Tempest(3)

“Your mother won’t be happy. She has certain expectations for this evening...”

“I’ll be back before she misses me!”

He felt her brow. “You are a trifle pale. I’ll explain to her.”

“I knew you would understand, Papa.” Their eyes met for a meaningful instant.

“I may understand, but we mustn’t countermand your mother’s wishes.”

Catherine could scarcely breathe as she slipped out one of the glass doors and hurried down a staircase to the terrace. The scent of orange trees floated on the balmy night air. She was free! There were only a few guests wandering on the grounds and even the musicians and the chattering monkeys were quiet. The cadence of her heartbeat changed as anxiety gave way to euphoria. Suddenly it occurred to her that she could keep on running. There were no guards or walls to keep her prisoner here!

Her silken slippers were awfully fragile, however, and her boned bodice pinched when she moved. Approaching a Chinese teahouse that overlooked the surging ocean, Catherine decided to rest inside until she could gather her thoughts. Torches had been placed on either side of the door, illuminating the roof of green tiles and dragons with their tails in the air.

“Do my eyes deceive me?”

She cried out in surprise. She didn’t recognize the deep, ironically accented male voice, and the sight of a tall figure standing in the shadows frightened her. Hermione had always warned her to beware of strange men. “Who are you?”

He came out into the torchlight and gave her a rakish smile. “Have you forgotten me so quickly?”

“Oh!” Catherine couldn’t believe that she was alone in the teahouse with Adam Raveneau. “Of course I haven’t forgotten you. You’re Blackbeard.”

“No, my beauty. I am Stede Bonnet, the wicked Barbadian pirate.” His eyes danced as he lifted a bottle of champagne and drank. “Blackbeard’s whiskers grew all the way up to his eyes. He liked to twist them with ribbons into little tails, then light them like fuses. I don’t think your mother would approve of that, do you?”

“No, but she doesn’t approve of you, either, even without a be-ribboned beard.” She felt daring. When he held out the bottle to her, she accepted. It was shockingly crass to drink champagne out of the bottle, especially one that had already touched a stranger’s mouth. After trying a tiny sip, then a gulp, she licked her lips and beamed. “You are a bad influence, my lord.”

“Adam,” he reminded her. “And soon you’ll be ‘Your Grace,’ if your mother has her way.”

“No!” She frowned at him. “My name is Catherine.”

“Like the heroine of Wuthering Heights?”

“Exactly! In fact, I was named for her, and as a result, it’s now my favorite novel.” The truth was that Hermione disapproved of Wuthering Heights and, at sixteen, Catherine had bribed a housemaid to bring her a copy. Heathcliff had made an indelible impression. “But enough about my name. What has brought you outdoors to the teahouse?”

“Truthfully, Francine Pembroke asked me to meet her out here. Is that acceptable, Cathy?”

“I certainly don’t mind,” she lied, “but of course it’s not socially acceptable for Francine to go off alone with a man at a ball like this. If anyone should see the two of you, her reputation would be ruined.”

“And what about your reputation, Cathy?”

Her blush deepened every time he called her Cathy, and she knew that was the very reason he did it. “I don’t think it’s quite the same thing, is it? Francine was scheming to be alone with you, just minutes after your introduction, while I came upon you here completely by chance!”

“But anyone seeing us here would not know that.” Adam drank some more champagne and passed the bottle to her.

“I really don’t care what they think. I’ve spent my whole life learning a lot of silly rules and I’m sick to death of the entire business. Perhaps if I do something scandalous, Mother won’t be able to make me marry the duke.” Her chin trembled slightly.

“Aha! I thought so. I saw it in your eyes the moment we met.” Gently, he took her hand and led her over to a green marble bench. “Have another drink and tell me everything. You’ll feel better.”

The torchlight flickered over her winsome face as she hiccupped, took another swallow of champagne, and said, “I ought to divulge to you that there is another teahouse exactly like this one at the other end of the sunken gardens. Francine is probably waiting for you there.”

“Good. Then we won’t be disturbed.” He traced her cheek with a fingertip. “Go on, Cathy.”

She tingled all over, more intoxicated by his nearness than by the champagne. “I think you already have guessed most of my story. It’s embarrassing to think how many daughters of American millionaires have been pushed by their mothers into prestigious marriages; it’s embarrassing to think that I’m a character in one of those melodramas.”

“It’s not a melodrama. It’s your own life, and you have to stand up for your rights.”

“That is so much harder than it sounds! My mother has been trying to bend my will since I was a baby and I am weary of the struggle.” Catherine sighed, leaning against the hard strength of his arm. “She was raised in the South, and though her father made a lot of money, he was considered a social upstart in New York. The Parrishes didn’t think Mother was good enough for their son but he married her anyway. I think Mother was so bruised by the rejections she suffered that she decided to get even by molding her daughter into a royal who would be above the touch of New York society.”

“Lucky you,” Adam remarked sardonically.

“I thought I would be able to ease my way out of this situation until my brother died in a sailing accident, four years ago, when he was only twenty-one. Mother hasn’t been the same since. She’s always been single-minded and stubborn, but Stephen’s death broke her heart.”

“But what about your heart? He was your brother, after all.”

She wiped away tears. “I was very attached to him; he was the only person who really knew and understood me... and our unusual family. I’ve felt terribly alone since Stephen died. Mother and I were bound together by our grief for a time, I suppose. I went with her to England and let her dress me up and take me to parties.” Catherine looked at Adam and sighed. “A mistake, probably.”

“Probably,” he agreed drily. “I suppose you met Sunderford then?”

“Yes. We visited Sunderford Castle in Dorset. I realized how dire my situation was when I applied to Radcliffe College and was admitted, but Mother forbade me to go. I had dreamed of becoming a teacher, but she was horrified at the notion of me aspiring to something so ‘common.’ It was clear then that the purpose of my lifetime of studying had been only to form me into a worthy bride for a nobleman.”

Raveneau stared at her as she spoke, trying to fathom how a lively, intelligent girl like this could have suffered her mother’s machinations without fighting back. “Why are you still under the same roof with her? How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-one.” Catherine straightened her back. “You’re a man so you can’t possibly understand how different it is to be a woman in these times. I’ve been raised to follow a strict code of behavior, to never even leave the house unattended. Are you suggesting that I simply run away from home and turn my back on my parents?” Her spine sagged a bit as she sighed. “Well, I’ve considered it myself, as recently as this evening. Perhaps I would have done so by now if Stephen hadn’t died. It’s a terrible burden to be the only child, the only source of joy for your parents. I love Papa very much and he certainly doesn’t want me to stand up to Mother.”

“God, this is giving me a headache.”

“We should go back now. My mother will be livid when she realizes I’m missing!” She took another sip of champagne before rising from the bench. “Can’t you help me think of a way out of this coil? The duke doesn’t show any inclination to propose marriage, but Mother is determined, and I’m afraid that he may take me, just to get his impoverished hands on my enormous dowry.”

In spite of himself, Adam felt a guilty pang of interest as he walked Catherine back to the brightly lit mansion. “Did you say... dowry?”





Chapter 3




Hearing footsteps in the corridor, Catherine opened her door a few inches and peeked out. It was her father, striding along in his flawlessly-tailored suit, looking through his spectacles at a slim volume of Italian poetry.

“Papa!” she whispered urgently.

“Ah, I was just coming to tell you goodbye,” he said as he reached her door. “Better get out of that nightgown and into your riding clothes, angel. Your mother will have you stewed for supper if you don’t make up to her for last night.”

“Are you going back to New York City already?” Clearly, he did not mean to aid any further in her rebellion and yet he was the only person to whom she could turn. “Mother was so angry at me last night, when I didn’t return until midnight supper. I worry that she means to lock me in this tomb until I accept the duke’s proposal.”