Chapter Eleven

Everything was still. Hushed. Catherine didn’t want to open her eyes. She knew Sebastian was gone. She had slept through him rising, and dressing, and closing the door behind him. Why should he stay, after all? He’d had what he came for, but then so had she. They had given and taken pleasure such as she had only ever imagined, and in those moments she was closer to him physically than she had ever been to the late duke.

But despite that closeness to Sebastian, she barely knew him. She was sharing a bed with a man she barely knew, even while being with him was a revelation. He was not at all ashamed of his body and he never shied away from touching her and pleasing her—and himself. Spending time with him had made Catherine feel free in a way she had never felt free before. She was grateful for that; she’d never forget it.

But this was a temporary gift, and she was determined to look upon it as such, and yet... she would miss him.

She was not nearly as certain that he would miss her.

When she sat up there was a dent in the pillow beside her where he had lain that handsome head. Dreamily she tried to imagine the man as a boy. Women would have flocked to him from an early age, drawn by his looks and his charm. He must have grown used to such attentions, grown to expect them. He had said he could not imagine being married to one woman, that he had to be permitted to move on when he felt the need and not become mired in the minutia of domestic life. Which was sad because Catherine longed for those little things that made living with a man, a family, so special. The knowledge that someone loved you, and you them, that you could count on them to stay with you through the good and the bad.

Catherine needed that. Despite the unhappiness of her marriage, she had always needed it. She just wasn’t sure such a life was possible for her.

It was certainly not possible with Sebastian, and she would be a fool if she allowed her hopes to be raised.

A shriek of laughter drifted up from outside. Slipping out of bed, she drew her wrap about her, noting the remains of their meal from last night had been cleared away. Maggie must have been in here, silent as a ghost, probably smiling to herself as she watched them sleep. She pressed her face against the glass pane to see below her window and found herself smiling too.

Benny, with cheeks as red as apples, was bundled up in coat, hat, and gloves, as he patted at the rounded sides of a very fat snowman. Or at least that was what Catherine thought the heaped pile of snow was meant to be. Mr. Fotheringham, his back to her, bent to scoop up more snow onto the already rotund form. But when he straightened, dusting off his gloves, Catherine realized this man was too tall and broad shouldered to be the boy’s father.

Sebastian.

Yesterday he had promised to help Benny build his snowman, and she had teased him about it. She hadn’t believed he had any real intention of following it through. Now she felt a little guilty for doubting him, because there he was, his deep laugh ringing out in accompaniment with the child’s high-pitched squeals.

Seeing them together like this made something inside her chest squeeze so hard it hurt, and she put a hand to her heart as if it might be bruised. Was this the man he could have been if his life had been different? A father enjoying the company of his son?

Catherine couldn’t seem to help speculating about him. She knew Sebastian was on his way home to Albury House because his father needed him. His father was ill. He hadn’t said much more, only that he had been away for years and was only returning to see to the necessary arrangements when the head of a household died. He hadn’t mentioned his mother, or what had happened to her, and Catherine hadn’t asked, but she recalled the duke’s words.

She was killed in an accident in a gig. Albury was driving.

“My lady?”

Catherine jumped. Deep in her thoughts, and with her gaze fixed on the domestic scene below, she hadn’t heard Maggie come in.

Maggie smiled apologetically. “You slept late and missed breakfast and lunch. I can bring you some tea and toast. And I could arrange for Dodds to bring more hot water for a bath.”

“No, it is late, and a wash will suffice. I am not hungry. I feel like all we do is eat.”

Another shriek from Benny brought Maggie to join her at the window. She sniffed. “Is that a snowman? It isn’t a very good one, is it? Master Jack could do better.”

“Benny is having far too much fun to be worried about the look of the thing.”

“The viscount could charm the birds down from the trees. All of the maids here at the inn are in love with him.” There was something in Maggie’s voice that made Catherine turn to look at her.

“I thought you said he was the perfect man for me. Don’t you like him?”

Maggie looked uncomfortable. “It’s not that. It’s just...” She chewed on her lip.

Catherine felt her stomach sink. Had Sebastian been carousing with one of the servants? While he was with her, had he also been with someone else? But even as the thought came into her head, she dismissed it. For one there were practical hurdles, because when would he have had the time? But also because she suspected that, in his own way, Sebastian was too honourable to do such a shameful thing to her.

Maggie didn’t notice her mistress’ sudden silence, having come to a decision. “Dodds told me a story. About Albury’s mother and what happened to her.”

Catherine was almost relieved, and the words tumbled out of her. “Winstanton told me about that, too. He said Sebastian was driving the gig when she was killed. He was sent away from his home.”

“Dodds wasn’t there, and of course this was twelve years ago. But there’s always gossip. It’s said Albury was driving recklessly. They went right through the village at a clipping pace. Some folk said Lady Eltham was laughing and enjoying herself, while others said she was screaming and begging to be put down. Then as they turned to come back, the gig tipped over and his mother was trapped underneath. She was crushed and completely dead by the time they could get the gig off her. Albury was distraught, saying as it was all his fault. His father said it was his fault, too, and sent him off to London never to return. This is the first time he’s been back since.”

Catherine swallowed. It sounded like her father’s death, but there had been no one to blame for that. It had been a terrible accident. Her gaze returned to Sebastian, and she tried to imagine him, shocked and repentant over his mother’s death, only for his father to blame him and send him away. Had it been Sebastian’s fault? Everyone seemed to think so. She did not believe Lady Eltham was screaming and wanting to be set down—Sebastian was not the sort of man to do something as ridiculous as drive an unwilling woman at top speed if she wanted him to stop. She remembered his care of her when he realized how the duke had treated her. But then his mother had died a long time ago, and it was possible he had changed over the years.

“I told Dodds he sounded like a wrong ’un, and I didn’t want him near my lady, but he said he wasn’t. Said it was his father who had got it wrong. Dodds knows Albury well, so I believe him.”

Catherine managed a smile. “Thank you, Maggie. I did know the story, although not the details. I think this journey home is not an easy one for the viscount, but his father is ill and... maybe the earl wants a reconciliation.”

“Or to give him another tongue lashing,” Maggie said wryly. “I’ll fetch you that water for you to wash in, my lady.”

Catherine remained by the window as her maid bustled from the room. The story of his mother’s death might explain quite a bit about Sebastian and the man he had become. No one could ever disregard their past, no matter how much they tried. It must have been terribly painful for him to lose his mother in such circumstances—she remembered losing her father—but then to lose his father and his home as well. She could not imagine herself without her mother and sisters, alone in the world.

His past explained why he might be reluctant to open his heart again. Not even to a woman who believed she could make him happy.

And it was none of her business. These were his private matters, and he would not thank her for involving herself in them, even if she might want to.

And Catherine found to her dismay that she did. Want to.