Authors: Jillian Hart
“I had hoped for something that would make me less visible. CatâMiss Catherine,” he hurried to correct himself, “suggested you might make a costume that disguised my height.”
“You can hunch over.” Mme. Dupont gave a very Gallic shrug. “Zat will disguise you, M. Bradby.”
“Hardly.” He stepped off the box.
Cat turned to him. “That you are wearing such grim colors may be your best disguise, Jonathan.”
He wished he could capture her beautiful smile that rose to sparkle in her dark eyes. He wanted to take the image with him when he left Meriweather Hall and was again alone.
“And what costume will you wear?” he asked, returning her smile.
Mme. Dupont looked up from where she leaned over a piece of paper. “Mademoiselle will be a shepherdess.”
“A bit of a cliché, no?” he asked, arching a brow at Cat.
“True, for many women dress as shepherdesses for masquerades,” Cat said. “But this is the first time that I have had a chance, and I have a wonderful costume. Do you think we should dress Jobby up as a lamb?”
He laughed. “Only if you want the whole ball disrupted.”
Though he wanted to continue their lighthearted conversation, Mme. Dupont asked Cat for her opinion on the sketch of his costume. It was simple, and he doubted he would be able to decipher any of the lines drawn on top of each other. Cat seemed to have no problems because she pointed to one part of the odd costume, then to another.
“You will need to use a stiff fabric to make the mask stand up,” Cat said. “Will you use linen stiffened with paste?”
Mme. Dupont nodded, an expression of relief easing her tense face. “That is exactly what I will do.” Gathering up the pages, she added, “I have all I need for today, M. Bradby. I will return by week's end with ze first pieces for your costume. Then we shall make zem fit
vous
perfectly.”
He struggled not to smile at her fractured French as he said, “
Merci beaucoup,
madame
.
”
Again the seamstress started, but then comprehension brightened her face. She nodded and began to sort through her supplies on the other side of the room.
Jonathan went to where Cat still studied the drawing Mme. Dupont had made. As he neared, she picked up the book she had been carrying and held it under her left arm, obscuring its title.
“Are you enjoying that book?” he asked, knowing he might be overstepping the boundaries of good manners.
“Yes.” Color flared up her face, and she shifted the book to her other side, away from him.
He considered asking another question, then remembered that he had no right to probe into her life when he was keeping such a vital secret himself. But he could not refrain from thinking about the young man Meriweather had mentioned. He should ask his friend the whole story, but he did not want to discompose Meriweather again.
Behind them, the
modiste
muttered to herself as she spread some pearl gray silk on a table. For his costume or for something else?
In little more than a whisper, Cat murmured, “You should not tease her by speaking French.”
“I know. It is not a Christian act, and I will apologize to her.”
She grasped his coat sleeve as he turned to go to where Mme. Dupont was now scowling at the silk. “Don't! That will show her that you do not believe her illusion of being a French
modiste
.”
“But you and your sister know the truth. Why keep pretending?” He fought to keep his voice low as vexation bubbled up inside him. Another illusion intended to impress others. He had endured enough of that with his family.
“Because it matters to her, and that should be reason enough to comply.”
He was about to fire back another sharp retort but halted himself when he saw the dismay on her face. He admired her tender heart that had made him feel welcome at Meriweather Hall. Yet to allow another delusion to continue... For Cat, he would say nothing.
He nodded, and was rewarded by her scintillating smile that seemed to reach inside him and ease the iron bands wrapped so tightly around his heart.
“You will be happy with your costume,” she said.
“She didn't know what to do with the mask until you made your suggestion.”
Cat picked up the pencil and drew a few lines on the page. “For the past ten years or so, Sophia and I have created the effigies for the annual Guy Fawkes Night bonfire in Sanctuary Bay, and we learned to use paste and thin fabric to mold the shapes we needed.”
“What changes are you making?”
“Nothing much.” She folded the drawing and secured it with the pencil. “You looked upset when Mme. Dupont mentioned a sedate waistcoat.”
“I assure you that I can dispense with my peacock colors for one night.” He hesitated, then said, “It might start a new trend for me. Even I get bored with gaudy colors after a while.”
“Then why wear them?”
“If I didn't, Meriweather would be disappointed. He enjoys laughing at my bright waistcoats.”
“You are a good friend.”
“Because he is. I appreciate how your family has made me feel welcome here.” As she looked up at him with her luscious eyes, he added, “Very welcome.”
She quickly lowered her gaze. “You are free to go, Jonathan, but I must remain for my fitting. I dislike these initial fittings the most.”
“Initial? The wedding is not much more than five weeks away. If she isn't finished with your gown for that, she should not be wasting time making me a costume for the ball.”
Cat laughed, surprising him. “This fitting is for a riding habit for me to take to London.” Her nose wrinkled. “Having a whole wardrobe made here to go to Town seems so silly.”
Jonathan swallowed hard, feeling as if she had just driven her fist into his gut. Was he wrong about Cat? Even though she had not reached London yet, she already was acting as if, once she was fired off, anything from the country could not be worth a fig.
Would he lose her, too, to the world of delusions woven through the Season?
Chapter Six
T
he long-case clock marked the hour with a single chime, and Vera stood and rubbed her lower back. “I must get back to the vicarage, Catherine. Gregory planned to spend the day making calls on sick and elderly parishioners, and I like to have a good meal waiting for him after such a long day.”
“Thank you for coming and keeping me sane.” Catherine stared at the pile of papers in front of her. “If I had an excuse to flee from this jumble, I would, too.”
“If you need me to stayâ”
“Nonsense. We have made such little headway during the past two hours, there isn't much hope we would make much more in another hour.”
Vera gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and then left.
Catherine considered scooping up the pages and tossing them into the air. Maybe they would make more sense when they were scattered on the floor.
She dropped into the chair behind the desk and stared at the pages. Some had been simple to sort, but others refused to fit into any of the categories she had devised.
“Why such a grim expression?”
She smiled when she saw Jonathan in the doorway. His ginger hair was windblown, so she knew he must be just back from the call Cousin Edmund and he had made on Lord Ashland. When he walked in, cool fresh air wafted from him.
“I have made a complete muddle of the plans for my sister's wedding and the Christmas ball,” she replied.
“That is a grand statement, and one I find impossible to believe.”
She flung out her hand toward the cluttered desk. “Look at this mess. I have tried to sort these pages out, so I can deal with them more efficiently, but it is hopeless.” She leaned forward and propped her forehead against the heels of her palms. “Or maybe I am.”
“What did you tell me about elbows on the table?”
“This isn't a table.” She did not feel like being teased out of her dreary mood. “It is a desk.”
“So the rules are different?”
In spite of herself, Catherine grinned as she raised her head. “You aren't going to allow me to wallow in self-pity, are you?”
“I have done enough of that for everyone in North Yorkshire, so no, I shan't allow that.”
“Why have you been pitying yourself?”
His cheerful smile did not match the intensity in his eyes, but his voice remained light. “That is no topic for a sunny afternoon. The wind is light, and the air is the warmest it has been since I arrived at Meriweather Hall. Let's take a walk.”
“But you just came in.”
“From a long and disagreeable call on Lord Ashland. Your company will be far more pleasant. What do you say?”
“I say that I would agree to just about anything to avoid looking at these papers.” She stood and came around the desk.
“Good.” He crooked his arm toward her. “Taking the air will clear your head.”
Catherine put her hand on his arm and knew he was mistaken. Just standing close to him and touching him, even chastely, made her head spin. Every breath she took was flavored with the scents that were uniquely hisâthe soap his shirt had been washed in, the lush aroma of his wool coat, the woodsy tang left from his ride through the evergreen trees toward Lord Ashland's estate. When his lips tipped upward, she smiled, too. Being with him made her feel lighter, as if her burdens had fallen away.
She matched her steps to his as they went into the hallway. When he stepped away to give a footman instructions to fetch her wraps, she was astonished by the strength of her regret. It was almost a physical force.
Catherine made sure her face was serene when Jonathan turned to her. He smiled and suggested they bring Jobby with them. Nothing more than friendship was visible in his expression. And why should she expect more? He had been the pattern-card of bonhomie since his arrival. Even when he could not hide more potent emotions, he made every attempt not to trouble her or anyone else with them. He was the perfect guest.
But he had created a facade to hide the real Jonathan Bradby. She could not help wondering why and what part of him he felt he must conceal. Both her cousin and Charles spoke of him with the greatest admiration.
“You could have warned me,” Jonathan said, drawing her out of her thoughts, “that Ashland is a high stickler. He barely deigned to speak to either Meriweather or me.”
“He keeps much to himself.” She tried to remember when she had last seen the viscount, but could not. “You shouldn't be offended by his lack of welcome.”
“I'm not, but your cousin's nose was put out of joint.”
“I will assure him that Lord Ashland's attitude has nothing to do with him.”
Jonathan grimaced. “Maybe you can persuade him that Ashland was within his rights to decline helping to halt the smugglers.”
Catherine did not answer as the footman had returned with her wraps. While Jonathan held her gloves and bonnet, she drew on her pelisse. Poor Cousin Edmund! He was determined to put an end to smugglers intruding on Meriweather Hall lands. He must be furious at Lord Ashland's response.
She focused on closing the frogs on her pelisse. The idea that Jonathan would need to help her, standing so close that she would be aware of each breath he took, threatened to undo her already shaky composure.
“I will talk to Cousin Edmund,” she said as she took her bonnet from Jonathan.
“Give him time to simmer down. He is near his boiling point.”
“I will.” She smiled as she pulled on her gloves. “It sounds as if we all need to clear our heads.”
She followed him out of the house with Foggin in tow. Another footman was sent to bring Jobby out to join them.
Jonathan had been right. It was a lovely day, too lovely to remain indoors while she and Vera tried to make sense of the papers. When the puppy rushed up, tail wagging with excitement and jangling, she asked, “Is he wearing bells?”
“Some of us,” Foggin answered quietly, “believe it will be easier to keep track of him if he wears a belled collar.”
“And he looks quite stylish,” Jonathan added.
Bending, she saw a leather collar with three bells hanging from it hooked around Jobby's neck, almost lost in his thick hair. She petted his head. “Aren't you a handsome chap?”
His tail wagged even more vigorously in answer.
“Do you want to stay in the garden or go farther afield?” Catherine asked Jonathan. “We could walk down to the beach.”
He smiled. “So you can look for mermaid tears?”
“As I told you, we seldom find any on the beach below the headland, but who knows?”
Jobby ran ahead of them and then back as Catherine led the way down the steep curving path to the beach. The footman remained at the top of the cliff where he would have them in view all the time. Several times the dog almost knocked her or Jonathan off the path, so she was relieved when they were on flat ground again.
The beach was beautiful in the bright sunshine that sparkled like hundreds of individual diamonds off the low waves. In the distance, the village clung to its cliff, but it was too far away for any sounds to reach them. A ship sailed out near the horizon, barely little more than an outline of its sails.
Catherine tried to commit every detail of the scene to memory, so she could draw it before she went to sleep. The time she once used for prayers was now used for drawing. She did not understand how, but spending time with her art made her feel closer to God. He had given her a love of art, a true gift she treasured. She reminded herself of that each time she felt the void left since her father's death and the memory of how distant God had become when she had prayed to Him.
Jonathan picked up a stone and tossed it along the beach. The puppy sped away, sending clumps of sand high in the air. He caught the stone on the first bounce. Catherine was astonished when the pup came back, tail wagging like a jaunty flag, and dropped the stone by their feet. Mouth open, tongue fallen over the side, he looked from the stone to Jonathan and back with a clear message to throw it again. Jonathan did. Over and over as they walked along the sand. Jobby never tired of chasing and retrieving it.
“Silly dog,” Jonathan said, ruffling the dog's hair, as they turned to retrace their steps.
“You need never worry about losing a rock, because he will bring it back to you straightaway.” Catherine laughed.
“I have to say it was never a skill I looked for in a dog.” He did not add more until they reached the top of the cliff. Winded, he added, “I thought it was difficult going
down
. This path is even steeper than the street in the village.”
She pressed her hand over her heart as she slowed her own breathing. “As children, Sophia and I raced up and down. I never considered one of us might fall.”
“That is the way children are.” He held out his arm. As she put her hand on it and they began walking toward the house with Foggin falling in behind them, he added, “When we are young, we know we are in God's hands and safe. Only as we grow, do we come to recognize that, even though He is always there with us, our way may not be safe.”
Her fingers tightened on his sleeve. How easily he spoke of God in his life! She missed knowing that He was never far away when she needed to turn to Him. Instead she felt as distant from Him as that ship on the sea had been from the shore.
“I'm sorry,” Jonathan said when she remained silent. “I didn't mean to upset you.”
“You didn't,” she hurried to say.
“Then what is wrong? Your face was shining with a smile moments ago, and now the happiness is gone.”
She had to tell him something. “I am thinking of the work I left on the desk.”
“You truly are overwhelmed, aren't you?” He walked beside her as they re-entered the garden. Jobby raced past them and vanished among the shrubs.
“As much as I hate to admit it, I am.”
“I don't understand why.”
She shrugged. “I am not an organized person, but I had hoped to become so by overseeing the wedding breakfast plans and the Christmas Eve ball. I wanted to give Sophia time to concentrate on her gown and the wedding service itself. But if I make a complete jumble of it, I will have only succeeded in adding to her anxiety.”
“I understand
that,
” he said as they followed the path made of broken seashells. “But what about mermaid tears?”
She paused and faced him. “Now I don't understand.”
“You have collected that glass, and you intend to use it to decorate tables for the wedding breakfast. Isn't that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Then you must have a plan on how you will do that.”
“Yes, but why are you talking about that, when I need your help in sorting out the mess I have made with the wedding and ball plans?”
He took her gloved hand in his and gave her that boyish grin that always made her heart take an extra flutter. “It is simple, if you break any task into small pieces and focus on one facet at a time. First you had to find the mermaid tears. Then you had to clean them and sort them.”
“True.” A motion caught her eye, and she pushed past him to go around the boxwood hedge to their left. She scanned the wood beyond the garden. Nothing.
“What is it?” Tension sifted through Jonathan's question. His smile had vanished, replaced by a forbidding frown.
“I thought I saw something.”
“Or someone?” He put his hand up to shade his eyes.
“Yes. Over there. Just inside the wood.”
“Wait here.” He started past her.
She grasped his arm. “Have you lost your mind, Jonathan? What if I saw a smuggler?”
“I am assuming you did.” His mouth tightened. “They are foolish to come so close to Meriweather Hall. Iâ”
A sharp and urgent barking came from the wood.
“Jobby!” Catherine shouted. “They will kill him if they think his barking can betray them.”
“Stay here.” He put his hands on her shoulders, but it was fierce gaze that froze her in place. “I mean it, Catherine! Stay here. Promise me that you will.”
Jobby barked again. It reached a higher pitch. Was the puppy in danger?
“Go! I will stay here,” she said.
Drawing her hands into the sleeves of her pelisse, she watched as Jonathan's long legs made short work of the distance between the garden and the wood. Her sister's warnings rang in her ears.
Don't get involved with another hero. It will only break your heart anew.
He disappeared among the trees. She flinched when she heard Jobby's excited barking. Oh, how she wished her prayers for both Jonathan and the dog's safety would be heard!
Will You listen to my plea for help today?
She ached to hear that soft answer within her heart.
Keep them safe.
Nothing sounded within her heart, but the puppy burst from the wood, followed by Jonathan. She ran to meet them. Foggin rushed past her and was nearly bowled over by Jobby. He caught the dog by the collar and kept him from jumping on Catherine. She knelt and threw her arms around Jobby. She was so glad that both Jonathan and the dog were safe.
* * *
Jonathan nodded his thanks to the footman who was watching Cat hug the puppy. Jonathan walked over closer to Cat, who looked up at him with a fearful expression. He ached to pull her into his arms and soothe her by promising that he would never allow the smugglers to harm her or her family. But it was not a promise he was certain he could keep.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“Yes, both of us are. Thank God for those bells on his collar.” He nodded grimly to Foggin again, hoping the footman would pass along his gratitude to his fellow servants. “Between the jingling and his barking, I was able to find him within seconds.”
“Did you see what he was barking at? Was it a squirrel or a deer?”
He shook his head, sorry to have to dash her hopes. “There was a man in the wood, but he took off when Jobby gave chase.” He held up a piece of fabric. “Not quite quickly enough. Someone will need to patch his breeches tonight.”