“Who won the brawl?” Poppy asked impishly.
That earned one of Harry’s rare grins. “A conversation broke out in the middle of the fight. Which was undoubtedly a good thing, as it turned out that neither of us knows how to fight like a gentleman.”
“You fence,” Poppy pointed out. “That’s a very gentlemanly way to fight.”
“Fencing isn’t really fighting. It’s more like chess with the risk of puncture wounds.”
“Well, I’m glad you didn’t hurt each other,” Poppy said cheerfully, “since there’s a distinct possibility that you may soon be brothers-in-law.”
“We’re already brothers-in-law.”
“Brothers-in-law squared, then.” Poppy slipped her arm through his.
Harry glanced at Catherine as they began to walk. “You haven’t decided yet, have you? About marrying Ramsay?”
“Certainly not,” she said quietly, keeping pace with them. “My head’s in a whirl. I need time to think.”
“Harry,” Poppy said, “when you say that we’re at cross-purposes, I hope you don’t mean that you’re against the idea of Leo and Catherine marrying.”
“For the time being,” he said, seeming to choose his words carefully, “I believe caution is in order.”
“But don’t you want Catherine to become part of my family?” Poppy asked, bewildered. “She would have the protection of the Hathaways, and she would be close to your influence.”
“Yes, I would like that very much. Except that it would necessitate Cat’s marrying Ramsay, and I’m not at all convinced that would be best for her.”
“I thought you liked Leo,” Poppy protested.
“I do. If there’s a man in London with more charm or wit, I have yet to meet him.”
“Then how could you have any objections?”
“Because his past doesn’t recommend itself as that of a reliable husband. Cat has been betrayed many times in her life.” His tone was sober and grim. He looked at Catherine. “And I’m one of the people who failed you. I don’t want you to suffer that way again.”
“Harry,” Catherine said earnestly, “you’re far too severe on yourself.”
“Now isn’t the time to pour sweetener on unpleasant truths,” he returned. “If I could change the past, I would go back and do so without hesitation. But all I can do is try to make amends, and do better in the future. And I would say the same of Ramsay.”
“Everyone deserves a second chance,” Catherine said.
“Agreed. And I’d like to believe that he’s turned over a new leaf. But it remains to be seen.”
“You’re afraid he’ll fall back into bad habits,” Catherine said.
“He wouldn’t be the first. However, Ramsay is nearing the age at which a man’s character is more or less fixed. If he continues to avoid his former libertine practices, I think he’ll make a fine husband. But until he manages to prove himself, I’m not willing to risk your future as the wife of a man who may prove incapable of keeping his vows.”
“He would keep his vows,” Poppy insisted.
“How do you know that?”
“Because he’s a Hathaway.”
Harry smiled down at her. “He is fortunate to have you defend him, sweet. And I hope you’re right.” His gaze flickered to Catherine’s troubled face. “Am I wrong in suspecting that you have the same doubts, Cat?”
“I find it difficult to trust any man,” she admitted.
The three of them were quiet as they continued along a neatly edged path.
“Catherine,” Poppy ventured, “may I ask something exceptionally personal?”
Cat sent her a mock-worried look, and smiled. “I can’t imagine anything more personal than what we’ve been discussing. Yes, of course.”
“Has my brother told you that he loves you?”
Catherine hesitated for a long moment. “No,” she said, her gaze fixed on the path before them. “In fact, I recently overheard him telling Win that he would only marry a woman if he were certain not to love her.” She darted a glance at Harry, who thankfully forbore comment.
Poppy frowned. “He may not have meant it. Leo often jokes about things and says the opposite of how he really feels. One never knows with him.”
“Precisely my point,” Harry said in a neutral tone. “One never knows with Ramsay.”
After Catherine had eaten a plate of sandwiches with an impetus born of a renewed appetite, she went to a private suite that Harry had obtained for her.
“Later, after you’ve rested,” Poppy told her, “I’ll send a housemaid down with some of my clothes. They’ll be a bit loose for you, but they can be altered easily.”
“Oh, there’s no need for that,” Catherine protested. “I’ll send for the things I left in Hampshire.”
“You’ll need something to wear in the meantime. And I have scores of gowns that have never been worn. Harry is ridiculously excessive when it comes to buying things for me. Besides, there’s no need for all your stodgy spinster dresses now. I’ve always longed to see you in beautiful colors … pink, or jade green…” She smiled at Catherine’s expression. “You’ll be like the proverbial butterfly emerging from the cocoon.”
Catherine tried to respond with humor, although her nerves were strung tight with anxiety. “I was really quite comfortable as a caterpillar.”
Poppy went to find Harry in his curiosities room, where he often went to mull over a problem or work on something in a place where he was certain not to be interrupted. Only Poppy was allowed to come and go as she pleased.
The room was lined with shelves of exotic and interesting objects, gifts from foreign visitors, clocks and figurines and odd things he had collected in his travels.
Harry sat at his desk in his shirtsleeves, fiddling with gears and springs and bits of wire, as he did whenever he was deep in thought. Poppy approached him, feeling a little pang of pleasure as she watched the movements of those hands, thinking of how they played on her body.
Harry looked up as she closed the door, his gaze attentive and thoughtful. He discarded the handful of metallic objects. Turning in his chair, he took her by the waist and pulled her between his spread thighs.
Poppy let her hands slide into his shiny dark hair, brown-black silk that curled slightly over her fingers. “Am I distracting you?” she asked as she leaned down to kiss him.
“Yes,” he said against her mouth. “Don’t stop.”
Her chuckle dissolved between their lips, like sugar melting in hot tea. Lifting her head, Poppy tried to remember what she had come there for. “Mmmn, don’t,” she said as his mouth went to her throat. “I can’t think when you do that. I was going to ask you something…”
“The answer is yes.”
Drawing back, she grinned and looked down at him, her arms still linked around his neck. “What do you really think about this situation with Catherine and Leo?”
“I’m not sure.” He toyed with the front of her bodice, running his fingers along the row of decorative buttons.
“Harry, do not pull at those,” she warned, “they’re decorative.”
“What good are buttons that don’t do anything?” he asked, looking puzzled.
“It’s the fashion.”
“How am I to get this dress off you?” Intrigued, Harry began to search for hidden fastenings.
Poppy touched her nose to his. “It’s a mystery,” she whispered. “I’ll let you find out after you tell me what you intend to do about Catherine.”
“Scandal burns itself out far sooner when ignored. Any attempt to smother it only fans the flames. I’m going to introduce Cat as my sister, explain that she went to school at Blue Maid’s, and subsequently took a position with the Hathaways as a kindness to you and your sister.”
“And what about all the uncomfortable questions?” Poppy asked. “How shall we answer?”
“In the manner of politicians. Willfully misinterpret and evade.”
She considered that with thoughtfully pursed lips. “I suppose that’s the only choice,” she said. “But what of Leo’s proposal?”
“You think she should accept him?”
Poppy nodded decisively. “I don’t see what is to be gained by waiting. One never knows what kind of husband a man will be until one marries him. And then it’s too late.”
“Poor little wife,” Harry murmured, patting her rump over the gathered folds of her skirts. “It’s far too late for you, isn’t it?”
“Well, yes, I’ve resigned myself to a lifetime of having to endure your passionate lovemaking and witty conversation.” She heaved a sigh. “It’s better than being a spinster, I tell myself.”
Harry stood and pulled her up against him, kissing her until she was dizzy and pink-cheeked.
“Harry,” she persisted, as he nuzzled beneath her ear, “when will you give your blessing to the match between Catherine and my brother?”
“When she tells me that it doesn’t matter what I say, she’s going to marry him come hell or high water.” Lifting his head, he stared deeply into her eyes. “Let’s go to the apartment and take a nap.”
“I’m not sleepy,” she whispered, and he grinned.
“Neither am I.” Taking her hand, he drew her out of the room. “Now about those buttons…”
Chapter Twenty-three
In the morning, Catherine was awakened by a maid who lit a fire in the grate and brought breakfast. One of the joys of staying at the Rutledge was the delicious food prepared by the talented Chef Broussard. Catherine sighed in enjoyment as she saw the contents of the tray: tea, fresh eggs coddled in cream and sided with pistolettes, small oval-shaped rolls, and a dish of ripe berries.
“There was a note under the door, miss,” the maid said. “I put it on the side of the tray.”
“Thank you.” Picking up the small sealed card, Catherine felt a twinge of pleasure when she saw her name written in Leo’s unmistakable style, the neat, semi-joined italic of a trained architect.
“Ring when you’re finished with the tray, miss, and I’ll run up to get it. And if you need help dressing or arranging your hair, I’m a fair hand at that too.”
Catherine waited until the maid had left before opening the note.
Mysterious outing planned for this morning. Be ready at ten o’clock sharp. Wear walking shoes.
—R
A smile broke out on Catherine’s face. “Mysterious outing,” she said, watching as Dodger hoisted himself up on the bed, his tiny nose working appreciatively as he detected food nearby. “What could he be planning? No, Dodger, don’t even think of disturbing my breakfast. You’ll have to wait till I’m done. I draw the line at sharing a plate with you.”
Seeming to understand her stern tone, Dodger stretched and rolled slowly, completing three revolutions across the mattress.
“And don’t expect this to be a permanent arrangement,” Catherine added, stirring sugar in her tea. “I’m only taking care of you until you go back to Beatrix.”
She was so hungry that she ate every morsel on her plate, except for the small portion she reserved for the ferret. The eggs were perfect, the steaming yellow centers perfect for dipping the crisp pistolette crusts. When she was done, she spooned a coddled egg into a saucer for Dodge, placed a few berries on the side, and went to set it on the floor for him. Happily Dodger circled her, paused for a petting, and went to devour his food.
Catherine had just finished washing and brushing out her hair when there came a knock at the door. It was Poppy, accompanied by the housemaid she had seen earlier. Poppy was carrying at least three dresses draped across her arms, while the maid held a large basket filled with what appeared to ladies’ linens, stockings, gloves, and other fripperies.
“Good morning,” Poppy said cheerfully, coming in to lay the gown across the bed. Glancing at the ferret eating in the corner, she shook her head and grinned. “Hello, Dodger.”
“Are all those things for me?” Catherine asked. “I don’t need so much, truly—”
“I’m forcing it on you,” Poppy informed her, “so don’t dare try to give anything back. I’ve included a few new underthings from the dressmaker, and a ‘reform’ corset—do you remember when we saw them displayed at the ladies’ outfitter stand at the Great Exhibition?”
“Of course.” Catherine smiled. “Impossible to forget a collection of women’s private garments being hung out for all the world to view.”
“Well, there was a good reason why Madame Caplin won the prize medal at the exhibition. The Caplin corsets are much lighter than the usual ones, and they don’t have nearly as many poky, pointy stays, and the whole thing adjusts to the body rather than molding you into an uncomfortable shape. Harry told the hotel housekeeper, Mrs. Pennywhistle, that any of the maids who wished to wear one could charge it to the Rutledge.”
Catherine’s brows lifted. “Truly?”
“Yes, because it allows them so much more freedom of movement. And you can breathe.” Poppy lifted a pale seafoam-green dress from the bed and showed it to her. “You must wear this today. I’m sure it will fit you—we’re the same height, only you’re slimmer, and I have to tight-lace to fit into it.”
“You are too generous, Poppy.”
“Nonsense, we’re sisters.” She sent Catherine an affectionate glance. “Whether or not you marry Leo, we’ll always be sisters. Leo told me about your outing at ten o’clock. Did he tell you where you’re going?”
“No, did he tell you?”
“Yes.” Poppy grinned.
“Where is it?”
“I’ll let him surprise you. However, I will say that the expedition has my—and Harry’s—full approval.”
After the combined efforts of Poppy and the maid, Catherine was dressed in a pale seafoam gown, neither blue nor green but some perfect shade between the two. The bodice was close-fitting, stylishly cut without a waist seam, the skirts plain until the knee, where they draped in rows of flounces. The matching jacket, tailored to the waist, was trimmed with silk fringe in interwoven shades of blue, green, and silver-gray. A small, flirtatious hat was set on the upsweep of her hair, which had been done in a waterfall chignon with the ends tucked up and pinned beneath.