Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

" G oodbye, Lord Skelton. You were most kind to call on us this afternoon. Do not let us detain you any longer," Catherine Wright said, with only a hint of impatience showing in her clear green eyes.

"Yes, very good to see you, Skelton. Give my regards to your father, won't you?" her father, the bluff grey-haired Albion Wright, Viscount Sedgehall, added. "I do hope we'll see your parents at Ascot."

"Of course," the slim, fair-haired young man with the face of a choir boy replied. "I also look forward to seeing you at Ascot."

While he appeared to be responding to Catherine and Lord Sedgehall's farewells, Lord Skelton's eyes were actually fixed on the third member of the trio escorting him out of the drawing room of the family's residence in Mayfair.

Twenty-year-old Jemima Wright smiled brightly at him as he adoringly gazed back at her dimpled face, blue eyes, and golden-brown ringlets.

Catherine almost laughed, knowing that Jemima always smiled that brightly at any personable young man, but then composed herself, not wanting to influence her sister or offend Lord Skelton.

At least Lord Skelton wasn't staring at her younger sister's bosom like Sir Arthur Mellish, the third suitor who had called on them that day…

With a sigh, Catherine sank back into the comfortable armchair and closed her eyes as her father and Jemima went to the window to watch Lord Skelton's carriage depart.

"Let's hope that was the last of them for today. I'd be happy never to see another eligible bachelor, as long as I live!" Catherine declared.

As she spoke, she kicked off her heeled shoes, loosened the ribbon at the neckline of her cream muslin dress, and removed the pins from her hair. She let the dark blonde waves fall around her shoulders and then shook them out.

Lord Skelton was their fifth caller since eleven o'clock that morning, all of them gentlemen and all of them patently only interested in Jemima, despite declaring they were calling on Lord Sedgehall. They had been studiously polite to Catherine, some even seeming a little scared.

Soft, sweet, vivacious Jemima was as popular in her second Season as she had been in her first the previous year. In contrast, Catherine knew that she was considered difficult . She took pride in her ability to unnerve the young gentlemen of the ton and ward off any unwelcome suitors.

"Catherine, there's no need to inflict your peculiar attitudes on your younger sister," Lord Sedgehall protested wearily, glancing at his pocket watch. "Young women must marry. It is the way of things."

"I do want to marry, Father," Jemima piped up. "But I want to marry the right man. Lord Skelton is very sweet, for example, but I'm not sure I could fall in love with him."

"Lord Skelton comes from a good family and makes six thousand pounds a year. I think he'd make an excellent husband, although if your sister carries on the way she has, you'd better aim for ten thousand. I can't afford a large dowry for either of you, after all. How did you find Sir Arthur? He has a very profitable coal mine."

"Oh, let her be, Father," Catherine said. "Surely we've had enough talk about marriage for one day. Can't we speak about something else? The new French play coming to the Theatre Royal, for example."

If Lord Sedgehall had his way, Jemima would have been married off to the first rich man who asked for her hand last year. Thankfully, in Catherine's eyes, Jemima was a hopeless romantic who wished to marry for love. With or without his coal mine, the boorish and distinctly unromantic Sir Arthur stood no chance.

Despite her father's best efforts, Jemima had been equally unpersuaded to entertain the widowed and elderly Duke of Solforth or the rakish Lord Edward Fitzsimons, who was known to keep a string of mistresses from the demi-monde.

"Husbands are rather more important than plays, Catherine," Lord Sedgehall persisted. "I'd like to know how Jemima found today's callers. There are things she should know about their backgrounds if any of them are serious prospects. She should marry sooner rather than later, for the sake of my finances as much as anything else. Your dowries might be worth even less next year."

"What Jemima needs to know is that all men are beasts and that all wives are likely to be at least moderately unhappy in life," Catherine countered coolly and dismissively, taking no notice of the way her father winced at her words. "Our role is surely to help her make the least bad choice of husband."

"Don't be such a misery-guts, Catherine." Jemima smiled, coming to perch on the arm of her older sister's chair and patting her shoulder. "You might be five-and-twenty, but there's still time for you to fall in love, too. One of these days, you might meet a man who changes your mind about marriage. You might even be happy about it."

"You're too old to believe in fairytales, Jemima," Catherine answered but with a smile of true affection for her younger sibling. "Just don't let Father pressure you into anything you don't want."

"Pressure her? I'm trying to smooth her path in the world—and yours, too, Catherine," Albion retorted crossly, at odds once again with his eldest daughter. "What would your mother have said…"

"Don't you dare talk to us about Mother!" Catherine snapped, sitting forward as though she would leap from her chair.

It would be more than she could bear today to hear her father talk about their mother as if he had really ever known or cared about her. Catherine knew the truth about their marriage, even if Jemima did not. She was not prepared to absolve her father of his past, even if he pleaded good motives in the present.

Lord Sedgehall quickly held up his hands in surrender, recognizing that he had touched a sore point for his oldest daughter, although he didn't understand the anger in her green eyes. Then, he turned abruptly back towards the window with a puzzled frown.

"Is that another carriage drawing up? Good God, who is it now?"

"It's another suitor," Jemima noted excitedly, stepping up beside her father. "I wonder who?"

"Not another one!" Catherine groaned. "Send him away, Father, whoever he is. Surely we must have some time to ourselves today."

"He's wearing a black coat, and his top hat is pulled down," Jemima continued. "I can't quite make out his face. Oh! He's wearing a mask of some sort, I think. How intriguing. I really don't know who it could be. Do you know, Father?"

Lord Sedgehall shook his head at his youngest daughter and squinted again through the glass. "So many of these young men look the same to me, Jemima. You may focus on their physiques, but I am more interested in their assets. Together, we will find you the right match, I'm sure."

Catherine made a further sound of derision as she reluctantly slipped her feet back into her shoes and stood up again.

"Your hair, Catherine!" Jemima suddenly exclaimed, realizing that her older sister's locks were tumbling around her face in utter disarray.

"Oh, never mind my hair," Catherine replied. "It's you all these men are here for, after all. My disheveled state will simply make you look all the more elegant and composed by comparison. And if this latest caller is put off by my appearance, perhaps we can finally get some peace in this house."

Lord Sedgehall frowned at his elder daughter and pointed to the door, signaling that Catherine should be quiet now, lest the visitor in the hallway overhear her words. For Jemima's sake, she nodded in agreement and waited in silence as footsteps approached the drawing room.

A moment later, their butler, Elford, opened the door and presented Lord Sedgehall with a card on a silver tray. While Albion still appeared puzzled, he nodded to the butler, who then showed in a tall, well-built young man with a shock of dark hair and deep blue eyes.

As Jemima had observed, their latest visitor was indeed wearing a half-mask of black silk on his face. While there was a smile on the man's lips, it seemed somewhat forced, and his jaw was tense.

"The Duke of Redbridge," Elford announced and then backed out of the room with a bow, closing the door behind him.

"Lord Sedgehall, I am sorry to call on you without prior notice, but I am rarely in London and might not have another opportunity for some time."

The newcomer's tone was stiff and formal as if delivering a prepared speech, and his manner was no more personable, in Catherine's view. He certainly did not look or sound like a suitor. More like a particularly stern mourner at a funeral.

"You are very welcome here, Your Grace," Albion assured, ringing the bell for tea to be brought. "I recall that my father and your grandfather were as close as brothers once upon a time. I am only too glad to see these ties continue into the younger generations. May I present my daughters, Miss Catherine Wright and Miss Jemima Wright."

Catherine and Jemima both curtsied at their father's cue and then returned to regarding the Duke of Redbridge with silent curiosity. After a cursory glance and a nod to each of them, the Duke's eyes flicked straight back to Lord Sedgehall.

This evident sign of disinterest piqued Catherine's curiosity, despite her wish for peace from visitors. Wasn't Jemima the prettiest and most lovable girl in London? Didn't her white muslin dress enhance her figure to perfection, just as her ringlets set off her sweetly dimpled face? Her younger sister deserved more than a passing nod from this arrogant nobleman, regardless of the purpose of his call.

"How is your grandmother faring, Your Grace?" Albion inquired, motioning for the Duke to take a seat. "I saw the Dowager Duchess of Redbridge at a Haydn recital last week but did not have the chance to speak with her."

"My grandmother is very well, Lord Sedgehall. As ever, she has the energy of four women half her age."

"Ah, you should have seen her in her prime, Your Grace. Your grandfather always said that he wished he could take her to war with him to scare away the enemy."

This remark coaxed a smile from the young man, which transformed his features into something warm and human for a brief instant, before his expression sobered.

"I can easily believe that," the Duke commented and then paused. "It is actually because of my grandmother that I came to call on you today. She recently discovered this document which was drawn up by my grandfather and your father, and it promises… Well, it's best that you read it yourself."

He pulled a rolled piece of parchment out of his pocket and handed it over. Putting on his reading glasses, Lord Sedgehall unrolled it and held it up to the light.

Catherine saw interest on her father's face, followed by surprise and then a peculiar eagerness that worried her. What could be in this mysterious old contract? She came over to her father's chair to inspect it for herself, but he had already released one end so that it rolled up once more before she could make out any of the words.

"Do I understand this correctly?" Albion queried with an odd laugh, looking at the Duke of Redbridge over his silver-rimmed spectacles. "You are here to claim…"

"Yes, Lord Sedgehall," the Duke replied, gesturing towards the rolled paper with an entirely straight face. "You are entirely correct. I am here to claim a wife."