A Lady of Quality. Louise Gouge M.
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thoroughbred against all challengers, and a dozen or more gentlemen agreed to the contest. Their host, the Marquess of Drayton, announced that Prinny would attend the theatre with Louis, the French king, sometime during the coming week.
Catherine paid particular attention to this last bit of news. Papa had been accused of being a Bonapartist and conspiring to assassinate Louis so they could prevent the Bourbons from reclaiming the French throne. Which, of course, was ridiculous. Papa had no cause to do such a thing. He utterly disdained Napoleon Bonaparte, and his allegiance to England, his country of refuge, was unwavering.
Regarding the rest of Lord and Lady Blakemore’s gossip, Catherine listened with moderate interest. At any time she might be called upon to participate in a conversation about the marquess’s ball. Ignorance of the latest on-dits among the haute ton was unforgivable, even for a companion, for that would make her employer look bad.
“And what have you to say for yourself, Miss Hart?” Jolly Lord Blakemore, with his fringe of graying hair around his balding pate and his short, plump stature, made for an odd pairing with his tall, slender wife. But their temperaments seemed perfectly suited, and their household was a haven of peace in noisy, smelly London. “Did you enjoy the evening? I saw you with Lord Winston, which, I must say, is quite startling. One does not expect Winston even to speak to those outside of his small circle, much less to dine with them.”
Before this evening, that description of the baron might have suited her very well. But after dancing and dining with Lord Winston, she saw no hint of his former arrogance. Instead, she had found his manners faultless and his conversation charming. Even poor Aunt Beckwith had received his kindest attentions. Where was the crack in his facade? What would prove him worthy of her revenge when added to his lies about Papa?
“You have Lady Blakemore to blame, my lord. She forced me upon the unsuspecting baron, poor man.”
The Blakemores traded a look and laughed in their jovial way.
“Ah,” said Lady Blakemore, “but one did not observe Winston trying to escape your company.”
“But why should he wish to escape?” Lord Blakemore wiggled his wiry eyebrows in a comical fashion. “What more charming company could he ask for?”
The countess nodded agreeably. “No, he was more than pleased to spend his evening with our Miss Hart.”
The familiar benevolence in her smile struck a deep chord within Catherine. No matter what her true station in life, these good people should regard her as just above a servant. And yet they had risked Society’s censure by taking her to one of the most important social events of the Season, even providing an exquisite gown from Lady Blakemore’s talented modiste. And what did Catherine offer in return for their generosity? Lies and deception and the risk of being accused of harboring a traitor’s daughter, something that could ruin Lord Blakemore, no doubt in more ways than Catherine could imagine. Guilt ate at her until her eyes stung, and she prayed her employers could not see her tears in the dim light of the closed carriage.
“What’s this?” Lord Blakemore’s gentle tone did nothing to help Catherine’s self-control. “Why tears, my dear? Did Winston insult you? Did anyone?” The jolly little earl’s eyes narrowed. “You must tell me the truth, now. I insist upon it.”
“Gracious, no.” Catherine managed a dismissive laugh. “I am thinking only of how grateful I am for all that you have done for me.” Not a lie at all. “You have taken me to the theatre several times to enjoy Shakespeare’s wonderful plays, and tonight you escorted me to the marquess’s ball. You have honored me far more than a mere companion deserves or should expect.”
The earl waved his hand dismissively, but in his pleased smile she could see her gratitude was not wasted. Yet somehow she must turn this conversation back to the baron to uncover his weaknesses.
“Your comment about Lord Winston surprises me. Does he truly not mingle with anyone but a small circle of friends?” The baron had behaved quite pleasantly toward her despite his apparent assumption that she was born of the gentry.
Again the couple traded a look, and the earl nodded to his countess.
“I would not say he is overly proud,” she said. “Of course, he holds to our views regarding the classes. We know God has ordained that the aristocracy should rule and manage the affairs of mankind. But we are expected to do so benevolently.” She patted her husband’s hand and gazed at him fondly. “Why, just these past weeks, Lord Blakemore has joined with Lord Greystone and Mr. Wilberforce to propose laws restricting the use of small children as chimney sweeps.”
“That is most commendable, my lord.” How could Catherine return the conversation to Lord Winston without exposing how deeply she was interested in him or causing them to think that interest was romantic? “Surely not every aristocrat is so benevolent.” She had seen sufficient poverty in London to know the wealthy could and should do more to help them.
“Ah, but we were speaking of Winston.” The earl chuckled in his endearing way, almost as if he could read her thoughts. “You may be interested to know, Miss Hart, that earlier this month he accompanied Greystone to a disreputable tavern on the Thames and helped to rescue two kidnapped climbing boys. Just think of it. Two peers taking on such a dangerous adventure to save chimney sweeps, the lowest of the low.”
“Indeed?” Catherine’s heart warmed briefly before she dismissed such a favorable emotion. Perhaps the baron could be kind to poor children and elderly ladies, but that did not excuse his evil lies about her father.
“Indeed,” Lady Blakemore said. “Quite commendable.”
“Tell me, my dear.” The earl addressed his wife. “What did you hear from Swarthmore about the Cochrane affair?”
Catherine watched with interest as the countess detailed Lord Swarthmore’s opinions regarding the complicated scheme Lord Cochrane and his cohorts had perpetrated against the Stock Exchange. Like Papa, not only did Lord Blakemore listen attentively to his wife, but he respected her opinions, which she sprinkled liberally throughout the discourse.
And yet Lord Winston had refused to discuss the affair with Catherine. Apparently, he found her too naive to be informed about important matters of the day, as though she had no intellect or fortitude. That suited her plans quite well, for if her enemy underestimated her, so much the better.
“By the by, my dear.” Lady Blakemore addressed her husband, but something in her tone alerted Catherine and interrupted her musings. “At what hour is Winston arriving tomorrow? I should like to be at home and have tea with him. You do not mind, do you, Miss Hart?”
Catherine’s thoughts raced. She would have to enlist Mr. Radcliff’s help to arrange an encounter with the baron during his visit. For now, she schooled her face to suggest polite indifference. “My lady, you do not require my approval to entertain whom you will.”
Lady Blakemore traded another of those conspiratorial glances with her husband. “But my dear, he does require my permission to have tea with you.” She laughed softly. “I do hope you are not disappointed that I granted it.”
How hard it was for Catherine not to smile, not to crow with victory. The path to bringing Lord Winston down was proving to be all too easy.
Chapter Three
“Come in, Edgar.” Winston beckoned his cousin Radcliff into the sunny breakfast room of his Grosvenor Square town house. “Have you eaten? My cook has laid out far too much food for one person.” He selected eggs, rolls and sausages from the oak sideboard and moved toward the head of the table. Last night at Lord Drayton’s ball, he had been too occupied with Miss Hart to have much appetite. Now his stomach rumbled in complaint over such neglect.
“Good morning, Winston.” Radcliff’s tone, always cheerful, sounded particularly good-humored this morning. “Did you enjoy last evening?” He took a plate and studied the selection of food.
“A very grand affair.” Winston hesitated to mention Miss Hart,