thought they would be. But he is not an unhandsome child, I suppose.” She turned away. “Your rooms are upstairs. No doubt you will want to rest after your journey, Captain Demery. Catherine, you will not leave the bedroom, except for at dinner. Sophia and Paul are in residence, but you are not to seek them and they are not to seek you.”

“Where is Luke?” Cate’s voice quavered. “Madalene?”

“That is no concern of yours.” Lady Balley’s voice was cut glass. “Dinner will be at eight. I do not know what you have brought with you to wear, so I have selected a gown from your old things that is suitable for the occasion. Come along, Catherine.”

Lady Balley annunciated every syllable of the name in cold, clipped tones. David suddenly understood why Cate preferred Cate.

Lady Balley went up the stairs and Cate followed her. David came along behind them. They went not to the family quarters of the house, but into an ostentatiously decorated sort of state wing. It might have been a mark of respect, David supposed, but it also implied that Cate was no longer family.

“My old bedroom…?” Cate said timidly, as Lady Balley led them through a gallery full of portraits of long-dead ancestors in fresh gilt frames.

“Paul’s tutor sleeps in it now,” Lady Balley said. “You will stay here.”

She opened a door into a large but stiffly furnished bedroom. The only indication that it was intended for Cate was a wooden crib placed near the bed. The rest of the room was masculine and impersonal, all dark silk drapes and hunting paintings on the walls.

“You must not spill anything or scuff the carpets,” Lady Balley said. “And take care the infant does not make a mess.”

“I will be careful,” Cate said, her voice meek and quiet. “It is a very handsome room, Mama.”

Lady Balley did not seem to think that worth a reply. She moved along to the next door in the wall. “And your room, Captain Demery. I hope you will find it comfortable.”

It was even grander than Cate’s room, with a bed that could easily have held three people and a roaring fire in the oversized fireplace. A decanter of some dark amber spirit had been set up on a table near the fire, along with one small glass — only one. Clearly, he was not meant to share, nor invite company here. David also noticed that there was no door to connect his bedroom to Cate’s. He wondered if Lady Balley suspected their marriage was unconsummated. No, if she had, she would have placed them in the same room. The reason for this arrangement was prudery, or perhaps even punishment. Nevertheless, it was convenient for them both.

“How grand it is,” he said. “It is the height of comfort indeed.”

“If you need anything, please ring the bell or send for me.” There was no warmth in her tone, but there was some faint deference in it. “I am at your disposal, Captain Demery.”

“Thank you. I think I would like only a rest before dinner.”

“Of course.” Lady Balley moved away. “Should I send a servant to assist you at seven?”

“I believe I will manage on my own.” David had never seen the sense in a valet.

Lady Balley’s gaze lingered disdainfully on his jaw and its four days of beard growth. “As you wish, Captain Demery. I will let you alone then.”

As she walked away, David rubbed his stubble thoughtfully. He had intended to shave before dinner, but it would almost be worth an itching jaw to go without and see Lady Balley’s face. On the other hand, he had come here to ask a favour, and an unshaven face would not help him get it.

A short while later, the servants brought up his travel boxes. David shaved with more care than usual, gave himself a quick wash and tidy, and changed into plain but serviceable evening clothes. He wondered if perhaps Sir William expected him to wear silk breeches to dinner. It seemed rather an excess of formality, but that was how it was in this house, wasn’t it? Either way, he had only black woollen trousers, so they would have to do.

The rigours of his toilette had eaten away at the time. It was nearly eight. David left the bedroom and went to Cate’s door to see if she was ready. The key was in the lock, on the outside. Well. That was odd. He tried the door. Locked. He snapped the key back and opened it. Cate was sitting on the bed in a drab grey evening dress that bleached the colour from her hair and made her look twenty years older. She looked bleakly up at him.

“They locked you in,” David said.

“I know.”

“I’m going to take the key away.”

She shook her head. “It’s best to just accept it. Paul and Sophia are probably locked in too.”

Something about her quiet despair made David irrationally angry on her behalf.

“I will not accept it. It’s disrespectful, not to mention dangerous. What would you do if there was a fire?” He shoved the key in his pocket. “I am keeping this key with me. If your parents object, we’ll leave. I am not having you locked in.”

“If you want my father to agree to invest, you’ll put the key back as you found it.”

That did give David pause, but not for long. “No. If he would refuse for such a reason, then I do not want his money to touch my hands. It’s wrong, Cate. You’re a grown woman. My wife. He has no right to lock you in your room.”

“It’s my mother,” she said quietly. “She’s the one who does such things. But she will tell my father if you take the key.”

“Then let her. I will tell him no different than what I told you just now.”

The faintest of smiles rose to Cate’s pale lips for a moment. “Clearly, you don’t yet understand my parents.”

“I’m beginning to.” David patted the key in his pocket. “Wait here, Cate.”

He went back into his own room and took up the decanter on the table. It was brandy. He poured a short glass and went back to Cate’s room.

“I’d like you to drink this,” he said. “It’s strong. I think you need it.”

She was a very moderate drinker, he knew, and it would go to her head, but he would rather her tipsy than pale and despondent. At the first wincing gulp, colour flooded her cheeks and the tip of her nose.

“Finish it,” he said. “It’ll give you the strength to get through what lies ahead.”

“Or make me act the fool.”

“They already think you’re a fool, Cate, and worse. You need to stop caring what they think. That’s what the drink is for. A little Dutch courage.”

“Is that what you call it?” She pinched her nose and drained the glass. “Ugh. I hope it works.”

Her cheeks were flaming now, bringing light to her eyes. Despite the austere dress and plain hairstyle, she looked pretty all flushed and hot. She was pretty, he realized. She had gained weight over the past few months. Recovered from the thin, sickly woman she had been on the day of their wedding. All she needed now was the sadness to be banished from her eyes. A smile, a real smile.

He shook himself as a knock came at the door. It was a servant.

“Dinner is ready,” she said. “I am to take you downstairs.”

Despite having been given the best bedrooms, the dining room they were taken to was a small family dining room. Cate clutched at his arm as they entered. Lady Balley and Sir William stood at either end of the table.

“Good evening, Captain Demery. We will dispense with drawing room tradition,” Sir William said. “It is just us four, after all.”

They did not want to spend a moment longer with Cate than they had to, David thought. Nor did Sir William bother to greet her, or even let his gaze rest upon her. Cate must have felt it, for she could barely lift her gaze from the floor.

They sat down. It was an awkward seating arrangement, with David and Cate along the length of the table and Sir William and Lady Balley at the ends. David deliberately sat between Cate and her father, so that she was out of his direct line of sight. That put her near her mother instead, of course, and a brief, tersely whispered conversation took place over the serving of the soup:

“You are not wearing a cap in your hair.”

“I do not wear caps.”

“You should. Your beauty is spent through disgrace. The vestiges of it should be hidden.”

“I do not like caps.”

“What you like always did matter more to you than what was decent.”

“I think there can be no indecency about it. A lot of married women do not wear caps these days.”

“Have you no care for your situation? No understanding of what people think? Stupid girl.”

Thankfully, Lady Balley received her soup which interrupted her tirade. David reached out under the table and patted Cate’s knee. Her parents had not shown him this side of their nature when he was courting Cate. They had been polite and gracious. Perhaps Lady Balley had been a little domineering, yes, too quick to instruct Cate on what to say or do, but she had not openly criticized Cate. At least, not when David was there.

The rest of the soup course passed in silence, except for a few polite, formal inquiries from Sir William as to David’s mother’s health and some more probing inquiries from Lady Balley, who was not pleased to hear that Cate had been sick. Not that she was concerned; she seemed to see it as evidence of moral weakness on Cate’s behalf. After the soup was taken away and the first servings were plated, it emerged—Lady Balley was being very probing now—that David had left London to attend to Cate and interrupted his business in doing so. Until now, Sir William had been uninterested in the conversation, but finally he spoke.

“It is a shame to interrupt your business for so fickle a reason,” he said. “I had heard from Miss Skinner that there was some trouble about your income.”

David glanced at Cate. Her cheeks went very white then slowly flushed pink.

“I do not know what you heard from Miss Skinner, but I doubt it was accurate. If some people in this world have rose-coloured spectacles, hers are black.”

“She is somewhat a pessimist,” Sir William conceded. “I take it, then, that there is no financial trouble?”

“Not what could possibly be deemed such.” David took from Sir William’s tone that if there had been, he would find no succour here. It did not bode well for his investment prospects. He cast another glance at Cate, who was ignoring the food on her plate and doggedly, desperately drinking wine. Perhaps the brandy before dinner had been a mistake.

“That is good to hear,” Sir William said. “I do find that young men who come into sudden fortune often do not know how to manage it.”

“I must beg leave to be an exception to such an observation.” David thought about it again. “No, I beg leave to contradict. I do not believe such an observation is true.”

He should not be contradicting Sir William. He should be politely agreeing with whatever the old man said. Curry favours. Brown nose. Toady. But he could not bring himself to do so while Cate sat so quietly and miserably next to him.

“On what grounds?” Sir William demanded. “Why, I have known some dozen young men who have come into a fortune and frittered it away on cards and horses and frock coats.”

“And I have known some dozen old men who have similarly wasted their money. But it is the general concept of mismanagement that arouses my skepticism. It seems that when one person has money, however he spends it, someone else will always say he has spent it wrongly. If he spends his money on improving his estate, he should have spent it on the stock exchange. If he spends his money on the stock exchange, he should have kept it safely in the bank. If he keeps it in the bank, he is letting it moulder away. He cannot be frugal without someone thinking him a miser. He cannot be generous without being called a spendthrift. For all the young men you have observed, I would wager that they have not wasted half as much money as you think. They have profited some from their gambling and probably their horses too, and no doubt saved more than you have seen spent. Even the frock coats may have been an investment of sorts. To enter into the very best society, one must have a certain mode of dress and manner of bearing. It would be insulting to present one’s wife at court in an old suit. It would ensure that one never went to court again.”

“You are very confident in your observations, young man,” Lady Balley said scornfully. “But your confidence does make me wonder if perhaps Miss Skinner was correct. It is easy to be confident out of ignorance.”

“I should think it is, for Miss Skinner can have had no knowledge of my financial situation, yet seems to have spoken on it with great confidence. What did she say, exactly?”

Beside him, Cate stiffened slightly. Her wine glass was empty. David moved his foot along the floor until he met hers and pressed lightly against it.

“She said that she had left your wife’s service because she found herself going hungry to bed,” Sir William said. “That your servants were too few and your house in need of repair. That you had gone to London to make the money that your estate cannot. That she knew the whole story of Catherine’s adultery and could not bring herself to suffer alongside Catherine when she had not committed the sins to deserve such suffering.”

“Every word of that is a black lie. I will not defend myself from such absurd accusations. Suffice to say, she did not leave Cate’s service. I dismissed her and barred her from the house and village. No doubt malice inspires her wagging tongue.”

David made sure to keep Sir William’s gaze. Sir William looked away, lips pursed.

“Indeed, I gave her no reference. No doubt that is why she came here. I hope you did not give her a good one.”

“The Lakes needed a governess,” Lady Balley said. “We recommended her. Certainly, she was a good governess for Catherine and her sisters for many years. I cannot imagine why she fell so foul of you.”

“I found her manner distasteful from the beginning,” David said. “She was a snob. But that is not why I sent her away.” He paused for a moment to think up a believable lie, sensing that neither parent was convinced. “When I returned home to my sick wife, I found Miss Skinner wearing one of her dresses and some of her jewellery. She said that Cate had given them to her, and when Cate said she had not, Miss Skinner said she must have forgotten in her sickness. If it were only theft, I would not have been so angry, but Miss Skinner took advantage of Cate’s illness, made her doubt her own memory, and lied to me. I cannot abide being lied to.”

It was ironic that he was lying at that very moment, but from the look on Sir William’s face, he thought he was believed. Even Lady Balley looked unsure of herself.

“She never stole from us,” she said.

“But perhaps your daughters gave her more generous presents than you might expect?”

A grim look set on Lady Balley’s face. “The China fan. Well!”

Beside him, Cate let out a little sigh of relief. David hoped neither of her parents had noticed. He reached for a wine bottle and poured her more wine. Was it possible to recover from this conversation and ask Sir William to invest? He doubted it. But it was not all to a loss. They would not believe what Miss Skinner had to say about Cate’s lover now, and no one else in the world would care to hear it.

Cate took a deep sip of her wine. “I was very sick, you see, though things were much better once David returned from London. I only wish I had not interrupted his business. He was about to sign a contract with Lord Varley, weren’t you?”

David wondered what Cate was trying to do. “I was.”

“Lord Varley.” Sir William looked unimpressed. “Catherine mentioned him in her letter. What kind of business do you have with him, Captain Demery?”

“It is to do with slate. He is one potential investor in the expansion of the quarries into mines.”

“Actually, David thought you might invest,” Cate said. “That is why we came. Of course we don’t need you if we have Lord Varley, but I thought you would be able to give David advice. If he is willing to take it.”

David shot Cate a suspicious glance. Was she criticizing the way he had contradicted her father?

“It all goes over my head. I don’t understand a word of what David tells me. However, Lord Varley seems very impressed with the scheme, very eager to be involved.” Cate was babbling now, and it made David nervous. “Perhaps you can temper some of David’s confidence in it. I fear he is too pleased with himself.” She drained her glass for the last drop of wine. “Just because he has Lord Varley’s money in hand—or near as counts—does not mean he will make a profit out of the thing. It is all underground, isn’t it? What if he digs and there is nothing there?”

“I’ve had surveyors—” David broke off as Cate trod on his foot under the table.

There was a suffused heat across Sir William’s cheeks. It made David nervous.

“I might as well look at the proposition,” Sir William said indifferently. “I know a little of geology myself. There are some very rich deposits in Wales.”

“That’s not why I—” David stopped as Cate stepped on his toe again. “—I wanted your advice? But…” She squeezed his knee under the table encouragingly. “…of course your knowledge in these matters…” another knee squeeze “…would no doubt be illuminating.”

A final knee squeeze. David’s thigh lit up where she had touched it. He squirmed in his seat to rid himself of the feeling. Cate’s hands were back in her lap now, clasped together. She had no idea, did she? She was just trying to tell him something. He hoped he had got the message she intended.

“I am pleased to see you are not skeptical of everything I have to say,” Sir William said. “The wisdom of years, young man, may outshine the brilliance of youth. We will talk after dinner, while the ladies amuse themselves.”

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2023-04-10: Cate, Cate! Being manipulative again! Though for a good reason this time.

Chapter Twenty: A Family Reunion

When the second remove was cleared away, Lady Balley stood and Cate followed her lead. She was not surprised when Lady Balley led the way back upstairs to the bedroom, without stopping in her private sitting room for her customary after-dinner cup of tea. Nor was she disappointed. At one time, when she was about fifteen or sixteen, she had delighted in being asked to stay for tea with her mother. It had felt very adult and intimate. But Lady Balley only ever wished to talk and never to listen. If Cate ever presented a unique opinion, it was sure to be met with blunt scorn or—worse still—a snide little laugh under Lady Balley’s breath then otherwise ignored.

No. Solitude, exile was much more comfortable.

Lady Balley stopped at the door after Cate entered the room. “Where is the key?”

“David took it. He does not like me being locked in.” Cate was still tipsy, and it made her daring. “He says it is disrespectful.”

“Disrespectful!” It was only scorn this time. “That man is not the gentleman I thought he was.”

“I don’t know why you ever thought so,” Cate said. “He does not dress the part. He wears the wrong frock coats. I used to hate it. I don’t mind so very much now. I am beginning to suspect the clothes a man wears matter less than who the man is wearing them.”

“You prattle nonsense. You are drunk. You will not leave your room. I will not have you speaking with Sophia and Paul. They do not know you are here.” Lady Balley pulled the door almost to a close. “I will have a servant in the passage, so do not try to deceive me.”

The door shut. Cate sighed heavily then started unlacing the awful dress her mother had set out for her. When she was in her chemise and corset, she felt like herself again, albeit cold. She left the dress in a drab pile on the floor and went to check on Luke. He was sleeping in the cot as she had left him. She rearranged his blanket to be more snug then went to the mirror and started to undo the many pins of her severe chignon. The wind tapped at the window. It would be another damp, cold night, Cate thought. The wind tapped again. Then it began to whisper.

“Cate! Cate!”

Cate swore and dropped her hairbrush. She pulled back the curtains. A ghostly figure stood on the other side of the window, white nightgown flapping in the breeze.

“Let me in!”

“Sophia!” Cate put a hand to her leaping heart. “You— you idiot! What are you doing out there?”

“Let me in!”

Thankfully, Lady Balley had not thought to remove the key from the window lock. Cate unlocked it and pulled her youngest sister into the room. The wind raced in with her. Cate hastily shut the window again so that Luke would not get cold.

“What are you doing!?” Cate hissed, mindful to keep her voice low in case a servant was listening outside. “You could have fallen and killed yourself!”

“At most I would break a leg,” Sophia said. “Besides, I’m very careful. No one’s ever found out. I’ve seen the most interesting things, crawling along the window ledges. I know how you made the baby.”

“You certainly did not see that!”

“I mean by example, the example being Mrs Lake and Lord Eildon. I can tell you, I am in no hurry to get married now. Though it answers why Mr Lake is always so bad tempered.”

“You must not say such things! It is wicked!”

“Mrs Lake is wicked,” Sophia said calmly. “I am not. Where’s the baby? I’ve wanted to see him for ever so long.” She made a beeline for the cot and scooped Luke into her arms. “Oh, he’s beautiful!”

Luke woke blearily and began to cry. Sophia froze.

“What do I do?”

“You give him to me!” Cate carefully took him back and shushed him. “I didn’t think you even knew I had a baby. Luke wrote that they had kept it hidden from you and he did not dare explain.”

“I put two and two together,” Sophia said. “Also, sometimes I listen outside their bedroom window when they talk at night. I told Paul and Madalene. They’ve sent Madalene to London with Luke and Aunt Mary to buy dresses. She doesn’t particularly care about shopping, but she thought she might be able to see you there.”

“I can’t go to London. My name is forever blackened.”

“Scarlet,” Sophia suggested. “Scarletted? Scarletened?” She frowned. “Never mind. I have missed you.” She gave Cate a quick, rare hug. “They didn’t have to send you away. They didn’t have to marry you off.”

“I’m much happier married and away from them.” Cate managed to soothe Luke to a grizzle and put him back in the warmth of his cot and blanket. “David is not the man I thought he was. He is very kind.”

“Do you love him?” Sophia asked curiously. “You didn’t before.”

Cate’s heart fluttered. “It is not like that. You understand that Luke is not his baby, don’t you?”

“So you named him Luke.” Sophia looked annoyed. “You might have been a bit more original. And yes, I do know. That’s what the trouble is, isn’t it? If it were Captain Demery’s baby, it would only be embarrassing. As it is, it’s unmentionable and unforgivable.” She sighed. “But I forgive you.”

“It is not your forgiveness I need. It is David’s, and his is not so easily won. Love would be useless to him when he cannot forgive, but I am very thankful for his kindness. I only wish I had seen it for what it is sooner. I did not understand him at all until recently. I have so much to regret, Sophy.”

Sophia rolled her eyes. “Well, he did love you once, so it’s not all despair and thunderstorms now, is it?”

“You are too young to understand how complicated our marriage is.”

“I’m fourteen now. I’m not too young to understand love. I have had my first great passion.” Sophia blushed self-consciously. “Father would dismiss him if he knew, so I dare not speak his name. Besides, Madalene promises me that more and greater passions will follow, and I have decided not to throw myself away the way you did. It seems to make everything very difficult.”

“I didn’t decide to throw myself away. I just… made some terrible mistakes. That’s all it was, really. It’s not romantic and it’s not funny. You seem to think it’s funny, Sophia. You always had such a bitter sense of humour.”

“Now you sound like Mother. She says the same sort of thing — you always were, you always were. What people always are keeps changing, but it’s never anything they want to be. I’m not making fun of you. I climbed all this way to see you and the baby, because it might be the only chance I ever get. I miss you. It’s not fair.”

Tears welled in Sophia’s blue eyes and she blinked them away.

“It won’t be the only chance,” Cate said. “David has a letter I have written, which he will give to Luke. When you are older, he’ll help me talk with you too. It just makes it difficult when Mother and Father—”

She broke off abruptly as someone knocked at the door.

“Quick! Under the bed!”

Before she could even finish speaking, Sophia had disappeared under the bed with an agility born of long practice.

“Come in,” Cate called.

The door opened and David came in. Cate let out a sigh of relief.

“Shut it behind you,” she said.

“I just wanted—”

“Please!”

He shut the door, frowning.

“And lock it — if you’ve still got the key.”

His frown deepened, but he did as she asked.

“You can come out, Sophia.”

There was a scuffling from under the bed and Sophia’s head poked out from under the frame, her blonde braids covered in dust.

“I can’t come out,” she said.

“It’s only David. You can trust him.”

“I know, but I’m in my nightgown.”

And Cate was in her chemise with a corset over the top — which perhaps explained the tint to David’s cheeks. Or perhaps it did not. He had seen her in her nightgown before after all, on more than one occasion. What she was wearing now was less revealing than that.

She went to her trunk and got out a dressing gown for Sophia. “Shut your eyes for a minute, David.”

He shut his eyes and turned away. Sophia scrambled out from under the bed and snatched the dressing gown around her.

“You can open them again,” Cate said. “This is my youngest sister, Sophia. Sophia, this is David. I hope you’ll be friends one day.”

David bowed to Sophia. Sophia stared at him, looking, for once, like she did not know what to say.

“He’s very tall,” she said at last.

“How observant of you,” Cate said.

“I thought your siblings weren’t supposed to see you,” David said.

“Sophia has an unusual talent for doing that which she is not supposed to,” Cate said drily. “Was there a servant in the gallery? I don’t know how to sneak her out. She came in by the window.”

“A maid was sitting in the upper hall.” David went to the window and looked out. “Are you on the same floor, Sophia?”

“Yes, but the other wing. You can get all the way around by the ledge above the frieze if you’re careful. And I am careful.”

David looked narrowly at Sophia. “I think she’ll be alright to come back the way she came in.”

“She’ll hurt herself.”

“I don’t think so. It’s at least a foot wide, and she’s only little. It’s easier to do this kind of thing when you’re little. I wouldn’t risk it now, myself, but I think she can manage it. She got here safely, after all.”

Cate peered out at the ledge. It was broad, yes, but the ground was an awful long way below it. “Do you really think so?”

“You’ll take his word for it,” Sophia said. “Even though I’m the one who crawled in here in the first place. That’s what I call fickle.”

“I just want you to be safe, you spoon!”

David made a strange noise in his throat. It took Cate a moment to recognize it as repressed laughter.

“I can see I’m interrupting a family reunion,” he said. “I only came to tell you, Cate, that your father has agreed to invest in the mine.”

“That’s wonderful!” In her relief, Cate moved to hug him but, catching herself in time, clutched at his hands instead. “Oh. I’m so pleased. Is it enough money? Does it make up for Lord Varley?”

“More than. We’ll be able to begin the digging in spring.” David was smiling down at her, a proper, wide smile. She never saw him smile like this, and it took her breath away. “I hardly had to persuade him. He wanted so very much to beat Lord Varley to the chase. I want to thank you, Cate. You positioned him perfectly for my offer. You were very brave.”

There was a strange warmth in David’s eyes. And she was still holding his hands, which meant that he was holding hers as he looked down at her. Her heart stammered and stuttered in her chest with sudden anticipation. There was no ground beneath her feet. Nothing but the pressure of his hands on hers and the narrow distance between them.

And then he stepped away. “I could not have asked for more, Cate. You were marvellous tonight. Thank you.”

Cate’s heart raced. She was still tipsy, perhaps even drunk. Of course he was not going to kiss her. It was just this talk with Sophia that had put it in her mind. Foolish, romantic Sophia, and her contagious imagination.

“And Sophia.” David stopped in front of her. “I’m so happy to meet you. It is my sincere wish that Cate will maintain ties with all her siblings, despite your parents trying to keep you apart. You are only young, so there is little I can do yet, but when you are older, when you have a little more independence, we must arrange some avenues of communication. If you visit Brighton, perhaps Cate may find herself coincidentally in Southwick. I’m not above subterfuge for a good cause. For now, I think I might linger in the gallery for a little while and examine the paintings on the walls. Just in case anyone comes too close.”

He left the room and shut the door softly behind him.

“You’re all pink,” Sophia said. “Come to think of it, so was he. Was I de trop?”

“You always are.” Cate pressed her palms to her heated cheeks. “Was he really pink? But he wasn’t. And I’m only pink because I had far too much wine. You know how it goes to my head.”

“You weren’t pink before he held your hands,” Sophia said. “But he is much nicer than I imagined, so I think I understand.”

__

2023-04-15: Spoon really was a Regency insult. It sounds so modern to my ears, though. I really like it. I’m going to start using it now.

Chapter Twenty-One: Corrupting Influence

Cate dreamed of David that night, so vividly that when she woke she could have sworn she felt the imprint of his hands against her flesh. She bundled herself into her dressing gown and padded next door to his room, just in case, but he was fast asleep, his broad chest bare above the sheets trammelled down over his waist.

“David,” she whispered. “David, dear.”

His eyes flickered. “Cate?”

Then she fled, and hoped that later he would think it a dream.

Perhaps he did, or perhaps he did not remember at all. Later that day, when she was drinking her morning tea before getting dressed, he came to her room in his dressing gown.

“How long did Sophia stay last night?” he asked.

“Three hours. She nearly fell asleep in my bed.”

“You must have missed her a lot.”

“More than I thought. I never had a chance to say goodbye to any of them. After I told my father about…” Her cheeks heated. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t speak about that time to you, should I?”

“If you have something you feel you must say, then I will listen, otherwise, I would rather we not talk about it.”

She shook her head. “It’s enough to say I missed her.”

“Your parents won’t let you speak with your siblings? If I tried to persuade them…?”

“It is impossible, I’m afraid. I’m a corrupting influence. He won’t let me near them.”

Luke was pulling himself up on the bars of his cot to watch them. “Baba. Guyah.”

“Is that so?” David said politely. “I can’t say I disagree.”

Cate smiled. “I wish I knew what he was saying.”

David went to the cot and picked Luke up. “He’s saying you couldn’t possibly corrupt anyone. Aren’t you?”

Luke giggled, and Cate’s heart ached with a heady mixture of sorrow and joy.

“Your father wants to take me to London today,” David said, tossing Luke lightly up and down. “There’s a lot of business to deal with to do with his investment. We won’t be able to finish it in one day. I think it might be best if I stay on here, and you and Luke start the journey back to Wales today.”

Cate’s heart sank. “But are you coming back to Wales when your business is finished?”

Luke’s giddy laughter threatened to become tears and David jostled him to a stop on his shoulder. “Of course. With the investment settled, I’ll have to see to the beginnings of the works.”

It might take months to dig a mine, Cate thought.

“At this moment though, I doubt your presence here could help me further, and after last night, I certainly wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to leave.”

“I hate it here,” Cate said. “I always did.”

David gave her a wry smile. “I had hoped that in coming here, and bringing the baby too, there might be some reconciliation between you and your parents, but I see now that they are not the only ones who have been wronged. I’m sorry I did not understand before.”

“They’ll never forgive me anyway. And in their eyes, Luke is only evidence of my wrongdoing.”

“But he is still their grandson. If they cannot publicly declare pride in that fact, they might at least, to you, confess furtive joy.” David hugged him gently and then passed him to Cate. “Well, what’s it to be? Should I order my man to prepare the horses and coach?”

She hesitated a moment, but if David was in London with her father, if her mother would not let her see Sophia and Paul, what reason did she have to stay?

“Yes, thank you. I think it’s best.”

The rest of the morning was spent packing. Sophia did not make a reappearance at the window, perhaps because in daylight she might be seen, but Cate left a beaded bracelet and her ivory pen knife on the windowsill, knowing she would be back. If the servants found them first, they would think she had merely misplaced them, but if Soph found them, she would know it was a present for her and Paul.

At midday, she carried Luke down to the coach in front of the house, while her mother and father stood at the top of the steps. Neither of them said a word to her. They just watched, as though they wanted to make sure she was actually leaving. David hopped down the steps to open the coach door for her.

“I should be back in less than two weeks,” he said, once she was settled inside. “Here. Let me say goodbye to the boy.”

He leaned into the coach to kiss Luke, who she held in her arms. Then he looked at her, close and hesitating, as if he was wondering if he was meant to kiss her too. It would really only be polite, Cate thought. She turned her cheek towards him to give him the invitation, but he moved as she did and it was the other cheek he had been aiming for, so his kiss scudded slantwise across her lips instead.

“Um. Safe journey,” he said.

“Wait.” She pushed Luke into one arm and took hold of David’s shoulder with her free hand. “Come here.”

She kissed him softly and uncertainly on the lips. His hand grazed her cheek then settled at the back of her head, locking her in. For all of a dozen racing, glorious heartbeats, it was perfect. Then he pulled gently away.

“Oh no, Cate. No. Don’t. I can’t.”

“Sorry,” she whispered.

“It’s my fault too.” He backed away and straightened, one hand on the coach door. “Goodbye, Cate.”

---

Over the following week, David found himself in the peculiar position of being grateful for Sir William’s company. There was so much talk of business and so little talk of Cate — none, in fact — that he could almost pretend she did not exist. Except she was a constant undercurrent in his thoughts. While signing documents, while discussing geological surveys, while calculating dividends, the echo of her voice would interrupt him: wait, come here.

Why had she kissed him? It was a transgression of their agreement. A damned presumption. Theirs was a marriage of convenience— no, not even that, a marriage of inconvenient duty. Kissing was to have no part in it.

Sometimes, cynically, he would imagine that she had some ulterior motive, that she was trying to seduce him, as she had tried before, to gain some advantage over him. At other times, he told himself that he pitied her for developing a tendresse for him that could only serve to hurt her when it was denied. That was balm to his pride, but he did not seriously believe it. For one thing, he was not convinced she was really fond of him. Such strong early antipathy could not be so easily overcome. For another thing, he was not at all certain of his ability to deny her affection if she ever truly offered it to him. His mind was firmly opposed to it of course, but he did not trust his heart to be unpersuadable, and his body was fickle, feckless clay, all too ready to be moulded by a woman’s touch.

On the last night of his stay with Cate’s parents, David was invited to a dinner party along with Sir William and Lady Balley. It was at a small estate some four miles away belonging to the widower of an old friend of Lady Balley’s. David knew no one there except for his mother- and father-in-law. Small talk had never come easily to him. At the dinner table, he managed to engage the women on either side of him in a discussion on the selection of dishes. He considered five minutes of that enough success to remain silent for the rest of the meal. After the meal, the women went to the drawing room, and David was left behind in the dining room with the men, who were mostly much older than him, and a bottle of port. Neither the company nor the wine appealed to him, so he protested a need for air and slipped out into the garden where he sat down on a low stone wall, stared at the clear sky, and tried not to hear the words in his head: wait, come here.

After a few minutes, the door opened and one of the other guests slipped out onto the terrace.

“I hope you don’t mind me,” he said. “I think we both want to escape the geriatrics, no?”

David looked at the stranger. He was small, sleek, and dark. There was something oddly rodent-like about the way he held his hands in front of his body.

“I don’t mind at all,” David said, though he did.

The stranger sat down at a polite distance. For a few minutes, he did not speak at all. David was rather beginning to like him.

Then he said, “I understand you are the man who married Sir William’s eldest daughter.”

“She is my wife, yes.”

“I have sometimes thought of her since her fall from grace. Tell me, is she well?”

“She is quite well.” David did not really want to talk about Cate to this stranger. “Forgive me, sir, but I do not know your name. We have not been introduced.”

“Oliver,” the man said. “Herbert Oliver. No title gilds my name. I’m just a poor relation.” He jerked his head back at the house. “Lady Winston was my mother’s second cousin. Not that Sir Harry seems to pay it much mind.”

There was an unattractive whine in his voice. David’s partiality to the man started to fade.

“A wife’s second cousin is not exactly a strong blood tie,” David said.

“I don’t have any strong blood ties,” Oliver said. “A sister who’s good for nothing but nagging and then these sorts of second cousins and once-removes, most of whom would rather be more removed than that. Lady Winston was one of the good ones. She liked me.”

“Is that so unusual?”

“Not with women.” Oliver raked his hands through his slick dark hair. “I’ve always found women a great deal more sympathetic than men. You’re looking at me very sour. You only prove my point.”

“You must know that you are not talking in such a manner as would engender any sympathy.”

Oliver shrugged. “I’m just making conversation. Filling the silence. I don’t like silence.”

“I do.”

There was a prolonged pause after that. Oliver paced slowly up and down the terrace behind David. David wondered how long he would be silent. Or perhaps he would leave, and take his unwanted conversation elsewhere.

Eventually, thankfully, he went to the door of the house, but there he paused. “I wonder if you can indulge my curiosity,” he said. “There’s something I’ve been wondering.”

“What?”

“Did the baby live? There was a rumour in London that it died.”

David scowled at the impertinence of the question and the vulgarity of the rumour. “He lives.”

Relief flashed over Oliver’s face then melted into a smug smile. “I’ll leave you to your favoured silence then, Captain.”

He disappeared into the house so quickly the door slammed. David stared after him. He leaned over his knees and thought about it. That was a distinctly odd expression on Oliver’s face just now. It made David feel sick inside, thinking about the smugness of that smile. And Oliver was dark-haired, like Luke. And poor, in need of money. And that expression — that smugness — and the flash of relief that preceded it…

The sick feeling boiled over inside David, and he dropped to his knees to retch onto the lawn. He wiped his mouth with shaking fingers. Could there be any doubt? He was jumping to conclusions.

But when he thought of the smug smile on Oliver’s face, he knew.

It took an hour for his thoughts to settle and his hands to stop shaking. There was a peculiar grief about the situation. Where once he had only been angry that another man had seduced the woman he had loved, now he was afraid that that man would attempt to make some claim on the child he had come to love.

He had perhaps another hour to do something about it. The men would be returning to the women in the drawing room about now. Without any young women to amuse them with music or songs, they would be getting out the cards. An hour or so of that, and Sir William would call for his carriage to take them home.

David went back into the house, found a mirror to straighten his appearance, and went to the drawing room. Sure enough, the party was breaking into groups of four for whist. His host invited him to join his table, but he shook his head.

“I fancy something a little more exciting,” he said. “Is anyone for backgammon? Oliver? What do you say to starting at ten pounds a point?”

Oliver’s black eyes lit up with greed. “I am very good at backgammon, Captain.”

“Excellent. I appreciate a challenge.”

Sir Harry moved forward and spoke in a low voice. “The boy’s got vowels out his ears, Captain, and no way of paying them.”

“Then perhaps he will be lucky enough to win tonight,” David said. “It’s only money, after all.”

It was only money, he thought. If Oliver cheated half as well as David suspected he did, then he might be out sixty pounds by the end of the first game.

All of the tables in the room were set up for cards, so David volunteered to go next door and fetch another one. He made sure to put it down as far from the card players as possible, in a drafty little nook near a window. As long as he spoke softly, no one would be able to overhear him.

The first match passed quickly, with Oliver gammoning David. In the second match, David made a better effort, and won after redoubling the wager. Halfway through the third, it became obvious that Oliver was doing something clever with the dice. David pretended not to notice.

“What luck you have tonight,” he said quietly.

“Fortune is on my side.” Oliver kissed the dice. “Another double six?”

It was not a double six, but it did give Oliver the chance to hit one of David’s counters off the board. David rolled and manage to place it again. He was going to lose the game, but he might just avoid being gammoned.

“Double?” Oliver said, turning the doubling cube over.

Twenty pounds on the game. Forty if Oliver gammoned him again. David shrugged. “Accept.”

Oliver got a double six and bore off two counters. It was something about the way he held the dicebox, David thought. He wasn’t actually shaking them properly, then he was skidding them across the board rather than rolling them. Not every turn, only when he really needed it. By the smug smirk hovering at the corners of his lips, he thought he was being clever. No. He thought David was the fool, twice over. Once for Cate and once for the game.

A cold flame of fury lit inside David’s chest, but he controlled it; no good would come of losing his temper.

“I don’t actually care for backgammon,” David said, very, very quietly, so that no one at the other tables could possibly hear. “I only asked you to play so we could talk.”

“I didn’t think you liked my conversation.”

“I like nothing about you, Mister Oliver, and I know more than you think.”

A wary look flashed into Oliver’s eyes but he laughed. “And two hours ago, you did not even know my name.”

“But I knew you all the same. I knew you as the liar, the cheat, the scoundrel who seduced my virgin wife on the implication of marriage then abandoned her and her unborn child to the mercies of a father who hates her and a world who scorns her.”

The colour drained from Oliver’s face, but still he smiled. It was a sickly, pale smile, but indelibly smug. “That was James Redwood, don’t you know?”

“Cate told me the truth. She told me everything but your name, which I did not care to hear. And now that I know it, I find myself hoping I never hear it again.” David saw Sir William looking over from his whist table. He rolled the dice and moved his counters haphazardly. “I want you to know something, Oliver. Two years ago, you abandoned my wife and her unborn child. That can never be undone. They are not yours. They have nothing to do with you. If you ever come near them, if you ever speak their names, make any claim upon them, or attempt to reveal the truth, I will find you and shoot you like the cur you are. And no one will ever find your body, though I doubt anyone loves you enough to look.”

Oliver was white as sheet. His hands shook on the dice box. “You would not do such a thing.”

“I could do it tonight. I know you’re cheating. You’re locking and sliding the dice when you need a double. It’s a clever trick. It must have taken years to learn. I could expose you here, now. I could demand a duel to avenge my honour. Take you out. Shoot you in front of everyone.”

“I never duel. Besides, I’m just lucky.” He opened his hands palm out. “No tricks here.”

“Enough with the lies. I don’t care if you cheat, though I’m not paying you what you’ve cheated from me tonight. I care if you understand me. I won’t ask for a promise. You’re not the sort of man who keeps them. But I will promise you this: if you cross me, I will do you unimaginable violence.”

It was difficult to say such a thing and keep his voice low enough that no one but Oliver could hear, but somehow David managed it. Nor was it an empty threat. He would not kill Oliver, but he would hurt him, yes, and there would be savage pleasure in it.

Oliver dropped the dice on the backgammon board. There was no trace of smugness about his expression now. He glanced around the room, as though checking to make sure that there was an audience in case David started to hurt him now. Then he leaned over the backgammon board, twisting a counter around and around between his fingers. Something flickered in his eyes — more embarrassment than guilt.

“If what you say is true — and I am not saying that it is — then I would owe Miss Balley an apology. Certainly, some man out there does. I am not saying it is me. That man, I imagine, might consider the whole fiasco concluded, were he to know that his sincerest regret had been conveyed to Miss Balley for the misfortune fallen upon her.”

“Her name is Mrs Demery now.”

“So it is.” Oliver licked his pale lips. “I hope that Mrs Demery does not hate this man. I am sure he does not want, nor deserve, to be hated. He can hardly have wished for a child to come of his succumbing to her enticement. Perhaps she has not stopped to think of how he may be feeling. Perhaps you should guide her to consider it.”

“I will tell her what you said,” David said roughly. “No more and no less. And you will remember what I said.”

“I can hardly forget.” Oliver dropped the counter and pushed the backgammon board away. “It’s not every day I’m threatened with murder, after all.”

__

2023-04-23: Quite a few people guessed who the father really was. Hah. I wanted it to be a surprise, but at the same time, I’m happy some people got it right.

Chapter Twenty-Two: Heartless and Unforgiving

The minute Cate arrived back at Plas Bryn, the footman informed her that Sarah, Laurie, and Mrs Demery were having tea in the drawing room. At any other time, Cate would have left them to it, but today she bore good news and she rather wistfully hoped that Mrs Demery might perhaps thank her for it. She was still quite scared of Mrs Demery. So she braved her in-laws’ company, settling Luke down on the sofa near Laurie and pouring herself a cup of tea before it could become rude that no one had offered.

“I’ll make a cup for David,” Sarah said, leaning forward over the tray.

“No. He’s not here. He stayed behind to do some business. He will be back in a week or so.”

Sarah looked disappointed, but Laurie looked up from jogging Luke on her knee. “That means his application was somewhat successful?”

“Very successful,” Cate said proudly. “My father has agreed to invest a large sum. David will be able to hire men to start digging as soon as he comes back.”

Laurie raised her eyebrows and Sarah clapped her hands, but Mrs Demery only pursed her lips.

“He would have better waited to find impartial investors,” she said. “There is too much entitlement when one involves family with business. I suppose Sir William only invested to make up for David having to marry you.”

Cate choked on her tea. “That it is not at all the case. My father would never make any investment if he did not believe it was a sound one.”

“Why does it even matter?” Laurie said. “If David has the money, he’ll be developing the mines and making even more, and he won’t have to run off to London for months at a time because things aren’t doing well here.” She cast a sly glance at Sarah. “You might have to return to the metropolis without his company, dear cousin.”

Sarah smiled placidly. “I have no plans to return to London just yet.”

“I thought you were tired of Wales,” Cate said.

“I am developing bucolic habits,” Sarah said. “I have taken up walking and I paint views of the sea.”

“They’re not very good,” Laurie said. “It is mostly just grey upon grey.”

“I enjoy myself,” Sarah said with dignity. “The occupation is the object.”

“And I do not object to it,” Laurie said. “Spinsters are much better employed outdoors than in, I believe. A bit of wind and rain clears the cobwebs from their souls, but embroidery and carpet-work, well, it waxes a spiritual mustiness, doesn’t it? And it ruins the eyesight. A spinster needs good eyesight. How else can she peer from behind curtains to any good purpose?”

It was impressive that Sarah managed to listen to that without even the hint of a blush. She acted as though it had never been spoken, turning to Cate with a smile.

“Tell me about your visit to your family, Catherine. Is your mother well?”

“My mother is well, yes.” That was consciously polite. “My father is well too. And my youngest sister is very well. She met David for the first time. I think they will get along.” If they ever got to spend any time together. “It was very good to see her again.”

“How pleasant.”

Laurie’s rudeness was thus passed over as if it had never occurred. She slumped back on the sofa with Luke in her lap, speaking nonsense to him under her breath. Cate wondered what her purpose was in saying such things — to merely be hurtful? Or did she really dislike Sarah? It was not as though Laurie were in a position to look down upon her cousin — she was a widow herself, without children or prospects or fortune, and not much more than a few years younger than Sarah.

“How many younger sisters do you have, Catherine?” Mrs Demery asked.

“Two, Madam. Madalene is seventeen and Sophia is fourteen.”

“They are at a delicate time in life. If you love them, it would be best not to be too close to them. Their connection to you may narrow their prospects. I am sure David understands this. He will not encourage the connection.”

“You are quite mistaken. He has already promised that when Sophia is older he will help me see her more often.”

An unpleasant, bitter look crossed Mrs Demery’s face. “A foolish promise.”

Cate knew it was not for her sisters’ sake that Mrs Demery disapproved. Mrs Demery was annoyed that David was doing something nice for Cate. Somehow, knowing that made up for the fact that Mrs Demery did not show any pleasure in the good news at all.

A short while later, Mrs Demery said it was time to leave. Laurie was loth to leave Luke, whom she was feeding biscuits, and dragged the goodbyes out. It was more peaceful once they were gone. Cate went and sat with Luke on the rug in a patch of sunlight, and he fell asleep, drooling, on her knee.

“It is good news,” Sarah said, pouring herself another cup of tea. “I don’t think they congratulated you. I will. It was very clever of you to write to your father. Did you try to persuade him, or was it David who convinced him?”

“It was between us both, really. We worked together.”

“And how pleasant that now he will stay here with you for spring and summer. Your efforts have paid dividends.”

“That’s not why I did it. But I am glad he’ll be here.”

“And I, too. He is very good company.”

Cate did not wish to share his company too generously with Sarah, but she kept quiet. Perhaps Sarah would be too busy painting or walking to bother with David. Only David liked walking too, didn’t he? Perhaps he and Cate could go for walks together in the warmer weather. They might stop down by the beach, or under the shade of an oak tree, and he might take her hand… Her cheeks warmed remembering their kiss. He had kissed her back, even if had drawn away a moment later. It was not wrong to hope, was it, that it might happen again?

“Is it so hot in the sunlight?” Sarah asked. “Your cheeks are awfully red. Perhaps you should move to the shade. You do not want to spoil your complexion. I have noticed it is much improved since I arrived here. Not so wan.”

“Perhaps I need the sunlight then.” Cate shook herself. Now if Sophia were here — or even better, Madalene — she might tell them about the kiss. Sophia would delight in it and Madalene would offer guesses as to what David had been thinking. Madalene was quite astute that way.

Cate looked warily at Sarah. But what harm could it do to tell her? She had to tell someone. The memory had been burning up inside her for the past four days. And even if Sarah spread gossip, who would bother to care? David was her husband, after all.

“I’m thinking of David,” Cate said. “That’s why my cheeks are so red. He kissed me, Sarah. It’s the first time.”

Sarah’s mouth opened wide. Then she laughed — a shrill, high laugh. “I suppose he did marry you.” There was something ugly in the sound of her voice. She laughed again. “We used to call him Georgy Peorgy, you know. His brother was Prying Paul.”

“You don’t mean to say…”

“He was a regular little flirt as a boy. Don’t worry. He’s not like that now.”

“He certainly is not!” Cate looked suspiciously at Sarah who stared guilelessly back at her. “Perhaps it meant nothing to him, but it meant something to me. I cannot stop thinking about it. He once told me that ours would never be more than a marriage of convenience. That I was nothing to him but an obligation. That he could never forgive me for what I’ve done. And it didn’t matter then. I didn’t feel anything for him at all. It’s different now. I don’t know what to do.”

“Goodness,” Sarah said politely. “Well, I am certain I do not know what to do either. I have never been married, nor been in love. Why would you ask me?”

“I’m not asking you. It is just that I must speak of this or I will burst.” Cate played with the carpet tassels. “It is I who kissed him really. I started it. I don’t know how I dared.”

“Really?” Sarah sounded more interested now. “You must consider if you have been too daring then. He may not have wanted to be kissed.”

“He did kiss me back.”

There was a short silence. “But did he really? Are you perhaps imagining it?”

“He had his hand in my hair, pulling me closer.”

Another silence, unbroken this time.

Cate sighed. “Then, he pushed me away. He said he can’t. Can’t what? Can’t forgive me? Can’t love me? What do you think he meant by it, first returning the kiss, and then pushing me away?”

“I don’t know why you would ask me.” Sarah sounded annoyed. “What possible expertise do you imagine I bring to the question? If you want to know what he meant, you must ask him when he returns in a week.”

That was a terrifying prospect. Cate flushed. “I’m sorry. I have embarrassed you.”

“Think nothing of it. We will stop speaking of this now and forget we ever did.”

After that, Cate thought that Sarah would make some excuse to leave, perhaps one of her long walks or sea paintings. Instead, however, Sarah poured herself another cup of tea and ate another biscuit. As Cate was also still hungry, she shifted Luke, still sleeping, from her knee and did the same.

“Did you think Laurie was particularly rude to me today?” Sarah asked after a while.

“She seemed a little more scabrous than usual, though her tongue is rarely kind.”

“I bring out the worst in her. I think it is because I tried to warn her.”

“Warn her? About what?”

“About Wynn. I knew he was a villain, but she swore to me that she loved him, that he would do her no harm. I think she hates me for being right. Her pride cannot stand the wound.”

“I’m sure she doesn’t hate you,” Cate said.

Sarah sighed heavily over her tea. “Perhaps, perhaps. All the same, I am glad that David made Wynn disappear.”

“Made him… disappear? What do you mean by that? He did not kill him, surely?”

“Kill him!?” Sarah laughed. “My god, he’s not dead. Did she tell he was dead?”

“Yes, she said…” Cate frowned, trying to remember exactly what it was Laurie had said about her husband. “Well, I’m not sure she did, really, but I got the distinct impression he was. And she never talks about him. No one ever talks about him, really.”

“He’s not dead.” Sarah laughed again. “He’s an ensign in the infantry. Currently stationed in… was it India or the Indies? I can’t remember exactly. Somewhere hot and far away. David used his army connections to arrange it, but only after—” She stopped abruptly. “Did he tell you about that?”

“He has told me nothing about Mr Wynn.”

“Then I am not sure I should say. It would be a dreadful scandal if it were widely known, though I’m not sure most people would not approve, really, if they knew what Wynn had done to Laura.”

“What did Wynn do to Laurie?”

“All the things that bad men do to good women. He gambled away her dowry, of course. It was supposed to go to purchasing him a lieutenant’s commission. He was unfaithful too. But that’s not the worst of it. She took it all meekly for about four or five months. You wouldn’t think that, Laura being meek, but she was, because she loved him and wanted nothing more than to please him. Then one night it was too much for her. She lost her temper. She has a terrible temper and it’s a miracle she lasted that long. She took him to task about the drinking and the gambling and the mistresses. To make her quiet, he laid his hands on her. She says it was the first time he ever did that. I’m not sure I believe her, but it was certainly the last. She crawled from the house the next morning and begged a passing carter to take her to her mother’s place. She could barely walk or speak, but she left him, and refused to ever return.”

“Poor Laurie,” Cate said. “I never imagined. No wonder she never talks about him.”

“They are very painful memories, I am sure. If he were dead, at least she could be free of him. But he will never come back. David made it impossible.”

“What did he do? Tell me. I will never pass it on.”

Sarah hesitated. “You will think differently of him when you know. It was very cruel.”

“Did he not deserve cruelty?”

Sarah bit her lip. “Well… David was home on leave at the time. He actually carried her to bed from the cart. He saw her bruised and battered and broken. He called for the surgeon and made sure she was safe. Then he went out. I don’t know exactly how he did it — he must have had some friends to help him — but Wynn went missing. Two days later, some fishermen found him floating in a row boat without any oars ten miles out from shore. It was very hot weather, the middle of July, and he wasn’t wearing any clothes. There was nothing in the boat with him but an empty bottle of gin. Every inch of him was sunburnt and he was mad with thirst and terror. You would be, wouldn’t you? Too far from shore to see where to swim to. Nothing to do but wait and hope to be rescued, not even knowing if you will be. Do you take a risk and start to swim?”

Cate’s heart pounded in her chest. “I can’t imagine David doing such a thing. It is too cruel, even for a man like Wynn. He might really have died.”

Sarah shrugged. “But David is cruel. He can be kind too, to those he loves, but when he hates— he is heartless and unforgiving.”

__

2023-04-29: And Laurie’s secret comes out.

Chapter Twenty-Three: Salt in the Wound

Now that Cate knew about Mr Wynn, she found herself looking very differently at Laurie. She was sure that Sarah had got some of the story wrong. But if the story was in any way right, then perhaps it explained why Laurie was sometimes almost sympathetic to Cate. She knew what it was to be played for a fool by a cruel man.

Cate could not quite believe the story of David’s revenge either. Some of it, yes. He would have protected his sister, and that would have entailed more than simply making sure Wynn went abroad. But he would not have risked killing him. He was not a murderer.

David returned home one damp afternoon a week later when Cate and Sarah were trying to play cribbage together in her sitting room. Trying, because Luke, sitting on Cate’s lap, kept trying to take the cards from her and revealing her hand. This was distracting enough that when David opened the door, it was Sarah who noticed him first.

“David! Welcome home!” she said, putting her cards down. “We’ll call it a draw, Catherine.”

Cate wrested the seven of hearts from Luke and turned to see David in the doorway. Her heart skidded and skipped. She opened her mouth to say ‘welcome home’ and then, realizing Sarah had already said it, shut it again.

“Thank you, Sarah,” David said after a few moments. “Can I come in, Cate?”

She realized now that he was waiting patiently in the doorway.

“Of course, please.”

It was not the reunion Cate had dreamt of. In silence, David shrugged off his greatcoat and draped it over a chair, removed his hat and propped it on top. Cate tried to think of something to say, but all she could think of was that the last time she had seen David he had kissed her goodbye. It had seemed possible that the reunion following that would also include a kiss, but now here they were, reunited, and David was more preoccupied with fluffing his flattened hair in the mirror over the fireplace than greeting Cate. She was too disconcerted to speak.

“Was it a pleasant journey?” Sarah asked.

“Not bad.” David finished rearranging his hair, turned, and held out his arms for Luke. “Let me have the boy, Cate. I missed him.”

Cate handed him over, and David kissed him and bundled him onto one arm. Luke squealed with delight to be reunited. David bounced him up and down and looked vaguely at Sarah.

“I thought you would be back in London by now.”

“I have been enjoying myself greatly here,” Sarah said. “The delights of Town do not call to me yet.”

Cate latched onto the thread of conversation the way a drowning man clings to a life buoy. “She’s going bucolic. That’s the word she keeps using.”

“What does it mean?” David said. “To you, Sarah. I know it means to me. Cows.”

“I am merely enjoying country pleasures,” Sarah said primly. “I would like to stay on a little longer, unless that displeases you?”

“Why should it? It makes no difference to me.”

Sarah looked disappointed. Perhaps she had been hoping for a more definite invitation.

“It’s been very pleasant, actually, having you here while David was away,” Cate said by way of consolation.

Still, Sarah could not smile. “Why don’t we have tea?” she suggested flatly. “You must be tired, David.”

David shook his head. “I don’t have time for tea. I must go and see Baxter in a minute. I just wanted to talk to you about something first, Cate.” His eyes flicked to Sarah. “Do you mind stepping out, Sarah? It is a private matter.”

“You know I can be trusted not to repeat anything I hear.”

“What I have to tell my wife is for her ears only.”

A thrill of hope travelled down Cate’s spine, followed by a quenching wave of despair. Even if his words might be intimate, David’s tone was coolly polite. It was the kiss, she thought. He wanted to talk about the kiss. Tell her not to do it again, that she had overstepped the bounds.

“Well.” Sarah’s lips were thin. “I certainly would not want to hear that, my cousin.”

She left the room, walking rather stiffly. David stared after her, frowning slightly, then he shrugged and turned back to Cate. He looked troubled; he stood there silently for a long moment, holding Luke and frowning, as though he did not know what to say.

“I’m sorry,” Cate blurted when the silence became tortuous.

“Sorry? About what?”

“Kissing you.”

He stared at her.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” she said. “I just… I thought you wanted… but I don’t understand you, clearly.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I am not offended. It is not my pride that hurts, Cate. It is my heart, and your kiss was salt in the wound.”

Cate’s own heart ached. “I am sorry.”

“I know. But I did not come to this room to speak to you of kisses, Cate.”

“What is it then?”

David let Luke slowly down to the floor. Luke crawled to a low table and dragged himself to his feet to peer inquisitively at the bowl of dried flowers on top of it. David watched him, the frown still on his face.

“I met a man in Oxfordshire,” he said at last, his voice very low and soft. “Herbert Oliver.”

Every last drop of blood in Cate’s veins turned to ice.

“He’s Luke’s father, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “No!” She clutched dizzily at the card table. “Luke does not have a father. But Herbert Oliver—” she choked on the name “—is the man I gave my body to.”

“You’re splitting hairs, Cate.”

“No, I’m not.” She slipped down to her knees on the floor and shuffled across to Luke to pull him into her lap. “When I told Oliver I was with child, he made it very clear that he wanted nothing to do with the baby. He refused to admit it was his. He said for all he knew it was yours or any other man’s, but it was not his.” Luke wriggled as she held him too tight. “So Luke has no father.”

She kissed him, again and again, trying to erase the memory of Oliver from her mind. His voice echoed in her head: lying strumpet, cloven bitch, scheming doxy. Yet somehow those words had not hurt as much as the simple phrase: it is not my child.

“How did you find out?” she asked when she felt capable of speaking. “Did he tell you?”

“No. He denied it when I accused him. But he asked after Luke and I knew from the expression on his face.”

Cate shuddered. “David. I am so sorry.”

“I know.” David leaned against the card table. “He also gave a sort of apology, Cate. Not much of one. He did not want you to hate him. He wanted you to think of how he felt. He mentioned the word regret. I don’t think he really knows what it means. But I told him I would tell you what he said, and now I have.”

“You might have spared my feelings.”

“And you might have spared mine.” There was an edge to David’s voice now. “You chose to fornicate with that man. You chose to.”

It would have hurt less if David had slapped her in the face. Cate choked on her own breath. “How many times can I apologize?”

“I don’t want apologies. I know you’re sorry and that does not make it hurt less. What I want is for you to listen to what happened that night. I want you to understand. I want you not to run away.”

“Then tell me.” Cate swallowed a lump in her throat. “He apologized? What else?”

“It was not quite an apology,” David corrected. “The word sorry never left his mouth, and he spoke about himself as though he were an unknown stranger. But he did admit that you were an owed an apology.”

“Which he did not give.” Cate laughed bitterly. “At one time, I thought his twisted tongue charming. I’m a fool.”

“He seemed to consider himself rather charming to women. I never had the art myself.”

“Don’t compare yourself to him, please. He has a knack for insincere flattery, which better men would be ashamed of. And better women would not fall for.”

Luke was struggling for freedom, and Cate let him go. He crawled away to investigate the nook under David’s coat hanging over the chair. Cate took a deep breath to steady her feelings and got back to her feet.

“What else happened?” she asked. “Tell me from the beginning.”

“We were at a dinner party. He accosted me when I went out for solitude, and asked after Luke’s health. The manner of his asking was suspicious. I followed him indoors and inveigled him into a game of backgammon, so that we could talk without being overheard. Then I accused him of being Luke’s father, which he denied. I warned him to stay away from you both. I threatened violence. He gave his excuse of an apology, and avoided me the rest of the night.”

“You threatened violence?” She looked at him, taking in the breadth of his shoulders and strength of his hands. Oliver was half his size. “Don’t hurt him.”

“Why on earth not? Men like Oliver don’t deserve to be protected from hurt.”

“I don’t want you hurt. I don’t want you hanged for murder.”

David stared at her then broke out laughing. “You are joking, Cate. I would not kill him. I’d rough him up a little, that’s all.”

“The way you roughed up Wynn?”

David’s smile faded. “You’ve heard about that then.”

“Sarah told me.”

“It is not her story to tell.”

“Then it’s true?”

“What did she tell you?” David’s eyes narrowed. “I doubt she even knows the full story herself. Laurie would not have told her, and I certainly haven’t.”

“She said that Wynn that hurt Laurie. Then Wynn disappeared. Fishermen found him naked in a boat, sunburned and mad with thirst, just out of sight of shore.”

“That’s true enough. And public knowledge.”

“You might have killed him. He might have died.”

“Unlikely,” David said dryly. “I anchored the rowboat and told the fishermen where to find him.”

“Then you did it, as she said.”

“Do you think less of me for it? He hurt Laurie. She’s my little sister. I don’t regret what I did. If he ever comes back into her life, I’ll do it again.”

Cate shuddered. “I didn’t think you were a violent man.”

“There was no violence in what I did to Wynn. I got the man dead drunk and towed him out to sea to teach him a lesson. It was cruel, yes. Not violent. Violence is animal impulse unchecked by human reason. Violence is what Wynn was.”

“Now you’re the one splitting hairs. What you did to Wynn… he deserved. I cannot say otherwise. But if you hurt Oliver, he’ll have the law on you. And Oliver never did violence to me. He abandoned me and Luke. He called me names I do not wish to repeat. But he never raised his hand against me. He is no danger to me, or Luke. He’s simply… a humiliating memory.”

“And what will you do if one day he decides he wants something to do with his son?”

She shook her head. “Thank you for trying to protect us, David, but I cannot see that happening. You said yourself that he would not admit he was Luke’s father. Luke has no father, and never will.”

Luke came crawling out from beneath the chair. He sat on his bottom and waved at David, who waved back, making Luke giggle with pride.

“He has me,” David said softly. “I may not be his father, but I’m here and I love him. I think that must count for something, Cate.”

Tears pricked Cate’s eyes. “You really love him?”

“I do. How could I not?”

“I can’t kiss you, can I?”

He shook his head.

So instead, she reached out for his hands and pressed them to her heart. “Thank you. It counts for everything.”

__

2023-05-08: You  may be able to tell that I’m scrambling to start to tie all the different plot threads together ;p

Chapter Twenty-Four: A Day of Celebration

In late March, just about the time Luke was starting to walk, the quarry was blasted to begin the digging of the mine.

It was a day of celebration for the entire village, or perhaps simply the excuse they needed for one after a long and dreary winter. The weather was fine, if cool, and spring had brought a profusion of wildflowers out over the cliffs and hills. The villagers and local gentry alike came up onto the hills overlooking the mines and settled down on rugs with bottles of ale or wine to watch the blasting.

David and Cate came too, which meant that Sarah had to be invited as well. Since he was going to the trouble of inviting Sarah, David asked his mother and Laurie if they would like to come too, and once Paul heard of what was planned, he insisted on coming with his wife Annabelle and making it what he termed a family affair. Annabelle, however, felt unwell the morning of the blast and stayed at home, which meant that Paul spent the entire squashed drive to the quarry apologizing for her absence and gleefully speculating as to the cause of her illness. Cate was the only one who did not know better, and politely asked questions about her health, which only encouraged Paul. By the time they arrived at the quarry, he was speaking as though a son would be born next week.

They left the horses and curricle with a groom and spread out a blanket and cushions on a slope of flowered grass overlooking the black stone pit of the quarry. Down at the bottom of the pit, men were checking the pellets of black powder where the mine entrance was to be dug and measuring distances with rope and wheels.

“We ought to have champagne,” Sarah said, as Cate poured glasses of sherry.

“I find that sherry has a sickening effect upon the stomach,” Paul said. “Champagne is much lighter.”

“I cannot complain about the choice of wine,” Mrs Demery said acidly. “Though I do wonder that it was brought out before a single sandwich offered. Some of us have not had breakfast.”

Cate froze where she knelt on the blanket, the bottle of sherry in her hands. David suppressed the irritated thought that it would have been a more pleasant outing had he and Cate come alone.

“I’ll drink the sherry,” Laurie said generously. “It appears that those around us are drinking beer, Sarah. If you like bubbles so much, perhaps you can beg some?”

Sarah wrinkled her nose. “Don’t be silly, Laura. Sherry will suit me. But champagne would have been nicer.”

Cate gave Sarah and Laurie glasses of sherry and opened the box of bread rolls and cakes the servants had packed.

“Would you like something to eat, Mrs Demery?” she asked David’s mother meekly.

Mrs Demery took a bread roll and a slice of seed cake without a word of thanks. She always had been like that, of course, and it no longer bothered David himself, but he was annoyed to see a blush of embarrassment stain Cate’s cheeks. Thankfully, Paul, always interested in food, begged Cate for a taste of everything on offer and was effusively grateful for it all.

At the bottom of the quarry, the men were clearing out of the way of the blast site now. Only the foreman remained by the powder train, a lit torch in hand. He waited until all the others were well out of the way, waved his torch at the watching crowd, then lowered it to the powder train. As soon as smoke started fizzing up, he dashed for the safety of higher ground and scrambled behind a large boulder for shelter. People cheered as the fizz of smoke snaked towards the powder charge. Then it reached it. For several heartbeats, it seemed to David as though the fire had fizzled out. Then there was a tremendous thunder, a flash of black smoke, and the earth trembled beneath them as the quarry rumbled and shifted. The villagers cheered and whistled and opened wine. David laughed with relief. Beside him, Cate smiled uncertainly. He squeezed her hand.

“We are quite safe up here,” he said.

“And what about the men down there?” she asked.

“They’re safe too. They’re being very careful. Everything has been planned to the last detail.”

“You would hope so,” Mrs Demery said. “Though it is not as impressive as I thought it would be. Too much smoke and too little fire.”

“The smoke is more noticeable than the fire on a sunny day like today,” David said. “You would find very warm in the quarry, Mother. I assure you.”

“I thought it was a ferocious bang,” Sarah said. “Will there be more?”

“Throughout the day, yes. And on and off for months, I suppose.”

“How terrifying.” Sarah covered her ears with her hands. “I hope we will not be able to hear it in Plas Bryn in our beds at night. I should never sleep.”

There was something disconcerting about the childish way she covered her ears with her hands. David looked instead at Cate, who sat next to him, leaning on one hand, her legs out to the other side, watching the rest of them talk. She had barely said a word the whole morning. Of course, it was hard to get a word in edgewise with either Sarah or Laurie, but it was more than that, or her natural shyness. His mother, he suspected. She had a way of coming down hard upon Cate - a way of coming down hard upon everyone, in fact, but with Cate it was pointed and personal, and Cate, of course, took it to heart. It was a pity, because Cate did not often get the chance to go about in society. Other than church or her trips to shops in the village, she spent most of her time at home. The few nice gowns she had rarely had the opportunity to be seen. Like the one she had on today, which she had ordered recently from the dressmaker in the nearest town. It was orange, which was not a colour David had ever been fond of before, but then it was a very springlike shade of orange, deep and reddish, very pleasant to look at in the cool sunlight and very livening to the pallor of her cheeks.

“Is there something on Catherine’s nose?” Mrs Demery said. “You are staring at her in an awfully peculiar way.”

“I was simply admiring her dress,” David said. “It is a lovely colour for spring.”

The pinkness on Cate’s cheeks deepened.

“Gaudy, I would say,” Mrs Demery said. “But to each their own.”

“I rather like it,” Paul said. “I think I will have a waistcoat made up in that colour. It is a lovely colour, really. Strong and masculine.”

“Well, David likes it,” Cate said. “That is good enough for me. And I like it too, for that matter.” She played self-consciously with a fold in her skirt. “Though perhaps it is rather daring.”

“Married women can afford to be daring,” Laurie said lazily. “It is Sarah you should criticize, Mother. She should be in pale colours, if she wishes to be proper, and yet she is wearing a scarlet Spencer.”

Sarah laughed awkwardly. “At thirty, I think I might be allowed the pleasure of spring colours too.”

“But scarlet is an autumn colour,” Laurie said. “Which makes it very suitable for you, doesn’t it?”

“One day, you will be my age,” Sarah said. “It will not be so far away.”

“But by then you’ll still be seven years older,” Laurie said sweetly.

“Please don’t bicker,” Cate said. “This is a day of celebration. Besides, you’re both dressed very prettily. Aren’t they, David?”

“Yes, they are,” David said to keep the peace. “They both look very nice.”

“And how is that to be damned with faint praise?” Laurie said, raising one eyebrow. “Not that I care what my brother thinks of me. Heavens no. Though I do wish that fine young farmer a little way off would cast me a glance now and then, rather than reserving all his mooning for Cate. My pride stings.”

David twisted to look over his shoulder in the direction Laurie indicated with her chin. There was indeed a young man, the son of a tenant farmer of his, looking wistfully at Cate. Cate turned to look at him and he hastily turned away.

A spark of absurd jealousy lit inside David. “I’ll have a word with him.”

“Please don’t!” Cate put her hand on his knee before he could get up. “It will only embarrass everyone. And looking does no harm.”

“You said yourself it is a lovely dress,” Laurie said wickedly. “Is its loveliness to be reserved for your eyes only? Perhaps Mother is right and Cate should not have worn it today after all.”

The flame of jealousy burned higher, given fuel by Cate’s hand at his knee, but David recognized the absurdity of confronting the man for merely looking at his wife. It was not as though he was ogling her. The wistful expression of his eyes suggested no danger, nothing more than unrequited adoration.

“It’s damn cheek,” David grumbled. “He ought to know better.”

“Catherine’s history has hardly inspired better,” Mrs Demery said. “You should not be surprised.”

Cate removed her hand from his knee and put it back in her lap. “I do not encourage him.”

“He needs none,” David said. “Mother, you must not suggest that this is Cate’s fault. She can’t help being pretty.”

“A little more modesty would-”

“The immodest one here is the man who’s staring at her. Would you still your harping tongue towards my wife for one day, that we might all enjoy ourselves?”

Even as he spoke, David knew he was going too far. Mrs Demery went red to the tip of her long nose. Sarah looked shocked. Paul raised both eyebrows. Even Laurie looked uncertain. And Cate, next to him, looked petrified with embarrassment.

An awkward silence followed.

“Perhaps you would like to walk with me to look closer at the quarry, Catherine?” Paul asked after a moment. “I’ve had my fill of cake and sherry.”

“Thank you, please. That would be very interesting.” Cate spoke in what David now recognized as her company voice - the polite, lukewarm tone she had addressed him in throughout their courtship. “I believe we will get a clear view from that hill over there.”

She got to her feet and took Paul’s proffered arm. David watched as they walked away. Paul was not usually so perceptive of others’ needs. But perhaps he only wished to get away from the awkwardness of the conversation too.

“I am mortified to be spoken to in such a manner by my own son,” Mrs Demery said, her voice hard and heavy as iron. “Such disrespect! Such coarseness! May I remind you that I raised you?”

“You raised me well enough to know that I must demand my wife be treated with courtesy.”

“Courtesy, for the woman who jilted you? You may be able to forget her adultery when you think of her prettiness , but I cannot. Her prettiness only makes the memory cut deeper.”

“Were I to think of her adultery every moment of my life, I would not be able to live with myself, let alone with her. But that is my cross to bear, not yours. You were not the one wronged. So I ask you, Mother, to keep quiet when you have nothing polite to say to her. And if that means the two of you never speak, then it is your loss as much as hers.”

“Pah!” Mrs Demery downed her glass of sherry in one swallow. “Then let me be silent.”

She crossed her arms and refused to say another word. Nor could David bring himself to speak. He knew his mother well enough to know that she would not change her mind about Cate, no matter what he said. It made his heart hurt. This morning he had woken up to blue skies and the first blasts to begin the mine. He had been happy. That feeling was gone now, and he did not wish to enquire too deeply into the exact makeup of the poisonous mix of emotions that displaced it.

“I’m going to look at the quarry,” he said.

He got to his feet and walked off. Paul and Cate were perhaps fifty yards ahead of him, but he did not wish to catch up with them. He meandered between the rugs and blankets on the ground, giving gruff hellos and how-do-you-dos to those who greeted him. It was easier to walk near the quarry lip, where no one was sitting. Down in the pit, another blast shook the ground.

A hand slipped through his elbow and he turned with a start.

“Oh, it’s you.”

“You sound relieved,” Laurie said. “Who did you think it was?”

“Sarah.”

“She’s busy talking Mother down off her high horse. I don’t have the patience.” Laurie looked along the quarry edge, to where Paul and Cate were standing on the other side. “Cate took it rather well though. Her bullying, I mean. Either she has more spirit than she used to, or I did not know her so well before.”

“She would have more spirit if Mother did not try to crush it so often.”

“Don’t blame Mother. She tries to crush everyone.” Laurie patted his hand. “Besides, it gave you the chance to play knight to your fair damsel. You should have seen her eyes when you defended her. I did not know hope could light you up from inside like that.”

“You’re teasing me, now.”

“I tease everyone. But I’m not the only one who noticed it.” Laurie looked across at Paul and Cate again. “Why do you think Paul took her away? He wanted to prevent her swooning into your arms. And Sarah was quite green with jealousy. She likes to imagine you’re in love with her, and it’s much more difficult to sustain that fantasy when you’re in love with Cate instead.”

“I’m not. Not anymore.”

“But you defend her honour even though she has none left to defend. And you think she’s pretty. Sooner or later, if it’s not happened already, you and Cate will fall into bed together. And from there it is but a short drop to love.”

“No.” David pulled away from Laurie. “I am not so simple. Both you and Mother have me and Cate entirely wrong. I can forgive Cate to a certain degree. I must, or the poison of hating her would eat me up inside. But I cannot forgive her to the degree of making a lover out of her. My heart will not let me.”

“Then you will have no children by her, and Paul will inherit Plas Bryn. And his children after him, if he and Annabelle ever manage to have any.”

“And good for Paul.”

“Oh, it is everything he has ever dreamed of.” Laurie pressed her lips together against a bitter smile. “But dreams rarely do come true, even when they do.”

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2023-05-14: Another unedited chapter in a rush – but I think minus typos it’s good to get the story moving :)

Chapter Twenty-Five: Sense and Reason

The blasting and digging of the mine kept David busier than he expected. It gave him an excuse to avoid spending much time with Cate alone. He was now aware of a danger there. She was pretty again. Not that he had ever not found her attractive, but she was growing back into her looks, gaining back the weight and colour she had lost before he married her and paying the old, careful attention to her dress and hair. She also smiled more, and sometimes he even made her laugh, which made his heart dance until he remembered her betrayal and it hurt again. He thought it safer to talk to her only in company. He dined with her and Sarah, and Luke very often now too, or he came to her sitting room for a chat and tea only when he knew Sarah or Laurie were there as well. Laurie was quite the antidote to danger. She watched every interaction between them with a cat-like smile on her face and always found something to tease him about afterwards.

With Luke, he allowed himself more indulgences. If Cate was tired, or simply wanted some peace and quiet, he would take Luke with him into his study and let him crawl and toddle around exploring the desk drawers and scribble on bits of scrap paper. Or if it was fine, they might go outside into the garden and hunt for snails and other small creatures, which Luke was fascinated with. The height of joy was the day Luke caught a sleepy frog, even if he did cry when it hopped away again.

Two or three weeks after they started blasting the mine, another one of David’s investors, Major Kayton, an old friend of his, visited Plas Bryn without invitation on his way through to Bangor. David took him to the quarry to see the progress and watch the digging, then back home to talk figures with Baxter in his study. Kayton was unduly optimistic and it required all of Baxter’s tact to give him a more realistic understanding of how long it would take before the mines could be productive.

At last, Kayton said with a sigh, “Then it is three or four years, I think, before I see a real profit, and ten, perhaps, before things are really swinging. Your children, Demery, will be reaping the reward of your hard work decades from now.”

“And I will too, I hope,” David said. “I am only thirty-two. I like to believe I have a few decades left in me.”

Kayton laughed. “Certainly, I have no doubt. You are one—”

He stopped abruptly as the study door creaked open. David twisted in his chair, but no one was there.

“A ghost?” Kayton said.

There was a giggle, and Luke marched into view from behind the desk before stumbling and falling to his bottom with a surprised look when he got his feet tangled. He was used to falls now, and pushed himself back to his feet with a look of triumph.

“Your son?” Kayton asked with a frown. “No, it would not be… your wife’s son?”

“Indeed.” David scooped Luke into his arms. “What are you doing here? You’re trespassing.”

Luke laughed and waved at Kayton, who was a new face.

“No, don’t make friends,” David said. “Don’t think smiles will get you off. I’m judge, jury, and executioner. I’ll send you to the penal colonies. I’ll send you to bed.”

Luke fixed David with a beseeching gaze.

“Oh, alright,” David said. “I’ll take you back to your mother. She’s probably looking for you.”

He got to his feet, holding Luke in one arm. “Sorry, Kayton. He must have run off. He’s getting very fast, and very silent when he wants to be.”

“Not at all.” Kayton looked curiously at Luke. “You’re very fond of him, aren’t you? That’s unusual, given the circumstances, but a rather charming development.”

“He’s only a baby. I can’t hold it against him.”

“You don’t look unalike though. If I didn’t know better, I would think he was your son. You have the same colouring, if not the same features.”

That was a bittersweet hurt.

“His features come from his mother, thankfully. And I had better take him back to her. I’ll back in a moment, Kayton.”

He left the room and went in search of Cate. He found her in the music room near his study, peering under a piano and calling Luke’s name softly.

“Cate? Looking for this?”

She turned. “Oh! Luke! Where was he?” She stood up, flushing. “We were playing hide and seek.”

“He’s quite good at it, it seems.” David came closer and passed Luke into her waiting arms. “He came to visit me in my study.”

“He didn’t! Oh, Luke, naughty! You mustn’t!”

“No, it’s fine. He’s a welcome visitor, and my work is almost finished today.” David pinched Luke’s chubby cheek. “Bye, Lukey.”

As he turned away, Luke began to wail. Cate shushed him.

“David has to go, darling. He’s busy now.”

“Daybee,” Luke cried. “Daybee.”

The cry hurt David’s heart. He turned back and squeezed Luke’s hand gently. “I’m only down the hall.”

“He knows your name,” Cate said. “David, Luke, Da vid.”

“Daybeed.” Luke reached out for him. “Mama, Daybeed.”

“It’s not as easy as Mama,” David said ruefully. “Or doggy. Perhaps I need a nickname.”

“He’ll learn soon enough,” Cate said.

“He will.” David disentangled his thumb from Luke’s grasp. “Though I do wish…”

“What?”

“I cannot claim to be the man, but I would be honoured if one day he called me Papa. Uncle isn’t quite right. And David is just a little too distanced for my liking. Though I suppose it depends what Luke ends up choosing to call me.”

“He already loves you.” Cate shook Luke gently. “What about Papa, hey? Can you say, papa?”

“Papa,” Luke said obediently. “Papa.”

It was both heart-warming and sad at the same time.

“You’re the only Papa he’ll ever have,” Cate said. “If the blood ties don’t matter to you, then they’ll never matter to him.”

“They don’t.” David leaned in to kiss Luke’s forehead. “I can assure you, they don’t. He’s the only son I’ll ever have.”

As he said it, he realized how much he meant it. The earlier conversation with Kayton echoed in his mind. Luke could not reap the rewards from his work on the mines. He was not blood and he could not inherit the property. Of course, entails could be broken, but Paul would never agree to it and even then David himself did not approve of the idea. It was rank selfishness to break the arrangement that his ancestors had created, that he himself had profited from in his turn, in order to cut his brother from inheritance and privilege another man’s son, no matter how much he loved him.

“I’m going to go out,” David said slowly. “I want to talk with Paul about something. Kayton was expecting an invitation to dinner, I suspect, but I’ll put him off.”

“I don’t mind having an old friend of yours to dinner, if you’re here.”

“I won’t be able to get back from Paul’s in time. I’ll tell Kayton to give us some warning next time he invites himself in, then we can have him to dinner. Today, he’ll have to sate himself at the local public house. He’s certainly had worse in his time.”

Cate’s face fell slightly. “Sarah and I will miss you at dinner then. Say bye-bye to Papa, Luke.”

Luke waved to David. “Bye-bye, Papa.”

“Bye, Lukey.” David pinched his cheek one last time. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Back downstairs, it was the work of minutes to get rid of Baxter and Kayton. David sent for his coach, as it looked like rain, and went upstairs only to change into a warmer coat. He was just leaving through the front door when he ran into Sarah, who was coming in, carrying an easel and paintbox in her arms.

“You almost ran me over!” she exclaimed. “Where are you going?”

“To see Paul,” David said. “Where have you come from?”

“The garden. I’ve been painting.” Sarah proudly turned the board on the easel towards him, revealing a rather muddy prospect of some scratchy bushes under a cloudy sky.

“What are those red blotches?” David asked.

“The roses.”

“They don’t bloom until summer.”

“It wouldn’t be a pretty picture without them.”

It wasn’t a pretty picture with them either. David shrugged. “I’m glad you’ve found an occupation that amuses you.”

“Well, I’ve bored of it for the day. Can I come with you to visit Paul?” Sarah turned as the groom drove the coach into the sweep. “A chance of company is as good as a cure.”

“Were you unwell today?”

“Just a little bored,” Sarah admitted. “I won’t delay you. I’ll just put my things down inside and go as is. A little underdressed, perhaps, but Paul won’t mind.”

“We won’t be back in time for dinner.”

“We can eat with Paul, or at an inn. That will be an adventure for me.”

“Come along then,” David said. “You can keep me amused on the ride.”

He did not mind if he kept Sarah’s company or not, but he suspected that Cate would prefer not to dine alone with Sarah. Cate was too polite to openly express any displeasure in Sarah’s company, but David was beginning to notice the little ways Sarah made her feel uncomfortable. He wanted to tell her that Sarah made everyone uncomfortable, but it did not seem polite to admit that of a cousin.

Sarah’s face lit up. “Joyful! Just let me put down my things. I won’t be a moment.”

She darted inside the house. David heard something bang in the hallway, and she called out to a maid to tell Catherine that she would not be at dinner tonight. Then she rushed back outside, her cheeks flushed.

“There! I wasn’t a moment!”

“Very rapid indeed,” David said politely. “Let’s go then.”

He helped her into the coach and they set off. As it turned out, Sarah’s company was a bit of a nuisance to David after all. He wanted to think, and she wanted to talk, and if he did not respond at appropriate moments with more than placatory expressions of surprise, she became vexed and demanded to know what it was that weighed upon his mind. When they finally arrived at Paul’s house in Conwy, Sarah jumped out of the coach and banged on the knocker until Paul opened the door.

“I do declare your brother is the most impossible man that ever lived!” she said. “I’ve hardly had more than a grunt from him this past two hours.”

“I was trying to think,” David said apologetically.

“And he will not tell me what of!” Sarah took off her gloves and kissed Paul on the cheek. “But how do you do? How is your wife?”

Paul sighed heavily. “She is well, but very troubled at heart. Our hopes have once more been dashed.”

“I’m sorry,” David said. “It is early days yet though. You’ve only been married two years.”

“Two and a half.”

“But these things take time. You should not despair. I am sure that within a year you will have your own child.”

It was a conversation David had had with Paul many times before. Since the day he had married, Paul had been expecting Annabelle to fall pregnant. It would no doubt happen one day, but until it did, Paul lived between hope and despair.

“You are right,” Paul said. “It cannot take much longer. We have waited long enough.”

“Perhaps you will console Annabelle?” David suggested to Sarah. “I have business to talk with Paul.”

“What kind of business?” Sarah asked.

“Legal business,” David said.

“I wanted to talk to Paul too,” Sarah said.

“At dinner? May we invite ourselves?”

“I suppose Annabelle might feel more lively if she had company,” Paul said. “In fact, you might speak with her now, Sarah. She is in her bedroom.”

Sarah gave David a long-suffering look and trailed away up the stairs. Once she was gone, David went to Paul’s study door and opened it. Paul had once taken an office in the town centre, but for the little business he had drawing up wills and and deeds of sale for the local squires and farmers, it was more convenient to simply keep all his business in the front room of his home and live in the floors above. Tenant farmers and tradesmen, however, were to enter through the servants’ quarters in the back of the house, while gentleman farmers and merchants would receive a warm welcome at the front door. Nonetheless, David suspected Paul made a very good living through his profession.

“Well, what is it?” Paul said.

“I want to create a trust.”

“A trust?” Paul sat down behind his desk. “For whom?”

“For Luke.”

“You know Plas Bryn is entailed.”

“I know. That’s why he must have a trust. He can inherit nothing but what I choose to give him from my income and what I earned in the army. I’ve got most of my capital tied up in the estate right now, but I should be able to extract a thousand pounds to begin with. A thousand a year until he turns twenty should be more than enough to see him well set up.”

“Twenty thousand pounds is certainly more than generous enough for your wife’s bastard,” Paul said. “Have you thought this through? Did Catherine put you up to it?”

“She doesn’t know a thing about it. I want to arrange it with you first. It will need to be amended into my will in case I die before he turns twenty.”

“The property is entailed.”

“I am not speaking of touching the property. The earnings from the quarry and mine, the rents, the sale of any livings, the sale of timber, they are all mine to do what I please with as long as I am master of Plas Bryn. Then I have some investments in stocks, which have nothing to do with Plas Bryn at all.”

“They are willed to your wife, are they not? I think I remember you willed them to her. Surely they would be enough to take care of her baby as well.”

“Perhaps, but I want more than that for the boy. I want a trust. If I die before I can sequester the capital for it from the estate earning, then I must arrange for it to be found elsewhere. There is a way to do that, surely?”

A deep line grew between Paul’s brows. “But not at all. If you put aside from what the estate earns in coming years, you can create the trust, but if you die tomorrow and the estate passes to me I could not, except out of generosity, give anything to the boy.”

“I do not expect you to be generous,” David said, quite truthfully. “What about the money I’ve put into the estate already? It is not twenty thousand, closer to six. Could that not be seen in the light of an investment, not as the estate capital? In four percents, it would be about ten thousand in twenty years. Not what I wish for, but enough for a sensible young man to get on with. Would it not be possible to write it into my will that that six thousand is to be withdrawn and invested?”

“It would be a little over thirteen thousand,” Paul said distantly. “Assuming you reinvest the interest. I don’t know. I suppose you could, though it is rewriting history a bit. And it would mean that when I inherit, I’d effectively have to give the boy six thousand of my own money.”

“But it’s not your money. It’s my money, which I earned in my profession. I chose to invest it in the estate because Uncle Lew ran the place down to the point that the first year’s earnings, or even the first three, wouldn’t be enough to properly maintain it, let alone repair the damage he did through his neglect. And hopefully, by the time you inherit — if you do — the estate will have recovered to the point that it will produce six thousand without any pain to yourself.”

“If I do?” Paul looked narrowly at David. “I am five years younger, remember.”

“And two stone heavier.”

“I’ve never been shot or stabbed,” Paul countered. “I’ve never fallen off a horse. I’ve never challenged anyone to a duel. I’ve never been in a fist fight. You will certainly die before I do. Unless, of course, you mean to imply that you will have a son. You could, I suppose, cut me out.”

There was the hint of a question in those words. David stared at Paul. Laurie had hinted, hadn’t she, that Paul did not wish David to get close to Cate? That he was afraid David would have a son by Cate and cut him out of the inheritance? But Paul knew that the marriage was unconsummated. David had explained everything to him when he wrote his will. Cate was to be his wife in name alone. That was always the intention. An object of pity and contempt, taken care of because honour compelled him to do so, because there was no one in the world who cared to, but never forgiven.

There was a sudden bitter taste in David’s mouth. “We are not breeding, if that is what you are asking.”

“I was asking nothing.” Paul put his hands up defensively, but behind them David though he caught the hint of a suppressed smile. “There was no question.”

David’s cheeks were hot for having spoken of so intimate a concern. “Can the trust be arranged or not?”

“I suppose so.” Paul still sounded reluctant. “I’ll draft it up tomorrow morning and have my clerk bring a copy to you in the afternoon.”

The rest of the afternoon passed pleasantly playing cards with Annabelle and Sarah, and even Paul’s company at dinner was tolerable. He was in good spirits, and, besides, the barbs in his tongue never seemed to come out in front of his mild mannered wife. After dinner, David and Sarah set off for Plas Bryn immediately in the hopes of arriving before midnight. The weather was getting rough again, with a faint rain spraying across the coach windows and glinting in the light of the lantern and a wind rushing about the hills.

Sarah shivered and moved from her seat opposite David to squeeze next to him. “It’s freezing! Let’s wrap that blanket around us.”

“I’m quite warm in my coat. You can have all the blanket.” David piled the old woollen blanket on her lap. “Better?”

“A little.” Sarah wrapped the blanket over her knees. “What did you talk about with Paul? Am I allowed to enquire?”

“You’re always allowed to ask, though that doesn’t mean I will always tell you.” David thought about it for a moment, then decided it was best not kept secret from his family. “I’ve arranged a trust for Luke, for his twentieth birthday.”

“Oh! How very generous of you! But then, you are such a generous man. I do not know any other man, I am sure, who would do such a thing. And when you have every cause to be jealous of the little boy! The goodness of your heart is quite unmatched. How much is it to be?”

“Twenty thousand, I hope, but certainly at least thirteen.”

Sarah’s mouth dropped open. “Very generous indeed,” she said faintly.

“Paul said similar, but I got the impression he wasn’t very pleased with the idea.” David drummed his fingers on the coach seat. “Laurie thinks he is afraid I will get a son by Cate and cut him out of the inheritance.”

“I am sure Paul is not so avaricious.”

“But he is avaricious. What I cannot see is him praying and hoping that I would not have a son when his entire marriage he has been praying and hoping that he will! Could he be so selfish?”

“We can all be a little selfish sometimes.” Sarah patted David’s hand. “If he spoke out of emotion, I would discount anything he said. Besides, he has nothing to fear, does he? You can never forgive her, and without forgiving her, you can never consumate the marriage. The door between your rooms will always remain locked.”

But there was a door. And the key was on his side. David’s fingers twitched.

“Of course, Catherine is a pretty little creature and I’ve no doubt you’ve been tempted,” Sarah said, “but you are far too good a man to fall prey to sinful desires.”

“Where would the sin be?” David asked. “In making love to my wife, or in being unable to forgive her? Sorry, Sarah. I should not speak so to you. But sin has no part in my relationship with Cate.”

Sarah frowned. “Does that mean… Paul does have a reason to be afraid? No. Surely not. You cannot have.”

She sounded almost distressed, but David was still distracted by the thought of the door between his and Cate’s quarters. He had opened it before. He could quite easily unlock it. Push it open. Enter her room. Or he didn’t even have to open it. He could merely unlock it, in case she needed him, in case she came slipping into his room in her bare feet one night, her nightdress floating around her ankles, in need of something, her soft voice whispering his name… had she whispered his name like that before? It seemed almost a memory. Had she woken him with a touch? Could she? Would her cool fingers slide down his shoulder, over his chest, under the blankets…

“David?”

He gave a full body shudder. “Sorry. Forgive me, Sarah. I spoke of things which I should not to an unmarried woman. It is a topic best not broached between us.”

A topic best not even thought of, because thinking of it deprived him of all sense and reason.

__

2023-05-21: David’s resistance is starting to crumble.

Chapter Twenty-Six: A Confessor

With David and Sarah gone, Cate spent the rest of the afternoon alone with Luke, which was not an unhappy way to spend an afternoon. At about four o’clock they had tea and biscuits, which ended up with Luke becoming very jammy, so Cate decided to give him a bath. Luke disagreed and had a tantrum. It was the first time he had ever had a tantrum, and his force of lung and vigour of wail had Cate paralyzed with confusion and made three servants come running to see what was wrong. When Luke was caged in his cot to settle and the splashes cleaned up, another servant came to tell Cate that there was a visitor to see her and gave her a card.

It was a somewhat grimy card, damp and a little wrinkled. Cate winced as she turned it over to read the name, then froze.

Herbert Oliver Esquire

Her fingers trembled and the card slipped from her grasp. Her first instinct was to tell the servant to tell Oliver to come back when David was here, but she had the immediate misgiving that it was cowardly to run to David to solve her problems. Besides, David had as much as promised he would be violent towards Oliver if he saw him again, and even though Cate had nothing but poison in her heart towards Oliver, she could not bear the thought of David bearing the consequences of hurting him.

“Tell him… Tell him to wait in the drawing room downstairs.” She could not see him in her own rooms. “I will be down in a minute.”

She checked her appearance in the mirror, tidied her hair, wrapped a shawl around her shoulders, and took three deep breaths. Then she went downstairs to get it over with.

In the drawing room, she found Oliver sitting in a chair like he owned it, waiting for her. He rose when she entered and bowed. There was something strange about his appearance, and after a moment she realized what: he was wearing a new coat, very expensive-looking, of the latest cut. She was used to him wearing frayed clothing at least two years out of date. He never seemed to have any money. Now, even his boots were so neatly polished they gleamed. And was that a jewelled pin in his cravat? Where did this prosperity come from?

She dismissed the question from her mind. It did not matter. His fortune, or lack thereof, was no concern of hers.

“What are you doing here?” she said.

He gave her a toothy smile. “Cate!”

“My friends call me Cate. You can call me Mrs Demery.”

His smile did not falter. “Mrs Demery. I am happy to see you so well situated in life after your… maladjustment.”

“What are you doing here?” she repeated. “Two years ago, you wanted nothing more to do with me. You have not the right to change your mind now.”

Now, the smile faltered. “Cate—”

“Mrs Demery.”

“Mrs Demery. I just… To tell you the truth, I… I wanted to see him. The boy. My son.”

“Not your son. Never your son. That door is closed. You shut it yourself and I will not let you open it again.” Anger, and a fierce desire to protect Luke, gave Cate’s words spirit. “You cannot see him. Ever.”

Oliver sighed so heavily the dried petals in a bowl of potpourri whirled and the scent of lavender rose over the room. “Then I will never have a son.”

“That is no concern of mine.”

“I can understand why you feel that way. Indeed, I know I am intruding upon your kindness by being here, but I am in such a position that I felt the need to beg the sympathy for a view through a locked window at a life I can now never have. Let me tell you something, Mrs Demery. I am engaged to be married.”

This announcement was given with all the gravity of a confession of mortal illness. Cate squinted at Oliver, more confused than anything else. Then she realized that might be his object, to confound her into asking him for clarity.

“That is no concern of mine,” she repeated. “I do not care. There are no connections between us anymore. You chose to sever them and they cannot be renewed. I wish you would leave now.”

He shook his head. “I must have a confessor, and you are the only person who will understand.”

“Then you must be forever misunderstood because I have no desire to hear your confession. Leave, please.”

“Cate— I am marrying her for money.”

“Don’t say that name!” she snapped. “And there is no need to make a confession. Anyone who knows you understands your secret already.”

“Don’t be so harsh. I have no choice. It is this marriage or ruin — but this marriage is ruin in another way, and this is what only you will understand.” He looked pleadingly at her. “My wife-to-be is past her child-bearing years. That is what I sacrifice, in order to preserve myself and my sister from ruin.”

Cate stared at him in disgust. His situation was distasteful, certainly, but it was his attitude towards it that was truly repugnant. What he sacrificed . As though his wife was not also losing by the bargain, to have a husband who thought so of her, who used her so, and who prized money to the detriment of all other concerns.

“You sacrifice others,” she said. “You sacrificed me to lust. You sacrificed my son to selfishness. You will now sacrifice your wife-to-be to greed. You have no right to complain. I do not want to hear it. I want you to leave now, and I don’t want to see you ever again.”

“Just let me look at him once. One look is all I ask. I will carry it with me the rest of my life.”

“No. You will never see him. You don’t deserve even a glance.”

His mouth moved about his teeth as though he was considering whether or not to hit her. Cate braced herself, but Oliver was not a man given to physical confrontation. Instead, he sneered unpleasantly and laughed through his teeth.

“Perhaps you are afraid I would find he does not look like me after all. I always did wonder if perhaps there was another man. You were so eager to bed me, that I cannot—”

Oliver broke off abruptly and stared over Cate’s shoulder. She turned and saw Laurie standing in the doorway, face pale and eyes black with fury.

“Who is this?” she demanded. “No, I heard enough to understand. My god, Cate, what is he doing here? Why did you let him in?”

“He’s an unwanted guest.”

“Then send him away.” Laurie marched forward into the room, holding an umbrella out in front of her like a sabre. “Get out of here. You’re not wanted.”

Oliver retreated from the point of Laurie’s umbrella. “Now, dear woman, I don’t know what you think you heard—”

“Out!” Laurie whacked him on the shin with the umbrella. “Out! Now!”

He winced and hopped towards the door. “Cate—”

“Don’t say that name!” Cate said. “Get out! You’ve been told!”

It was easier to tell him to get out, somehow, when Laurie was chasing him out with her umbrella at his ankles. She managed to get in some good whacks across the back of his knees as he scrambled for the door and out into the hall. Cate followed them to make sure that he actually left. At the front door, Laurie whacked him savagely across the rump and he squealed as he jumped down the front steps. This startled the horse tied to the post at the bottom of them, and he almost fell as he scrambled to mount it. He managed at last and galloped away.

Cate was breathing heavily. Laurie turned and looked at her.

“Why did you let him in?” she said. “No, why on earth did you bed that slimy fop? He is Luke’s father, isn’t he?”

“Shush.” Cate looked around in case any servants were watching. “Let me explain. You will understand, I think.”

“I do understand and I don’t like it. How could you think anything of a man like that when you had my brother in the palm of your hand? My god, I knew you injured David, I knew you betrayed him, but this is insult to the injury.”

“Don’t.” Cate took Laurie’s arm and led her back into the drawing room, where she shut the door. “Please, don’t. I’ve remonstrated myself enough. You can say nothing I haven’t already thought.”

“I think I can!” Laurie was indignant. “Why did you even let him in, Cate?”

“The servants did. I thought I should speak with him, and solve my own problem for once, rather than ask David to solve it for me.”

“It could never do any good!” Laurie was scornful. “Men like that cannot be reasoned with, solved, or fixed. They just fester, and spoil everything they touch. You should have left David to deal with him.”

“I was managing Oliver before you came. I don’t need David to deal with him for me. Not everyone is like Wynn. Oliver is not violent.”

Laurie froze where she had been pacing on the drawing room carpet, her umbrella hovering in mid-air. “What do you know about Wynn?”

“Sarah told me everything. I’m sorry for what happened to you.”

“And what does Sarah know?”

“David explained what she did not.”

Laurie was still frozen. Slowly, she lowered the umbrella to the floor again and stood very still. Her gaze was somewhere off in the distance, as though she was looking right through Cate to some other world entirely.

“I thought perhaps your experience with Wynn was why you were kinder to me than some others are,” Cate said nervously. “That you understood why I would fall for the lies of a corrupt man, since you, too—”

“We are nothing alike!” Laurie’s glittering eyes refocused upon Cate. “You have more in common with Wynn than I do with you. Wynn had his women, and you had your Oliver.”

“That’s not fair. He took advantage of me. He played my feelings.”

“As you played my brother’s.” Laurie was merciless. “As you continue to play them.”

“No, I’m trying to be good to him. I’m trying to do better.”

“Nothing will ever be good enough. You broke his heart. Do you even know what that feels like? Did Oliver break your heart?” Laurie’s eyes were narrow, watching Cate. “No. I can see he did not. You did not give it to him to break. But David has your heart now, doesn’t he? Your unbroken heart. Let me pinch it a little. Sarah is in love with him. She always hoped to marry him, you see, and keep her grasp on the family fortune. From greed to love is but a simple step, for a woman like that. And David is far too kind and stupid to see her for what she is. A kind, stupid man living in the same house as a cunning, greedy woman who is in love with him, who covets him. Be careful, Cate, or you may find yourself taking a dose of your own medicine.”

And laughing softly to herself, Laurie left without another word.

__

2023-05-29: Laurie and Cate… frenemies forever?

Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Jealous One

Cate stayed up very late that night, waiting for David and Sarah to return. The thought of them alone together in a small coach made her anxious now. Was Laurie right about Sarah being in love with David?

It would perhaps explain some things. Like the way Sarah kept prolonging her stay in Wales, even though she had initially wanted to return quickly to London. And perhaps also the possessive way she behaved about the house, offering tea to David or directing the servants. That was Cate’s position as lady of the house. Not Sarah’s.

David did not encourage Sarah’s feelings and would never encourage any uncousinly affection. Cate was quite sure of that. Nevertheless, while she waited for them to return, she kept thinking of the close proximity of the coach, of Sarah perhaps resting her knee against David’s, of Sarah trying to flirt, in the clumsy way she would flirt, and David politely ignoring it, the way he would. What was Sarah thinking!? David was a married man — oh, to be sure, their marriage was irregular, but she wore his ring on her finger and bore his name. It was a betrayal of womanly friendship for Sarah to harbour secret feelings for him, as well as an insult to David’s honour. Unless, of course, Sarah planned to keep her feelings secret and never utter a word, but if she did, why was she here, with him? Why not pine from a distance and try to forget him?

Unless, perhaps, she was not in love with him at all and Laurie was mistaken, or merely malicious. But the more Cate thought about Sarah, the more it seemed that the only explanation for her strange behaviour was some secret passion for David.

It was well past midnight when Cate heard them return. Voices spoke softly from below, then footsteps sounded in the gallery outside the private bedrooms. Cate went to the door of her dark sitting room on silent, bare feet and listened, her heart racing, feeling guilty for eavesdropping.

“Goodnight then, cousin.” Sarah yawned loudly. “My goodness, I’m tired. I will sleep like the dead tonight, I am sure.”

“Goodnight, Sarah.”

David’s door opened then shut softly while Sarah continued yawning. There was a silent pause, then Sarah’s footsteps moved briskly off down the gallery. Cate thought they sounded annoyed. What did she expect? Sympathy for her yawning? Compliment?

But perhaps Cate was being uncharitable. She went to the door that connected her sitting room to David’s bedroom and knocked.

“Cate?” David spoke from the other side. “Did we wake you?”

“I wasn’t sleeping. Can we talk?”

“It’s late. I’m just about to go to bed.”

“I know. Something happened today. Please.”

There was a brief pause, then the key snapped in the lock and the door opened. David had already taken off his coat and cravat, and stood there in his shirt and vest, with his sleeves pushed up to his elbows. The flame of the single candle on his washstand flickered, sending shadows dancing over the planes of his lean, muscular arms. Cate swallowed.

“Cate?”

“Yes. Um. While you were out, um, Luke had his first tantrum.”

David laughed softly. “Did he? He’s growing up. What about?”

“He didn’t want a bath. I thought he would scream the roof down.”

“Charming. Cate, my dear, I’m very tired. Can this not wait til morning?”

My dear. Cate’s heart skipped a beat. “That could, but it is not all I have to say. David, Herbert Oliver called on me today.”

The smile froze on David’s face. “I warned him off.”

“He’s not the kind of man who cares for warnings. Or perhaps he waited until he knew you were out of the house.”

“Did you speak to him?”

“I did. He wanted to see Luke, and I said no. He’s getting married, you see. The woman is rich and too old to have a child. So I suppose he regretted abandoning Luke.”

“He has no right to change his mind now.”

“I told him the same.”

“And did he listen? Or must I track him down and convince him? Must I give him the thrashing I threatened?”

“No, don’t!” She grabbed David’s hands. “Please. Don’t. If you hurt him, it will only come back on you.”

David stiffened a little when she took his hands then slowly relaxed. “If he hurts you or Luke, I will hurt him back. I will hurt him worse.”

“He won’t.”

“If he does.”

“Fine. If he does. But he did not today. Not with more than words. I don’t need you to protect me from words, David.”

“Aren’t they what you’re most afraid of?”

“Maybe I’m not such a coward as I used to be.” She tried to smile. “Or perhaps it depends whose words they are. Oliver’s don’t ring true, you see, and it’s hard to be afraid of words that aren’t true. Laurie, however…”

“Laurie?”

“She visited unexpectedly and saw Oliver. She went after him with her umbrella, actually. He left the house running. Then she came after me with her words.” Cate’s voice shook. “You know how she can be.”

“Ah, yes. She’s not known for her honeyed tongue. Don’t take it to heart, Cate. I think she likes you, actually.”

It was the first time anyone had suggested that to Cate, and she had certainly never suspected it herself. She thought back, with some confusion, over Laurie’s behaviour recently. Perhaps it was true. There had been several times she had defended Cate from her mother’s harsh criticisms or otherwise distracted the conversation away from them. And sometimes she would come by to see Luke, then stay to join whatever activity or conversation Sarah and Cate had been involved in. It certainly wasn’t Sarah whose company she lingered for.

Perhaps they had been making friends, but after today, after what Cate had said about Wynn, that was all ruined.

Tears pricked at Cate’s eyes, and David’s waistcoat buttons blurred. She blinked and sniffed.

“Oh, Cate. Don’t cry.” He rubbed her arm. “She doesn’t ever mean half what she says.”

“It’s not that. It’s not just that.” Cate wiped her face with the sleeve of her dressing gown. “She said Sarah’s in love with you.”

Almost instantly, she realized that that made it seem like that was what she was crying about. As soon as she realized it, it became something else to cry about, and more tears came cascading down her cheeks.

David’s hand stiffened on her arm. “Sarah’s not in love with me.”

“Isn’t she? Why did she stay here so long when Wales obviously bores her? Yet when you were going to go back to London, she wanted to go as well. And sometimes, she’s very familiar with you. The more I think about it, the more I think Laurie’s right.”

David fell silent while Cate wiped her tears and tried to regain control of herself. After a little while, he moved away, went to a chest of drawers, and took out a handkerchief, which he gave to her. She patted her face dry, hoping her eyes were not too swollen or red.

“To tell the truth, I sometimes suspected she had feelings for me,” he said. “Then I thought perhaps I was being conceited for thinking it. And when Laurie spoke of it to me, she said instead that Sarah wanted to believe I was in love with her which made her jealous of you.”

“Why do you think a woman would want to believe a man in love with her if not because she loved him herself? What reason would she have to be jealous of me if not for love of you?”

David shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Laurie might be wrong.”

“But she’s not, is she?”

“Sarah has never seriously acted upon her feelings. And if she did, you know I would not encourage them.”

“I know. I know.” Cate took a deep breath to calm her nerves. “But, David, I think she needs to be actively discouraged. She’s been here for three months already on the slenderest of hopes that, what, a married man might return her feelings? That hope must be broken somehow. You must tell her… something. Please.”

David looked at her, a deep line between his brows. “I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” Cate swallowed the last of her tears. “Good night, then.”

She pressed the handkerchief into his hands. Rather than taking it, David held her hands for a moment, looking thoughtfully at her, then he pulled her close and gave her a swift, warm hug.

“Sleep well, Cate.”

---

After his conversation with Cate, David found it hard to sleep. He woke late the next morning and delayed dressing and getting up. Shortly before noon, he finally emerged from his room and came downstairs to his study. There were some reports from Benson on his desk which he read over coffee. Then he read them again, just in case he had missed something. Through the window, he could see Sarah pottering about in the garden with her easel and paintbrushes. She never seemed to move far out of sight of the window. It only seemed another piece of evidence against her. He shifted his chair so his back was to the window and tried not to think about it. The garden wasn’t the place for such an awkward conversation anyway.

In fact, he was good at delaying awkward things that he managed to avoid both Sarah and Cate until nearly dinner time. Then, it occurred to him that he had no excuse today for dining out of the house and that he could not dine with Cate without having had the conversation with Sarah first. Reluctantly, he went up to Sarah’s room when he knew she would be dressed and just about to come down. She was sitting at her dressing table, putting some finishing touches to her hair.

“David! What a surprise!” She stood up as he entered. “Do you need me?”

“Only to talk,” he said.

“You can talk to me about whatever you wish,” she said warmly. “Is something your mind?”

“Yes, actually. Something is on my mind, and Cate’s mind, and also Laurie’s mind.”

The warmth of her expression cooled a little. “Oh. What then?”

David realized he should have planned out in advance how he was to approach the matter, for there was no easy way to say it. “Um. We think… that is… Sarah, what do you think about me?”

Her eyes shone. This was definitely the wrong way to go about it. David cursed his own foolishness.

“If I were to describe you to a friend,” she said, “I would say that you’re a very decent sort of gentleman, a man of honour and kindness. You’ve a strong, intelligent mind, and, moreover, a wonderful sense of humour and wit. You are always making me laugh.”

“That is high compliment,” David said, “but that’s not what I meant, Sarah. I wanted to know… forgive me for there is no easy way to broach this subject, but I wanted to know if you are in love with me.”

There, it was out. Sarah stared agape at him.

“Laurie suggested you were jealous of Cate because you were in love with me, or wished that I were in love with you,” David said. “And sometimes I did wonder myself if there was not something abnormal in your manner towards me.”

“Abnormal!” Sarah flushed scarlet. “Is it not normal to hold affection for one’s cousins?”

“Certainly, but Cate is a little uncomfortable with the way you behave around me. She thinks you are too familiar for a cousin.”

“Then she must be the jealous one! It is always the way, with these unfaithful women. They see in other women the flaws they feel in themselves.”

“There won’t be any talk of that,” David said sharply. “She has never been unfaithful to me since we married.”

“But before—”

“I said there won’t be any talk of that.”

Sarah closed her mouth tightly and turned away. For a long time, she was silent.

“It’s not fair,” she said at last. “That is what I think of you. We grew up together. We were friends. I knew you would inherit Plas Bryn one day. My home. Which, if I had been a boy, I would have inherited myself. It wasn’t fair that I should lose it, so it seemed natural, proper, that one day you would marry me. And then we were adults. You were in the army, so of course we could not marry yet. You might get hurt, or die and leave me a widow. I could not bear the thought. Then my father died and you inherited and quit the army. I thought then something might happen. You were in London, and so was I. You even came to visit me the first day you arrived in London. I remember that. You said you would visit again the next week. You did not. You must have forgotten. So the week after that I came to you, and you told me that you had some very happy news, you were engaged to be married. I had been waiting for you all my life. And you chose someone else. You’re not fair, David. You’re just not fair.”

David stared at her. “You can’t mean it. You haven’t been in love with me all this time.”

“I don’t know. I just know that I never considered in all my life marrying anyone else. You were the only one.”

“Because of Plas Bryn. What if I had been killed in the army and Paul had inherited?”

“But that didn’t happen.”

But it very well might have. And if it had, would Sarah have transferred her expectations to Paul? It seemed more than likely.

On walking into Sarah’s room, David had not intended to make this an argument. He had thought to gently draw a confession from her and even more gently let her hopes down. But she was not in love with him. She simply coveted his inheritance. What distant sympathy he had for her withered into angry contempt.

“In all my life, Sarah, I never once considered marrying you. Your expectations were hopeless and unfounded on any vestige of reality. I cannot even apologize to you. I have done nothing to encourage your delusions.”

“Delusions! Am I the deluded one? You married a woman who bore another man’s child and you hate her so much you cannot even bear to consummate the marriage.”

“I don’t hate Cate. But that isn’t even relevant to this. Sarah, there was never the remotest prospect that I would ever marry you. The way you’re behaving now is only proving that.”

Sarah laughed bitterly. “Yet you married Catherine the adulteress and dote upon her baseborn son. My pride stings.”

“But your heart is unbruised, which only proves that you don’t really love me. It was only Plas Bryn you wanted.”

“Perhaps I don’t,” she said coolly. “But whatever I feel for you, it is more than Catherine does. The only man she ever loved was James Redwood. She told me so.”

The arrow fell so absurdly far from the mark that David laughed. “She never loved Redwood, and she certainly never told you that she did. Don’t lie to me about Cate. I know her too well to believe any such nonsense. Luke’s father is nothing to her but a mistake and a painful memory.”

Sarah narrowed her eyes. “You sound very sure.”

“I am.” David went to the door. “Forgive my inhospitality, Sarah, but I would rather not see you at dinner tonight. You lied to me, you see. I will have a tray sent up, unless you insist on coming downstairs, in which case I think both Cate and I will dine in our rooms.”

“Oh, I’ll stay here. I know when I’m not wanted.”

“Not really,” David said politely. “Good night, Sarah.”

He left the room. There would be other problems to deal with in the morning, no doubt. It would be more comfortable for everyone if Sarah left soon, but thankfully she was not really in love with him. That was one awkwardness averted.

He was halfway through the gallery when he heard Sarah’s footsteps behind him and turned.

“What now?” he asked.

“You’re very certain that she never loved Redwood.”

“I am.”

“But then you said, ‘Luke’s father’ like it was a different man. Is it, David? Is Redwood not the father? Are you the father after all? Is that why you married her? But that doesn’t make sense either. You’d have married her before the baby was born. Is there a third man?” Sarah laughed. “How many men have there been?”

David schooled his face to be still, afraid she could read his thoughts through his expression. “You should go back to your room before you embarrass yourself, Sarah. Jealousy is never pretty.”

“Ah, then that means…”

“And keep your mouth shut about my wife in future. I chose her over all the other women in England. Remember that, if you have any desire to remain my cousin, let alone my friend.”

__

2023-06-4: Oh, look a hug. A hug? Why aren’t they kissing already? What’s stopping them at this point?

Chapter Twenty-Eight: For the Taking

With the coming of spring, the air at Plas Bryn changed. Cate was aware of undercurrents of tension between everyone in the Demery family, herself included. The conversation David had had with Sarah seemed to have started it, or perhaps merely given strength to the currents that were already bubbling beneath the surface. At dinner that night, David spent most of the meal talking about what had happened upstairs with Sarah. He was by turns saddened and angered by Sarah’s mercantile and entitled attitude towards him and the house, and Cate, relieved to hear that Sarah did not truly love him, was only too willing to listen to him and try to make him feel better with small words of support, encouragement, and sympathy. She thought she helped, but from then on, there was a noticeable, polite coolness between David and Sarah. In consequence, Sarah tried to grovel to Laurie, and when her overtures of friendship were bluntly rejected, became very close to Mrs Demery and Paul instead. Hardly a day went by when she did not visit either the one or the other. This meant that Laurie spent a lot of time at Plas Bryn, trying to avoid Sarah, but there were tensions here too. Cate wasn’t sure if it was because Laurie now knew about Oliver or because she now knew that Cate knew about Wynn, but either way, Laurie was strangely cool towards Cate, and even more strangely devoid of her usual acid remarks.

Even Paul seemed different. He came to visit David several times about business, and took a moment on each occasion to come to speak to Cate and Luke. He was almost too friendly to Luke, which worried Cate because she instinctively felt that Paul did not like him. When David explained to her about the trust he was setting up, that perhaps explained his theatrically genial manner towards Luke, but it did not make sense of the probing way Paul enquired after her health and feelings and home. One time, while having tea with her in her sitting room, he abruptly stood up and tried the door between her and David’s apartments.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I thought I would see if David wanted tea.”

“He’s not in there. And the door is locked.”

“I see that.” Paul sat down again and took another slice of pound cake. “Is the door always kept locked? What happens if you need David?”

“Then I knock and he opens it.”

“Ah.” Paul swallowed the last crumb of his pound cake, looking quite depressed. “Yes, I suppose he would.”

Another time, when she was feeling under the weather due to some suspect cream cakes, Paul hesitantly, unhappily suggested that perhaps he was to expect a nephew or niece soon. When she protested vehemently that it was not possible, he brightened again.

She could only assume that Paul did not want her to have a child with David. It seemed very selfish of Paul, even if he had his own troubles in that area. All the same, when Paul suggested a small dinner party in honour of Luke’s first birthday, Cate could not deny the appeal of the idea.

“Though he turned one over two months ago,” she said. “We’re very late for his birthday.”

“The idea came to me late,” Paul said. “To own the truth, I did not realize how old he really was. Nevertheless, I think late would be better than never. Another idea I have had is that we could change his surname, make him properly part of the family.”

That was something Cate had long secretly wished for herself. “I would love for him to be a Demery. But what does David think?”

“I’m sure he would approve. He’s very fond of the boy.”

“I will ask him.”

“And about the dinner party? I can think of several families in the neighbourhood who would love to be invited and meet David’s wife and son.”

“I don’t know about inviting strangers. I’m very shy outside the family, and my reputation is still far from unshadowed.”

“A small extension of your society would do you good. But never mind. My wife will come, and her sisters and brothers. My wife’s siblings can hardly be strangers to you, surely?”

Annabelle, insipid and gloomy, had done little to impress Cate with the force of her personality when they had finally met, but there seemed little danger in her and her siblings’ company. “They are, but they should not be. I will invite them.”

“And I think your parents should come too. It would be a chance to extend them an olive branch.”

“I’m not sure I want to.”

“Surely you do not want Luke to grow up without knowing his grandparents?”

“Not if I cannot be assured of their kindness towards him.”

“You will never be assured of that if you have no relations with them.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Cate said. “I really don’t.”

Nevertheless, Paul did not give the idea up. When David came into the room a little while later, he brought it up again.

“I haven’t actually thrown a dinner party here since I inherited the place,” David said. “Not beyond Mother and Laurie and Paul, that is. I suppose I’ve got the place looking decent enough now that I could. And it would have advantages, Cate. It would show whomever we invited your position as my wife and mistress of my household. It would help you gain a little respectability, I think.”

“That makes it sound quite frightening,” Cate said with a shudder, remembering her hopeless attempt at attending an assembly ball. “I don’t think society ever will respect me again.”

“Then we will keep it to family,” David said. “Mine, Annabelle’s, and your parents if they will come.”

“Oh no, not my father. Nor my mother. They will certainly refuse anyway.”

“Then there is no danger in inviting them.” David countered her with a smile.

“Nor any point.” She smiled back.

Sitting near the tea table, Paul sighed heavily and cut himself a thick slice of apple and rhubarb cake.

“There is a point,” David said firmly. “On the slim chance they do come, they will hear that Luke will take my name and be my son in as much as blood. It will give them a strong reason to accept him as their grandchild. Reason to respect him and his place in your life and mine.”

Cate hesitated; she was sure that her parents never would respect Luke. All the same, the fact that David was asking her made her want to do it. And, if they did accept, her parents could not hurt her in her own house while her husband was with her. David wouldn’t let them.

“I will write and ask them,” she said. “I will invite them. But I cannot promise they will come.”

“Excellent,” Paul said warmly through his mouthful of cake. “Sarah will be happy to hear this. She was saying just the other day that a dinner party would liven things up around here.”

“It was Sarah’s idea?” David looked suspicious.

“No, but the idea came to me because of her melancholia,” Paul said. “She thinks it is sad that Plas Bryn is so quiet these days. When Uncle Lewis owned it, there were so many parties, you see.”

“I know. Sarah remembers them very fondly. I was never invited,” David said drily.

Paul left a little while later, taking the remains of the apple and rhubarb cake with him, saying they were for Annabelle. David stayed to pour himself another cup of tea.

“There is something strange about Paul,” he said. “He’s playing at something.”

“He has been very friendly to me of late.”

“Yes,” David said. “I’ve noticed it too and it is strange. Not that I don’t want you to have friends. I do. I just wish I could believe that Paul really does want to be your friend.”

“What do you mean? Should I not trust him? He is your brother.”

“Exactly. He is my brother, and my heir presumptive, which I don’t think he ever forgets when he talks to you.”

“Sarah has made you too cynical. If Paul worries about us having a child, which I think he does, it is surely because it is taking so long for him and Annabelle to have their own.”

“You might be right. I hope you’re right. Because I would be happy if my brother, and even my mother, could genuinely love and accept you one day, and Paul never will if he thinks more highly of money than of you.”

There was something in that sentiment that gave Cate a queer thrill of hope. If David hoped that his mother would love her, then surely it meant that David’s feelings towards her had changed, warmed, grown closer to forgiveness. She dared not ask him though, and brushed the topic off lightly.

“You must pin all your hopes on Paul then, because I surely have no chance with your mother.”

David smiled sadly. “Maybe not, but I won’t stop hoping.”

Despite Cate’s apprehension, Sir William and Lady Balley responded that they would be happy to come to the dinner, and so it was arranged for late April to give them time to travel from London. They insisted on staying for five days after, which gave Cate great anxiety, but she could not tell them to come only for the one night because the journey was so long. Besides, in his letter Sir William had mentioned something about being willing to extend an olive branch of his own, which David thought was very hopeful. Cate, more familiar with her father’s controlling nature, felt more trepidation than hope.

It also ended up becoming something of a goodbye dinner for Sarah, who had packed her trunks at last and was insistent on returning to London the day after the dinner. David said he would be sorry to see her go, but Cate could tell by his voice that he was secretly relieved.

Sir William and Lady Balley arrived in the early afternoon. Lady Balley went straight to her room to rest and prepare for dinner, but Sir William, after shaking David’s hand and deigning to give Cate a single nod, suggested that they go to the study for a talk. Cate, thinking that this talk would not include her, stepped away to go upstairs and find Luke for comfort. Sir William stopped her with a word.

“You too, Catherine,” he said. “My little olive branch concerns you as well.”

That was ominous. Cate followed David and her father into the study. The wallpaper had been replaced now, and the dark patches on the walls where Uncle Lewis had hung his grotesque prints were covered by fresh, cream-coloured wallpaper and paintings of horses and dogs. The armchairs had been reupholstered to match the walls, and there was even a squashed and faded cushion on the chair behind the desk.

That was the chair that Sir William took. David sat down in one of the guest chairs, but Cate, feeling less at ease, hovered by the window.

“How is the boy?” Sir William asked.

“He is well. Do you wish to see him?”

“No, no. I’m sure there will be time enough for that later.” Sir William cast an enquiring glance at David. “You are decided then, to give him your name?”

“Does it displease you that he loses the name of Balley?”

“Not at all. To bear your name is the best thing for him.”

And, Cate thought, for her father, who would no longer have his name attached to a bastard.

“Actually, I am very pleased,” Sir William said. “I was doubtful when you first suggested you marry Catherine despite her fall from grace. I thought you would regret your decision. Instead, it seems that you are very happy with her.”

David looked at Cate before answering. “Yes. I’m happy. And so is she, I hope.”

A strange, fluttery joy swept over Cate at his words. “I am.”

Sir William smiled thinly. “Then you will be happier still when I tell you this, Demery. On the birth of my first grandchild, I will settle upon you a small property of mine not far from Oxford, which generates a modest income of some three hundred pounds. I make no stipulations as to what you do with it, but it would provide suitable security for the boy, if you were so inclined.”

While he listened to this, the muscles around David’s mouth became set and ugly. “Your first grandchild is upstairs, sir. His name is Luke.”

“He is a bastard. He does not count.”

“He is your daughter’s son, and my son in all but blood. He counts.”

To Cate’s surprise, Sir William did not get angry. Instead, he narrowed his eyes and appeared to think about it.

“Very well then,” he said. “Upon the birth of my second grandchild, I will settle this property upon you.”

“That is generous of you, sir, and I thank you for it. However, and with the utmost respect, I must refuse such a present. There is no greater gift that you could give me than to recognize Luke as your grandson. That is all I ask.”

“Then it is given. But I ask something for myself too. I want a legitimate grandchild out of you both. I want a little boy or girl I can be proud of. I recognize Luke as my blood, but I cannot be proud of him.”

David was silent, his face carefully blank. “I cannot promise you a grandchild,” he said at last. “If it does happen, I certainly hope you will be proud of them. And of Luke one day, too.”

“Hm.” Sir William looked at Cate, then back at David. “Well, keep my promise in mind, young man. I will not let you refuse my gift when you are not yet in need of it. But one day, I hope, you will be.”

He got up and left the room as if he owned it. Cate met David’s eyes. She had not dared speak while her father was in the room, but now she wanted to know what David really thought about the idea of them having children together. Not that she wanted another child just yet, but the process required to make one with David had a certain burning appeal. Had David’s prevarication been for her father’s sake only or, perhaps, was the door that she had thought locked forever unlocked now? Was it even beginning to crack open? David’s eyes gave her nothing. He looked, if anything, slightly upset. She tried to approach the matter delicately, with circumspection.

“He really means that if we have children of our own, he will take over the financial burden of providing for Luke’s future,” she said.

“I know, Cate. I know. He is hardly opaque.” David slumped in the chair with a sigh. “Luke is no burden to me. I have it all arranged.”

“David.” Cate moved closer to him. “What you said to him about if we have a child… Do you still mean to never consummate our marriage?”

He looked up. “Cate. If I were to change my mind, it would not be because of money. That would be a sinful transaction.”

“I’m not thinking of money. I just want you to know if you’ve changed your mind, or if you still mean that we will never…” She wanted to use the phrase ‘make love’ but under the pressure of his gaze did not dare. “…never consummate our marriage.”

His eyes narrowed under a frown. “Do I have a reason to change my mind, Cate?”

Cate’s heart pounded. “You would know.”

“But you would be the reason, Cate.”

What was that supposed to mean? Was it invitation? Dare she take it as one?

She dared not. “Then you have not changed your mind. But there is a possibility that you will one day?”

He licked his lips. “I am not as certain as I once was.”

That was hope and disappointment in one.

“Then let me give you… an open invitation, David. If you ever change your mind, my body is yours. I owe you more than I can ever give, but what I can give, is yours for the taking.”

A strange, unpleasant expression flickered in his eyes and she knew she had made a mistake. He stood up, towering over her.

“You think your body is mine for the taking?”

“I am your wife.”

He ran his finger down her cheek and over her lips. “My wife.” His hand went south, trailing over the swell of her breasts, tracing the curve of her waist and swell of her belly, before coming to a halt between her thighs. Then he drew sharply back. “If I took you like that, I would never have you.”

He was gone from the room before she could say he already did. But she didn’t think it would make a difference. The rejection had been written in his eyes.

__

2023-06-11: I’ve had a crazy week with my own uninvited relative and I feel like Demery, relieved that she’s going at last, lol. What do you think of the last scene? I revised it a lot, and it’s improved a ton since I first wrote it, but I’m still not entirely sure.

Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Tenth Woman

After her argument with David, the appeal of the dinner party had somewhat lost its shine, but nevertheless Cate was very careful that night about her dress and hair. She wanted to look pretty and virtuous, and it was tricky to balance the two. In the end, she settled for a rather prim dark blue gown (new-made by the local dressmaker) and a seductively careless entanglement of curls around her face with black ribbons in her fair hair. Perhaps the dress would impress her father. Perhaps the hair would entice David.

More likely no one would notice her efforts at all.

Initially, those invited to the dinner had been Sarah, Sir William and Lady Balley, Laurie and Mrs Demery, Paul and Annabelle, and Annabelle’s brother and sister, a Mr and Miss Maddox. That had weighted it heavily towards women, so Cate, after much deliberation, had extended invitations to Mr Baxter and the local vicar also. It was the biggest crowd that had been in the drawing room since Cate had come to Plas Bryn. She circled the room nervously, making sure that everyone had sherry in their glasses, and trying not to catch Mrs Demery’s eye or her father’s notice. Before dinner was announced, a maid brought Luke down to the drawing room to be passed around and admired.

“This is the man of the hour,” David said, holding Luke in one arm and raising a glass of sherry with his free hand. “This dinner is honour of Luke’s first birthday, and of his taking my name. From this day, he is to be known to the world as Luke Demery and, to my friends and family, as my son.”

Not everyone clapped. Mrs Demery kept her hands tight around the stem of her sherry glass. Annabelle tapped two fingers against her palm then blew her nose loudly into Paul’s handkerchief. Lady Balley raised her upper lip contemptuously. But Sir William patted his hands thrice together and Laurie kept clapping until Cate distracted her with another glass of sherry.

“But now it’s time for him to go to bed,” David said, kissing Luke on the cheek. “So we will dine in his honour and his absence.”

The maid took Luke back and passed him around the room once more for goodbyes. He was very confused and pleased by the whole event, because he liked people and noise and there was lots of both tonight. Cate gave him one last kiss before the maid took him away and wished she could go with him.

Instead, she led them all into the dining room. The table was laden with the very best crockery and steaming dishes of lamb and fish and vegetables and baked goods. It was a lot of responsibility for Cate, and she took her position at the far end of the table opposite David with shaking fingers. In the interests of keeping the peace, her parents were seated near David while the vicar and Mr Maddox were near Cate. The vicar was easy to talk to, because he could speak on end about food, if not about the dish he was eating, then a dish he recalled eating once a long time ago that reminded him of this dish, except in different circumstances, with different company, and different spices, and different ingredients. Mr Maddox was a little harder. He was about Cate’s age, somewhat pushy and arrogant, and he did not seem to understand anything.

“I don’t understand why women care so much about babies,” he said as he speared a lump of baked mullet on his fork. “From the way Annabelle goes on about it, you would think it is some personal purgatory that she has not got one.”

“It must be hard on her. She wants one very much and she has had no such fortune yet.”

“Well, yes, but I want a string of hunting dogs very much, and you don’t see me sobbing my eyes out because I can’t afford one. Though you’re not much better, Mrs Demery, if you’ll excuse the observation. Nine women out of ten would leave the baby behind in your situation. I can’t understand why you brought him with you when you married David.”

“Because I’m the tenth woman, I suppose.” Cate reminded herself that Mr Maddox was probably just trying to make conversation and tried to steer it in another direction. “What do you think of the mullet?”

“Dry,” Mr Maddox said, chewing vigorously. “I don’t understand why so many people can’t cook fish without making it dry.”

“It reminds me of a meal I used to eat as a child,” the vicar chimed in. “A sort of baked rice pudding, to which the cook would add chopped almonds.”

“It sounds delicious,” Cate said politely.

“Well, I don’t understand why it would remind you of that!” Mr Maddox said contemptuously.

Between the two of them, however, and with whatever fragments of conversation drifted down the table from others, the meal passed quickly enough. Cate even became slightly less anxious when she realized that, obnoxious as he was, Mr Maddox wished her no ill. Indeed, from the secretive glances he darted at her, she began to suspect that he found her attractive. It had been a long time since she had had cause to suspect anyone of admiring her in silence, and she took some small pleasure in it. The appeal of her femininity was not entirely lost if she could entice the glances of strangers, and if it was not entirely lost, then perhaps one day it might appeal to her husband too. Even if he had just boldly rejected her three hours ago.

By the time the dessert of nuts and confections arrived on the table, conversation everywhere stilled. The vicar could not come up with any reminiscence of a similar dish, and Mr Maddox was yawning loudly and muttering under his breath that he did not understand why he was so tired. At the other end of the table, Lady Balley had ceased her soliloquy on What Is Wrong With The World Today and left no more criticisms for David to politely agree to. In the middle, Annabelle was staring into space and completely ignoring Paul’s sympathetic inquiries about the processes of her digestion. Even Laurie was silent, drinking deeply of a pudding wine and looking rather bored.

Into this silence, Sarah spoke boldly.

“A toast to my cousin David,” she said. “To his generosity, his selflessness, in taking into his home and family a boy who is not his own.”

Around the table, people stirred slightly. Several raised their glasses. Cate did not. There was something vaguely insulting in Sarah’s tone of voice.

“Indeed, he gives himself as father to a boy who has none,” Sarah continued with a cold laugh. “What higher gift could there be?”

Cate stared at her plate, uncomfortable and anxious.

“You flatter me, Sarah,” David said. “It is not generosity. I love the boy.”

“But it is most generous of all to give him love. And to a boy whose father could be anyone. I cannot name another man in England who would do the same.”

Cate took in a sharp breath. At the other end of the table, Sir William looked up, his mouth set.

“We know the father,” he growled. “Let us not mention his name.”

Sarah looked surprised. “Oh. But I thought… it was someone else? David gave me the impression that the father was not James Redwood. Was I mistaken?”

She blinked down the length of the table at David, who met her gaze impassively.

“I’m Luke’s father now,” David said. “That is all that matters to me.”

“This is an uncomfortable conversation,” Laurie said, looking up from her wine with something approaching interest. “Who started it? Oh, you, Sarah. Of course.”

“Yes. Perhaps we should talk of something else,” the vicar said. “I am reminded of the book of Ruth…”

No one was listening to him. At the other end of the table, Sir William was looking coldly at Sarah and Lady Balley was scowling at Cate.

“You would do better not to talk of what you do not understand, Miss Demery,” Sir William said.

“Certainly,” Lady Balley agreed. “We already know my daughter to be wanton. There is no need to impugn her honesty on top of that.”

Cate could not raise her gaze from her plate. Fear and humiliation, sharp as a knife, cut at her belly.

“But then Redwood is the father?” Sarah said. “Catherine? Is he? And all this time I was quite certain he was not.”

Cate opened her mouth to swear that he was. The words would not come out. It was a lie. It had always been a lie. A convenient one, of course, for Redwood’s own name had been blackened at the time though rumours of his affair with a titled, married woman. No one had thought twice about whether he had seduced Catherine, when it was so undeniably true that he had seduced another. But she had been backed into a corner when she had first uttered that lie. Her father standing above her, shouting at her to tell him who had done this to her. David off near the window, staring at her from a distance, the weight of his gaze like a vice. It was different now.

She raised her gaze and saw David looking at her down the table. He looked shocked and anxious. Not angry.

“It was not Redwood.” The words came out shaking. “It is a secret. It is my secret. But it was not Redwood. I lied. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, Cate. Say no more,” David said. “Please, Cate. Be quiet.”

But there was nothing more to say. She had said it all. Her father’s cheeks were turning red with fury. Her mother was staring at her with bulging eyes and a cold sneer. Mrs Demery was raising her eyebrows and looking disgusted. Sarah was quietly smiling to herself. The vicar looked shocked. Baxter had his head bowed to stare at his lap, like he was pretending he could not hear anything.

Her father spoke first.

“The devil do you mean by that!?” He roared. “You said it was Redwood. You said you were seduced by that scoundrel. Who was it? Some footman? Some coal sweep?”

“I won’t say. He doesn’t matter.”

“It matters! How dare you lie to me, on top of all you did, on top of getting pregnant and embarrassing us all, ruining your engagement, bringing shame to your sisters, you lied.”

Cate could not bring herself to say the words to defend herself and merely shrugged.

“I don’t understand,” Mr Maddox said. “Who is the father?”

“I will not say,” Cate said, her voice shaking.

“I’d like to know,” Sarah said. “Who on earth could it be? I had no idea.”

Down the table, Laurie leaned forward and deliberately poured herself another glass of wine. “My goodness! What a mystery!”

Then she, at least, would not speak. Not would David. Luke’s secret was safe for at least tonight. That thought gave Cate the courage to meet her father’s gaze.

“I made a terrible mistake when I said it was Redwood,” she said. “I wronged him. I said any useful name you see, to keep from saying the real one. What I have should have said is that I would never say. And I won’t.”

“Catherine!” Her father sputtered her name like it was a curse. “What are you saying? Who is the boy’s father?”

“David is the only father he knows.” Cate looked down the table to him for support. “The blood doesn’t matter. He’s David’s in all other ways, and the man who gave him his blood gave him no more than that.”

David was paler than Cate had ever seen him. “Don’t ask her anymore, please, Sir William. I wish she had not spoken. As far as I am concerned, that matter is closed.”

“I will ask her whatever I like! She is my daughter!”

“I will not answer.” Cate’s voice wavered. “I won’t answer. I won’t. I won’t.”

Around the table, her guests were either watching with interest — and judgement — or staring at their plates and pretending they could not hear. Sarah was watching with a catlike smile. Cate spared a moment to be grateful that she had not asked more guests than she did. Had she invited the local gentry, as Paul had suggested, her public humiliation would have been complete.

“She lied to me,” Sir William said in a thin, viperous tone. “I should have known. A daughter who could betray her family by getting with child out of wedlock would certainly not stoop to a courtesy so paltry as the truth.”

“I cannot say I am surprised,” Mrs Demery said. “It is only another reason to be disappointed that my son married her.”

“I didn’t know,” Paul said. “I didn’t know.” He was very pale. “I really didn’t know.”

“The more I know about my own daughter, the less pleased I am with her,” Lady Balley said. “Catherine! How could you?”

“It is certainly an unpleasant revelation but not without its silver lining,” the vicar said. “To bear false witness is a grave misdeed, but to amend false witness is the right course.”

“Better not to have lied in the first place!”

“It certainly is an injustice to Redwood,” Baxter said quietly.

“And an injustice to me, the mother who raised her!”

“And I, the father who believed her.”

The dining room fell quiet, as though no one had any other complaints to add. Annabelle sniffed into her handkerchief. Sarah examined her reflection in a spoon. David met Cate’s eye and mouthed sorry.

Until that moment, Cate had been too shocked to want to cry. Now, tears came to her eyes but she resolutely blinked them back. She was humiliated, yes, but she was angry too. Angry with Sarah for exposing her. Angry with her parents for condemning her. Angry with herself for lying all those months ago rather than refuse to name anyone at all.

“I made terrible mistakes,” she said. “I wronged Redwood. I wronged David. I wronged even Luke, who will grow up under the shadow of my sins. But I promise you, Father, it would be another wrong to name the man who wronged me. You must accept that. Or don’t. But you will never know.”

“Then you are no daughter of mine.”

“Then I never was.”

Sir William’s jaw bulged and his eyes narrowed. Then he took up a bottle of wine and poured himself a deep glass. There was no answer coming, it seemed. His gaze was somewhere far away.

“There will be consequences, Catherine,” Lady Balley warned. “You cannot speak to your father like that. You will be punished.”

“Mother, I have been punished already for sins far greater than this. I have lost my place in society. My future. My brothers. My sisters. David’s love.” The tears began to roll down her cheeks. “I lost David. I lost the only man I have ever loved.”

Sarah gasped. Mrs Demery scoffed an expletive. Paul squeaked. Annabelle murmured that Cate should use a handkerchief. The vicar patted his pockets but could not find one. Mr Maddox said he didn’t understand. Miss Maddox whispered an explanation to him. Lady Balley rolled her eyes and called Cate a silly girl. Sir William drank. Baxter looked desperately at the door. Laurie watched them all with interest.

At the other end of the table, a chair scraped back across the floor and David stood up. He loomed. The room fell quiet. Everybody looked at him.

“The dinner is over,” he said. “My apologies.”

He pivoted on his heel and left the room. Cate stared after him. His quick footsteps sounded in the hall, then the front door slammed. It shook the silence of the dining room like an earthquake.

__

2023-06-19: Closing in on the finish now. Cate has said she loves him, so there can’t be much more to go, right? …right?

Chapter Thirty: Silver Linings

The dinner party was over. That much was clear even before David said it. Cate looked around at the table, at her guests. Miss Maddox looked scared. The vicar and Baxter looked embarrassed. There was nothing polite or proper to say at this moment, because it was not a polite or proper situation, but she tried anyway, because there seemed to be nothing else she could do.

“I’m sorry. It seems my husband isn’t feeling well. I will have your coaches called, Mr Maddox, Reverend. And perhaps we should all return to the drawing room while we wait. Does anyone want coffee?”

There was a prolonged silence.

“I would like a coffee,” Baxter said. “Thank you.”

That set the wheels in motion, somehow. The chairs scraped back, the people stood, and everyone shuffled along to the drawing room. On the way, Cate told a servant to have the coaches prepared. She moved as though in a dream, feeling nothing, not fear, not anger, not sadness, only a sense of urgency about practical matters: ordering the coffee, pouring the coffee, making sure everyone had a cup though the only person who drank it was Baxter. Laurie had brought a glass of wine from the dining room with her and was sipping it while looking interestedly at everyone around her.

“The coaches will be ready soon,” Cate said.

“And did you order mine?” Mrs Demery asked. “I wish to leave. I am tired, and it has been an unpleasant night.”

“I didn’t.” Cate looked wistfully at Laurie. She was the closest person to a friend Cate had in the room right now. Cate did not want to be left alone with her parents and Sarah. “I will do it now.”

She stood again and went to the bell and arranged for it. At the very least, it ate up several moments of silence. Her parents were saying nothing now. They stood apart from the others. Sir William’s mouth was downturned. Lady Balley’s eyes were bright with anger. It seemed that David’s leaving had reminded them of the publicness of their squabble. No doubt when all the guests were gone, they would start up again. Cate shivered inside. When would David be back? Where had he even gone?

Miss Maddox, hovering at the edge of a settee, looked like a startled deer. She could not meet anyone’s eyes, and kept looking desperately to the door. Cate hoped her coach would arrive soon. Her brother sat near her, looking more confused than anything else.

“I don’t understand what we’re supposed to do now,” he said. “Demery is gone. Our host is gone.”

“We are to go home,” the vicar said. “It seems Captain Demery is, uh, under the weather.”

Judging by how fast the front door had slammed, quite literally, Cate thought. Every now and then the wind crackled against the windows, but it was not raining. Nevertheless, he was wearing only thin-soled evening shoes and had no coat. He would be cold.

“He will be back,” Laurie said, looking directly at Sarah. “I would rather be here when he returns. But perhaps I would be overstaying my welcome?”

“You’re welcome to stay,” Cate said, trying not to sound too eager.

“It has been a horrid evening and I wish to go,” Mrs Demery said. “As soon as our coach is ready, we are leaving.”

Laurie sighed heavily. “As you wish, Mother. Though I don’t think it was entirely a horrid evening. Sort of stormy with silver linings, I would say.”

“It is not storming,” the vicar said helpfully. “Just a sharp breeze now and then.”

Laurie looked pityingly at him. “You are quite correct.”

Paul sat on another couch with Annabelle, looking rather green. “I cannot share your enjoyment in scandal, Laurie,” he said. “I am very sorry, Catherine, that your first real dinner should end in such… such…”

“Confusion,” Baxter suggested helpfully.

“Confusion!” Paul agreed.

It was a very polite euphemism for a catastrophe of an evening. Cate looked at Sarah, sitting in an armchair a little way from the others. She was not smiling, but there was something furtively pleased about her expression. How much had Paul known about what she was going to say? Something, judging by his apology, but not everything, judging by his pallor.

“You’re very kind, Paul,” Cate said without meaning it, because it was polite and politeness seemed to be the only refuge she had left. “Mr Baxter, would you like more coffee?”

“Thank you.”

Even as she was pouring his coffee, a maid appeared at the door to announce that the vicar’s coach was ready. He was driving Baxter home, so Baxter left his filled coffee cup on the table. Cate followed them to the front hall to see them off. It gave her a moment’s reprieve from both Sarah and her parents. She did not know how much longer she could look at Sarah’s smug face without slapping it.

“Thank you both for coming tonight,” she said. “I’m sorry it ended so abruptly. I’m sorry for any embarrassment occasioned. I didn’t mean to expose you to a family quarrel. It just happened. It does, somehow.”

“No apology is needed,” Baxter said. “I thank you for your hospitality, Mrs Demery.”

His graciousness made Cate feel worse about herself. She shook his hand, then the vicar’s, and watched them duck out into the snapping wind to their coach. As it went down the drive, Mr Maddox’s came up behind it.

“I’ll tell the Maddoxes and Paul that the coach is ready,” Cate said to the maid. “You can wait here.”

It gave her another excuse not to linger in the same room as Sarah and her parents. She went slowly back to the drawing room and announced the coach, then followed Mr and Miss Maddox and Paul and Annabelle to the door.

“It was not the night I planned,” she said, “and I’m sorry that I exposed you to the vulgarity of a family quarrel.”

“We are family now,” Paul said generously.

“I wouldn’t say close family though,” Mr Maddox said.

“Close enough to forget and forgive a little quarrel,” Paul said. He seemed to be trying to make up for something. Cate thought it would take her a little longer to forgive his involvement in tonight — if she ever truly got to the bottom of it. Perhaps forgetting would be the best she could hope for.

“Good night, all of you,” she said, not stepping for a kiss or to shake anyone’s hand. “Safe journey.”

When she got back to the drawing room, she found Mrs Demery and her parents and Sarah all sitting in opposite corners of the room regarding each other suspiciously. Only Laurie moved around the room, carrying a bottle of wine and her glass. She must have returned to the dining room for the wine bottle, but if she was inebriated she was holding it well.

“Your parents are not what I thought, Cate,” she said when Cate entered. “It sort of makes everything make sense. I feel as though I understand you now.”

“Did you not before?”

“I probably don’t now. One never does know a person as well as they think. And if they do, there’s no guarantee that person won’t change for the worse.” Laurie looked at Sarah. “There is always lower to sink, with some.”

“You have drunk too much,” Mrs Demery said. “You will embarrass yourself.”

“I am the only one in this room who is not embarrassed.”

“The only one who has shamed herself tonight is Catherine,” Lady Balley said.

“No, no, no.” Laurie shook her head. “You are shortsighted, Lady Balley. You abused your own daughter in public. Heaven forbid! Don’t you know that sort of behaviour must be done behind closed doors?”

Lady Balley’s cheeks were pink. “I will thank you not to speak to me so.”

“I don’t ask for thanks,” Laurie said.

“Please, Laurie,” Cate said. “Will you be quiet?”

Laurie looked at her, took a thoughtful glug of wine, then nodded. The room fell into silence. A clock ticked loudly on the mantelpiece. When the maid appeared at the door, Mrs Demery stood up immediately.

“It’s time to go.”

Cate followed them out too. Mrs Demery did not wait for her to wish them goodnight but marched straight out to her coach without even ducking her head against the breeze, which was starting to carry rain with it. Laurie stopped at the front door.

“You know Sarah planned this?”

“I know.”

“What are you going to do about her?”

Cate shrugged.

“Well. Telling the truth about your past lie was… very brave. Stupid, but brave. And I think it’s best that it came out, even if it hurt. Just don’t say anything more, for Luke’s sake. Don’t let them know who the father really is.”

“It will come out eventually. I realized that tonight.”

“But not before its time. Not before Luke is old enough to be told the truth and decide what he wants to do with it.”

“Maybe.” Cate had little hope of that. Miss Skinner knew, and she had no reason to keep it secret. Oliver might change his mind about it at any moment. Cate’s brothers and sisters would beg her to tell them once they learned it wasn’t Redwood.

“Definitely.” Laurie gave her a swift, unexpected hug. “Cheer up, Cate. This is only one long night of the thirty thousand odd that make up a lifetime.”

Mrs Demery called to her from the carriage, and she jumped down the steps and left. Cate watched their coach leave then stood there waiting a little longer, hoping to see David coming back. There was no shadow moving on the dark lawn, so she gave up and went back to the drawing room. She looked at Sarah, then at her parents. Her mother opened her mouth to speak.

“No,” Cate said. “There is nothing more to say. We’ve said it all, and I don’t want to shout. I suggest you go to bed, Mother.”

“It’s only ten o’clock.”

“Then I suggest you go to your room and amuse yourself, for I am done talking.”

Cate had thought she would want to fight, to argue it out, now that they were alone, but she knew there was no point. They would say the same hurtful things, time and time again, and nothing would change. And she would cry, and her parents would shout, and Sarah would watch from her corner looking smug.

“I suggest you all go to your rooms.” Cate took a candle from the mantelpiece. “Shall I take you?”

Sir William got up slowly from his armchair. “Let us go to bed.”

“I’m not tired,” Lady Balley said.

“Then read a book.” Sir William sounded grim. “She is right. There is no more to be accomplished through conversation tonight.”

Lady Balley did not dare directly oppose her husband. She stood and went to the door. Cate looked at Sarah.

“What about you?”

Sarah shrugged and gave an exaggerated yawn. “I do have a long journey tomorrow.”

She was hiding from David, Cate thought. She did not wish to see him, for she knew she had wronged Cate, and she thought Cate would do nothing about it. Cate bit the tip of her tongue. She would do something about it, but not in front of her parents. She would give Sarah no more ammunition.

They went upstairs. Cate’s parents’ bedroom was closer, so she opened the door and left them with only a word of goodnight. She and Sarah continued onwards down the gallery to Sarah’s room. At the door, Cate paused.

“I know what you did tonight,” she said.

“What do you mean?” Sarah asked. “It was not my fault.”

“You set a trap. I walked into it.”

“Oh, hardly. I did not mean to speak carelessly. I was simply under the impression—”

“Spare your breath. You wanted to humiliate me by casting doubt as to the parentage of my child. Well. You succeeded. But I don’t care. I’m done with being afraid of people’s bad opinion. There is no point being afraid of something I will never escape for the rest of my life. So there’s no need to look so smug, Sarah.”

“I’m not smug!”

“You are.” Cate turned away. “You’re so very smug. So very conceited. So very proud of yourself. Yet tomorrow you leave this house alone and no one will miss you at all. What do you have to be smug about?”

It was a low blow, but Cate wanted to hurt Sarah, just a little bit. She did not think she succeeded. Sarah only laughed and said goodnight and went into her room.

Cate went the other way. David’s bedroom was dark and cold and empty. She blew out her candle and sat down in front of his door and waited. After an hour, she was cold and numb. After two, she began to think it would be better just to go to bed and speak to him in the morning. After three, she began to wonder if he had come to some hurt outside in the dark.

Then there was a sound downstairs in the darkness. Footsteps. Someone tramping up the stairs. No candle to light their way, just a dark shadow moving through the gallery.

“David?”

“Cate?” His voice was weary. “Where are you?”

“Here.” She stumbled to her feet on legs that had long since lost all feeling. “Oof.”

He caught her with one arm, raindrops melting into her waist. “Cate. Tell me. Did you mean it? What you said tonight?”

“What did I say?”

“You said that… I was the only man you ever loved.”

“Oh.” She patted his damp coat. “You’re all wet, David. You’ll catch a cold.”

“Cate. Did you mean it?”

“Why did you run away?” she asked. “Why did you run away when I said it?”

“I had to think. Was it true, Cate?”

She was very tired. Too tired to lie, even if she was still a liar, which she was beginning to think she was not.

“Yes.” She pushed his rainy dampness gently away. “I love you. I love you, David. And… and now I know you’re safe, and come home, I’m going to bed.”

“Oh. Goodnight.”

That was a painful response to hear. She stared through the dark at the shadow of his body, wishing she could see the expression on his face. “Does it make a difference to you?” she asked. “That I love you?”

“Yes.” His shadowy bulk moved closer. “Actually, Cate…” His breath pricked the silence of the room. “Cate… Come… Come…”

“David?”

“Come to my bed.” The words were barely even a whisper. “Come here. Cate. Come here.”

__

2023-06-25: I was going to end this chapter with a kiss but… things changed.

Chapter Thirty-One: Like a Flood

David went around his room lighting candles. Not one or two, to guide their way to bed, but all the candles in all the braces on the walls. Cate sat curled up in an armchair watching him, her heart racing despite the stillness of her body. They were both still in their evening dress, which she supposed would be the first obstacle, but he had removed his shoes and stockings and rested them on the empty grate to dry. There was something terrifyingly intimate about his bare feet. She did not often see a man’s bare feet, except perhaps her brothers’, and even Luke hardly counted as a man.

When every last candle was lit, David came over and sat down on the chair opposite her.

“I had to think about it,” he said. “I went for a long walk to think about you.”

“And what did you decide?”

He leaned forward so he could take her hand in his. “Nothing. I just… kept repeating it to myself, and wondering if it could be true.”

“It is. I love you.” It was easier to say now she knew he wanted to hear it. “It took a long time coming, but when it did, it came like a flood.”

“It did?” David dropped to his knees on the ground before her so he could kiss her hand. “What changed?”

“I don’t know. You.” She touched his wind-chilled cheek. “Kiss me.”

“I didn’t change.” He nosed around her shoulder, not kissing her, not even really touching her, just getting close and breathing her in. “Cate, I lied just now. I did decide something out there.”

“I know. I’m here. I’m yours.” She touched his coat sleeve and shuddered. “You’re damp. Take off your clothes.”

“I’m getting there.” The barest flash of a smile crossed his lips. “Sorry. It started to rain. I was miles away and had no choice but to walk back in it.”

“You could have taken shelter.”

He shrugged off his coat and let it fall to the floor. “I knew you would be waiting for me.”

“Yes. You made me wait. Alone with our guests.” She tugged at his cravat. “David. That was not nice.”

“Cate. Darling. Sweetheart.” He caught her hand in his, stopping her from removing his cravat. “I’m sorry. I had to get out of there. I had to move. I’m not very good at feelings, and I felt a lot of things when you said…”

“I love you,” she prompted.

“Yes. That.” He kissed the inner side of her wrist. “It makes my heart race. Take off my cravat now.”

She loosened the knot and pulled it off him. His shirt slipped open to reveal a triangle of pale brown flesh, lightly downed with black hair. She stroked the hollow of his neck.

“Where’s your scar?” She asked. “You have a scar, don’t you?”

“Lower than that.” He brought her hand downwards to where his waistcoat covered his lower ribs. “Here.”

“Does it hurt?”

“No. Not one bit.”

“Can I see?”

He ruffled the skirt of her evening dress. “Not yet. It’s your turn now.”

“Fine.” She leaned down to pull her slippers off, but he stopped her by taking her hand.

“Let me,” he said.

His hands were delicate as he undid her straps and pulled her slippers off. Then his fingers slid upwards, over her calf, and played with her garters under the cover of her skirts.

“Can I untie them without looking?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Can you?”

“Hm.” His fingers played over her flesh, probing delicately, sending anticipation tingling up her legs. “Is it… this way?”

“David. When are you going to kiss me?”

“Hm.” He kissed her absentmindedly on the knee through her skirts while he tugged at her garter. “I’ve almost got it.”

“You’ve never kissed me. Not once.”

“I have actually.”

“Properly.”

One garter came loose and her stocking slipped down her calf. He met her gaze as he unpeeled it all the way with gentle, patient fingers. “Not until we’re both in bare feet.”

“Do you mean to torture me?”

“Absolutely.” He stroked her other leg under her skirts, searching for her garter. “Your legs are beautiful, Cate.”

“You can’t even see them.”

“I’m doing better than looking.” He was quicker this time, and her other stocking came off in moments. “Come here.”

The tremble in his voice told her that he was not as confident as his words suggested. She scooted to the edge of the armchair and he knelt up and stroked her cheek.

“What if you don’t like me?” he said.

“I love you.”

“Of course.” He kissed her cheek softly, then worked his way down towards her lips. “Don’t stop saying it.”

She would have said it again, but his mouth found hers and prevented it. She wrapped her arms around him, finding more rain dampness in his hair and the back of his neck. It was a long, deep kiss. When they finally broke apart, he rested his face in the crook of her neck as he caught his breath.

“At some point, quite soon, I’m going to pick you up and carry you to bed,” he said into her neck.

“Good.” She twisted her face to kiss the corner of his jaw. “We’d better take some more clothes off first.”

“Mmm.” He kissed her shoulder and ran his hands over the back of her dress. “How does it come off?”

“You first. Your waistcoat. Your shirt. Show me your scar.”

“Fine.” He fumbled with his buttons. “I hope you… I hope you like me.”

“David. I’ve been dreaming of you for weeks. I can’t even be sure this isn’t a dream.”

He kissed her on the mouth again, hungrily. “Not a dream.”

She helped with his buttons and slid his waistcoat over his shoulders. They were hot and hard under the thin silk of his shirt. She grazed her teeth across one on violent, instinctive impulse, then tugged his shirt out from his trousers. He helped her, lifting it over his head and discarding it carelessly on the ground behind him. The down of black hair continued in a triangle down his chest before narrowing to a strip down his lean belly. She traced it with her fingers until she found the bald patch on his ribcage where a flat white scar showed. She kissed it softly.

“Was it dangerous?” she asked.

“It could have been. I was lucky that day.”

“Thank god you quit.” She trailed kisses up his chest to his neck and found his mouth again. “I need you.”

For an interval, she had him, then he broke away and tugged once more at her evening gown. “How does this come off?”

“At the back.” She twisted around in the armchair. “Laces.”

There were a lot of laces, but while his hands worked on them, his mouth worked on the back of her neck, which was quite pleasant. At the same time, Cate ran her hands through her hair, disentangling the ribbons and dislodging the pins. She wanted to feel his hands running through it, once they weren’t so occupied with her dress.

At last, her dress came undone. He unearthed her from its enveloping folds and tossed it aside, leaving her in her stays and shift, then stood and pulled her bodily into his arms. She clung to his neck as he carried her to the bed and draped her down upon it.

“I’ve wanted to do this for months,” he muttered.

“Why didn’t you?” she asked, her hands still around his neck.

He shook his head and crawled on top of her, straddling her. Heat rose inside her, but he tugged her hands from his neck and flipped her onto her belly so he could access her stays.

“More laces,” he grumbled.

“Why didn’t you do it?” she stretched her hands under his cool pillows and relaxed, enjoying the pressure of his weight resting on the back of her thighs while he pulled at her stays. “I would have let you.”

“I want more than that.” He paused to bend and kiss her shoulder. “I want you to want me.”

“I do want you, David. I love you. I’ve been in love with you since… since my birthday, I think it was. It took a long time to come, but when it did, it came like a flood. And you were so damn polite, so proper, you and your intolerable civility.” She twisted over onto her back to face him, her insides sparking at the contact between his straddled legs and her thighs. “You said sorry when I kissed you. And you talked things out so reasonably. And you refused to consider sleeping with me — even only yesterday afternoon.”

“I refused to consider bedding you to please your father,” David corrected, gliding a hand down over her hips and between her legs as if finding out where the folds of her shift would lead. “You must agree that he has no place in this conversation.”

“Yes, but then I said…” she faded off as his hand reached the natural destination of its course. “Mmph.”

“Then I asked you to persuade me to change my mind.” David’s fingers struggled against the fabric of her shift. “You made no attempt to persuade me.”

“That’s not what you said!” She arched against his hand. “I had no idea what you meant! What you wanted from me!”

“Only your love. I thought that much was obvious. Clearly I was wrong.” He took the chance to flip her back over on her belly again so he could finish with her stays. “Darling, I will see you naked before I finish you. I want to see you naked.”

That explained all the candles. “I’ve had a baby, David. I’m not…”

“You’re beautiful.” He pulled her stays apart. “I promise you, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I’ve always thought that, from the moment I met you. No. From the moment I first saw you. And I never stopped thinking that. Not for a moment.”

“Really?” She turned over again and sat up so he could pull her loosened stays over her head. “Even the moments when you hated me?”

“I hated you more for being so beautiful.” He kissed her gently. “But even when I hated you, Cate, I never stopped loving you.”

“You did.”

“No.” He laid a trail of caressing kisses down her neck. “It was only ever you. I walked into that crowded ballroom two years ago and I saw you and I fell in love. Like being struck by lightning.” He pushed the sleeve of her shift off her shoulder with his lips. “And after you broke my heart, I tried so hard to find another woman I could love, but I couldn’t because my broken heart was full of you. No room for anyone else. There never was. There never will be.”

“David.” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed the top of his head. “Davie. Darling. I didn’t know. I never knew how much you loved me. You never told me. And I couldn’t have guessed.” Even now, she was not quite sure she understood.

“Love you.” His kisses were sneaking beneath the low collar of her shift now, making her body light up inside in ways she had not known it could. “Let me tell you now: I love you, Cate.”

It could hardly be the same love as the love he had felt when he first saw her across that crowded ballroom, Cate thought, but it didn’t matter. It would be a stronger love for knowing her better. A greater love for being loved in return.

“Then love me,” she said, lying back on the pillows and pulling him down with her. “And I’ll love you.”

__

2023-06-26: Look. Not just one kiss. A whole damn chapter devoted to making out. … I always get nervous about these bits. It’s sort of like PDA.

Chapter Thirty-Two: Malicious Ends

Cate woke to the sound of Luke crying in the distance. She lay with her eyes shut wondering why he was so far away, stretched out to find the edge of the mattress, and found instead a warm, naked body. David.

She opened her eyes. He was sleeping. But then, they had only fallen asleep as dawn had started to lighten the room. When they had not been talking, they had been making love, and when they had not been making love, they had been talking. There were a lot of things they hadn’t known about each other. More things to discover still no doubt.

She kissed his shoulder and slipped out of bed, slowly so as not to disturb him. Their clothes were scattered about the floor of his room, but she could not see where her shift had ended up, so she padded naked to the door that separated their suites and tried to turn the key in the lock. It would not budge. She stared at the door, perplexed, and tried again. Nothing.

“Cate?”

She had woken David after all. “I have to go to Luke.”

“Mph.” He was clearly still half-asleep.

“The key won’t turn,” she added, jiggling it.

“Door’s not locked,” David grunted.

Cate tried the handle. Sure enough, it turned and the door swung open.

“When did you stop locking it?” she asked.

David grunted and rolled over to plant his face in a pillow. That was clearly the only answer she would get right now, and Luke was still crying distantly. Cate shrugged and went through. In her bedroom, she paused long enough to find a dressing gown and slip it around her. When she came into Luke’s room, he was starting to quiet himself. She picked him up and soothed him.

“Sorry, darling. Mama’s late this morning.”

“Hungy,” he sobbed. “M’hungy.”

He tugged at the front of her dressing gown. She was meant to be weaning him, but she loosened her collar and sat down to let him nurse, feeling guilty for staying away all night. Not entirely away, but further than the next room, which in Luke’s small world might as well have been miles.

After Luke’s hunger was soothed, Cate changed and dressed him and called a maid to prepare a boiled egg for Luke and tea for herself so that they both could face the day properly. Then she took Luke into her bedroom to play with his toys on the floor while she washed and tidied herself. While she was brushing her hair, there came a knock at the door and David entered, dressed in plain riding clothes. There were shadows under his eyes from lack of sleep, but he was smiling.

“I haven’t locked that door in weeks,” he said. “It stopped being necessary a long time ago.”

Weeks. The idea of it sent flickers of joy throughout her body. She wondered for how long she might have just walked through at night and crept into his bed. Though if she had, they might not have said all the things they had last night. “I’m going to be using it a lot more from now on.”

“I certainly hope so.” He kissed her gently on the lips. “I’m going to see Sarah off in a moment. See her to the coach. Make sure she leaves.”

The reminder of Sarah’s existence dulled Cate’s joy. “David, I hope you understand that I can’t possibly host her here again. She said those things last night deliberately, to humiliate me.”

“I know, and I’m sorry.” He rubbed her hand. “I promise you, she will never spend another night under our roof. I think she already knows that, but I’m going to make sure she understands.”

The seriousness of his tone gave Cate an unexpected shiver of anticipation. Or perhaps it was the fact that he was still holding her hand.

“I’m also going to take your parents out to the quarry today,” David added. “I think it would be best if you and they spent a little time apart, after last night’s argument.”

Cate shook her head. “You’re a darling and you’re not wrong, but I need to speak with them first. We left our argument unfinished last night. By now, they might have decided they want to leave immediately.”

“And what do you want, Cate?”

She hesitated; she had invited them down here to offer them an olive branch after all, and before their argument yesterday her father had been obnoxious but not unamenable. “I don’t want to throw them out. Not if they want to stay.”

“And what if they make life painful for you?”

“They will.” She squeezed his hand. “That’s what they do. But if they respect my wishes and don’t ask about Luke’s parentage, then I can tolerate the little hurts.”

“For my sake or yours?”

“For theirs, David.”

“Kind woman.” He kissed her, deeper and more lingeringly this time. “I will do what I can to help.”

“I know.” She kissed him back.

A pleasant interlude followed, broken only by the sound of Luke’s disgusted yell.

“Papa! Papa! Wook! Wook!”

He had crawled out from under the bed carrying a dusty rattle and wanted David’s attention.

“Oh dear.” Cate sighed. “I’ve neglected him, last night and this morning. Even just now.”

“I didn’t even know he was in the room.” David picked Luke up and tossed him lightly up and down. “Hello, young man. Yes, hello. I am looking at you. I can see you.”

Luke, appeased by the attention, allowed himself to be tucked against one arm and banged his rattle against David’s chest. David looked at Cate’s bed, then turned back to Cate.

“Do you usually get up in the night for him?” he asked.

“Sometimes, not always, now. But I felt very far away from him this morning.”

“Hmm.” David pinched Luke’s nose. “The door, of course, works both ways.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that as well as you coming into my room, I might come into yours. Then neither me nor the boy would be far away from you.”

The shyness of his voice was at odds with the acquisitive gleam in his eyes. Heat rose over Cate’s body and radiated from her cheeks. “Tonight?”

“And tomorrow. And the night after that. And after that. We have many lost hours to make up for, my dear.”

Cate’s cheeks were on fire now. “I’d like that.”

With Luke in one arm, he couldn’t properly embrace her, but he pulled her closer and gave her a promising sort of kiss. “Good. Then I’ll go and deal with Sarah now.”

He passed Luke back into her arms, squeezed her shoulder one more time, and left the room. Smiling to herself, Cate finished doing her hair and getting dressed. In the middle of this, the tea and boiled egg she had ordered came, so she fed Luke and drank her tea. Then she left Luke with the maid and went to see her parents. They had never been late risers, and were already up and dressed in their room with a tray of tea and toast when she came in.

“To what do we owe this pleasure?” her mother said acidly.

“Good morning, Mother,” Cate said. “I thought we needed to talk after what happened last night.”

Her father looked at her from over the rim of his tea cup. “Indeed.”

His tone was cool, but not hostile. Despite that, Cate felt the old, familiar frisson of fear down her spine. She steeled herself against it; he could not hurt her in her own house.

“We had an argument that was unpleasant for both of us,” she said. “I would like to resolve things peacefully so that we can all enjoy the rest of your visit.”

“It would give me peace to know the truth,” Sir William said.

She shook her head. “I will answer no questions about Luke’s father. That is my secret to keep. If you ask, we will only argue again, and then I will have to ask you to leave. If you do not ask, I will be privileged to host you here as long as you wish and I will make every effort to make sure your stay is comfortable.”

Lady Balley’s eyes glittered with displeasure, but she would not speak before Sir William had made his opinion clear, in case she disagreed with him. His heavy gaze was fixed upon Cate, thin lips working away as he considered the question.

“You are doing me an injustice,” he said. “My natural instinct is to punish the man who corrupted you. You are denying me that fulfilment.”

“I am.”

“And you lied to me.”

“I did. I should have told you from the beginning that I would never let slip the real name.”

Sir William breathed out through his nostrils the way a bull breathes out before charging, but the torrent of fury Cate expected did not come. Instead, he set his jaw.

“Very well then,” he said. “I agree to your terms. We will stay.”

“But remark I am not pleased,” Lady Balley said sharply. “I have a liar for a daughter, as well as a jade.”

“We do.” Sir William scowled. “But we have a daughter, Honora, for all her faults.”

Something had changed in her father, Cate realized, perhaps during their argument last night. Or perhaps she had never seen it in him until now, too blinded by her fear of his manner to see the strange, thorny affection that lay beneath it. An affection without understanding, an affection without affinity, but an affection all the same. It made her uncomfortable to recognize it.

But discomfort was not quite the same as hurt. She could tolerate discomfort, for her sake as well as theirs.

“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you very much.”

---

David found Sarah waiting in the front hall for the last of her things to be installed on the hired chaise to take her back to London. She wore a luxurious, over-decorated travelling cloak, silk gloves, and a lacy hat. He thought she looked ridiculous, because all he could think of was the amount of dust and mud that her silk and lace would encounter on the road. When his footsteps sounded on the hall floor, she turned to him.

“I’m so sorry about last night,” she said. “I had no idea that my words would inspire Catherine to say such a thing.”

“You certainly did not,” David said. “You thought she would be too cowardly to say anything at all. You hoped only to embarrass her, to make her feel threatened. You hoped to hurt her. You always were a bully.”

“Do not wrong me, cousin. I spoke out of turn, yes, but not to such malicious ends!”

“Oh, Sarah.” David shook his head. “I warned you. Speak no ill of my wife, for I chose her, for all her flaws, above all the other women in England. Above you, in all ways. You will never return to Plas Bryn, Sarah. After you leave today, these doors will forever be closed to you.”

The pleased expression in her eyes faded to a haughty frown. “You do not mean it.”

“I mean every word. You will never be invited to Plas Bryn again.”

“You will change your mind.”

He shook his head. “Never.”

Behind her, the servants carried the last of her trunks out to the coach. She turned to watch them, the frown deepening on her face.

“It was my home first,” she said. “If Father had been able to break the entail, he would have left it to me.”

“The world is very unfair to daughters,” David said. “If you had not hurt my wife, I might have more sympathy for you. As it is, Plas Bryn is my home now and my home is closed to your forevermore.”

She gave a cold, short laugh. “Not never, I think. Paul is friendlier to me than you are.”

“I have an idea that it will not matter how friendly Paul is to you, Sarah. Perhaps, as a parting favour, you will do me the grace of warning him not to hold high hopes of inheriting Plas Bryn. It would save me an awkward conversation with my brother.”

The cold curve to her lips faded. “What do you mean?”

“You are too old to be ignorant of my meaning. Here. Your groom is waiting. I will escort you out.”

He took Sarah’s elbow in his hand and drew her sharply towards the front door. She stumbled to keep up with his pace.

“I can’t believe it!” she said. “After all that woman did to you! Are you so easily tempted by a pretty face!? Or do you enjoy being hen-pecked and cuckolded?”

“She never hen-pecked me,” David said.

“But she did cuckold you! She may do again! She will do, I wager!”

David thrust Sarah out over the threshold. Her groom was waiting with the packed coach and readied horses on the gravel sweep below.

“I told you before, say no ill about my wife.” David practically dragged Sarah down the steps. “She loves me. That makes all the difference in the world. It changes everything that came before.”

“I loved you!”

“Did you really?” David still doubted it was really love. He shrugged. “But you’re not Cate, you see, so it makes no difference.” He opened the coach door and held out his hand to help her up. “I bid you goodbye, cousin.”

She ignored his hand and clambered into the coach, rather awkward in her ostentatious cloak. “Farewell, David. I hope one day you understand how you—”

He shut the door on her. There was no point trying to get the last word with Sarah. She always had more to say. As her carriage rolled away, his anger faded and he surprised himself by laughing. What did Sarah matter, really? His beautiful wife was upstairs with their son and she loved him. There was too much to be happy about to spare a moment’s annoyance for someone like Sarah.

A spray of yellow roses in the sweep border caught his eye. He snapped one off for Cate. It would make a pleasant excuse to talk to her for a few minutes before breakfast, and he might be rewarded with a kiss. Or if he was not, it would give him the chance to steal one.

Smiling to himself, he went back indoors to find her.

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2023-06-30: Last full chapter just to tie up some loose ends. I considered having Cate break from her parents completely, but honestly if she can put up with Mrs Demery, she can put up with them. They don’t even live close by. Epilogue will be up in an hour.

Epilogue

— August —

The air was still and the sky was deep blue today. When she had woken in the morning, Cate had seen that it was going to be one of the last really warm days of summer. David was busy working, or she might have begged him to take her and Luke down to the beach to splash in the shallows, hunt for shells, and have a picnic. As it was, she settled for playing with Luke in the garden all morning. She was getting freckles on her nose, but it was hard to mind them very much when David said he loved them.

Luke was starting to run and climb now. By mid-afternoon, Cate was exhausted from running after him and it was starting to get very hot. She packed up their blanket and his toys and tried to persuade him to go indoors. She was successful only in setting off a tantrum, which only proved that he was more tired than his running about would suggest. She picked him up and carried him indoors and settled him down in bed. Barely a moment after she had got the screaming to stop, he was asleep, his little chest swelling in and out and his little thumb between his front teeth. She stayed to watch him for several moments, exhausted herself but very happy with the picture he made.

“You’re a lot of work,” she said. “Babies in general, I mean.”

David had been suggesting lately that they hire a dedicated nursemaid for him. At first, Cate had been affronted by the idea of it. She had always been enough for Luke before. But then David had pointed out that it would not always be just Luke. He had spoken of the matter very casually, as a distant eventuality. All the same, it had startled Cate.

She went to her room, took her hat off, and examined herself cautiously in the mirror. There was no visible difference about her, unless you counted the freckles on her nose. All the same, she felt different. Bigger, even if she didn’t look it yet. So tired lately, so prone to tears, even when nothing was wrong. And she had no appetite. She had had no appetite with Luke either.

It was probably time to tell David.

She went downstairs and knocked on the door of his study.

“Come in,” he said.

He was with Benson, talking over a pile of charts and maps on his desk. When he saw her, his eyes crinkled in a smile.

“Cate, dear. Do you need me?”

“If you can spare a moment for an interruption.” She hesitated. “It might be a long moment, Mr Benson.”

“Our business is all but concluded. It was good news today, Mrs Demery.” Benson reached over the table and picked up a lump of dark grey rock. “Take a look at this.”

She took the rock in her hand. “Slate?”

“A sample from the preliminary mine shafts. We will be able to begin the actual mining operations sooner than we thought.”

“That is very good news indeed.”

Benson shook her hand. “Indeed it is. You will be rich. Good day, Mrs Demery. I will see you tomorrow, Demery.”

He left the room. David looked after him, bemused. “That was almost rude,” he said.

“I think he was being solicitous, actually.” Cate put the lump of slate back on the desk. “He knows what my little interruptions mean.”

“Mmm? What do they mean?” David got up from behind the desk and came around to the other side to lean against it and watch her. “Tell me, darling. Why did you interrupt me today?”

She bit back a smile. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

“Oh?” He frowned. “Will it wait? You’ve just reminded me of something I have for you.”

“It can wait. What is it?”

He turned around and hunted through the pile of charts. “My groom brought a letter for me a short while ago. It was passed on to him by Paul when he went to Conwy yesterday. It’s from your brother Luke.”

“Luke!” Cate joined David at the desk. “Is that it?”

“No, here it is.” David unearthed a slim folded sheet from under a map of the hills. “What does it say?”

Cate tore the seal and skimmed it. Luke had never been a great letter writer and the letter was not more than a few short paragraphs.

“He’s well. He has a new colt which he is breaking in. Everyone else is well, I presume, or he would have mentioned their illness. He wants to know if baby Luke speaks yet — is he ever quiet!? Oh! He’s coming. In October, he’ll be attending a hunting party in Shropshire and he’ll sneak over for a day or two then.”

Cate’s father was still adamant that his other children would not see her, though he had softened enough to send a letter every now and then informing her of what they were up to. Cate sighed deeply.

“That’s very lucky,” David said. “The first of many visits, I hope.”

“Indeed. Perhaps my father will even change his mind soon.”

“It might take a little more time, Cate dear. He is difficult to convince.”

“Yes, but…” If she was right in her suspicions, her father would soften further.

David looked enquiringly at her. “What is it?”

“The thing I came to talk to you about.” Cate folded Luke’s letter and put it in her pocket. “David, a few weeks ago you suggested hiring a nursemaid?”

“And you hated the notion of it.” He reached out an arm to pull her closer, so he could rest his hands on her hips. “You’ve come to tell me you’ve changed your mind.”

“I’ve been thinking about it.” She closed her hands over his. “I can look after Luke by myself.”

“I know.” He dipped his head and kissed her. “I don’t doubt your abilities, darling. I just think a little help might make things easier.” He kissed her again, more intimately. “Give us some more time alone together.” His hands shifted around behind her. “The adorable brat seems to wake up at the most inconvenient times.”

“He finds it hard to sleep when it’s hot.” Cate positioned herself against the desk, ready for him to lift her onto it. “Don’t get carried away, darling. We really must talk.”

“I’m not carried away.” He got his hands under her thighs and shunted her up onto the edge of the desk, his mouth working away at her collarbone all the while. “I can listen and kiss you.”

It was somewhat more than kissing. Cate shut her eyes and let him do it.

“I can look after Luke by myself,” she repeated, “but… but, Davie darling… I don’t think I can look after two by myself.”

He froze then slowly raised his head from her chest. His face was rather white. “Cate. You don’t mean…”

“I think so.” Her hands trembled. “I can’t be sure, but I think so.”

He backed away from her and sank slowly down into an armchair. “Oh.” He stared blindly at her. “Oh!”

For a few long moments, he was quite speechless, then he began to smile.

“You really mean it? You’re with child?”

“It seems more than likely. I don’t want to give you any false hope though. I could be wrong yet.”

He shook his head. “Come here. Let me hold you.”

She came and curled up on his lap. He wrapped his arms around her and rested his head on her shoulder.

“I don’t think you’re wrong.”

“You don’t want to think I’m wrong.”

“True.” He kissed her shoulder. “You don’t think you’re wrong?”

“I don’t.” She played with the collar of his coat. “With every day that passes, I’m a little more certain about it.”

“Good.” He found her mouth and kissed her properly. “Perfect. Wonderful. We’re going to have another baby. Cate, I’m so happy.”

Tears came to her eyes at the words, more evidence in favour of her suspicion. She closed her eyes and kissed him back. “Me too, darling. Me too.”

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2023-06-30: And it’s over with a baby on the way ;) Thank you so much for reading, everyone <3 I’ve felt so much support while writing this novel. I really appreciate you all <333