The Virgin in the Rake’s Bed by Ava MacAdams
Chapter Twenty
“The Marquess of Somerset to see you, sir,” Redbrand said, entering the library bearing a silver tray with a calling card on it.
Ian was taken by surprise. He was not used to visitors, and he could not remember the last time Nicholas Lowood had called on him. The two had been close once, schoolboy friends, but time had seen them drift apart and now they were merely acquaintances, able to pass the time of day, or smoke together over a brandy at a ball or dinner, but to say they were still close friends would be an exaggeration.
Ian had spent the morning reading, trying to put Catherine out of his mind, though his conscience continually pricked him. A sense of guilt had arisen at the thought of having hurt her by the strict imposition of his own rules.
“You may show him in, Redbrand,” Ian said, as Plotinus looked up from the rug inquisitively.
As Nicholas entered the room, the dog bounded up to him and barked, putting both paws up and attempting to lick the marquess’ face. Ian called him off, and Plotinus ran to his side, lolling down heavily at his feet.
“My apologies for the intrusion,” Nicholas said, but Ian shook his head.
“You are very welcome. Please, sit down. A brandy, perhaps?” he asked, but Nicholas shook his head.
“Rebecca would smell it on my breath. She does not approve of my partaking so early in the day,” he said, and Ian smiled.
There had been a time when Nicholas Lowood would never have refused a brandy.
“Is this the unfortunate price one pays for matrimony?” he asked, and Nicholas blushed.
“There are many advantages to it, as well,” he replied, taking a seat and straightening out his lapels, which Plotinus had ruffled in his enthusiasms.
“What may I do for you, sir? I have not seen you since we encountered one another in the park,” he said, and Nicholas nodded.
“And a pleasant encounter it was. It reminded me of old times. No, I have come here on a matter of my wife’s insistence. She did not feel she could come herself, you see, and I agreed. I would not normally involve myself in such affairs, but a woman can be persistent in her desires,” he said.
“Another advantage to marriage? You make it sound more attractive by the moment…” Ian replied, laughing and shaking his head.
“My wife was quite insistent. She is closely acquainted with Catherine Ferguson and…” he began, but Ian interrupted him.
It made sense now, and Ian hardly needed to hear the marquess’ further explanation. He had been sent to persuade Ian of the merits of Catherine, to tell him she was upset, and that Rebecca had made it her business to unite them. Ian did not like to find himself the object of discussion, and he raised his eyebrows, fixing Nicholas with a hard stare.
“I hardly think it is your wife’s business, and we have known one another well enough in the past to know not to involve ourselves in one another’s affairs,” he said, and Nicholas faltered.
“She thinks you should attend the ball, that is all. You are betrothed, and it would be a chance to mend the division,” he said, and Ian sighed.
Nicholas was under the impression that the betrothal was real, and had evidently been dispatched with this knowledge in mind. Two days previously, Ian had received an invitation to a ball, one which he had suspected was an attempt at further match making. It had come from Samantha, wife of the Earl of Brimsey, inviting him to a ball at the townhouse which served as their place of residence when in town. Ian had declined it, his recent experience of such events enough to make him wary of social gatherings. There was no doubt Catherine had been invited, too, and Ian had no desire to encounter her so soon after their last parting.
“I am sure she does. And she has dispatched her most persuasive weapon in order to achieve her ends. Women are all the same. They get what they want, somehow,” he said, shaking his head.
There was no doubt in Ian’s mind that Catherine had been an excellent pupil. Her skills were such that he had allowed himself to fall under her spell, entirely enchanted by her words and actions. He had fallen in love with her, and in the process, he had broken every rule he had ever imposed on himself.
“But will you not consider it? The whole ton will be there, and Miss Ferguson is so very miserable, by all accounts. I do not know what has passed between you, but surely you wish to save your betrothal. It is why Lady Brimsey has arranged the ball, so that Miss Ferguson might find some happiness,” he said, and Ian looked at him in puzzlement.
“Happiness with whom?” he asked, and Nicholas seemed embarrassed.
“Well, I presume it is to be with you. Do you not wish to marry her?” he asked, and for the sake of the ruse Ian made no denial.
“A mere disagreement, that is all. We shall soon find ourselves at ease again,” he replied, and Nicholas gave a sigh of relief.
“Then I shall tell Rebecca you intend to be present at the ball?” he asked.
Ian thought for a moment. Despite everything, the thought of Catherine at a ball without him caused a pang of jealous longing to jolt him. It was an unpleasant feeling, but to think of her dancing with another man, of flirting, of all he had taught her – it was most unsettling.
“I shall think about it,” he said, though his mind was already made up.
He would go to the ball, he wanted to see Catherine again – there was something about her which drew him to her, a desire to be near her. He knew it was breaking his rules, but somehow, they hardly seemed to matter now.
“I am glad,” Nicholas replied, “I am sure it will be a most delightful evening.”
* * *
That “delightful evening,” was one which Ian thought about a great deal in the hours after Nicholas had left. He had been struck by how forcefully his feelings had changed – he did not want to think of Catherine dancing with another man, or flirting with the aristocrats who would seek to curry her favors. What had started as a game had turned into something very different, and he began to wonder what might be if the ruse were in fact the truth.
“But the rules, Ian, the rules,” he told himself, though what good were rules if they made one miserable?
In making his rules in the aftermath of Cassandra’s ill treatment, Ian had hoped to save himself from future heartache. But now, his heart was aching; not through disobeying the rules, but from following them. He knew he was in love, for he had been in love before, and whilst such a feeling was not new, it seemed far more pronounced than ever he had known it.
He was uncertain what made him do it, but later that night, Ian opened the bureau in his study and took out a bundle of letters. They had been written by Cassandra, and in them she spoke of her love and fidelity to him. At the time he had received them, Ian’s heart had been so filled with love for her he had treasured every word. But in the fullness of time, he now knew that even as she was writing them, her bed was warm from his brother’s presence.
He read them through, hearing her voice, and feeling again that same sense of betrayal. It was as though she were there, repeating her platitudes, knowing just what to say to bring him entirely under her influence. He might even have forgiven her, so deep was his love for her. Tears rose in his eyes, and with a sudden cry, he tossed the bundle of letters into the fire, watching as they burned up in a bright fury of flames. He breathed a deep sigh, sitting back in his chair and shaking his head.
“What a fool I have been,” he said out loud.
He had clung to the letters – for what reason he knew not – and the sight of them burning in the hearth was cathartic, a release from the bonds of the past. The same bonds which had created his rules. Even now, Cassandra held sway over him. But there was a new feeling, too. One which was growing in him, forcing out the poison which was the memory of those tragic circumstances. In Catherine, he had found a new reason for life, one which now canceled out the feelings of the past.
“Why should I deny it?” he asked, gazing into the flames, “why should I deny love when it is true and good?”
At last, Ian felt he had let go of Cassandra’s memory, and broken the tragic memory of all she and his brother had done. He had been in mourning for the past, unable to let go of what had been, and instead building barriers to prevent any future happiness. Meeting Catherine had changed that, and Ian knew that now he could finally look to a new and better future.
“I will be happy,” he told himself, and the “delightful evening,” to come would be the start.
* * *
Catherine, too, had been reluctant to accept Samantha’s invitation. She knew it was well meant, but there could be no doubt about what her friend was attempting to do. After the disaster of the evening spent in the company of the Duchess of Sinclair and the gathered spinsters, Catherine had felt utterly despondent. What man could possibly scale such heights and prove himself worthy of such expectations, she had wondered?
The ball would be attended by all manner of eligible men. It was hoped, Samantha had told her, to be an opportunity for Catherine to step out, to be in the company of men who could prove a foil to her previous experiences. She would practice those things she had learned in the company of Ian, and perhaps she would find a man to replace the attentions of the Earl of Westwood. Anything was better than marrying him, and so, somewhat grudgingly, Catherine had accepted.
“It will do you good, Catherine, truly, it will,” Samantha had told her, and the two of them had visited a modiste on Bond Street and selected new dresses for the occasion.
Now, it was the evening of the ball, and Jenny, Catherine’s faithful maid, was helping her to ready herself, combing her hair and plaiting it into a French bun. “You look very pretty, Miss,” she said, and Catherine smiled.
“It is a beautiful dress,” she replied.
“But it takes a beautiful woman to wear it,” Jenny said, smiling at Catherine in the mirror.
Just then, a knock came at the door, and without waiting for Catherine to respond, it opened, and her brother Rickard entered without invitation.
“What business do you have attending such a ball? It is hardly appropriate for a woman who is betrothed to go about seeking dance partners,” he said, but Catherine took a deep breath, turning to him with an angry expression on her face.
“You have no right to tell me what to do, Rickard,” she replied.
“What use does a betrothed woman have for a ball attended by every eligible bachelor in the ton?” he asked.
“I go at the invitation of Samantha,” she said, and Rickard narrowed his eyes.
“And will your betrothed be there? I understand the two of you have had something of a falling out,” he said.
Catherine knew there was little point in hiding anything from the collective knowledge of the ton. Secrets were never secret for long, and rumors spread quick than fire. She sighed and nodded.
“Is marriage meant to be entirely harmonious? A mere misunderstanding, and nothing else. I would be grateful if you did not simply barge into my chambers unannounced,” she said.
“A dispute before you are even married, it does not bode well,” her brother continued.
“And do you think I would have no disputes with the Earl of Westwood, is that it?” she said, and Rickard smirked.
“I am sure the Earl of Westwood is keen to please you in all things, Catherine. You would be wise to heed my words,” he said, but Catherine folded her arms and fixed him with a defiant glare.
“Then it is fortuitous that I do not live my life based merely on the opinions of my brother,” she said, waving her hand dismissively.
“Be wary, sister, for our patience is wearing thin,” he said, and turning on his heels, he marched out of the room.
“Oh, Miss, what a terrible thing,” Jenny exclaimed, as Rickard’s footsteps echoed on the landing.
“Why are matters of the heart never simple?” Catherine said, sighing and shaking her head.
“You will still go the ball though, will not, Miss?” Jenny asked, and Catherine nodded.
“Of course, I shall go to the ball. It is my only chance,” she replied, taking up her hand mirror and beginning to powder her face.
* * *
Catherine rode alone in a carriage to Samantha’s townhouse. Her brother, for all his warnings, had no interest in accompanying her, and her father was mercifully not at home. She had no interest in heeding their words, or of observing their warnings. That evening, she intended to enjoy herself, and put into practice those things which Ian had so expertly taught her. She could be a seductress just as any man could seek to seduce, and by the number of carriages parked in the street, it seemed she would have her pick of men.
“I will be your chaperone,” Rebecca exclaimed, hurrying over to Catherine just after she was announced by the master of ceremonies.
“I had hoped to avoid such a thing,” Catherine replied.
She had no wish to be observed, and given she was already a matter of gossip, adding to it would hardly make matters worse.
“But they believe you are to be married to Ian,” Rebecca replied, and Catherine shushed her.
“Yes, and that will remain what they think, but if I would seek out a man then what harm is there in that, given we know the truth?” Catherine replied, and Rebecca looked uncomfortable.
“He will be here,” she whispered, and Catherine’s eyes widened.
“Who?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.
“Ian Bennet, of course. One can hardly have a ball and not invite your betrothed,” she said, and Catherine rolled her eyes.
She had assumed that Samantha’s intentions were directed at her introduction to another man, and not a perceived reconciliation with the man she had already secured – albeit by ruse. A further layer of complexity had now been added to the situation, and Catherine glanced nervously around her for sight of the one man she would have preferred not to encounter. It was not that she did not want to see Ian – she longed to see him – but to do so would, she knew, ignite again those feelings she was trying so hard to suppress.
“Oh, Catherine, you are here, thank goodness. This is all for your benefit,” Samantha said, hurrying over to her and speaking in a low voice.
“You really did not need to go to so much trouble,” Catherine began, but Samantha shook her head.
“Nonsense. I enjoyed it, and I have been sure to invite every eligible bachelor I could think of. The decent ones, at least,” she said, and Catherine could not help but smile.
Quite what constituted a “decent bachelor,” was somewhat beyond her. If the women in the Duchess of Sinclair’s salon were to be believed, then there was no such thing as a decent man, and yet here, the ballroom seemed filled with men, far more so than women, of whom there were but a token number, perhaps only enough so that half would always be left out of the dance.
“And I am supposed to seek these gentlemen out?” Catherine asked.
Rebecca and Samantha looked at one another with exasperated expressions. “What do you expect us to do, Catherine? Are we to marry the men ourselves? You must do something. What of all the lessons in seduction you have received? Are you not going to practice them now?” Samantha asked.
Catherine was not used to such forwardness. It had seemed easy enough in Ian’s company. He had led her through the steps, and she had felt entirely at ease in his company. But now, faced with thirty or so bachelors, she wondered how such lessons would really work when put into practice. Should she simply approach a man and ask him to dance, she wondered?
“I am to wait for one to come to me, though make it clear I did not invite him,” she said, remembering Ian’s words on dancing.
“But how will you select the one you wish to dance with?” Rebecca asked.
Catherine thought for a moment. She looked around the room at the assortment of men gathered in small groups, waiting for the music to begin. She spotted a man, perhaps a few years older than herself, handsome and dressed in an officer’s uniform. He had dusty blonde hair, and an attractive smile. He was, to look at, everything she desired, though of course, in speech and conduct he may have been entirely unsuitable – that was the risk she took.
“That one,” she said, nodding toward the gentleman, who seemed to sense he was being watched, turning and catching her eye with a smile.
“Lord Walker’s son, a captain in the militia, his name… let me think, Archibald, that is right,” Samantha said, and Catherine nodded.
“I have made my intention clear with a look. Let us see if he takes the bait,” she said, and to her pleasure, the captain stepped away from his companions and made his way toward them.
“The art of seduction,” Rebecca remarked, and she and Samantha slipped away into the crowd.
“Captain Archibald Walker,” the man said, bowing to Catherine, who adopted her most disinterested look, whilst being entirely interested in the handsome man whose smile was enchanting.
“Catherine Ferguson,” she said, hoping he would not know of her betrothal.
“Charmed, I am sure. I could not help but notice you arrived alone. Are you unaccompanied?” he asked.
“No, my friend is Lady Brimsey, your hostess. She is chaperoning me, along with our friend Lady Somerset,” she replied, attempting to sound disinterested, remembering Ian’s words about displaying little enthusiasm, even if one’s interests are aroused.
“Ah, both of them are delightful women. I have only just returned to London from billeting in Derbyshire with the regiment. As dull a situation as could be imagined. There was no society in the district, and the most excitement afforded us was a dance at the assembly rooms in Rowsley,” he said, laughing and shaking his head.
“Then I am sure it is a pleasure for you to return to London, sir,” she replied, and he nodded.
“Particularly when the company is so… alluring,” he replied, and she blushed.
“I am sure it is,” she said, just as the music struck up.
“Would you care to dance?” he asked, and Catherine made a show of pondering his request, intending, of course, to accept it.
“I am not familiar with the tune, but yes, I shall endeavor it,” she replied, taking his arm.
She felt pleased with herself at having accomplished her goal, whilst making him think it was entirely of his own doing. It was her glance which had attracted him, a glance she had prepared to give, after a scrutiny of the room. Now, she had allowed him to think it was he who had claimed the dance, whilst all the while it was she. A dance which now she would thoroughly enjoy before attempting the next stage of her plan. She had lied about not knowing the tune – she knew it perfectly and now led him through the steps, whilst allowing him to believe it was him leading her.
“You dance very well,” he said, as they twirled to the waltz, the throng of couples around them creating quite a show at the center of the ballroom.
“As do you, sir,” she replied.
“I am surprised a woman of your charms has come here alone this evening. It does seem rather odd that there are so many unattached men and women here. I grow suspicious that our hostess has ulterior motives,” he said, and Catherine laughed.
“I am sure she is merely playing her part in the ton. After Derbyshire, you should be pleased to have such opportunity,” Catherine replied.
“And indeed, I am,” he said, as the music came to an end.
Catherine now faced a choice. Should she accept a second dance with the handsome officer or practice her skills further on another gentleman? The matter was settled when the captain excused himself for a few moments, promising to return as soon as possible. She glanced around her, and found her eyes resting on a young man, whose gaze soon turned to hers. She smiled at him, and a moment later he was at her side, introducing himself as Lord Arthur Ardley, whose father was the Duke of Chesterton.
“And I am charmed to meet you, Miss…?” he said, bowing and taking her hand to his lips.
“Catherine Ferguson,” she replied, and he raised his eyebrows.
“Betrothed to the Baron Westwick, Ian Bennet?” he queried, and Catherine blushed.
“I do not see him here,” she replied, asserting herself, and Lord Ardley smiled.
“Then in that case, am I to take it that this next dance could be mine?” he asked.
Catherine felt the same sense of seduction as she had with the captain, the power to accept or dismiss. Her gaze had again attracted a man to her side, a man she could take or leave. But she was not about to be rude, and he was charming, if somewhat mischievous in his alluding to her betrothal.
“It can be,” she said, taking his arm, just as the music began for the second dance.
At that moment, the captain returned, and he looked somewhat disappointed to find her already engaged in what he had evidently hoped would be his second chance.
“You have danced already?” Lord Ardley asked, and Catherine nodded.
“A lady cannot be left on the wall,” she said, and he smiled.
“And not one with such charms and delights as you, Miss Ferguson. Tell me, your betrothal…” he began, but Catherine suddenly stepped on his foot, startled by the sight of a guest entering the ballroom.
It was Ian, and though she had expected to see him, she had not expected to feel the sudden force of emotion gripping her without mercy, a terrible feeling of guilt coming over her, despite all that had happened.
“Oh, I am so sorry,” she said, as Lord Ardley winced.
“Quite all right,” he said, grimacing.
“We should step out, I would like some air,” she said, and before he could reply, she had loosed hands with him and pushed her way through the throng, making for the doors out onto the terrace.
Her heart was beating fast, her nerves unsteady, and she glanced behind her, anxious that Ian should not have seen her. Did he know she would be here, she wondered? Just then, Samantha came hurrying out behind her, and Catherine breathed a sigh, pulling out her fan and flapping it vigorously.
“Are you alright? You left rather abruptly. Did Lord Ardley say something untoward to you?” Samantha asked.
“No, he was the perfect gentleman. I stepped on his foot,” Catherine replied.
“Oh,” Samantha said, “poor man.”
“But it was the arrival of Ian that made me do so. I was quite caught off guard,” she said, still glancing nervously at the terrace doors lest Ian should appear to take the air.
“Are you cross with me for attempting reconciliation?” Samantha asked, and Catherine smiled.
“I could never ben cross with you for trying to help me, though the number of bachelors here present is quite overwhelming,” she said, expecting to find the captain or Lord Ardley pursuing her at any moment.
“I could hardly have held a successful ball with only you and Ian present,” Samantha replied, and Catherine laughed.
“You have done us both a kindness, even if it forces us into one another’s company,” she replied.
She had wanted to see Ian, longed to see him, desired him, but the thought of being in his company again had terrified her. Now, she had no choice, and unless she was to hide on the terrace or in the rose garden for the rest of the evening, encountering him would be an inevitability.
“But that is what you want, is it not? What do you want, Catherine?” Samantha asked.
It was a question Catherine had pondered herself. She had wanted Ian to tell her he loved her, so that she might tell him the same. She had wanted their ruse to turn into a truth, and in that way end her promise to the Earl of Westwood by simple force of fact. But Ian had told her something quite different, leaving her floundering in the hope of failed desire. Now, she wanted someone who would save her from her father’s desire to see her married to a man she had no love for, nor would she ever do so.
“I want Ian,” she admitted.
That was the truth, as much as it pained her to admit it. She wanted the one man she had truly fallen in love with, even if he had not fallen in love with her as she had believed.
“But perhaps there is still hope,” Samantha said, and she pointed back through the doors into the ballroom, “he has come, has he not?”
Catherine pondered this for a moment. Samantha was right, Ian had come to the ball. And why would he do so if he did not wish to encounter her? Perhaps there was still a chance, she mused to herself, and smiling at Samantha, she reached out and took her hand.
“You are a good friend, Samantha, you and Rebecca. I just wish I had what you have,” she said, and Samantha smiled.
“We have each other, that is what is important,” she said, and Catherine nodded.
She took a deep breath, nodded to Samantha, and stepped back into the ballroom. As she did so, she almost collided with the very figure she had intended on seeking out.
“Catherine, I have been looking for you,” Ian said, and Catherine smiled.
“Well, now you have found me, and in good time, too, for I was about to continue practicing my seduction,” she said, fixing him with a mischievous gaze.
