“I surmised. The Whitehorse suits you. It used to be a great haunt of pirates, you know, before the Revolutionary War, and at heart you are a creature of the eighteenth century.”
Raveneau wondered if he were dreaming or going mad. “I couldn’t possibly be more confused by this conversation, Miss Parrish.”
“Please,” she interjected. “If nothing else, won’t you call me Cathy again? That name suits me, don’t you think so?”
“I’ll call you Cathy if you promise not to call me Heathcliff,” he replied in edgy tones. “Now then, as diverting as this visit may be, I must ask you to come to the point so that I can return to my packing.”
Cathy watched as he picked up a candle and lit a thin cigar with the flame. His profile was harsh, yet infinitely appealing to her, and she only knew that the feeling she had when Raveneau was near was worth more than all the riches at Beechcliff.
“All right then, Cathy.” He glanced over at her. “What is it? Why have you come here?”
She cleared her throat. “I’ve come... to ask you to marry me.”
There was a long moment of silence. Cathy’s cheeks got pinker as Raveneau poured himself a drink.
“I have noticed,” he said with a laugh, “that very wealthy people are prone to making the oddest jokes.”
“I’m not joking,” she insisted. “Believe me, I wouldn’t have risked my mother’s wrath and my reputation in Newport to chance coming alone not only to the Whitehorse, but to your very room if I were not dead serious.”
“Dead serious,” he repeated. “That sounds contagious.”
Cathy heaved a sigh, drew off her mobcap, and collapsed in a wing chair near the fireplace. Suddenly, all of it seemed the maddest of dreams. His splendid physical presence told the story, for now she realized that it was folly to imagine such a man could marry someone like her. The grand plan she’d hatched at Beechcliff seemed silly and feeble.
Adam drank his brandy. “If you’re so serious, why are gotten up in that costume? I couldn’t help assuming that this must be a lark—”
Her chin trembled. “First of all, I’ve not been allowed to leave Beechcliff, not even permitted to have visitors, so I had to disguise myself in order to slip out. Secondly, you must know that no young lady of breeding could ride a bicycle to visit a man alone at this hour— or any hour— without soiling her good name.” Fighting back tears, she added, “If one person recognizes me leaving your room, I’m ruined. It’s such a ludicrous world, but I do have to live in it!”
Alarmed, Adam brought her a small goblet of red wine, then leaned against the mantel and watched her sip it. She was like a schoolgirl: charming and mercurial, with an expressive face that was part child, part woman. Perhaps it was a consequence of being raised like a hothouse orchid, with Hermione Parrish as the master gardener. Cathy was a bit awkward in her dealings with the outside world.
When Alice trundled over to lie down on Cathy’s feet, Adam softened. “I perceive that you’ve been beset by more problems back at Beechcliff. Did you imagine that someone like myself, on the outside, might be able to help?”
“Mother has managed to wring a proposal of marriage out of the Duke of Sunderford,” she whispered.
He didn’t hear at first. “I’m the last person you ought to envision as a knight in shining armor. Not my role at all—” Then her words sank in. “Did you say that Winnie’s asked for your hand? He’s come up to snuff after all?”
“Winnie? Is that his name?
“It’s what his friends call him. You didn’t know?”
She shook her head miserably. “I might laugh if it weren’t my own future that’s at stake. He didn’t ask for my hand, but rather mumbled that he’d make me a good husband. He doesn’t want it any more than I do, but he needs our money. It’s a sickening situation!”
“I couldn’t agree more, but surely you realize that it’s mad to think that I could intervene somehow, let alone marry you, Cathy!” He laughed again, for emphasis, but she only looked sadder. “You do agree, don’t you? I mean, we scarcely know one another. We just met, for God’s sake! While I think you’re a very nice girl and I sympathize with your plight, I need much better reasons than those to marry.”
“You say that word as if it meant a lifetime of extreme torture.”
“I’m trying to tell you that I’m not husband material. Nor hero material, for that matter.” Raveneau strode away toward the four-poster bed then glanced back with one black brow arched. “Quite the contrary. Why the devil did you choose me?”
“You’re the only other man in Newport with a proper British title and I thought that Mother might, under duress, accept you as a substitute for the duke. And...” She couldn’t tell him how she’d felt the moment he walked into Beechcliff, like a figure from a romantic dream. “I like you. I thought we might deal well together—”
“Cathy, how many men have courted you— or kissed you?” Adam strode back to her, watching her face. “How many men have you even talked with alone, as we have done?”
“I— couldn’t say.” She curled up in the chair, unable to meet his stirring gaze. “Not... very many, obviously, since Mother has monitored and scheduled every hour of my days.”
“And you are twenty-one?”
“Yes.”
“I think your mistake has been to wait so long before standing up to your mother. You’re backed completely into the corner now— but there must be another way to escape. I hardly think it’s fair for you to expect me, a virtual stranger, to solve a problem that more properly rests between you and your mother.”
“If you’re suggesting that I might reason or argue with her, that’s impossible.”
There was so much more she wanted to say to him, but Raveneau had erected an invisible barrier. She ought to gather up her tattered pride and go home while he was still speaking to her, but the thought of what awaited her there was worse. Watching him finish his brandy and resume packing, Cathy reached down to stroke Alice’s neck.
“There was one other reason I chose you.”
“Was there?” he replied, politely distracted.
She took a deep breath. “I hope you won’t take offense at this, but I’ve gotten the idea that you need money. I heard something about your estate in the West Indies needing restoration...”
Unable to help himself, he put down the collars he’d been sorting and looked at her. It was like that moment in the teahouse when she’d mentioned her dowry, and he hated himself for the surge of avarice that swept aside all his other doubts. “A marriage based on money would be flawed at its core, don’t you think?”
Just then, the door burst open and Byron Matthews appeared. He was holding an open bottle of wine, and his shirt was untucked.
“I’ve decided that we can’t leave for Connecticut tomorrow without visiting Bailey’s Beach first,” he exclaimed. “It’s—”
“I have a guest,” Adam interrupted.
“So I see! Good evening, Miss Parrish!” Byron went straight over to sit in the wing chair facing her, put down his bottle, and reached across to clasp her hand. Alice emitted a low, protective sound. “Is it an emergency that brings you here? It’s past midnight, you know.” He blinked at the sight of her maid’s costume but made no further comment.
“It’s a long story,” Adam put in.
“My emergency is that the duke of Sunderford has proposed marriage and my mother locked me in the house until I accept, or rather until we’ve formally announced the engagement at a dinner party.”
“And you’ve come to Adam for help?”
Cathy nodded. “A mistake, as it turns out.”
“See here, there’s no call for sarcasm!” Raveneau protested. “I’m hardly a villain just because I won’t marry you in Sunderford’s place.” Looking to his friend, he made a dramatic gesture for understanding. “For God’s sake, Byron, I just met this young lady, and you of all people know that I am leery of marriage. Tell her that my behavior in this situation is entirely reasonable, and that—” He broke off at the sight of his friend moving to a footstool next to Cathy’s chair and holding her hand in earnest.
“Did you choose Adam because of his title?” he was asking her, as if Raveneau were not in the room. “You thought your mother might accept him if she were pressed?”
His kind expression broke the fragile shell of her composure and she began to cry, softly. “I persuaded the duke to withdraw, thank God. I convinced him that we wouldn’t suit, and he agreed that there must be another heiress more to his taste who could help restore his castle. But my mother won’t give up so easily. The only answer is to let her continue to think we are announcing my betrothal to the duke at our dinner party, and then, suddenly, produce a different fiancé. In that setting, with a proper audience, she won’t be able to protest.” Accepting Byron’s folded handkerchief, Cathy wiped her eyes, dabbed her nose, and added, “I did think that it might soften the blow if the substitute were also a titled Englishman, as she dreamed...”