Page 80 of Miss Desirable
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“Two weeks,” Catherine muttered, stroking Caesar’s silky ear. “He’s been gone seventeen days, and not a word.”
Caesar rested his chin on her knee and sighed. The morning was glorious, as only spring mornings could be, with a promise of gracious warmth from the beaming sun. In Catherine’s heart, all was storm clouds and worry.
“A thousand fears haunt me,” she murmured. “What if Fournier’s sloop sank? What if Armbruster hired brigands to waylay him? What if Fournier ran afoul of the customs authorities? I am losing my mind.”
The last time she’d been prey to such worry—What if my baby does not live? What if my baby is sickly? What if my baby hates me?—she’d had her mother’s reassurances and the support of a kindly and loyal staff in Cahors.
Now, she had Fournier’s promises.
“There you are.” Beatitude, Lady Casriel, accompanied by Jacaranda, Lady Trysting, came through the garden gate. “Has no one told you that being out of doors without your bonnet will ruin your complexion?”
“My ladies.” Catherine rose from her bench and curtseyed. “I am well aware of the perils I face without my bonnet. Shall I send for a tray?”
“No time for that.” Lady Casriel was blond, brisk, and entirely devoted to her family. Catherine had liked her on sight, in part because her ladyship thought nothing of taking her husband’s hand or whispering in his ear when among family.
I want to be like that with Fournier. Unselfconsciously besotted.
“You did not tell us that you know Lady Castlereagh,” Lady Trysting said. “Very bad of you to forget an acquaintance with the foreign secretary’s wife.”
“Mama knew her,” Catherine replied. “I suspect they were allies more than friends. The diplomatic corps is still mostly the province of aristocrats and younger sons from titled families. The ladies had to form alliances as best they could.”
Catherine’s guests exchanged a glance.
“Lady Castlereagh is one of the patronesses at Almack’s,” Lady Casriel said gently. “The one most likely to affirm rules and uphold standards.”
Catherine sank to the bench and gestured for the ladies to be seated as well. “I knew that.”
“You knew that,” Lady Trysting said, taking a wrought-iron chair, “but because your entire being is focused on Fournier’s safe return, you took no notice of your long-standing connection to one of the most powerful people in London.”
“My late mother’s connection.” Caesar’s comforting weight pressed against Catherine’s leg. He was doubtless getting dog hair all over her skirts, andshe did not care. “We should have heard from Fournier by now. He promised he’d send a pigeon when he reached Bordeaux.”
“He did,” Lady Casriel said, extending a hand for Caesar to sniff. “But his mews in Bordeaux has fallen prey to some sort of pigeon malaise, or a rash of pigeons in an interesting condition. He had to use a bird from a neighboring estate. The message took some time to deliver on the London end and reached Kettering only this morning.”
Worry that weighed more than Caesar and Franny put together lifted from Catherine’s heart. “How long did his crossing take?”
“Ten days,” Lady Trysting said. “Kettering claims that’s not unusual, though it’s hardly a swift crossing either.”
“He estimated nine days, given the time of year, and every day lost matters. Armbruster is wasting no time pressing his attentions on me.”
Another glance passed between the ladies, this one easily deciphered. They were as worried as Catherine was.
“If he attempts to compromise you,” Lady Casriel said, “seven adult male Dornings will line up to call him out, as will Kettering.”
“And then Miss Dubious’s name is involved in a matter of honor,” Catherine retorted. “Lady Castlereagh will offer me the cut direct if she even recalls who I am.”
Caesar gave her a worried look and nudged at her hand.
“Do you care?” Lady Casriel asked gently. “Do you give a stale bonbon what polite society thinks of you? The whole family will stand by you, as will our relatives and friends.”
“Armbruster’s entire family is rolled up,” Lady Trysting added. “Kettering has been nosing about, and nobody has his instinct for financial matters. If he says a marquess is in dun territory, then the fellow is all but sinking in the River Tick. Armbruster doubtless sees himself as the knight-errant waltzing forth to save the family fortunes—with your money.”
“And such a bid for his family’s gratitude will only make him more desperate,” Catherine said. “He called on me twice last week and would have taken me out driving yesterday, but the weather was foul. I have always loved rainy days. I positively adored yesterday’s downpour.”
“You adore Xavier Fournier.” Lady Trysting made that a statement rather than an accusation.
“I do, and Lady Casriel has put an interesting question to me: Do I care about polite society’s good opinion? The answer is, at long last, no. I do not. My parents took far-flung diplomatic postings, endured separations, and organized their lives around me, around the limitations of my birth, and then around my lapses in common sense. They went to those great lengths because they wanted me to eventually take a place in Society.”
