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Authors: Elizabeth Thornton
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highest point on the heath.
Should she follow her inclinations, she would become the talk of Hampstead. People would wonder how she came to be such an accomplished rider, and McNally would explode in righteous wrath. This was not how ladies conducted themselves. Already, she was in his black books for her little escapade the night she’d met Marcus.
She looked over her shoulder and nodded at her burly, bad-tempered chaperon. McNally was mounted on Derby, the old pony that pulled her buggy, which explained McNally’s foul temper. It was long past time that Derby was put out to pasture, but she couldn’t afford to replace him. Vixen was the horse of a neighbor who paid Catherine to board her while he was away.
She turned her head when someone hailed her. Emily Lowrie, a pleasant-faced, dark-haired young woman, detached herself from a group of riders and trotted over. The two women had been friends since Emily had come to live in Hampstead some six years before. Though Emily had recently married, she and Catherine still had a great deal in common.
“Don’t forget Thursday evening,” Emily called out. “There’s to be a special guest of honor.”
On the third Thursday of every month, Emily hosted a small gathering of friends at her house on the other side of Hampstead Heath. Catherine enjoyed these informal affairs. Emily’s husband was a member of Parliament, just starting out in his career, and so the mix of guests was always interesting. There was usually a guest of honor, someone with thought-provoking views. Many an article had been inspired by a conversation Catherine had engaged in at these parties.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she said. “Who is this special guest of honor?”
“The Earl of Wrotham,” said Emily with a big smile on her face.
“Wrotham?”
Emily was delighted by her response. “That’s how I reacted when William told me.” she said. “
‘Wrotham?’
I croaked. ‘But the earl is so far above us. William, are you sure he accepted an invitation to one of our little affairs? Perhaps you misunderstood him.’ And William replied that the earl had practically invited himself.”
“I wasn’t aware that William knew Wrotham,” said Catherine weakly.
“He didn’t, until last week. A mutual acquaintance introduced them. Oh, Catherine, isn’t it wonderful? If Wrotham were to take an interest in William’s career, there’s no saying how far he might go. Wrotham knows all the right people. Oh, don’t tell William I said that. You know how he feels about patronage.”
And on that jubilant note, Emily trotted off to tell the good news to someone else who had caught her eye.
Wrotham!
She’d been so sure, the last time she’d seen him, that she’d finally convinced him she wasn’t Catalina. Then why had he invited himself to Emily’s little party? Damn the man! Did he never give up?
Her first impulse was to beg off, but on thinking it over, she decided to brazen the thing through. Obviously he was still curious about her. What she must do was satisfy that curiosity so that there wasn’t a shadow of adoubt in his mind that she really was who she said she was. Then, he would stop pestering her.
She dressed carefully that evening. As she turned this way and that, studying her reflection in the long cheval mirror, she was quite taken aback by the transformation in her appearance. Mrs. McNally had swept up her hair and fastened it to her crown with a cluster of silk rosebuds. Her skin seemed softer, somehow, with a faint blush to it. And as for what the new high-waisted, low-cut ivory muslin did to her figure … she shuddered to think what Aunt Bea would have to say if she were here now.
It wasn’t vanity that had made her splurge on a new gown, she told herself. True, she’d been annoyed that first night by the remarks he’d made about the “rags” she was wearing, and something about her being the mother of six children.
Six children!
She spread her hand
Should she follow her inclinations, she would become the talk of Hampstead. People would wonder how she came to be such an accomplished rider, and McNally would explode in righteous wrath. This was not how ladies conducted themselves. Already, she was in his black books for her little escapade the night she’d met Marcus.
She looked over her shoulder and nodded at her burly, bad-tempered chaperon. McNally was mounted on Derby, the old pony that pulled her buggy, which explained McNally’s foul temper. It was long past time that Derby was put out to pasture, but she couldn’t afford to replace him. Vixen was the horse of a neighbor who paid Catherine to board her while he was away.
She turned her head when someone hailed her. Emily Lowrie, a pleasant-faced, dark-haired young woman, detached herself from a group of riders and trotted over. The two women had been friends since Emily had come to live in Hampstead some six years before. Though Emily had recently married, she and Catherine still had a great deal in common.
“Don’t forget Thursday evening,” Emily called out. “There’s to be a special guest of honor.”
On the third Thursday of every month, Emily hosted a small gathering of friends at her house on the other side of Hampstead Heath. Catherine enjoyed these informal affairs. Emily’s husband was a member of Parliament, just starting out in his career, and so the mix of guests was always interesting. There was usually a guest of honor, someone with thought-provoking views. Many an article had been inspired by a conversation Catherine had engaged in at these parties.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she said. “Who is this special guest of honor?”
“The Earl of Wrotham,” said Emily with a big smile on her face.
“Wrotham?”
Emily was delighted by her response. “That’s how I reacted when William told me.” she said. “
‘Wrotham?’
I croaked. ‘But the earl is so far above us. William, are you sure he accepted an invitation to one of our little affairs? Perhaps you misunderstood him.’ And William replied that the earl had practically invited himself.”
“I wasn’t aware that William knew Wrotham,” said Catherine weakly.
“He didn’t, until last week. A mutual acquaintance introduced them. Oh, Catherine, isn’t it wonderful? If Wrotham were to take an interest in William’s career, there’s no saying how far he might go. Wrotham knows all the right people. Oh, don’t tell William I said that. You know how he feels about patronage.”
And on that jubilant note, Emily trotted off to tell the good news to someone else who had caught her eye.
Wrotham!
She’d been so sure, the last time she’d seen him, that she’d finally convinced him she wasn’t Catalina. Then why had he invited himself to Emily’s little party? Damn the man! Did he never give up?
Her first impulse was to beg off, but on thinking it over, she decided to brazen the thing through. Obviously he was still curious about her. What she must do was satisfy that curiosity so that there wasn’t a shadow of adoubt in his mind that she really was who she said she was. Then, he would stop pestering her.
She dressed carefully that evening. As she turned this way and that, studying her reflection in the long cheval mirror, she was quite taken aback by the transformation in her appearance. Mrs. McNally had swept up her hair and fastened it to her crown with a cluster of silk rosebuds. Her skin seemed softer, somehow, with a faint blush to it. And as for what the new high-waisted, low-cut ivory muslin did to her figure … she shuddered to think what Aunt Bea would have to say if she were here now.
It wasn’t vanity that had made her splurge on a new gown, she told herself. True, she’d been annoyed that first night by the remarks he’d made about the “rags” she was wearing, and something about her being the mother of six children.
Six children!
She spread her hand
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