Читать книгу A Hero for Christmas - Jo Brown Ann - Страница 9

Chapter One

Meriweather Hall, Sanctuary Bay, North Yorkshire

November 1816

Shouts came from the entrance hall. Loud shouts. Startled shouts. What was going on?

Catherine Meriweather rushed toward the front of the house. She should be asking: What else was going on? Her cousin Edmund, who had inherited the title of Lord Meriweather from her late father, had let their neighbor Sir Nigel Tresting persuade him that it would be fitting for the new baron to reinstate the old tradition of a Christmas Eve masquerade ball. But why hold it this year when her sister Sophia was getting married just before Christmas? The last Christmas Eve ball at Meriweather Hall had been years before Catherine was born. However, Cousin Edmund had bought the idea completely.

And then promptly handed the planning over to the Meriweather women. Her older sister, Sophia, was busy with her wedding gown, and their mother had gone to York to visit her sister who was recovering from a broken leg. That left Catherine with the responsibility for the assembly, which made no sense. She was the one who often overlooked details, the one who never managed to get anything organized the right way, the one with her head firmly in the clouds...the one whose faith had grown weak, so she did not have God to turn to when she felt overwhelmed. That was most of the time now; yet to leave the matters in Cousin Edmund’s hands would be a disaster, because he could not make the simplest decision.

But what was happening in the entrance hall?

“Get him!” That shout rang through the corridor, and she walked a bit faster.

Other voices came quickly. “I got him! No! He got away from me!”

“Grab him! Don’t let him get behind you.”

“He bit me!”

Gathering her skirt in her hand, she ran toward the commotion. Men stood in the doorway, shouting and pointing and jostling. They paid her no mind when she asked them to let her by. She gritted her teeth, stuck out her elbow and pushed her way past them.

“What is going on?” she asked.

A large dark blur raced toward her.

“No, you don’t!” A hand reached out and grabbed at the blur. As it slowed, she realized it was a gangly black-and-white puppy.

Then she looked at the man keeping the puppy from jumping on her, and she gasped in astonishment. Jonathan Bradby was the tallest man in the entrance hall, even taller than Ogden, their butler. His ruddy hair had been blown every which way by the wind, and snow was melting on the shoulders of his dark greatcoat.

And he was the last man she had expected to see at Meriweather Hall today. Mr. Bradby had written in response to the note she had sent him, inviting him to Sanctuary Bay, that he was not able to come for either the wedding or the Christmas Eve ball. He had explained that his work as a solicitor prevented him from leaving Norwich, even for the wedding of one of his best friends. Catherine’s sister and her fiancé had been disappointed, and so had Catherine. Mr. Bradby’s jests during his previous visit had eased the pain in her heart whenever she thought of her late father or of her dear Roland who had died so far from home during the war.

“Mr. Bradby! What are you doing here?” she asked before she could halt herself.

“At the moment, I am trying to get this horse disguised as a pup under control.” He looked toward Foggin, the blond-haired footman. “How badly did he bite you?”

Foggin flushed. “It is nothing. His teeth grazed my hand. He never bit down.”

The black-and-white pup pulled away from Mr. Bradby and lunged again at Catherine, yelping in excitement. She sidestepped the ungainly dog before he could jump on her, and then cupped his head to hold him gently in place. He slobbered a kiss on her cheek.

“And who are you?” she asked as she wiped her face.

“An intruder,” Mr. Bradby replied. “I would make mention of what the cat dragged in, but I daresay, it was the dog that dragged me in here from the courtyard.”

Chuckling at his jest, she said, “I thought— That is, we thought you were not coming.”

“I changed my mind when your cousin asked me to come here to advise him on some papers he intends to sign. As I was coming here anyhow, I thought I might as well attend the wedding. I know the banns have not yet been read, but I thought I should take advantage of more clement weather for my journey. As you can see, that did not go according to plan.” He shrugged, and melting snow fell off his greatcoat. He pulled it off to reveal that he was dressed conservatively...for him. His coat and breeches were a somber black, but his waistcoat was an eye-scorching yellow with red-and-green embroidery.

“I know the feeling too well.” Her laughter faded as her memory spewed forth the day Roland Utting and she had last made plans for their future. He had asked her to wait for him and told her that they would marry when he came back from the war against the French and the Americans. That had not gone as they had planned, because, though she had waited, he had never come back, dying in distant America.

“I am dripping on your floors,” Mr. Bradby said, forcing away the image of the day when she had believed that God truly wanted her to be happy. “Are the rooms I used before available for me?”

Instead of answering him, she asked, “Who is this big guy?” She patted the puppy between his floppy ears as the footmen and Ogden returned to their duties. The pup rolled onto his back so she could rub his damp belly.

“A stowaway in my carriage.”

She bent to pet the puppy’s belly and cooed nonsense words, then asked, “A stowaway? I thought that was only for ships.”

“I have no other idea how to describe him. He crawled into my carriage after I had stopped at a coaching inn one night. When I went back, the owner told me that the pup was now my problem. I think the innkeeper was glad for an excuse not to feed him any longer. I stopped at a couple of villages along the way to see if someone wanted a puppy. No one wanted one this big, so he has traveled with me.”

“What did you name him?”

“I just call him pup. He seems to like it.”

Straightening, she smiled. “Because he knows no better. Don’t you think he deserves a name of his own?”

“So far he has chewed one of my boots and two of my socks and swallowed a button that he threw up on my best waistcoat.” His tone was grim, but his pale blue eyes twinkled with amusement. “He has left hair on the seat of my carriage and relieved himself on its wheels. I am not sure he deserves a name of his own.” Despite his complaints, Mr. Bradby tethered himself to the dog with a leash.

Catherine squatted to pat the puppy again. “We shall have to see what name suits him.” She stood. “Shall we talk in a warmer part of the house?”

“Of course.” He motioned with the hand holding the leash for her to lead the way.

She took a single step before her heel caught on the rough edge of a tile. He grabbed her arm, and his other arm swept around her to keep her from falling. He held her up against his strong chest until she was steady on her feet; then he bent to pick up the leash he had dropped.

“Thank you, Mr. Bradby,” she said as she carefully drew herself away from him without looking in his direction.

“I am glad to have been of service. So tell me, how are the wedding plans coming?”

“As well as one can possibly hope.” That was not quite the truth, but she was not going to lay all her worries at Mr. Bradby’s feet.

“Your cousin tells me that you will be going to London for the opening of Parliament. You must be excited.”

She glanced at him, then quickly away. What would he think if she told him that she had a single reason to go to London? She planned to visit the new exhibit at the British Museum of the sculptured panels that once had graced the Parthenon in Athens. The Elgin Marbles, as they were commonly called. She was going to see them, not just for herself, but for Roland who never had the chance.

Dear Roland, the only man who ever understood her love for art and did not consider it worthless. The only man whom she had ever trusted with her heart. She blinked back tears. The two years since his death in battle had not lessened how much she missed Roland.

Instead of answering Mr. Bradby, she ruffled the pup’s fur.

His tail wagged so hard it almost became invisible as he looked up at Cat with adoration.

“What do you say, pup,” she asked, “if I take you to the kitchen and see what scraps Mrs. Porter has? You can chew on a bone by the fire tonight.”

Mr. Bradby shook his head. “You don’t need to impose on your cook. He can sleep in the stables with the horses. After all, he is about the same size.”

“He may be big, but he is a puppy. It will be very cold outside tonight, and he will be far more comfortable by the kitchen hearth.” She smiled at him. “Don’t try to change my mind on this.”

He grinned back. “Thanks for the warning, Miss Catherine, but to own the truth, I suspect that your cook will soon be begging you to send him to the stables.”

“Why?

“He snores. Loudly.”

Catherine laughed as they and the pup walked along the corridor toward the kitchen stairs. It was good to have Mr. Bradby’s sense of humor back under their roof. She was sure to need it in the coming days.

* * *

Why was he here?

As Jonathan Bradby strode toward the grand staircase at the front of Meriweather Hall, he reminded himself that he could have ignored the request from Edmund Herriott. He could have remained in his comfortable home in Norwich, where he could admire the cathedral’s spire from his office window. Instead, he had driven north along the coast to Meriweather Hall. The estate had been inherited by Herriott—no, he needed to think of him as Meriweather now that he had claimed his title—upon the death of his distant cousin...Miss Catherine’s father.

Jonathan had, if he were honest with himself, looked forward to seeing Miss Catherine again. When he had visited the baronial estate two months ago, she had always laughed at his jests rather than looking at him with pity, as others did, when he acted silly.

Acted...

He ground his teeth as his jaw worked. Was he becoming just like the rest of his family? Their lives were one continuous illusion. His siblings played roles, changing like chameleons to attract an admirer with both title and wealth, as they took advantage of the social whirl. Creating such a persona was a skill they had learned from an early age, when their parents had chosen to live separate lives but maintain the image of the perfect family.

Now he had become like them, pretending that a lie was the truth. Everyone believed he was a hero who had saved his best friend’s life on the battlefield. If he had spoken up the first time someone had lauded him for saving Northbridge, he would not have to be living now with the abhorrent lie. But he had not admitted that he had stumbled and slammed into the French soldier. It had been enough to keep the Frenchman’s sword from slicing off Northbridge’s head, leaving his friend only with a scar where the blade had glanced off his cheek.

But that did not make Jonathan a hero. It made him a clumsy oaf, as his father had called him so often, when Jonathan was struggling to get used to growth spurts that had him sprouting up two or more inches seemingly overnight.

He should have told the truth from the beginning. Now it was too late, and he had become the very thing he despised. An illusion that everyone accepted as the truth. He had no idea what his friends would think of him, if they discovered the truth now, but he also did not know how much longer he could live what both he and God knew was a lie. He often wondered if God had let him leave the battlefield alive in order to right the mistake he had made. If so, he was letting God down a second time.

“Bother!” came Miss Catherine’s voice through an open doorway just in front of him. “You didn’t do that, did you? I cannot believe this!”

Jonathan waited to hear a reply, but there was none. Curiosity drew him to the door that was flanked by suits of armor. He looked in to see a fire dancing on the white marble hearth. Carved with vines and birds and lush grapes, it was too ornate for his taste. Books covered every shelf in the bookcases that lined the other walls, and more were piled on the floor and on the overstuffed chairs.

Cat stood by a rosewood desk covered with stacks of papers, her fists clenched on one pile. Cat. He had not thought of Catherine’s childhood nickname since he had left Meriweather Hall, but it suited her. She was small, at least a foot shorter than his six-foot-four height, and her black hair was as sleek as a cat’s fur. Instead of green eyes, she had earth-brown ones. Yet they sparked like a cat’s when her emotions were high, as they were now.

“Is everything all right?” he asked from the doorway.

She whirled, her eyes wide.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said.

“I was lost in thought.” Her voice was filled with frustration. “I was doing some work for the Christmas Eve ball.”

He stepped into the room. “And it sounds as if there is a problem.”

“It would appear that Cousin Edmund forgot that he had asked me to send out invitations to the wedding and the assembly. I spent hours on them. If I had not had Vera’s help, I doubt I could have gotten them done on time.”

He nodded, recalling that Vera Fenwick, the vicar’s sister, was Cat’s bosom-bow. “I see.”

“No, you don’t.” She pushed away from the desk and leaned her fists on the back of one of the chairs. “I am receiving replies from invitations that I did not send, people telling me that they are delighted to attend. All I can figure is that, after asking me to handle the invitations, Cousin Edmund went ahead and invited more people without telling me.”

Jonathan tried to quell the smile that tickled his lips.

She must have noticed his efforts because she grimaced. “I know it sounds petty, but I had everything planned out. And now...”

“Now you have to make a change in plans.”

“Yes, and that is far less simple than it sounds.”

“Poor Meriweather,” he said. “He cannot make up his mind whom to invite, so he invited everyone.”

Cat’s shoulders eased from their rigid line. “I didn’t think of it that way. Oh, dear! What a muddle this has become! To say something to him would be cruel, so I will endeavor to make the adjustments without bothering him.” She sighed. “I hope he will not regret avoiding that decision when the rest of our guests start to arrive, and we don’t have enough room for everyone.” She glanced toward the window. “Although if it keeps snowing like this, I wonder who will come.”

“You sound hopeful.”

Catherine smiled at his jesting tone. “I didn’t intend it that way. I want everything to be perfect for Sophia and Charles.”

He chuckled. “Would you like some advice I received from a very wise man?”

“I can use all the advice I can get.” She sat on the chair and tilted her head back to look up at him.

Sitting in the chair that faced hers, Jonathan said, “A very wise man told me that nothing goes smoothly, but if the other party never sees the mistake, because you have remedied it, then the mistake never happened. At least in the other’s mind.”

“Who told you that?”

“Mr. Lippincott, the man I read the law with.” He leaned toward her, putting his hands on his thighs, so her nose and his were an inch apart. His voice dropped to a rumbling whisper. “He gave me that counsel when I first began to work on my own. I was so afraid of making an error, I could do nothing. Once I took his words to heart, I found it much simpler.”

“That is good advice.” Her voice was uneven as she slanted away from him. “I will try to remember it, but I just want everything to be perfect.”

He was astonished. He could not imagine any of his six siblings going to such lengths to help someone else. They had been derisive both when he had decided to study law and when he had bought his commission to serve in the army. That he had come home as a hero had silenced them somewhat.

If they knew the truth...

He pushed that thought aside and affixed a smile on his lips again. “Good, and never forget that, if the burden becomes too much to bear, you need not shoulder everything alone.”

“I know. The household staff—”

He shook his head. “I was speaking of handing the problem over to God. With His help, there is nothing you cannot accomplish.”

Cat looked down at her hands in her lap. They were clenched so tightly that her knuckles were white.

What had he said to distress her so? He waited for her to answer or to look at him. An icy chill flowed through him. Maybe he should offer to leave so someone else might use his rooms. When he said as much, she shook her head.

“No, don’t even suggest that.” She raised her eyes, and he was almost staggered by the pain within them. Had he caused it? He prayed not. “I know Charles and Sophia would be hurt if you departed before their wedding,” she said.

“All right. I won’t say that again, but, for what it is worth, I will be glad to do what I can to help you deal with these complications. If I could organize a company of soldiers, I daresay I should be able to help organize a party.”

“Two, actually.”

He chuckled. “Of course, I may make a complete muddle of any task you give me.”

“You would do a fine job, but I cannot ask you. You are our guest.”

“Northbridge and your cousin are closer to me than my brothers, so I don’t consider myself a guest. More like family.” He almost gagged on the word. He thanked God that Northbridge and Meriweather were not like his real family.

He had to own that one of the reasons he did not want to leave Meriweather Hall now was that his family might decide to come from London to spend Christmas with him in Norwich. Within hours of their arrival, someone would get into a brangle with someone else, and any chance of a pleasant Christmas would be lost...as it had been since his boyhood, when his father and his mother had decided to live separate lives.

“In that case,” Cat said, her smile returning, “I am sure I will be able to find so much for you to do that you shall regret your generous offer. You must promise me that, if at any time you grow tired of the planning, you will let me know straightaway.”

“I shall, but I am glad to help with the ball and the wedding and the holiday planning.”

“And the upcoming London Season.”

His stomach tried to tie itself into a knot. “The Season? Are you planning to go to London for that as well as the opening of Parliament?”

“Yes. Cousin Edmund is arranging for a house for us, and Sophia and Charles will join us there. I hear one can go from one event to the next for weeks. It sounds quite exhausting. And the preparations?” She shook her head. “Hannibal got his elephants through the Alps with less trouble, but Sophia and Cousin Edmund assure me that all of it is necessary.”

Jonathan stopped listening as he recalled his younger sibling, the baby sister of the family, Gwendolyn, and her dearest friend, Augusta Williams, saying much the same thing before their first Season. He and Gwendolyn were the youngest children in their family with a gap of almost a decade between them and their other siblings. Growing up, they had been as thick as peas in their pods. She had introduced him to Augusta, and their duo became a trio. And, as he grew from boy to man, Jonathan had lost his heart to pretty blonde Augusta.

Then the two young women had been fired off into the Polite World in London. Two warmhearted, sweet young girls had altered before his eyes into a pair of coquettes who were happy only when they had several men dangling after them. His sister had married a viscount with plump pockets, pretending she would have chosen him even if he did not have a farthing. Jonathan might have believed that if he had not overheard her bragging to their older sisters about how her husband was buying her a house on Berkeley Square where she could host the best gatherings in London.

And Augusta... No, he would not think about the woman who had broken his heart in the weeks before he had bought his commission and headed for the Continent—with the intention of showing her that she was wrong to dismiss him as no longer worthy of her time or interest.

Would Cat be beguiled by the illusions and rich rewards of the ton as his sister and Augusta had been? As his whole family had been? He should warn Cat, but as he raised his gaze to her animated face, he wondered if he would be wasting his breath. He had to try. For her sake. She had treated him with kindness, both on his previous visit and now.

He started to speak but halted at the clump of boots. Later, he promised himself. Later he would try to warn her about the way the Beau Monde could change a person. But would she heed him? Neither Augusta nor Gwendolyn had, and his heart still ached from the loss.

Jonathan stood and smiled when Edmund Herriott, now properly addressed as Lord Meriweather, walked past the door, paused, then came in. Jonathan’s smile faded when he saw the dark gray circles under his shorter friend’s eyes and the lines that had not been gouged into his face the last time Jonathan had visited. Was Meriweather’s mantle of responsibilities as the new baron too much for him?

Then Meriweather grinned, and the anxiety vanished. He shook himself like a wet dog. Snow flew in every direction, and he pushed his tawny hair from his eyes as he came forward, his hand outstretched.

“Bradby! I see that you changed your mind and have come to join in the excitement. I thought if I offered you the right bait, you would bite.”

Jonathan did not let his smile waver when Cat’s eyes widened. Did she think that her cousin had used her as the bait to entice him to North Yorkshire? Or was she struggling to hold back her vexation with her cousin’s impetuous act of sending out his own invitations to everyone he knew?

“Dashed cold out there,” Meriweather continued as the two men shook hands, and Jonathan guessed he had not noticed his cousin’s reaction. “But at least it has stopped snowing.” He shrugged off his greatcoat, sending more flakes tumbling to the floor. “I left the carriage at Sir Nigel’s. Once the roads have cleared, he will send it over with one of his grooms. I wanted to get back as soon as possible.” With a laugh, he added, “You know how Sir Nigel can go on and on about absolutely nothing, especially when it comes to his paintings.”

Jonathan grimaced. He had met the baronet only once, but that had been more than enough. Sir Nigel styled himself a great artist and displayed his work as if some great Renaissance painter had created it. The truth was the art lacked any semblance of skill that Jonathan could perceive.

He put the baronet out of his mind when Cat stood and asked them to excuse her. She fired a quick glance in his direction, and he guessed she did not want him to say anything to her cousin about the invitations Meriweather had sent. Whether she wanted to speak to her cousin privately, or she realized that there was nothing that could be changed at this point, he would acquiesce. He gave her a nod, wondering if she saw it as she hurried out of the room.

Meriweather took one look at the pile of letters on the desk and motioned for Jonathan to follow him from the room. He mumbled something about the room was better fit for ladies than the two of them.

Once they were a ways down the corridor, Meriweather said, “I didn’t want to say anything in front of my cousin, but this time Sir Nigel did not prattle about his paintings.”

“Because you discussed the smugglers?” During his previous visit, the smugglers in Sanctuary Bay had trespassed on Meriweather Hall lands, and he knew Meriweather was as determined to put a halt to them as his predecessor had been. It appeared that Meriweather’s efforts had been as futile as those of the previous baron.

“We did talk about the smugglers. Some.” He shuddered. “But his real interest was talking about his great-niece. I think he said her name is Lillian. He seems to believe that she would be very eager to marry a baron who lives close to her great-uncle.”

In spite of his efforts not to, Jonathan laughed. “Some woman is always expecting you to marry her. First, the elder Miss Meriweather, whom everyone assumed you would marry after you inherited the title from her father.”

“Not everyone, because Northbridge won her heart.”

“True. However, there is now this unknown great-niece who has decided you would be a good husband. You have become, it would appear, quite the irresistible man.”

“’Tis no joking matter.”

“Quite to the contrary,” Jonathan said. “It is highly amusing when you are the focus of the matchmaking.”

“When I decide to marry, it will be my decision. No one else’s.”

“Not even the young lady’s?”

Meriweather let loose a loud laugh. “Ah, Bradby, I have missed you and your bizarre sense of humor. Come in here.”

He went into a chamber across from the dining room. The aroma of coffee wafted around them, but Jonathan paid it no mind as he looked at the center of the room.

An elegant billiards table claimed most of the space. The oak had been carved with the Meriweather family’s crest, and additional images from the moors and the sea. A cast iron rack holding the cues was set in one corner. The balls were scattered across the table’s top.

“I don’t remember this from my other visit,” Jonathan said.

“It was delivered last month.” Meriweather draped his coat over a chair by the hearth.

“When did you decide to order it?” He was careful not to put emphasis on decide because he did not want to upset his friend, but he could not imagine how Meriweather had chosen to order a billiards table when he could not make any decision.

With a sheepish smile, Meriweather said, “Actually it was ordered by my predecessor. No one knew about it until the table arrived. The craftsmen were very slow workers, but they did a fine job, don’t you think?”

Jonathan ran his hand along the smooth edge of the table. “I agree. Excellent work.” Looking across it to his friend, he asked, “So don’t you think it is time you tell me why you were so insistent that I come to Meriweather Hall?”

“I told you in the letter I sent. I could use your advice on certain matters to do with the estate and with my construction business.”

“And that could not wait until after Christmastide?”

His friend’s smile became a guilty one. “You have caught me out. You and Northbridge and I have been through so much together. I did not think we should abandon him on his way to the altar.”

“You sound as if he is about to meet the hangman.” He leaned against the billiards table. “I am surprised he didn’t marry your cousin Sophia before he left for his estate.”

“Sophia wished for her mother to be out of mourning, so she could attend the ceremony. Then there are all the plans the ladies like in order for everything to be as complicated as possible. Catherine is so focused on the events that the slightest problem or change can send her up to the boughs.”

Jonathan bit his tongue to keep from saying that Meriweather was one of the reasons Cat was stressed. Rather, he said, “I am sure the wedding and the ball will be successes. I have offered to do my bit to help Miss Cat—Catherine.”

“You are a braver man than I am, Bradby.” He slapped him on the back. “But we knew that already, didn’t we?”

Here it was. His chance to tell the truth. His chance to clear his conscience.

Again, as he had done too often, he hesitated. He should tell Meriweather the truth straightaway.

Unless...

He began to smile and nodded as his friend suggested a game of billiards. Going to the rack, he lifted out a cue. The solution was so simple that he was unsure why he had not considered it before.

He would never have to reveal the truth if he proved to everyone—and himself—that he deserved the title of hero. He hefted the cue and smiled.

After all, how hard could it be to become a true hero?