Henry smiled, put his arm around her waist, and murmured, “My darling defender!”
She obliged him in a kiss, but drew back immediately; at his surprised expression, she said, “I do not want to spoil your cravat.”
“Thwarted by my own vanity! There is a lesson hard-learnt. And I suppose I should have a similar care for your gown.” He released her with obvious reluctance.
“You should; besides, Eleanor and John will be here soon, and I must finish dressing. Help me with my necklace, and then I will be ready.”
Henry obligingly stood and moved behind her to fasten the chain; if he placed a few kisses on the nape of her neck while he performed this service, I hope the generous reader will not find it wonderful.
Chapter Seven
Brittle and Beautiful
The maidservant brought out trays of fruit and sweetmeats and a decanter of sweet wine and slipped away, leaving them to talk freely.
“Tell Eleanor and Whiting about your adventure today, Cat,” said Henry.
Catherine related her tale, which entertained his lordship mightily but left Eleanor frowning. “If my father intends to marry Lady Beauclerk,” she said, “it will not do to have such talk about. And you know Mrs. Findlay will not scruple to repeat it to everyone in Bath.”
“Consider the positive, my love,” said her husband. “Perhaps if the talk gets about, General Tilney will change his mind about marrying the Merry Widow.”
“Naturally I wish my father to be happy,” said Eleanor, “but I confess I would rather he found happiness elsewhere.”
“Indeed,” said Henry. “I am glad that Lady Beauclerk has procured her own box tonight at the theatre, and we need not share it with her traveling circus.”
“Oh dear,” said Catherine, distressed at Henry’s words. “Sir Philip asked if he could visit me in our box, and I did not quite know what to say — I told him he might do so.”
“Never mind,” said Lord Whiting. “Those awkward moments always put one at a loss. It would have been better for Beauclerk to wait for an invitation rather than putting himself forward so. Tilney and I will send him to the rightabout, Catherine; your reputation will not be compromised.”
“My reputation?”
Henry and his lordship exchanged glances.
“Beauclerk,” said Henry, “likes to — entertain himself with married women.”
Catherine turned to Henry with a look of alarm. “You do not think that I — ”
“Of course not,” said Henry with a smile.
“I wish you had told me,” said Catherine. “I would not have danced with him last night, even if it meant that I would sit out. Perhaps my reputation is already compromised! And he will be looking for me at the theatre tonight!”
“As far as things have gone, a few dances at a public assembly, there is no harm done,” said Eleanor.
Catherine remembered liberties taken by a drunken gallant at the rooms, and thought there had been harm done enough.
“Beauclerk was named in a divorce last summer,” said his lordship. “Apparently a servant overheard an incriminating conversation.”
“Mrs. Findlay said he was involved in a criminal conversation in Brighton,” said Catherine.
“A nasty business, and he refused to marry the lady involved after her husband obtained a divorce, so she was obliged to retire to the country.”
“How dreadful! I shall not accept any invitations from him in future, to dance or anything else. He was so kind to me! How mistaken I have been.”
“It is never wrong to respond to kindness with gratitude,” said Henry. “But you need feel no lingering obligation, my sweet.”
“But if General Tilney should marry Lady Beauclerk, I dare say we shall see a great deal of him.”
“We shall concern ourselves with that when the happy event occurs.”
“I hate the idea of that woman in my mother’s place,” said Eleanor with unaccustomed warmth.
“As do I,” said Henry. “But we have no right to interfere.”
“But do we have the duty? When she will bring such profligacy into our family?”
“Your notions of duty have always been very nice, Eleanor,” said Henry. “Were you still unmarried, I would protest, or take you to live at Woodston should the general marry Lady Beauclerk, but as we both are no longer living under his roof, I think we must let him make up his own mind. And I remind you, Eleanor: his mind is not yet made up. It is by no means determined that this marriage will happen.”
“But in the meantime he makes us the subject of unkind gossip,” said Eleanor. “We must speak to him, Henry. We must convince him that he is pursuing an unwise course.”
“Not yet,” said her brother. “The General has long military experience and is a wily opponent. A well-led army’s first weapon is good intelligence. We need more information before we plan our campaign.”
Catherine looked at her husband thoughtfully. Henry spoke lightly, but he seemed to have given the matter a great deal of thought; indeed, one might say he already had conceived a scheme.
Lord Whiting’s carriage brought them to the theatre in good time, and they were established in their box before the curtain raised on the first act. Catherine was prepared to enjoy herself, and the comings-and-goings and incessant noise made by those who had no interest in the stage did not interfere in her pleasure.
Midway through the first act, Lady Beauclerk’s party arrived, including General Tilney and several of Lady Beauclerk’s other suitors; as Henry had pointed out, the general was a wily campaigner, and managed to secure the seat directly next to her ladyship’s. Sir Philip attended his cousin; he caught Catherine’s eye, and bowed and smiled.
She did not dare to look in his direction again until the intermission; when she looked, he was gone, and she prepared herself to receive his visit.
Several of Lord Whiting’s friends had joined them, and the box was crowded. When Sir Philip made his appearance, Henry stood and blocked him from entering the box.
“It is very obliging of you to stop by, Beauclerk,” he was saying, “but you see we are a full house at the moment.”
Sir Philip looked at Catherine, who sat with her head down, blushing, her eyes fixed upon her fan. “Yes; full indeed. Pray convey my compliments to Mrs. Tilney.”
“I will be sure to do so.”
Sir Philip left, and Catherine let out a sigh of relief. Henry sat next to her, and she squeezed his hand gratefully.
Henry whispered, “All well, Cat?”
“Yes; thank you for sending him away, Henry. I could not bear his compliments after what I learnt of him today.”
“If he does not take the hint, a few more repetitions ought to do the trick, unless he is a blockhead, or very much in love with you; for which I cannot fault him.”
“You always know the right thing to say; and you were so dignified, so completely civil!”
“I thank you for the compliment, my sweet; and I am always at your service to dispose with your persistent suitors.”
“I hope you will not have to do so another time.”
“Alas, I fear I will; it is the price paid when a man takes a pretty wife.”
Catherine blushed and disclaimed, but her eyes were bright with happiness and affection. Henry could ask nothing more.
Catherine hung onto Henry’s arm as they exited the theatre in the crush of merry, chattering humanity all attempting to do the same thing.
Henry looked around. “I fear we have become separated from Eleanor and Whiting, Cat.” He expertly steered them into a gap, past a couple of stately matrons desperately clutching at the nodding feathers in their hair. “There is no need for you to get tossed about in this crowd,” he said. “Wait here by this column; I will find Whiting’s servant and come back for you.”
Glad to be out of the tumult, Catherine stood close to the column and watched the ladies, inspecting their gowns for details she might copy for her own wardrobe.