Tempest(10)
“Would you consider marrying me?” Byron asked, gazing into her eyes. “My brother-in-law is the Duke of Aylesbury, and we could take your mother for long visits to his estates. We’d be socializing with the king and queen. It wouldn’t be quite the same as a title of your own—”
From across the room, Adam Raveneau stared in utter disbelief. “Bloody hell! You can’t be serious, Matthews! You aren’t actually offering to marry her, are you?”
She cried, “Do stop saying that word as if it were an epithet!”
“I would be honored to come to Catherine’s aid,” Byron said. “And honored to be her husband.”
His face dark with outrage, Adam shouted, “And honored, I suppose, to spend her dowry while you play at being an artist! You’ll never have to worry about paying the bills again, will you, or being able to afford that suite of rooms you fancy at the Savoy!” For good measure, he added, “And, since you are proposing, you ought to know that she prefers being called Cathy!”
She sat up straight and made the only response she could. “Pay no attention to him,” she told Byron. “You are a compassionate, honorable man, and I’d be fortunate to marry you.” Leaning over, she kissed his cheek and smiled.
Byron whispered in her ear, “Don’t worry. He’s coming around already.” He stood then. “Adam, I am going to get a taxi and see my fiancée home now, before someone discovers that she’s missing from Beechcliff.”
“Your fiancée?” Adam repeated in acid tones. Watching as his old friend put an arm around Catherine Parrish’s slim waist and gazed into her eyes, he thought he would go mad. “You’re drunk! How many bottles of that wine have you consumed tonight? If you think that I’m going to let you take this bullet for me, when it’s even less of your affair than mine, you are mistaken.” He strode toward them, determined to remove Byron’s hands from Cathy’s person.
“But I want to do it,” Byron persisted.
“Has anyone ever told you that you poke your nose into other people’s business a bit too readily, old fellow?” He was facing them now, mere inches away, and though Cathy had given him her attention, Byron seemed to be holding her closer than before. Adam glared at him. “You can release her now.”
“You don’t want her, Raveneau. Cathy asked you to be her husband and you refused. Adamantly. Are you telling her she can’t have me, either?”
“No. No, I’m not bloody saying that!” He put a hand on Byron’s arm to pry him off her. “Damn you, let go! She asked me and now I’m accepting. She needs a genuine nobleman, not some cursed secondhand brother-in-law. I’m the only one who qualifies.” He paused. “I’ll do it.”
At that, Byron stepped back, leaving Cathy to waver, unsupported. She stared at Adam in disbelief. “You’ll do what?”
“Marry you. I’ll do it.” With that, he put his own arm around her. “I mean, I’ve thought about it and it does make sense. As long as we understand the terms— the basic agreement, and the dowry— and we don’t muck it up with a lot of romantic nonsense, we ought to deal rather well together. Hmm?”
Cathy nodded, then indulged herself by resting her cheek against his white shirt and breathing in the male scent of him. It made her giddy for something she didn’t understand but craved madly. And now she would have it.
It was a dream come true.
Chapter 7
Hermione Parrish was so consumed with excitement over the impending engagement announcement dinner that she barely noticed her daughter. She spent long hours at her elegant writing table, composing lists and notes. Or she invaded the cavernous kitchen and forced Madge the cook to stop her work and consider menu plans for the party. Everything must be perfect, from the table linens that would contrast with Hodgson’s arrangements of pink-edged Nice roses in gold vases, to the iced champagne and Madge’s special strawberry meringues.
The duke quickly and quietly announced that he was going to Wyoming, and Hermione thought nothing of this. Hadn’t Consuelo Vanderbilt’s duke done the same after the announcement of their engagement? English noblemen, it seemed, had a universal yen to explore the Wild West. Secretly, Hermione was glad to be rid of him while they planned the actual wedding, which would of course be held in New York City, at St. Thomas’s Church on Fifth Avenue.
By the time Jules Parrish arrived at Beechcliff late in the afternoon, the long dining table had been set and Catherine had just emerged from her bath. Her parents visited her room as she stood in her dressing gown and began to choose between the two dresses Isobel held up.
Cathy kissed her father and mused aloud, “I thought I might wear the pale rose satin.”
“Absolutely not!” cried Hermione. “It is far too décolleté, child! You have never had any taste in clothes so you may defer to my wisdom from this moment forward. We will have many choices to make before the wedding and there won’t be time for arguments.” She pointed a long finger. “The clouded moiré, Isobel, just as I told you earlier. The lace applique on the bodice is ideal.”
Pasting on a smile, Cathy exchanged glances with her father. “I’ll just be glad to get this evening over with. Mother, I thought I ought to tell you that I’ve invited Lord Raveneau to join us tonight— and Byron Matthews as well.”
“Have you forgotten every lesson you’ve learned these past years? Have I not made it clear that that man is too roguish to mix well in Newport society? My dear, if you are to give fine dinners of your own one day, you must learn to weed your visiting list. If you do not, it will certainly run to seed!”
“Lord Raveneau and Mr. Matthews leave Newport tomorrow.”
“At last.” She sighed heavily. “I must go to the kitchen now and have a last consultation with Madge. Since we are having only two dozen guests, it is all the more imperative that each detail be perfect.”
As if fearing that his daughter would break down in tears once they were alone, Jules followed Hermione as she went out the door. However, when he glanced back, Cathy was beaming.
“You aren’t upset about this engagement?” he queried softly.
“Not a bit.” She ran barefoot to his side. “Papa, I must confess—”
“No, don’t!” Holding up his hand, wincing, he added, “No confessions. When it comes to matters involving you and your mother, ignorance is bliss.”
“Will you trust me?”
“I don’t know about that... but I will support you, no matter what scheme you’ve cooked up. This is one decision you ought to be allowed to make for yourself.” Jules started through the door then looked back through his spectacles, wondering at the roses in her cheeks and the adventurous sparkle in her eyes. There was almost an air of carnality about her, and if his wife weren’t so caught up in her meaningless planning and posturing, she would have recognized it herself— and realized that it had nothing to do with the Duke of Sunderford.
“Who would have ever thought, just a few nights ago, when we were walking up this drive for the first time,” Byron paused for breath, avoiding Adam’s stare, “that my jokes about you marrying an American heiress would become reality!”
“Who indeed?” His tone was heavy with irony. “You don’t seem to be very downcast about losing out yourself.”
Byron stopped. They were just a few dozen yards from the mansion’s arched entrance where guests were stepping out of a Mercedes automobile. Beechcliff and its grounds were drenched in the tangerine glow of a summer twilight.
“I have a feeling about you and Cathy,” he said in sober tones.
“I don’t want to hear it,” Raveneau shot back. “The only thing I care about at this moment is whether my tie is straight. The rest is madness.”
“She’s a good person—”
“She is spoiled, sheltered, and insecure. We don’t know each other at all, and you’ve shoved us together for life. If I think about it for very long, I might throw myself off those cliffs.” He arched a black eyebrow.
Sighing, Byron looked him over. There wasn’t a man alive who could wear evening dress like Adam Raveneau. His black dress-coat and trousers fit to perfection, and were set off by a cut-away waistcoat and an immaculate expanse of white shirt. The tie was a bit rakish, which made him look even better. The golden light of evening accentuated the lines of Raveneau’s physique beneath his civilized clothing, the penetrating gleam of his eyes, and the way his hair swept back from his tanned face.
“Your tie is fine. Let’s go inside.”
“This is the night they should have hired the dancing monkeys,” Raveneau whispered as they mounted the front steps. “Where are they when I need them?”
Inside, the two men were led into a magnificent drawing room where Adam immediately spied Cathy standing with her father. She looked to him like a schoolgirl at her first ball, clad in a demure gown of clouded moiré with lace and crystal trimming. The neckline completely covered any breasts she might possess, which appeared to be modest at best. Still, a part of Adam was drawn to Cathy’s lively brown eyes and flushed cheeks. She was not a beauty, but he liked her better for it.