Page 15 of The Virgin in the Rake's Bed
It was those words which she repeated to herself as she made her way home that afternoon. A walk in the park meant nothing. It was merely a meeting between two friends, friends who shared a secret, a secret which had consequences for them both if it was revealed. She wanted to see Ian again, to spend time in his company, to pretend that what they were pretending was real. It was all getting rather confusing, and Catherine scolded herself for allowing such thoughts to crowd her mind.
He is merely doing you a service, that is all,she told herself, as she made her way home, but that did not stop her from looking out her best dress that evening and ensuring that the maid was instructed to bring hot water to her chambers the next morning, so that she might look her best for what was to come.
Chapter Nine
Catherine did not sleep well that night. She tossed and turned, eventually getting up when her attempts at sleep became too arduous to bear. She was excited about the prospect of her walk with Ian – too excited, she told herself, and she gave herself a good talking to, reminding herself that it was merely a walk in the park and nothing else. The force of her feelings surprised her, and she could not rid herself of that niggling notion that her heart and mind were in different places.
Her father had been right to claim that she was infatuated. It was not difficult to realize it, even though she had tried hard to resist. In the short time since their liaison in the library, Catherine had thought of little else except Ian, and she wondered if he felt the same way about her. But the answer to that question was obvious enough. To him, all of this was merely a game, just as had been her intention. But the stirrings in her heart, and the feelings there aroused, were very real, and she wondered how best to deal with them.
“So, are you meeting Ian again soon?” Rickard asked, when Catherine met him on the stairs that morning. She had bathed and dressed in best gown, a pretty bonnet slung in her hand, and a smile on her face. She was on her way to the park to meet Ian, and she blushed at the obvious assumption her brother had made.
“Well… he is my betrothed,” she said, and Rickard smiled.
“Yes, it is all very convenient, is it not?” he said, and Catherine’s expression changed.
“And what do you mean by that?” she demanded, hitching up her skirts and making her way down to the hallway with Rickard in pursuit.
“Only that it has all occurred rather suddenly, do you not think? And for neither father nor I to be aware of it. Well, it is all rather strange, that is all,” he said, as Catherine turned to him indignantly.
“I do not need your opinion on the matter, Rickard. It is settled. Besides, I would have thought you might have been pleased for me. Ian is your friend, is he not? Do you not take some delight in the thought of a close confidant entering the family?” she asked, as one of the maids brought her gloves to her.
The relationship between Catherine and Rickard had never been close. He had been sent away to school at an early age and had spent his later youth at Oxford, whilst Catherine had stayed with a governess before attending a finishing school in Bath. Sister and brother were hardly recognizable as such, and whilst Catherine took after her mother, Rickard possessed many of their father’s more undesirable traits, especially when it came to ambition.
“I am sure that I am pleased for you,” he said, in a tone which indicated quite the opposite.
“But?” she asked, pulling on her gloves and fixing him with a glare.
“But the Earl of Westwood was a most attractive proposition. His title alone…” Rickard began, but Catherine interrupted him.
“Oh, I see. It is all about the title,” Catherine replied, waving her hand dismissively.
“I did not mean…” he began, but Catherine had heard enough.
Like father, like son. Rickard was only interested in Catherine’s marriage intentions for the sake of the title he thought might be his had she married an Earl. Where these mysterious titles were supposed to have emerged from was quite beyond Catherine’s comprehension, but both her father and brother were intent on securing the best possible advantage for themselves – whatever her own feelings might be.
“I will be back later,” she called out, not waiting for the footman, but flinging open the front door and hurrying down the steps, where a carriage was waiting to take her to the park, accompanied again by Jenny who was to act as chaperone from a discreet distance.
Catherine had heard enough. She was tired of her father and brother interfering in her affairs. Why was it, she wondered, that men thought it their right to meddle in anything concerning the matrimonial affairs of a female relative? She was tired of their opinions and would not, for a moment, entertain them. Her father could do all the digging he wished, and if he found something out about Ian, then so be it – Ian himself did not seem to mind.
* * *
The park was busy that day, its wide boulevards filled with fashionable ladies and gentlemen promenading the morning away, and Catherine instructed the carriage driver to wait for her at the gates, beside which she now stood, glancing up and down for a sight of Ian coming toward her. Her heart was beating fast, and she felt silly at the nerves which rose in the pit of her stomach and made her feel quite queasy.
“It is only a walk in the park,” she repeated to herself, just as a familiar voice called out to her from across the way.
“Miss Ferguson, I am sorry I am a few moments late. I was delayed on business,” Ian said, hurrying up to her.
He was dressed in a most dandy and fashionable manner, in a long blue frock coat with a yellow cravat at the neck. It made him look ever so handsome, and Catherine blushed as she took the arm he offered her, pleased to be caught up in the illusion which now they intended to continue. She had not expected him to play the part so well, expecting them to perhaps appear once or twice together at some dull soiree or social occasion at which they could be seen and thus fulfill societal expectation. But this seemed almost like an encounter of pleasure, rather than of necessity.
“I have only just arrived myself. I was delayed by Rickard,” she said, and Ian laughed.
“Let me think now, was he trying his best to dissuade you from our matrimonial plans?” he asked, and Catherine laughed.
“Now you mention it, yes, he was,” she replied, and Ian shook his head.
“He is insufferable. He was most put out that I had not informed him of my intentions toward you. I told him it was none of his business whom I married. Whether it was his sister or not,” Ian replied, as the two of them now walked along a tree-lined boulevard which led to an ornamental lake in the center of the park.
“There is another reason for his displeasure, of course, and that of my father,” Catherine said, pausing and turning to Ian, who looked at her questioningly.
