It was the middle of the morning before Nicholas was shown into the drawing room. He was curt when he refused wine, and Catarina saw Staines give him a surprised look as he left the room. No doubt they had a tolerable notion of the situation in the servants’ hall.
‘My lord, will you be seated?’ Catarina managed in a calm voice which, she was thankful, did not tremble.
Nicholas shook his head and began to pace the room.
‘The baby I saw, the other day, is she your own?’
‘I have told you, I adopted her.’
‘How old is she?’
‘She was born in the middle of November.’
He pushed his hands through his hair.
‘I do not know what to believe. It’s all so confoundedly suspicious! You go off to Portugal for over a year, and just before you went I thought you were putting on weight. Your servants do not have your direction. You don’t tell even your closest relatives in Portugal where you are. So how is it you know about your cousin and her baby when even your aunt did not know you were still in the country?’
‘I, well, I kept in touch with her,’ Catarina said.
If she thought of Joanna as a cousin and not a sister that was true, but she was getting into such a tangle with all these lies. She wanted so desperately to tell Nicholas the real truth, but he would probably never believe her. And for Joanna’s sake she could not reveal her secret.
‘Very convenient!’ Nicholas sneered, and the devilish look was pronounced. ‘I understood you had many relatives there, so why do you have to adopt a child? Where was this mythical cousin’s husband? Her parents? Other relatives, with families, who might be thought to have a better right to take in such an orphan?’
‘I do not have to explain anything to you, my lord. What I do is my business, not yours, and you have no right to question me, especially in such a dictatorial manner.’
‘No right? I think I do. While you are there a child appears. A child born roughly eight months after your husband died. A child who looks very much like you. Was it a disappointment it was not a boy, so that you could claim the earldom for him?’
Astounded, Catarina glared at him.
‘The child is not mine! I have never borne a child!’
‘In eight years of marriage? Yes, indeed it looks very suspicious that you should suddenly do so, that Walter should impregnate you at the last gasp, so to speak. Was it Walter, or did you have a lover? Many people would not have blamed you if you had, for Walter was so very much older than you.’
By now Catarina was on her feet, struggling not to fly at him and tear out his eyes.
‘You are insulting, my lord! It ill becomes you to accuse me of such things. If, as you suggest, I had wanted a child in order to challenge your right to the title, and adopted one, why did I not adopt a boy? There must be plenty of orphans in Portugal who would be suitable.’
He swung round towards her and tried to grasp her hands.
‘Catarina, I wanted to ask you to be my wife, but how can I when it looks so black against you? Tell me the truth!’
Catarina was pale. ‘I have already done so, but if you could not believe my word the first time, I would in no circumstances accept any offer from you, my lord. I have told you the truth, the child is not mine, but you persist in disbelieving and doubting me. Will you please leave. And from now on there will be no connection between us. You will not be welcome here.’
He stared at her for a long moment, and then she turned away. She was shaking with fury. All the time in Portugal she had been forced to tell lies, to protect Joanna’s reputation, and now, when she was telling the truth, or at least the part of it that mattered, that Maria was not her own daughter, she was disbelieved and her own reputation was being questioned. It served her right. She gave an hysterical sob, and felt Nicholas’s hand on her arm.
‘Catarina, Can we not sit down and discuss this? I did not mean to distress you so.’
She shook off his hand.
‘I am not distressed, I am so angry I could — oh, I don’t know what I could do! There is nothing to discuss, my lord. Please go. Leave me alone. I don’t want your apologies. I want nothing from you apart from your absence.’
For several days Catarina kept to the house, and had Staines deny her to all callers, saying she was indisposed. From him she learned that Nicholas had left Marshington Grange the day after he had seen her. Jeremy was still here, and had called, but she refused to see him. Staines told her Jeremy was talking to the villagers, and had promised to do nothing about enclosing the common until after the hay was gathered, but as it continued wet they expected a poor harvest of that, as well as the corn which was struggling to grow.
She considered going to Bath for a while, in order to get away from her problems, so when a letter came from Delphine Pearce inviting her to London it seemed like a miracle.
‘My husband has to go on some boring mission, and will be away the rest of the Season, which is such a shame,’ she wrote. ‘I have many friends in London, of course, so I will not be lonely, there are all sorts of entertainments, but it would be more pleasant to have someone compatible to go with me.’
Was she compatible? They had got on well at school, but Delphine was the sort of girl who got on well with most people.
‘I remembered that you never had the opportunity of a Season when you were young, so I wondered whether you would like to come to me for a month or so? We could have such fun! Do say yes.’
Catarina was tempted. Of course, there was always the possibility that in London she would meet Nicholas, and that was the last thing she wanted to do. She could never forget how scathing he had been about the lies told him by Walter’s new agent. After his suspicions of her, and the lies she had been forced to tell him, that would be unpleasant. Perhaps, she thought hopefully, he and Delphine did not move in the same circles. She would know the military, while he might be more involved with politicians, since he was now in the House of Lords.
Why, she then wondered, was she concerned? Was she always to govern her actions by the fear of meeting him? He was the one, after all, who had thrown unjustified accusations at her. Was that worse than telling lies to protect Joanna? He should be ashamed of that. She would not allow herself to be intimidated. She had been longing to escape from the Dower House.
What about Maria? She could not take the baby to London, but in Clarice she had a reliable wet nurse who loved the child as though she were her own. The rest of her servants, Liza, the new cook, and the others, were to be trusted absolutely. Most of all, she had Staines, who was more capable of controlling the household than she was herself.
Before she could change her mind she sat at her writing desk and dashed off an acceptance. Delphine had said to come at any time, as early as she could make arrangements, so she told her friend to expect her in a week.
She had a sudden excess of energy, sorting out what she intended to take with her, and changing her mind almost daily, so that Blodwen in desperation finally suggested they take her entire wardrobe.
Catarina laughed, for the first time since the argument with Nicholas.
‘I will replenish my wardrobe in London,’ she decided. ‘I don’t want to take any mourning clothes, I’m done with that. The rest of my clothes are sadly out of fashion. Before Walter died I used to depend on the modistes in Bath, as we so rarely went to London. So I will take as little as possible, just enough to manage until I can buy more.’
‘I can alter some of the gowns, my lady, to make them more fashionable. Why don’t you leave them to me?’
Catarina was happy to do so. Blodwen was clever with her needle, and she would trim the gowns so that they were in the latest mode.
They would take two days for the journey, travelling post. Catarina saw no one and told no one in the village she was going.
‘I cannot abide farewells,’ she said to Staines, ‘so please tell everyone who calls I am still indisposed. After I have left you can inform them I have gone away for a change, but let them think I have gone to some watering place. Mrs Eade will not consider going to London of any benefit to health.’
How easy it was becoming to tell more lies, she thought as she lay in bed on the last night before they left. If she had ever been a truthful girl and woman it seemed a long time ago. Or was it that circumstances had never before been such that lies were better than the truth?
* * * *
Delphine welcomed her with her usual enthusiasm to the house in Hill Street she had hired for the Season, and soon Catarina was enjoying all the entertainments. Delphine took her to her own favourite modistes and milliners, and Catarina bought gowns and hats and shawls, reticules, gloves, scarves, shoes, fans and everything else with abandon. She was wealthy, she had spent comparatively little on clothes during her time with Walter, and almost nothing in the dreadful time since his death, and she felt she deserved to pamper herself. This orgy of spending did not, however, cure the depression she suffered whenever she thought of Nicholas and the lost opportunity of being his wife.
Did she want to be, she asked herself. If he was the kind of man who harboured unjustified suspicions, accused her of deceit and calculation, and refused to accept her word, was he the sort she would be happy with if married to him? Dejectedly she reminded herself of all the lies she had told for Joanna’s sake. Why should she expect anyone to believe her?
She spent many hours during sleepless nights arguing with herself, going over every word she and Nicholas had ever exchanged, trying to see what sort of man he really was. Had his suspicions of her seemed justified to him? When she considered the facts he had thrown at her she had to admit they could be interpreted as he suggested.
She had gained weight just before she left for Portugal, it was true, but it was regaining what she had lost in the weeks after Walter’s death, when she had been too devastated to eat properly. Nicholas had probably not looked at her very closely when they first met at the funeral, swathed as she was in her blacks, and he had not known her before.
If she had conceived a child just before Walter’s death in March it would have been born in November or December. No one but themselves knew that they lived apart, Walter had still been vigorous though in his sixties, and in good health. His death had been a sudden accident, not the result of a long illness. The timing was, she admitted, suspicious.
Hiding away in Portugal, out of touch with all their friends and relatives, had been for Joanna’s sake, but could equally have been for hers. However much Catarina thought about it, she had to admit there were grounds for Nicholas’s suspicion that Maria was her child.
What had hurt most, though, was his suggestion she had wished for a son so that she could claim the earldom back from him. The very fact she had not adopted a boy child tended to reinforce the notion that Maria was her own, and no threat to Nicholas.
Delphine commented on Catarina’s pallor, but put it down to the continuing cold and wet weather, which on many days prevented them from walking or driving in the Park.
‘We even have to go shopping in a closed carriage,’ she grumbled one morning as they were sitting over breakfast.
Catarina laughed. ‘You only want to be able to walk in Bond Street to be seen,’ she told her friend.
Delphine grinned at her, the impish grin Catarina recalled from their schooldays.
‘Of course I do. And to see what new fashions are being sported. But the skies are clearer today, so perhaps we can walk to the circulating library and change our books. I gave up on the one I chose last time, it is so tedious. Have you finished yours?’
Catarina had, so later in the afternoon, when a fitful sun was peeping from behind some fluffy white clouds, they set off. Delphine’s house was only a short distance away, and they were soon at the circulating library. Catarina selected another volume, and sat down to wait for Delphine. She looked round at the other borrowers and froze. Coming straight towards her, accompanied by an older woman, was Olivia.
‘Catarina! Oh, I beg your pardon, I should say my lady! I didn’t know you were in town. How marvellous! I was about to send you an invitation to my ball, but I thought you’d be in Somerset. Now you are here, there is no excuse for not coming.’
‘Will you present us, my dear,’ the older woman said gently, and Olivia blushed.
‘Oh, I do beg your pardon, cousin Jane, but I was so excited to see dear Catarina.’
Olivia’s companion, Catarina discovered, was Lady Mortimer, a connection of her late mother’s, and her chaperone for the Season.
Delphine then joined the group, was introduced, and Olivia promptly said she would send her an invitation to the ball as well.
‘You must promise to make Catarina come. I see she is out of mourning now, and I do long to see her.’
Delphine was always willing to enlarge her circle of acquaintances, and suggested that Olivia and Lady Mortimer called for tea one day soon, so that Catarina and Olivia could have a longer gossip.
Lady Mortimer laughed. ‘Gossiping seems to be all we do. But come, Olivia, we need to go back to Grosvenor Square soon when you have chosen your book. Nicholas promised to drive you in the Park on the first fine day we had, and tomorrow he is going down to Brooke Court.’
Catarina scarcely listened to Delphine’s chatter as they walked back home. She knew Nicholas Brooke, had met him occasionally at large affairs before her husband went to Lisbon, but had not known he had succeeded to Walter’s title. She wanted to know more about it.
‘How exciting for you,’ she said. ‘He’s such a handsome man, so sought after by the debutantes. I’d be tempted to flirt with him myself, but I heard a rumour the other day that he was paying attentions to Arabella Forster. Her husband is something in the army of occupation in France, but she refused to go with him. He would make you an admirable second husband, and you would not even have to change your name!’ She giggled. ‘We must see what we can do to forward a match. I must arrange a small evening party.’