Page 64 of Miss Desirable
“Catherine, I’m trying to help. Sooner or later, somebody will remark how loosely supervised you were in Rome, and whatever it is that befell you thereafter—melancholia, a repairing lease at some sanitarium, overindulgence with the poppy—they will find out. The Continent is no longer blockaded, and many a fine family is pinching pennies in Brussels. You cannot hide your past forever.”
Plainer than that, he hoped he need not be. If Catherine had a by-blow somewhere in Tuscany, then the child was likely his, though a fellow never knew for certain. Catherine had beenveryheadstrong.
“I am not ashamed of my past, my lord. I have regrets, as I expect you do, but nothing for which I will allow polite society to scorn me.”
“They called you Miss Dubious, Catherine. What do you think the scandalmongers will dub you if they learn that you eloped with some dashing Italian count and bore him a child?”
“How odd that polite society begins this speculation only after my mother, who never left my side, is no longer extant to dispel the attack on my good name.”
She delivered that observation with a barely discernible twitch of her brow, the equivalent of a flinch that only a former lover would notice. Catherine Fairchild was hiding something that troubled her.
Such a pity when a wealthy young woman without family or friends had a shameful secret to guard. Reminding Catherine of her vulnerability was enough delicate work for one day’s effort, particularly when the next quarterly installment should be waiting at the solicitors’ office.
Armbruster rose. “I am on hand to dispel any attacks on your good name, Catherine. Never forget that. I was not at my best years ago, but I am a wiser and more worthy fellow now. You can trust me, and I will not fail you.”
He used the pretense of his parting bow to stand closer to the lady than propriety allowed, and she did not step back. She’d probably missed him and, like all neglected women, intended to make him pay for a separation that had gone on longer than she’d intended.
He hadn’t ignored her when she’d finally showed up in London, though he had made sure she didn’t become bothersomely popular. He’d felt bad about that, but a fellow had a quarterly allowance to think of.
“You can call on me at any time, Catherine,” he said. “And I ought not to say this, but as a friend, I will risk your disapproval. Xavier Fournier is respected within the limits of his trade, and the ladies tell me he makes a fine diversion, but if you need a gallant, you can do much better than that.”
Armbruster patted her hand and would have taken his leave on that avuncular note had Catherine not spoken.
“Are you volunteering to be my gallant, my lord?”
“I am, and more than that. We are friends, Catherine, but when you need me to be more than a friend, I am prepared to serve in a more substantial capacity.”
“I am not looking for a passing diversion, my lord.”
He beamed his charming-bachelor smile at her. “Neither am I. The time has come to do my bit for the succession. Mama lectures me without mercy on that very topic, and you and I are well acquainted with one another.”
Catherine’s smile was cool. “How very generous of you. I’ll see you out.” She linked her arm with his and escorted him to the front door. No footman or butler was on duty, so Catherine herself handed him his hat and walking stick.
“I appreciate the call, my lord. Please give my regards to your mother.”
“Of course.” He’d do no such thing. Mama would have to be talked into accepting Catherine Fairchild as a daughter-in-law, and that discussion required familiarity with figures Armbruster had yet to winkle out of the lawyers.
So much to do, but the objective was in sight. Next steps required a stop at the solicitors’ office and then a pleasant evening at Lady Haddigan’s card party. After a few drinks, Armbruster would indulge in some discreet speculation—more discreet speculation—about where Catherine Fairchild had got off to during her protracted absence from Society.
But not too discreet. He pulled on his gloves and prepared to enjoy the rest of his day.
“One question before you take your leave, my lord?”
“Ask me anything, my dear. That’s what friends are for.”
“When did you take to wearing a cinnamon scent? It’s most distinctive.”
He smiled down at her, such as an adoring swain smiles at a particularly noticing damsel. “My valet suggested it. He’s French, and what such fellows lack in humility, they make up for in style. I am cinnamon to my toes these days—shaving soap, pomade, cologne. If you’re free on Sunday, might you enjoy the carriage parade with me?”
“I am already promised to Lord and Lady Trysting for the carriage parade. His lordship has agreed to handle my financial affairs, and his wife seems to know everybody worth knowing. I find them good company.”
Worth Ketteringwas taking over her finances? That would never do. He’d tie the whole fortune up in trusts andheretoforesandnotwithstandingsand then stand sentinel over the lot of it like some jealous fairy godmother.
“Another time, then, but soon, please?”
“Perhaps,” Catherine replied.
And perhaps Fortesque would redouble his efforts to spread those rumors about Miss Dubious. He bowed again over Catherine’s hand and wished her a pleasant rest of her day.
