A Gentleman Says "I Do" (5 page)

It was no wonder Mr. Brentwood fascinated her.

Catalina loved to read, and all her favorite stories, poetry, and plays were about love. She knew a hero when she saw one, and there were many things about Mr. Brentwood that reminded her of the hero of her dreams.

She wondered if she would ever see the intriguing man again. And as much as she hated to admit it to herself, she knew for certain she wanted to see him again.

Start by doing what’s necessary, then what’s possible, and suddenly you are doing the impossible.

—St. Francis of Assisi

Catalina felt restless.

It was the sunniest day they’d had in weeks, and she wished she could close up her parasol and throw it down. Even though there was a cool breeze, she wanted to unbutton her pelisse, take off her bonnet, and let the sunshine drench her. She wanted its calming warmth, shining from a cloudless blue sky, to heat her back and shoulders as the carriage rolled along. But she couldn’t do that. Her aunt, not to mention anyone else who might see her, would be horrified to see a hatless young lady riding down the crowded streets of London.

Aunt Elle was just as eager as Catalina for their first outing in the landau without the top since last autumn, and apparently all of London felt the same eagerness to enjoy some of the first sunbeams of spring. The roads were jammed with rigs, coaches, curricles, and high-perch phaetons, which made the ride to
The
Daily
Herald
building longer than usual. But Catalina didn’t mind. It gave her time to think.

She had slept fitfully, knowing what was before her today. Mr. Frederick wasn’t an easy man to deal with on a good day, and she had no idea how he was going to react to what she had to ask him this morning. But if she were honest with herself, she had to admit that most of her fretfulness while she lay in the darkness of her bedchamber last night came from her thoughts of Mr. Iverson Brentwood, not the publisher of
The
Daily
Herald
.

During her wakeful hours, she’d realized she’d had several firsts with Mr. Brentwood yesterday afternoon, starting with his being the first man she couldn’t get off her mind once he left her. He was also the first man to display anger toward her. Her father certainly never had. Sir Phillip Crisp was the gentlest, most kindhearted person she had ever known. He had a smile for everyone, and he laughed often. She had never seen him even mildly upset or in a bad temper with an untrained servant. Though he had certainly brought home several over the years who had tried Catalina’s patience more than once. Sir Phillip didn’t believe in lectures, reprimands, or criticisms, but many times she wished he’d been a little stricter with the staff, as well as in his own life.

To abide by her father’s never-changing example, she had simply tried to hold on to her temper, take everything in stride, and to be kind and helpful to those he liked to deem less fortunate than the Crisps. However, when he was away, Catalina often fell short of her father’s high expectations on the way to live one’s life, as was reflected in her conversation with Mr. Brentwood late yesterday afternoon. The man had just made it impossible for her to hold her tongue as much as she would have liked.

Mr. Brentwood was also the first man she’d met who didn’t seem to care a whit whether or not she found favor with him. That surprised her immensely. In fact, at times when she was talking with him yesterday, it was as if he wanted to make sure she
didn’t
approve of him. Most of the gentlemen she’d met at parties and balls during the past year were tripping over themselves to win her praise and approval so they could call on her. It was clear Mr. Brentwood had only one person on his mind yesterday—her father. And Catalina was certain if her father had been there, Mr. Brentwood wouldn’t have paid her the slightest heed. And for reasons she couldn’t begin to fathom, she had wanted Mr. Brentwood to notice her—as a woman.

It
was
outrageous!

The man clearly was not someone she could be interested in as a suitor. He was too brash, too commanding, and much too comfortable with himself. If she ever met a man she wanted to court her, he would be a gentleman who had a gentle, likable, and easygoing nature, like her father.

Catalina reached up and touched her cheek and remembered another first for her. Mr. Brentwood was the first man, other than her father, to touch her cheek. It surprised her that his touch had been so tender, languorous, and curiously comforting, coming from so strong and forceful a man. Even now, the warmth from that touch seemed to seep into her soul, bury itself there, and make a home.

Maybe it moved her so because it was not an ordinary touch. He had intended for it to be a very sensual caress. And it was.

He had used the backs of his fingers to gently stroke her cheek, rather than his palm as her father always had whenever he’d affectionately patted the side of her face. And he had lightly raked his knuckles across her lips, too. Her stomach curled and tightened again just thinking about the way his forward touch made her feel. She had never had anyone be forward with her until Mr. Brentwood.

“What is it, Catalina? You keep rubbing your cheek with the back of your hand. There’s nothing there I can see. Though you know my sight isn’t as good as it used to be.”

Catalina jerked her hand down to her lap. “Oh, sorry, Auntie. No, nothing’s wrong. I was just deep in thought about what I must say to Mr. Frederick.”

“Truly?” her aunt asked with a sparkle in her light green eyes. “By the look on your face, I would have thought you were dreaming about dancing with that handsome Mr. Brentwood who called on you yesterday.”

Catalina hoped no telltale blush gave her away. She didn’t like getting caught thinking about that man. She looked at her aunt, thinking to tell her one more time that Mr. Brentwood was not there to see her, but instead, she simply smiled. How did the woman do it? She was a completely different person this morning from who she was last night. Her hair was perfectly coiffed beneath the wide-brimmed straw hat, and her light brown carriage dress and accessories were impeccable. Her speech was well bred, and her cheeks naturally rosy. Catalina always loved her aunt, but this was the one she adored.

“The truth is, Auntie, that I didn’t sleep well last night and awakened with a pain in my neck and my stomach feeling like it has a ball of yarn rolling around in it.”

“You should have told me,” Aunt Elle admonished. “I would have gone to my cabinet and chosen one of my tonics for you. A generous dose is what you need. You would have felt better in no time at all.”

Catalina laughed. “I don’t ever want to taste any of your tonics again. You can keep them all for yourself.”

“But I have a cure for almost anything that ails you.”

“I know, and you can keep them. One sip all those years ago was enough for me. I’d rather be sick than take your medicine.”

Catalina smiled and refrained from saying more. Aunt Elle had a bookcase in her room crammed from top to bottom with bottles filled with tonics, elixirs, and more concoctions than Catalina had a desire to know about.

She owed the knot in her stomach to Mr. Brentwood, and probably the pain in her neck, too. Medicine couldn’t take away those kinds of feelings. Mr. Brentwood had put her in an untenable position. He had been very brave to come into her home and threaten her father. That was something no gentleman should ever do, even if he had just cause. She probably wouldn’t believe he was serious if it weren’t for the rumor that Mr. Iverson Brentwood had given Lord Waldo a black eye. For that reason alone, she had to take the man at his word that he would seek out her father and harm him if anything else were printed about the Brentwood family.

Her aunt’s eyes softened, and she patted Catalina’s gloved hands. “I’m sorry you don’t feel well, dearest.”

“I’m fine, Auntie. Really, I’m enjoying looking at all the people, elegant barouches, and post chaises we’re passing.”

“That’s my young lady. Keep your chin up. Now, I know you told me last week you didn’t want to do this, but I truly need you to go with me to Lady Windham’s party. All the others this week we can skip, if you insist. Even though she has been my dear, dear friend for many years, she will feel I have snubbed her if I don’t put in an appearance at her home. You know how easily she gets her stays bent out of shape.”

Eloisa Lucinda Gottfried spoke the truth. She never went to a party alone anymore, and Catalina didn’t want her to. She teased her aunt by asking, “Are you trying to say that because you have come with me today I should go with you to Lady Windham’s party?”

“Heavens no!” Her aunt laughed. “I’d never say that, but if you take what I said that way, I suppose it’s all right.”

Catalina laughed, too. “Of course I will go with you, Auntie.”

“Good. You can wear one of the new gowns we had made for the Season.”

The laughter died in Catalina’s throat, and her smile slowly faded. She hadn’t yet told her aunt that she didn’t have new gowns for the Season. By the time Catalina had paid for her aunt’s and her father’s new clothing, along with everything else, there simply wasn’t the money for her. Catalina didn’t mind. She had made do with buying lace and other trimmings. Her modiste had done a lovely job of remaking her old dresses to look new by using contrasting fabrics to make flounces, bows, and ruffles. Hopefully, only the most discerning eyes would know the gowns were last year’s.

Catalina breathed in deeply as the carriage came to a halt in front of the tall, imposing building. A moment of dread seized her, but she quickly shook it away. She would not go in to see Mr. Frederick lacking confidence. If she could withstand the intimidating Mr. Brentwood, she could certainly handle the publisher of
The
Daily
Herald
.

“Are you ready, dearest?” her aunt asked. “Briggs is waiting to help you down.”

Catalina saw her footman holding his hand up for her, his toothless grin as happy as always in spite of the fact the old, gray-bearded man couldn’t hear very well and could say only a few intelligible words. She held up one finger, and he nodded.

Briggs was fairly good with using hand signals to let people know what he was saying. When her father had brought him home five years ago, all he told her was he found Briggs walking on the Old Post Road. He had been beaten by his last employer and sent off without food, water, or clothing other than what he had on. Her father had offered him a job. In order to help the man communicate better, Catalina had hired an old schoolmaster to work with Briggs. Over the course of a couple of years, he’d learned his letters and how to read and write a few words. He always kept a sharpened pencil and piece of used parchment in his pocket.

Catalina turned to her aunt. “I’m ready, but before we go, I want to ask that you let me do all the talking.”

Her aunt smiled indulgently and patted her hand again. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. Besides, I’m not even sure why we are here, so you’ll have no cause to worry about what I might say.”

“Thank you, Auntie. Let’s go.”

She and her aunt entered the building and asked to speak with Mr. Frederick. They waited for almost an hour before being escorted to the office of the short, rotund man.

“Come in. Come in, Miss Crisp and Mrs. Gottfried. This is certainly a pleasant surprise. How are you two lovely ladies doing on this fine day?”

“We are quite well, thank you, Mr. Frederick,” Catalina replied affably. He held out chairs for them and then walked around to his desk and eased his bulky frame into a squeaky leather chair.

He clasped his hands and laid them on his desk. His smile and friendliness seemed a little forced as he said, “What can I do for you?”

“I have a favor to ask of you,” Catalina responded.

“I’ll be happy to help you if I can. What is it you need?”

“I’ve come to ask you not to publish the last two installments of
A
Tale
of
Three
Gentlemen
.”

His eyebrows scrunched together. “What? Surely you can’t be serious.”

“Oh, but I am. I want you to return them to me.”

Mr. Frederick leaned back in his chair and laughed. “I don’t know what kind of trick you and your father are trying to come up with, Miss Crisp, but I really don’t have time for this. My schedule is hectic, but because I thought you might be bringing me more of your father’s work to consider, I agreed to see you. That is all that interests me. So unless you have something else he has written, I’m very busy.” He started to rise.

“Wait,” she said, tamping down the panic that wanted to control her. “Mr. Frederick. This is not a trick of any sort. Let me explain. It’s come to my attention, and my father’s, of course, that some persons have found the story to be in poor taste and insensitive because it so closely resembles a very well-respected family in Town.”

“That is precisely the thing that makes the story so appealing, Miss Crisp. It’s humor. It is always in poor taste. That is why it is a parody. Now, tell me who thinks
A
Tale
of
Three
Gentlemen
isn’t humorous. I should like to have a word with them myself.”

“It wouldn’t be polite or proper for me to use names.”

He smiled again. “I thought so.”

“But please know that the story needs to be suspended indefinitely.”

“Nonsense. I don’t know of anyone who hasn’t been absolutely delighted with the story. That’s what we’ve heard from our vendors. It was the talk of the Town yesterday.”

“And that, sir, is most of the problem.”

His eyes widened. “Certainly not for me or
The
Daily
Herald
. I don’t know whom your father is talking to, Miss Crisp. Everyone I’ve heard from considers the story a masterpiece of humor and can’t wait to read the rest of it. Your father should be eager for the next installment to come out, not trying to stop it. It adds to his distinction as a renowned poet and writer.”

Catalina’s back stiffened, and her shoulders tightened, but she managed to smile pleasantly and say, “I agree with all you said about my father, and we don’t want to seem unfair about any of this, but for reasons I am not at liberty to confide in you, we need the rest of the story back in our possession. Now, I’m sorry to say we can’t, today, return the money you paid us, but you can trust we will in due time. My father is currently writing another story, and he’s working on some poetry, as well, that should be ready soon.”