without a word to anyone. How could you? And to Lord Caldbeck! I couldn’t believe my eyes when we received his invitation to dinner tonight. I told George—oh! George? Are you…? Well, of course you are. We came together….”
“How do you do? I am Caldbeck.” The gray-clad earl took advantage of Liza’s indrawn breath to cut through the monologue and extend a hand to her escort.
“Oh. This is my husband, George,” Mary Elizabeth finished, quite unnecessarily.
“George Hampton, your most obedient servant, sir.” The trim younger man bowed and shook Caldbeck’s hand.
Hampton then took his wife firmly by the arm and led her to where Caldbeck made the balance of the introductions. Those having been completed, Caldbeck gravely presented to Catherine a magnificent bouquet of white roses and lilies, with ribbons trailing to the floor. Their intoxicating scent flowed over her as she took them in her arms. Murmuring her thanks, she looked up into unreadable gray eyes.
The waiting vicar, balding and well padded, cleared his throat for attention and directed the party to assemble before him. Suddenly Catherine stood at Caldbeck’s side. The vicar was reading the service.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God and these witnesses to join together….”
To join together! Oh, heaven, what was she doing here? She was marrying this man—this man who, until this morning….
Children. Oh, God! Children!
“Who giveth this woman in marriage?”
A resounding silence ensued. Catherine had not even invited her uncle to be present, let alone to give her away. She heartily hoped that the tearful, if insincere, farewell that her aunt had bestowed upon her would be the last she ever saw of either of them. Nonetheless, a major contretemps loomed.
She looked helplessly at the vicar, who was peering over his glasses at her. Stepping gallantly into the breach, George Hampton took her arm and announced, “I do.”
He placed Catherine’s shaking hand into the earl’s outstretched one, and Caldbeck’s fingers immediately closed warmly around hers. The vicar resumed his reading.
“If any man knows any reason that these two should not be joined, let him speak now or forever hold his peace.” The churchman looked sternly around the all but empty room.
Me! I do! The words echoed through Catherine’s mind, but apparently she had not said them aloud, for the vicar was again speaking.
“Do you, Charles Eric Joseph Randolph, take this woman, Sarah Catherine Maury, to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold….”
Charles. His name is Charles Randolph. How could she not have known that? Did no one ever call him Charles? His strong voice answered.
“I do.”
“Do you, Sarah Catherine…” Now or never. Once the words of the vow passed her lips, she could never take them back. Children. Her children. Silence seemed to stretch into eternity. Then she heard a whispered, “I do.”
Was that she? Had she spoken those words? She must have, for the vicar was saying something about a ring. Catherine looked in confusion at the flowers in the crook of her left arm. Then she smelled Liza’s perfume, and the flowers disappeared. Caldbeck fitted a heavy band of gold onto her trembling finger. The vicar was praying.
She looked up at him as he placed a hand behind her head, her eyes questioning. He carefully drew her toward him. She felt his mouth warm on hers for a moment—then it was gone. Catherine took a deep breath and turned to Liza, who was dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief and trying simultaneously to return the bouquet. The men were congratulating Caldbeck. Helen’s hand was soft on hers, and her voice warm.
“Welcome to the family.”
Family. A husband. Children. God help them.
Once again Catherine sat at a dressing table while Sally fussed with her hair. This, however, was a completely different table in a completely different room in a completely different house. A very grand house. Sally was ecstatic.
“Did you never see such a place, Miss Catherine? And to think, you are mistress of it now!” She tugged the brush through Catherine’s springy curls. Catherine had removed the pelisse to reveal the elegantly simple silk dress beneath. The fabric skimmed low above her firm breasts—much too low, her aunt had insisted when Catherine bought the dress—and clung to her small waist and full hips. Satin slippers replaced the kid half-boots, and Sally replaced her hat with flowers from the bouquet.
“It sounds as though there are ever so many people here.” Sally readjusted a hairpin. “Must be half of Lunnun.”
Catherine had been wondering about that herself. His lordship had said that he’d invited a “few” of her friends. The windows of her new room opened onto the garden, so they were unable to see the carriages as they arrived, but certainly the hubbub rising from below required a great many voices.
The entrance of the earl himself followed a brief knock at the door. He yet wore gray, but now it was gray satin. He bowed and held out one hand, his eyes scanning her face. “Are you ready? Our guests are eager to meet the new Lady Caldbeck.”
Catherine nodded and got shakily to her feet. What ailed her? She loved parties. Why did her knees threaten to buckle? She was to make a dramatic entrance on the arm of her new husband. She loved being the center of attention. Why, tonight, did she want to bolt?
With great determination, she pasted a smile on her lips and laid her hand on Caldbeck’s arm. He covered it with his own briefly, then led her out of the room. They descended the marble stairs slowly, pausing at the first landing. The crowd at the foot of the staircase ceased their murmuring, and every head turned in their direction.
A cheer went up, and applause echoed against the tall ceilings. Catherine blossomed at the sound, and her smile became real. These were her friends. She glimpsed nearly everyone she knew in the assembled throng—and many, many more faces to boot. How had Caldbeck done this? And why? There was clearly more to Charles Randolph, Earl of Caldbeck, than met the eye.
The evening proved long, but exciting. Helen, elegant in lavender silk, assumed the duties of hostess so that Catherine had nothing to do but enjoy the attention. Surrounded by friends and well-wishers, Catherine found her misgivings beginning to fade. She pushed her anxiety to the back of her mind, talking and laughing with friends at dinner and afterward presiding over the dancing. She also made the acquaintance of several people whom she had long wished to approach as supporters for her charities. Already her alliance with Lord Caldbeck was bearing fruit.
Her uneasiness returned somewhat when Caldbeck led her onto the floor and took her in his arms for the first waltz. He was a superb dancer, however, and the pleasure of skimming over the floor with him soon overcame the strangeness. Catherine was acutely aware of the sureness of the hand on her back, of the power of the legs brushing against hers, the ease with which he moved her about the room. She had danced with him before. Why had she never noticed his strength?
Later, though she was claimed by other partners, her attention remained on Caldbeck. He played the perfect host, chatting easily—if solemnly—with his guests, but now and again she could feel his glacial gaze on her. Each time, rather than feeling a chill, a sensation of warmth washed over her. And each time she missed a step of the dance.
