A Ladies’ Guide to the Pursuit of
Personal Happiness and Intimate Fulfillment
by Charles Brightmore
Catherine entered the library, and smiled at the sight of Spencer sitting in his favorite wing chair before the fire, his nose buried in a book.
“Shakespeare?” she guessed, with a smile.
Spencer looked up and nodded. “Hamlet.”
“Such a sad story for a lovely day.”
One shoulder lifted in a shrug, and he averted his gaze, apparently finding something fascinating on the carpet-a gesture she recognized as one that signaled something was troubling him.
She approached his chair, then leaned down to lightly kiss his still damp hair. “Did you enjoy your morning soak?”
“Yes.”
“Is your leg hurting?”
“No.”
“Would you like to join me for a walk in the gardens?”
“No.”
“A ride in the curricle?”
“No.”
“A trip to the village?”
“No.”
“Accompany me on my visit with Mrs. Ralston?”
“No.”
Catherine sank down to her haunches in front of him and dipped her head until she caught his eye. She clasped his hand and smiled. “Can you tell me the names of three chess pieces?”
A puzzled frown creased his brow. “Knights, bishops, and pawns. Why do you ask?”
“I wanted to hear you say something other than ‘yes’ or ’no, ‘” she teased. When he did not smile in return, she squeezed his hand. “What’s troubling you, darling?”
Again his shoulder lifted. He plucked at his jacket with his free hand, and Catherine waited, forcing herself to remain silent even as she watched him struggle with whatever was weighing on his mind, knowing that he’d tell her when he was ready.
Finally, he drew a deep breath, and blurted out, “Mr. Stanton left.”
Catherine’s breath hitched. Ah. So that was the source of his distress. Well, she could certainly understand. Andrew was most assuredly the source of all her disquieting, conflicting thoughts. “Yes, I know he left. He told me planned to ride by the springs to say good-bye to you. Did he find you?”
“Yes.”After a few more plucks on his jacket, Spencer finally lifted his gaze and looked at her. “I wish he could have stayed here.”
As do I. The thought slapped Catherine like a cold, wet rag, and she pressed her lips together, as she realized for the first time just how very much she had not wanted him to leave.
Damnation, how had he worked his way into her life, into Spencer’s life, so thoroughly, in such a short period of time? She and Spencer had managed very well without any male interference for many years, and she realized with sudden unquestionable clarity that Andrew’s presence in their lives threatened to disrupt the peace and serenity they enjoyed.
And with all her attention on her own dismay at his return to London, she’d failed to consider how his sudden leave-taking might affect Spencer. Clearly her son had formed a strong attachment to Andrew. If Spencer was distraught by Andrew leaving for an overnight, how would he react when Andrew left for good after a week’s time? If his current expression were any indication, her son would be crushed.
“He told me about the vandalism at the museum,” Spencer said, jerking her thoughts back. “Do you suppose he’ll really be back tomorrow night?” he asked, his voice filled with both hope and doubt. “It sounds as if he’ll have much to do in Town.”
“I’m certain he’ll try. But as he cannot leave London until he puts things back to rights, don’t be too disappointed if he must stay away longer.”
“But I don’t want to miss any of my riding or pugilism lessons. And we haven’t even begun with fencing. And Mr. Stanton shouldn’t miss his sw-” Spencer’s words cut off as if sliced by a knife. His eyes widened, and color rushed into his face.
“Shouldn’t miss his what?” Catherine asked.
“I can’t say, Mum. It’s a surprise.”
“Hmmm. You two have devised a fair number of surprises together.”
Spencer’s lopsided grin broke out, and Catherine’s heart smiled in response. “We’ve had a grand time.”
“You… like Mr. Stanton?”
“I do, Mum. He’s very… decent. He’s a kind and patient teacher, but best of all, he doesn’t treat me as if I’m made of glass. Or as if I’m a child. Or… defective.” Before she could reassure him, his gaze turned quizzical, and he asked, “Don’t you like him, Mum?”
“Er, of course.” She wasn’t certain that a tepid word such as like properly described her attraction to Andrew, but she couldn’t very well tell her son that she desired the man. “Mr. Stanton is very…”Seductive. Tempting. Delicious. “… nice.”
And kind, her inner voice interjected, and she could not deny it. She had only to recall how Andrew had treated Spencer and herself to know it was true.
“Do you think he could be persuaded to stay longer than one week, Mum?”
Catherine froze at the question, anticipation and panic colliding in her. Not only for her own chaotic feelings, but for Spencer’s as well. “I think we need to accept that Mr. Stanton’s life is in London, Spencer,” she said carefully.
“Even if he were to stay on one or two days longer, which I greatly doubt he could, what with your uncle Philip not being in London, Mr. Stanton would still have to return to London.”
“But he could visit us again?” Spencer persisted. “Very soon? And often?”
Catherine prayed none of her dismay showed. Good God, she’d planned that once Andrew returned to London, and their brief affair was history, their paths would rarely, if ever, need to intersect. Seeing him again “very soon” and “often” when she had no intention of resuming their affair would be… awkward. Torture is more like what it would be, her irritatingly honest inner voice corrected. She mentally stuffed a handkerchief in her inner voice’s mouth to silence its unwanted musings.
“Spencer, I really don’t think-”
“Perhaps we can visit Mr. Stanton in London.”
Catherine simply stared, stunned. Never before had he made such a suggestion. After she swallowed, she said as casually as she could, “You would want to travel to London?”
Spencer pressed his lips together, then shook his head. “No,” he whispered. “I… no.” He jutted his chin out at a stubborn angle. “So we’ll just have to make certain Mr. Stanton visits us. Surely he would if we both asked him, Mum.”
Catherine patted his hand, then rose. “Perhaps,” she murmured, knowing she would not extend such an invitation and hating herself for giving Spencer even that small bit of hope. The affair had to end. Permanently. Which meant that once Andrew returned to London at week’s end he would make no more visits to Little Longstone.
Andrew turned in a slow circle, surveying the museum’s damaged walls and floor, the empty spaces where paned glass should have glistened. His hands clenched, in a perfect match to his tight jaw, while anger pumped through him. Bastards. By God, they’ll be bruised and bloodied bastards if they are ever caught.
“As you can see, all the broken glass has been swept away,” Simon Wentworth reported. “The glazier will be here within the hour to speak with you about commissioning new windows. I’ve taken on six additional men to help with the floor and wall repairs, which, as you can see are extensive.”
Andrew nodded, blowing out a long breath. “Extensive does not begin to describe this damage.”
“I agree. The way the wood is hacked up, well, it quite gives me the shivers. Smacks of violence, if you ask me. Would hate to meet up with the fiends who did this.”