Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"The Lady Catherine Brisby here to see you, Your Grace."

Henry jerked at the words, looking up from where he'd absconded in the sitting room with his book, his eyebrows rising. He hadn't heard the bell; he hadn't even heard the door to the sitting room opening. He'd been so far into the novel and the sword fight that had just begun.

Catherine Brisby? Martha's sister?

"See her i–" he cut off, his body going still from how he had been readjusting already at the thought of the company as his butler was forced forward and the sitting room door opened further from the hallway without him ever finishing his sentence.

"I told him not to stand on protocol," Catherine huffed, bustling past the affronted-looking butler with a warm smile as she swept into the room amid the heavy wave of perfume that came with her. "We're family, I told him, but he insisted!"

She clucked as if she couldn't believe the affront, and Henry hurried to rise to his feet, his own smile stiff on his lips as he quickly received her and bent to kiss her proffered cheek just as he had done all the years she had been his sister-in-law.

"Catherine," he greeted as warmly as he was able, unable quite to keep the question from her name. "How lovely to see you. I didn't know you were in town. How long has it been? Two … three years?"

Catherine's smile faltered, her eyes narrowing slightly before she fixed her expression into one of pleasantness and backed away to take a seat across from the chair Henry had just risen out of to greet her.

"Three years," she sighed. "Yes. I didn't realize it had been quite so long."

Henry had.

He hadn't actually needed to ask. He hadn't seen her since the evening of Martha's funeral, that awkward scene still hanging between them like a burial shroud.

"We've just been so busy," Catherine continued quickly, her tone overly cheery. "John has all his business in London, and we've received so many different invitations to travel abroad I could hardly refuse!"

"John." Henry eagerly latched onto the subject. "Did he travel with you?" He only just stopped himself from looking towards the door as if in hopes that he would wander in later than his wife.

Catherine's expression faltered again, her nose wrinkling before she smoothed her features. "Oh, no. You know John and his … exploits."

Henry did, though he was surprised Catherine made such a bald mention of them. And even more uncomfortable because she had. Catherine's husband's preference for women whose company he paid to keep over his wife's was something that Henry had always tried to ignore. And the only fault he had ever found with the otherwise agreeable man.

"I kept myself busy," Catherine continued, brushing the topic off as one might a gnat. "I needed to regardless of how things … And … well," her voice faltered, her eyes dropping as all the positivity seemed to seep out of her. "With Martha …"

Her name struck Henry like an anvil, his own practised social smile faltering as his heart wrenched to a halt within his ribs.

"It just still feels so sudden," Catherine murmured. "As if it were just yesterday."

The air in the room had grown frigid, Henry's grief lifting to encompass him like a too-well-worn blanket.

"And then I saw your betrothal announcement in the paper," Catherine continued, her eyes finally lifting to meet his once more, a shadow passing behind them so quickly he almost thought he had imagined it.

He winced, his teeth gritting together at how she had phrased it and how accusatory he took it despite what he was sure were just her curious intentions.

"Yes," Henry muttered, still off balance and taking a moment to clear his throat. "I really ought to have written to you first …"

"Oh, nonsense," Catherine demurred. "A … happy occasion indeed. Where did you meet the young lady? And … when?"

When.

Again, her phrasing struck him, his mind putting a dastardly spin on her normal line of questioning. A spin he had to fight to ignore as he slowly sank back into his own chair.

"I met her here," he answered honestly. "And just the other day."

Catherine didn't bother to hide her surprise or how scandalous she found the news, her face dropping as disappointment filled it.

For a moment, Henry was almost actually ashamed.

"It's an arranged marriage, Catherine." He cleared his throat again, feeling rather silly for having to explain himself. "I need heirs. I wouldn't want you to think–" he cut off, his throat closing over the words. "I wouldn't want you to think I had met her any earlier." The implication that he might have entertained her before was left silent in the back of his throat. "A marriage of convenience."

Catherine's eyes were shrewd, her gaze intense as he spoke. Her expression cleared some, though she wasn't quite smiling as she nodded. "Of course. I could never think poorly of you, Henry. You must know that."

Henry's lips twitched in what he hoped was some semblance of a relieved smile. However, with the way she stressed her words and the odd tone behind them, he felt anything but.

"I could be your wife, Henry."

Those words from Martha's graveside whispered between them despite Catherine not having opened her lips again. Memories of how fervently she'd spoken them all those years before.

"I appreciate that, Catherine," Henry replied haltingly.

"Anything for Martha," Catherine murmured, looking down before glancing back up from under her lashes.

"I could take care of you. I could do that for her."

Damn his own perfect recall. Her words were too similar, and the memory too uncomfortable. It made Henry shift in his seat, his skin suddenly several sizes too small and the space between them not nearly wide enough.

"To honour her memory, to let her know that you were going to be fine."

"I'm glad you're so understanding of my reasoning," Henry continued, fumbling for something to say as he tried to ensure he was answering their current conversation and not the one he remembered in his head.

"It's only natural." Catherine stopped, her smile wistful. "To want a child. I only wish John were of such a mind. I always dreamed of being a mother, you know. Though, with him, I doubt such a thing could ever happen."

"You could marry me."

Like nails on a chalkboard, her words filled Henry with a revulsion he fought to keep off his face. She wasn't offering again. He knew she couldn't be. It had been grief that she had spoken from those three years past. Grief and grief alone.

But there was no denying the interest in her gaze. The way that her eyes lingered on his lips or the suggestion in her words. At the very least, she was flirting. Henry recognized the look of desire there. He'd seen a much more tempting version just those few nights past with his intended. Although Catherine's didn't heat him in quite the same manner.

"I'm certain that needn't be the case," Henry tried to reassure her. "Have you told John that you wanted children?"

"Must a woman spell such things out?" Catherine asked with a short laugh. Her tone was almost derisive, but she leaned forward all the same as she asked it, the neckline of her dress bunching just so that the upper swells of her breasts became more visible. It was an artful move. And one that Henry could hardly appreciate.

"Sometimes men are dense creatures." Henry's tone was dry, his snort genuine as he kept his eyes from straying where Catherine so very obviously wanted them to.

"Are you suggesting that you need to be led?" Catherine's lips tilted, the angle coquettish as her cheeks dimpled.

Damnation, he had walked himself right into that one.

"Some men," Henry answered vaguely. "I think a marriage requires more direct communication at times. I can only hope such will be possible for myself and the future duchess as well."

Catherine's smile grew further, and Henry internally winced at how open-ended he had left that.

"If our meeting the other night is anything to go by, it seems we may yet have hope," he tacked on quickly. It wasn't too much of a falsehood, after all, if he were considering their parting conversation and how refreshingly blunt she had been.

Catherine's reaction was slight, just the barest narrowing of her eyes, but Henry caught it on account of how observant his discomfort was making him all the same.

"If one can trust just one meeting," Catherine said airily. "If I'd gone off of my first meeting with my husband, I'd have been sure I would be living an entirely different life." Her laugh was short and punctuated with every ounce of sarcasm she managed to keep out of her words. "He was very attentive at first, you know."

No, Henry hadn't known. He didn't want to know now. He swallowed thickly, trying to keep his expression neutral.

"Such are arranged marriages," Henry offered diplomatically, trying to diffuse the conversational pitfall he'd managed to walk his way into.

"If one marries someone that they aren't familiar with." Catherine's smile shifted yet again, her expression turning a contrived sort of thoughtful.

"Well, yes, if one can afford such a thing and is presented with the opportunity." Henry and Martha had been a good example of such. A love match.

"One should endeavour to," Catherine insisted, again looking up at him from beneath her lashes. Her head was slightly tilted, her body held at an angle both alluring and confident in the same breath. Again, she pointed her elbows on her lap towards one another, her shoulders pushing forward so as to display her cleavage to its best advantage.

"I've given it quite a lot of thought, you know."

Lord, save him from such thought.

"If one is to marry, it should be where there is mutual respect. An understanding if you will. Of both minds and goals. You wanting to produce an heir, for example. To do so, you would be best matched with a woman of similar desire – a woman who wants to be a mother."

As she herself had already stated she did?

"You should know one another well enough to discuss such wants and be comfortable enough spending time in one another's company. A family friend, a close acquaintance …"

A sister-in-law?

Henry repressed a shudder. Even if he did want to entertain such a thought himself, which he certainly did not, to do so would be all but forbidden in the ton. The fact that she could even imply it was insane.

"All good things to pass on to the children that you and John shall inevitably have," Henry said pointedly, his smile not slipping one iota despite his internal revulsion.

For the first time, Catherine's mask slipped enough to show her discontent with his refusal to rise to her charms and the laced suggestion in her words. Her brow furrowed, her smile slipping into a frown.

"What makes you think this young lady possesses such qualities, Henry?"

"I am not quite well acquainted enough with Lady Josephine to be entirely certain of such," Henry admitted slowly, stressing her name so she could stop being referred to as ‘young lady'. "What I have observed of her thus far, however, leads me to feel quite optimistic concerning them – and her."

Catherine's smile was pasted back onto her lips, the emotion burning through her eyes smothered once more. "How quaint," she murmured. "And you're so confident about it as well. Of course, it is only a betrothal, which leaves you plenty of room to change your mind should you find out the opposite."

They had surpassed vaguely suggestive territory and were quickly approaching the sort of thing that couldn't be taken back. Just like that day at Martha's grave, realizing what her sister was implying and trying to lead him towards made his skin break out in gooseflesh, his stomach twisting and turning angrily at how impossible of a position it left him in.

"Which I don't imagine I shall have to do," Henry announced as he stood rather quickly. His lips widened in a forced smile, his jaw aching with the effort of it as he ignored her look of surprise at the abruptness of his movement. "However, I do have pressing matters I need to attend to," he trailed off pointedly, his eyes drifting to the door before jerking back to her once more.

Catherine frowned, her gaze falling upon the book he had discarded so quickly upon her arrival.

Henry didn't give her time even to read the title, though, sweeping it up from the arm of the chair and tucking it into his arm before she could see that it was fiction.

"You and John will have to attend the wedding, of course," he continued genially as she rose uncertainly to her feet. "I'll be sure to have an invitation sent here and in London, just in case." And to ensure that John received it as well. It wouldn't do for Lady Brisby to attend without Lord Brisby. Certainly not now.

"It was so good to catch up with you." Henry walked ahead of Catherine, not slowing or shortening his stride as he approached the sitting room door and hurriedly opened it. "Take your time, Catherine; my butler can see you out. And thank you for your words of wisdom."

He tossed her one last smile before making his escape ahead of whatever utterance she might have given in return. He didn't think he could politely decline to answer whatever question she might come up with to detain him, and he didn't know if he could navigate himself through any more pointed conversation and innuendo.

While it would have been easy to attribute her actions still to grief (it had only been three years, after all), he struggled to dismiss it as quickly as he had that evening at Martha's grave.

Lord, what he wouldn't give to talk to his late wife about the scenario that had just occurred.

And, as he hurried down the hall and up the staircase to put even more space between him and her sister, another set of eyes intruded upon his thoughts.

Would he have been so disgusted if it had been those oceanic-blue eyes sitting across from him phrasing things so suggestively?

He wanted to say yes.

But the memory of how his body had reacted just to her proximity, just to the desire in her gaze alone, made him think otherwise.

Depraved.

That was what he was. A depraved, desperate man. And he grappled with it along with his guilt for being so as he ran an aggravated hand down his face and cursed the world that had left him in such a predicament in the first place.