Page 37 of The Virgin in the Rake's Bed
“Perhaps in Ian I have merely misjudged the character, even though I knew of his reputation,” she replied.
“It is entirely natural for us to believe we can change a man. We look at them and say to ourselves, “this man can be what I want him to be,” just as men look at women and believe they can manipulate them into doing as they please. But love does not work like that, it must be mutual, and each party must desire the same end – the happiness of the other. I have no doubt Norman is tempted at times, a stray look or a flirtatious word, but he is faithful, of that I am certain,” she said.
“It is not that I do not wish to be married,” Catherine said, for in truth, the thought of eternal spinsterhood was hardly attractive, “but I feel I have been hurt – prematurely, perhaps – and I can hardly see a way out of that hurt.”
“Poor Catherine, it is a terrible blow. We must find a way to raise your spirits,” Samantha said, as the carriage pulled up to drop her home.
“I am open to suggestions,” Catherine replied, and bidding Samantha goodnight, she stepped down from the carriage and waved her off.
The evening had been an endurance, and Catherine was pleased it was over. She could not be so cynical about men, believing that there was surely some hope in a man who would not behave as those foolish women had assumed. But try as she might, Catherine could not rid herself of thoughts of Ian, as hard as she was trying. A feeling gained is not easily cast aside, and having fallen in love with him, she could hardly prevent such feelings from still overwhelming her.
“The Earl of Westwood was here this evening, Catherine, you have just missed him,” her father said, emerging from his study as she entered the hallway.
“What a pity,” she said, and her father smirked.
“He is waiting, you know, and I have reassured him his wait will not be in vain,” he replied.
Catherine turned to him, fixing her father with a hard stare.
“Then he will wait an eternity, father, for I have no intention of marrying him. Not now, or ever,” she said, and though her words were forceful and heartfelt, Catherine could not help feeling her time was running out and that soon she would have no other choice but the man she so despised.
Chapter Twenty
“The Marquess of Somerset to see you, sir,” Redbrand said, entering the library bearing a silver tray with a calling card on it.
Ian was taken by surprise. He was not used to visitors, and he could not remember the last time Nicholas Lowood had called on him. The two had been close once, schoolboy friends, but time had seen them drift apart and now they were merely acquaintances, able to pass the time of day, or smoke together over a brandy at a ball or dinner, but to say they were still close friends would be an exaggeration.
Ian had spent the morning reading, trying to put Catherine out of his mind, though his conscience continually pricked him. A sense of guilt had arisen at the thought of having hurt her by the strict imposition of his own rules.
“You may show him in, Redbrand,” Ian said, as Plotinus looked up from the rug inquisitively.
As Nicholas entered the room, the dog bounded up to him and barked, putting both paws up and attempting to lick the marquess’ face. Ian called him off, and Plotinus ran to his side, lolling down heavily at his feet.
“My apologies for the intrusion,” Nicholas said, but Ian shook his head.
“You are very welcome. Please, sit down. A brandy, perhaps?” he asked, but Nicholas shook his head.
“Rebecca would smell it on my breath. She does not approve of my partaking so early in the day,” he said, and Ian smiled.
There had been a time when Nicholas Lowood would never have refused a brandy.
“Is this the unfortunate price one pays for matrimony?” he asked, and Nicholas blushed.
“There are many advantages to it, as well,” he replied, taking a seat and straightening out his lapels, which Plotinus had ruffled in his enthusiasms.
“What may I do for you, sir? I have not seen you since we encountered one another in the park,” he said, and Nicholas nodded.
“And a pleasant encounter it was. It reminded me of old times. No, I have come here on a matter of my wife’s insistence. She did not feel she could come herself, you see, and I agreed. I would not normally involve myself in such affairs, but a woman can be persistent in her desires,” he said.
“Another advantage to marriage? You make it sound more attractive by the moment…” Ian replied, laughing and shaking his head.
“My wife was quite insistent. She is closely acquainted with Catherine Ferguson and…” he began, but Ian interrupted him.
It made sense now, and Ian hardly needed to hear the marquess’ further explanation. He had been sent to persuade Ian of the merits of Catherine, to tell him she was upset, and that Rebecca had made it her business to unite them. Ian did not like to find himself the object of discussion, and he raised his eyebrows, fixing Nicholas with a hard stare.
“I hardly think it is your wife’s business, and we have known one another well enough in the past to know not to involve ourselves in one another’s affairs,” he said, and Nicholas faltered.
“She thinks you should attend the ball, that is all. You are betrothed, and it would be a chance to mend the division,” he said, and Ian sighed.
