Читать книгу A Hero for Christmas - Jo Brown Ann - Страница 11

Chapter Three

As soon as the coble was pulled up on the beach, Catherine ran toward it, pausing only to pick up Mr. Bradby’s boots. She reached the boat at the same time Mr. Bradby was stepping over its high side. He wobbled, and she grasped his elbow to keep him from collapsing to the sand. A tingle swept up her arm, just as it had when he had handed her into the carriage back at Meriweather Hall, but this time she did not release her hold on his arm. Ignoring the delightful sensation, she focused on him.

He was dripping, even though the blanket had soaked up some water from his clothes. His sleeves were already stiffening from the salt and the chilly wind. When she proffered his boots, he snatched them and upended both to shake any sand out.

“That was the bravest thing I have ever seen,” Catherine said.

He tried to reply, but his words were garbled by his chattering teeth. When triumphant shouts came from closer to the village, he looked past her.

She turned, not letting go of his arm, to see another coble sliding onto the stones at the bottom of the street. A little boy was plucked out of the boat and handed to his mother who hugged him close, even as she scolded him for going too close to the water. Both mother and son were wrapped in more blankets as the rescuers led them up the steep street.

The men with Mr. Bradby slapped him companionably on the back. They started to make a few jokes at his expense but stopped at a firm look from Catherine. Or it might have been the pastor’s sister coming to join them. The fishermen put their fingers to the brims of their floppy hats, before they pushed the coble back into the waves and rowed toward the village.

Vera draped Mr. Bradby’s coat over his shoulders. “Can you walk?”

“Of course.” His words were clipped.

When he did not move, Catherine asked, “Do you need help with your boots?”

“I can manage quite well on my own.” He looked at her for the first time since he had come ashore. Anger blazed from his eyes. “If you would be so kind as to release my arm...”

Catherine jerked away, startled as much that she still held on to him as by his terse words. When he swayed again as he pulled on first one boot, then the other, she grabbed his arm before he could fall on his face. She let go quickly, but he still glared in her direction before stamping away along the sand. He started to pull on his coat, then slung it over his shoulder.

“What is upsetting him?” Vera asked as she and Catherine followed.

“I have no idea. Maybe he is annoyed that he didn’t get to rescue the child himself.”

“What does it matter who saved the child? We must be grateful to the good Lord that the child is safe along with Mr. Bradby and the other brave rescuers. God is good to heed our prayers.”

“Yes.” She envied Vera’s unshakable belief that God listened to each of her supplications.

Vera frowned. “I never imagined Mr. Bradby using such an icy tone. When last he called at Meriweather Hall, he was jolly and joking. Now he is grim.”

“I know.” Catherine had no other answer. She was as baffled as her bosom-bow.

Something must have happened out in the water that they had not been privy to on the shore. She could not imagine what that might be nor could she ask Mr. Bradby when fishermen still gathered at the foot of the street.

When the men called out greetings to Mr. Bradby, he nodded in their direction but did not speak. He remained mute as they climbed the steep street. A trail of drips marked his uneven steps. Several times Catherine had to steady him, and she heard exhaustion in his breathing as they crossed the bridge over the beck. He muttered something when Catherine linked her arm with his when he stumbled yet again.

“You may be petulant if you choose,” she said, giving him a frown as fierce as his, “but I choose not to see you fall on your nose.”

Vera looped her arm through his other arm, silencing any further protests from Mr. Bradby.

They reeled up the steepest part of the street, which seemed as vertical as the cliffs beyond the village. Catherine doubted Mr. Bradby could have made the climb on his own. His steps slowed, and he was panting by the time they reached the top. With the coachee’s help and Vera’s, Catherine assisted Mr. Bradby into the carriage. He sat heavily and leaned his head back against the seat.

Vera caught Catherine’s arm before she entered the carriage. Catherine looked at her, surprised, and asked, “What is it?”

“I will walk to the vicarage,” Vera said, as she dug into her pocket and pulled out a handful of mermaid tears. She placed them carefully in Catherine’s hand. “You are welcome to bring him there, if you wish.”

“I think it would be for the best to take him to Meriweather Hall where he won’t have to go back out in the cold again, just as he is getting warmed up.”

“I agree.” She glanced at the carriage. “I thought you might want a haven, too.”

Catherine smiled. “I am sure his usual good humor will return once he has dry clothing and something warm inside him.”

Vera nodded but did not look convinced.

Rightly so, Catherine discovered, when she climbed into the carriage. Mr. Bradby neither looked in her direction nor did he speak all the way back to Meriweather Hall. The damp wind coming off the sea was cold but not as frosty as the silence in the carriage. Catherine tried to start a conversation once and then gave up. Even when the carriage turned through the gates of Meriweather Hall, he said nothing.

She got out on her own and directed the footman who came to greet the carriage to assist Mr. Bradby. Hurrying inside, she gave instructions to another footman to have tea and bottles filled with hot water delivered to his chambers.

Only when she was going upstairs did she remember that she had not thanked Mr. Bradby for helping her and Vera collect mermaid tears. Her steps faltered, but she kept going. She did not have the courage to face him again, when he was in such a snappish mood.

She was going so quickly that she almost ran into her sister who was coming in the opposite direction at an equally determined pace.

“Where have you been?” asked Sophia. “I have been looking everywhere in the house for you.”

“I was—”

Her sister gave Catherine no chance to explain. “You should have told me where you had gone,” said Sophia, usually so calm, as she rubbed her hands together anxiously. Everything about the upcoming wedding seemed to leave her on edge. “Mme. Dupont is furious that you have missed another fitting. You know we have barely six weeks to get everything done.”

Catherine sighed. “I forgot about this morning’s fittings. We went down to the beach, and our appointment with Mme. Dupont slipped my mind.”

“The beach? Why would you go to the beach on such a blustery day?”

“For your wedding breakfast. I know how you love mermaid tears, so I’ve been collecting them since you announced your betrothal. Think how pretty they will look scattered on the tables.”

Sophia’s eyes grew round. “What a wonderful idea! Oh, I wished I had your artistic imagination. I never would have thought of such a thing.” She swept her sister into a big embrace. “I’m so glad to have you overseeing the wedding breakfast. It will be unforgettable.”

“Yes, it will.” She hoped it would be memorable for the right reasons, rather than the fact that she had made a muddle of it. “We were able to find quite a bit. Vera joined us looking for the pieces of glass.”

“Us?”

“Mr. Bradby helped, too.”

A smile brightened Sophia’s face. “So that is how he got soaked! I saw him coming into the house, dripping wet. Ogden had one of the maids trailing Mr. Bradby with a cloth to wipe up the floors. Did a big wave splash him?”

Catherine walked with her sister along the corridor as she gave a quick explanation of how Mr. Bradby had jumped into the sea to save a child. “He paused only long enough to give Vera the mermaid tears he had found. Which gave the fishermen a chance to launch their cobles and reach the boy before Mr. Bradby did.”

Sophia turned the corner toward the hallway that led to their rooms. “What a brave man!”

“That is what I said, but he brushed aside my words as if he didn’t want to hear them.”

“Heroes can be like that. They do something amazing but don’t want to talk about it afterward.”

Catherine considered her sister’s insight. Was that the reason Mr. Bradby had been tight-lipped? Her efforts to draw him out had been for naught, and if he had not spoken with Vera too, Catherine would have wondered if she had distressed him somehow.

And the anger she had seen in his eyes. Vera had been right. That fury seemed to belong to someone other than Jonathan Bradby, who had always been ready to make them laugh. What else lurked in the depths he had hidden so successfully? She needed to talk with Cousin Edmund, who had known him during the war. Maybe her cousin could offer some insight into Mr. Bradby’s peculiar behavior.

That would have to wait until she endured the fitting she had missed. The modiste jumped to her feet when Catherine followed Sophia into her sister’s room. A book dropped to the floor, and Mme. Dupont quickly picked it up and shoved it into her bag.

Catherine bit her lower lip to keep from smiling when she saw the author’s name emblazoned on the cover: Mrs. Ross. She hadn’t guessed the seamstress read gothic novels where even heroes and heroines went into decline and died before the end of the story. Such fanciful stories for a woman who insisted on acting practical at all times.

“I am sorry to keep you waiting, Mme. Dupont,” Catherine said to cover the modiste’s embarrassment.

“Non, non.” Mme. Dupont was once again determined to be in charge. “You are my customer. You have—how do they say?—no need to apologize to moi.”

Catherine tried not to roll her eyes at the seamstress’s fake French accent. To do that would chance making Sophia laugh, and they both would earn another scowl from the self-styled Mme. Dupont. The seamstress’s name was probably a very English one, but she clearly thought posing as a French modiste was good for her business.

Mme. Dupont waved her hand at the middle of the room. “Come, come, mademoiselle.”

Catherine had to admit that, despite her charade, Mme. Dupont was skilled with a needle. The wedding dress she was making for Sophia was the most beautiful Catherine had ever seen. It was unblemished white with delicate lace accenting the modest neckline, and the design was perfect for a tall, slender woman like her sister. The sketches Mme. Dupont had made for the gown Catherine would wear to the wedding had different lines because she was more than six inches shorter than Sophia.

“Get up on ze box,” Mme. Dupont continued, “so I can measure you for ze gowns.”

“Gowns?” asked Catherine, surprised. “I need only one for the wedding.”

“But,” her sister argued, “you need a full wardrobe for your Season in London. You will want to catch eyes when you attend soirees and assemblies.”

She nodded, though she doubted she would be there long. Only long enough to go to the British Museum to view the Elgin Marbles. What would her sister and Cousin Edmund think if she spoke of her plans and how she had no expectations of any man proposing to her? Even if one did, she would have to decline his offer of marriage. The idea of losing someone else she loved was too painful even to think about. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she was unsure if they were for Roland or her father or both.

“We want you to look your best, Cat,” Sophia went on.

“I thought you agreed not to call me that.”

Sophia put her hands on Catherine’s shoulders. With Catherine standing on the box, her sister’s eyes were level with hers. “I’m sorry, but I know how important going to London is for you.”

For a moment, Catherine believed that her sister had discovered the true reason for her longing to visit London. Then Sophia began to talk about needing several gowns for afternoon calls as well as riding clothes for Hyde Park and undergarments.

“All the clothing must be ready before Miss Catherine leaves for London,” Sophia said to Mme. Dupont who was making hasty notes. “Lord Meriweather intends to go up to London for the opening of Parliament at the end of January, and my sister will be traveling with him. Will it be possible to finish everything in time, Mme. Dupont?”

The seamstress looked aghast. “Miss Meriweather, you know I will try my best, but the end of January is only a few weeks after your wedding.”

Sophia’s voice grew whetted. “I know we have asked a lot of you and your seamstresses. Be honest with us, Mme. Dupont. If you cannot do this, you must graciously step aside. My sister must not be held up for ridicule by the ton because her clothing is unworthy of her position.”

Catherine was not astonished by her sister’s uncharacteristic vehemence. The London Season remained a prickly topic for Sophia. Her only Season had been cut short when a man she had thought cared for her had instead humiliated her in front of the Polite World. That had hurt her so deeply that she had fled back to Sanctuary Bay and had made her so suspicious of men that she almost ruined her relationship with Charles.

Maybe Catherine should be square with her sister. If Sophia understood that Catherine did not anticipate a match in Town, then that might set Sophia’s heart at ease.

“Sophia, that’s not necessary,” Catherine said.

“But it is.”

Glancing at Mme. Dupont, who was listening avidly, Catherine knew she could not speak the truth now. “I will need only a portion of these items when I leave. The rest can be delivered when Mme. Dupont has completed them.”

“That is true. Let me decide what the absolute minimum is you will need when you leave with Cousin Edmund.” Sophia tapped her chin with a single fingertip, then picked up the list she had compiled. She placed checks next to some items. When she was done, less than half of the items had been ticked. Handing it to Mme. Dupont, she asked, “Can you finish these in time for my sister’s departure?”

“Oui,” the seamstress said, after she had studied the page. “As well as a few other items.”

“If you can complete the ones I marked before Miss Catherine travels to London, then I’m sure my sister will commission you to do the rest.”

“Oui, oui, oui.” The modiste nodded her head in time with her agreement. She aimed a gleaming smile at Catherine.

The normally prattling Mme. Dupont said very little during the rest of the fitting. Catherine was equally quiet, abiding without comment the inadvertent prick of the pins as Mme. Dupont checked the seams and adjusted them. Finally she was done. She gathered her supplies and left, saying that she had all she needed for finishing Catherine’s gown and would be back on the morrow for a fitting with Sophia.

Catherine dropped onto the chaise longue by her sister’s biggest window and leaned her arm against her forehead in an exaggerated pose. “I’m not sure how much longer I can endure Mme. Dupont’s attention.”

With a laugh, Sophia pushed Catherine’s arm away from her head. She sat beside the chaise longue. “She said she was finished with you.”

“On one gown only. Once you are satisfied with your wedding gown, her attention will be fully on me again.” She sat up. “Really, Sophia, I don’t need a complete new wardrobe for this short trip up to London.”

“Short?”

Catherine looked away from her sister’s abrupt frown, as she scolded herself for speaking without thinking. “Sophia, you warned me that time goes quickly during the Season with all its events and calls.”

“True.” Her sister’s smile returned. “I want everything to be perfect for you. I have noticed Mme. Dupont annoys you. With the promise of more work, she will be on her best behavior.”

“I appreciate that.”

“You are doing so much for me. How could I not do something for you?”

Catherine embraced her sister. Dear Sophia always took such good care of her! It would be so different once her sister married and moved to live with her husband at Northbridge Castle in the south of England. For the first time, other than Sophia’s own abbreviated Season, the two sisters would be apart. Catherine realized how lonely it would be without having her sister to turn to. Vera would be nearby as would Cousin Edmund, but it was not the same.

And, also for the first time, Catherine could not be completely honest with her sister. If she told Sophia her fears, her sister would urge her to pray and seek guidance. That only worked if God listened to her prayers, and He had not in more than a year since her father’s death. Even before. He had not seemed to heed her pleas for Roland to return safe from the war.

Catherine must continue on the path she had chosen. Once she fulfilled her promise to Roland and visited the Elgin Marbles, she would come home with the sketches she had made of the ancient figures, knowing that she had done the best she could to honor the memory of the only man she had ever loved. She hoped then that her heart would begin to heal. She was certain she would never risk it enduring such pain ever again.

* * *

“Am I late?” asked Cousin Edmund as he entered the small parlor where Sophia had arranged for hot chocolate and cakes to be brought that afternoon for him and her sister.

“Right on time.” Catherine folded her hands on the pale blue of her gown as she smiled at her cousin.

When he had first arrived at Meriweather Hall in the autumn to claim the property that had come to him with his title, so many, including Catherine, had assumed he would offer for her sister. That way, the late lord’s family would not lose their home to a stranger. Shortly after Sophia had announced her betrothal to Cousin Edmund’s good friend, he had told Catherine that he doubted he would be a good match for either of the late baron’s daughters. Catherine had appreciated his honesty, and their uneasy relationship had developed into a friendship.

“I was pleased to get your invitation,” Cousin Edmund said. “After the bad experiences your sister and I first had with strained conversations during tea, I doubted either of you would ask me again.”

Catherine smiled as she motioned toward the tray. “Hot chocolate.”

“Let’s see if I do better with hot chocolate.” He sat facing her and took the cup she held out to him. “I knew winters are fiercer in North Yorkshire than in the midlands, but I guess I didn’t realize how much colder until now.”

“And the winter solstice is still weeks away.”

“We must make sure there is a lot of cocoa in the house then.”

Catherine laughed with him. When he asked how the plans were going for the Christmas Eve ball, she gave him noncommittal answers. She did not want to ask him to stop trying to help, because he was making her more work, nor did she want to admit that she was overwhelmed by the tasks.

“Alfred told me that a suitable log has been found for our Yule log.” Cousin Edmund reached for a cake. “I have forgotten to tell Sophia how much I appreciate her recommendation for Alfred to assume his late father’s duties as gamekeeper. Please remind me to tell her.”

“If I don’t forget...”

He took a bite of the cake, then set the rest on the plate by his half-emptied cup. “I know you have a lot on your mind right now. Was there something in particular you wanted to discuss with me?”

“Yes.” She decided to be forthright. “I wanted to talk to you about Mr. Bradby.”

“Is there a problem?” His easy smile fell away, and she caught a hint of the man who had been such a good leader on the battlefield. Now he was ready to leap to the defense of his friend.

“I wouldn’t call it a problem. I am baffled by something that happened today.”

“Him jumping in to save a boy when there were fishermen ready to go to the rescue?” His good humor returned. “That’s Bradby. Always ready to be the hero.”

“But when I praised his efforts, he gave me a look that could have frozen a fire.”

“What look?”

She described the anger she had never seen in his eyes before, how it had pierced through her, even icier than the sea wind. “But the fury didn’t seem to be aimed at us. It was turned inward.” She looked steadily at her cousin, hoping he had an answer for her. “Cousin Edmund, I knew from the beginning there has to be more to Mr. Bradby than the jester he often portrays. Such a man could not be successful as a solicitor.”

“That intense expression was one that we once were well familiar with.” Cousin Edmund took a sip from his cup and then balanced it on the knee of his black breeches. “We saw it often early on in the war. Bradby has an acute sense of fairness, and when he believed anyone was being treated unfairly, he was ready to do battle.”

“A true Don Quixote.”

“Truer than you may guess. He seemed to break into two parts of the character after the battle where he saved Northbridge’s life. On one hand, he has become like the silly man who believed a downtrodden woman was his queen. On the other, he is willing to joust with windmills, if that is what it takes to do what is right.”

“But what about the anger?”

“It’s always there, simmering behind the laughter.” He put his cup back on the table and clasped her hand between his. “Cousin Catherine, one thing you must know. Whenever Northbridge or I have tried to speak to him about what fires that anger, he has gone mum.”

“As he did today.”

He nodded and sighed. “We learned we must act as if we never saw any sign of what he’s trying to hide.”

Catherine wondered how that was supposed to help their friend, but their plan had worked for more than a year. Even though every instinct warned her not to acquiesce, she nodded. Her cousin and Charles knew him far better than she did. She hoped she was doing the right thing.

* * *

As he walked through Meriweather Hall, Jonathan sneezed once, followed by a second time and then a third. He hoped his beef-headed heroics that morning were not going to leave him with a head cold. That would be the ultimate joke on him and his scheme to be a true hero.

“Bless you,” he heard from the small parlor to his left.

He paused and looked in to see Meriweather and Cat slanting close to one another. Were they holding hands? When they hastily moved apart, Cat busied herself with the tea tray, as if she could not bear to look in his direction.

“See, the conquering hero comes!” crowed Meriweather as he came to his feet and motioned for Jonathan to enter.

Jonathan pretended to find his host’s comment amusing. With a terse laugh, he said, “I didn’t realize you were a fan of Handel’s Judas Maccabaeus.”

“Is that where the quote is from? I had no idea.” He waved toward the table. “Would you like something to warm you after your dip in the sea?”

“There is hot chocolate,” Cat said, standing with the lithe motion that always drew his eyes. “I find it comforting on a winter afternoon. If you would prefer tea, I can ring for it.”

“Hot chocolate sounds perfect.” Jonathan saw the twinkle in Meriweather’s eyes and looked away.

Yes, he had made a fool of himself this morning by diving into the sea when dozens of fishermen were standing by their cobles. He wished everyone would forget the incident. Or were Meriweather’s eyes bright because he had been holding Cat’s hand? That was what Jonathan wanted to forget.

Meriweather is your friend, and you should want him to be happy, an annoying little voice whispered from the back of his brain. And you have nothing to offer Cat other than a lie.

Even so, he was unable to meet his friend’s eyes as he took the cup Cat held out to him. He took a sip. It was delicious, but it could not warm the cold at his core when he thought of her hand in Meriweather’s.

Lord, give me the strength to do what is right for Meriweather and Cat. They deserve a better friend than I have been. It is bad enough that I am a fake hero. Do not let me become a false friend, too.

“You will have to come back in the summer,” Meriweather said, still grinning. “It should be a bit warmer for bathing in the sea then.”

“Actually the North Sea stays cold all year.” Cat sat as gracefully as she had risen.

“Then maybe your dip in the sea wasn’t so want-witted, after all.” Meriweather chuckled.

The familiar fury rushed through Jonathan. For once, it was not aimed at himself. If Meriweather thought to belittle him in front of Cat, then he was not the friend Jonathan had thought him to be.

“What would you have me do?” he fired back. “Stand there trying to decide whether I should help or not while a child was drowning?”

He realized his voice had been too heated and his words poorly chosen when color drained from Meriweather’s face and Cat gasped. Meriweather put his cup on a nearby table. Pushing past Jonathan, he walked out of the room. The door slammed in his wake.

“Oh, my!” Cat whispered. Her face was as pale as Meriweather’s had been.

Jonathan strode toward the door but halted when Cat called out to him. He turned. Distress dimmed her eyes as she slowly rose again.

“How could you say that?” she asked, each word lashing him. “How could you make a joke about his inability to make a decision?”

He almost snapped back that she had not come to his defense when Meriweather was jesting about him. Then he recalled that neither Meriweather nor Cat understood how Meriweather’s humor sliced into him. They had no idea that he was a fake hero who needed to prove his worth.

He sighed. Upsetting everyone was not his intention. It was his fault that he had been such a beef-head earlier. It was also his own fault that he had been foolish now. How could he foist his blame on his friend?

“I meant him no insult,” Jonathan said, wondering if Cat would believe him.

“You don’t need to explain that to me.” Her voice was strained. “You need to tell my cousin that.”

“Miss Catherine, I trust that you know that I meant him no insult. He is one of my dearest friends.”

She walked to where he stood and tilted her head back to meet his eyes. “Of course I do, and, deep in his heart, Cousin Edmund knows, too. He is frustrated at how the war changed him.”

He tried to comprehend her words, but it was difficult when her face was at the perfect angle for him to lean down and brush her lips with his. He shoved that thought away. Already he had wounded his good friend. He did not need to hurt her, as well.

“At least you have a few good memories of what you experienced,” she went on when he did not answer.

“Very few.” He thought of the camaraderie he had enjoyed during the war.

“You can always recall that you saved Charles’s life. My cousin doesn’t have that to comfort him.” She looked past him to the door. Her amazing eyes were the color of the hot chocolate and just as warm when they focused on him again. “I hope when we go to London, it is not too much for him. He plans to take his seat in Parliament, and the other lords will expect him to vote on issues brought before them.”

“While you enjoy all the events of the Season.” He managed to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

“I don’t know about all the events, but I am excited about going to London.”

“I am sure you are.” He bowed his head toward her. “If you will excuse me, Miss Catherine, I need to make my amends to Meriweather.”

If she replied, he did not hear her, as he rushed from the room before he gave in to the temptation to grasp her by the shoulders and try to instill some good sense into her. He despised the idea of charming, innocent Catherine Meriweather changing as his siblings had to meet the expectations of the ton.

Maybe he could talk her out of going. He had no idea how, but he must try before Cat’s life became an illusion just as his sisters’ lives had.

Just as his was.