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Wednesday, 16 May, 1979

Matlock Manor, Derbyshire

Lady Catherine Fitzwilliam peered cautiously from her chamber.

The hallway remained astir.

Guests passed in a steady stream, though chiefly ladies of the party.

The gentlemen—most of them, at least—were gathered in the library or the billiard room.

She had been reliably informed that the gentleman upon whom she had fixed her particular attention was to be found in the library and was not expected to retire early.

She had time yet.

She had been quietly preparing for this very evening for nearly a month, ever since she first learnt that he was expected among the company.

The chief difficulty had lain in discovering the intended arrangement of the bedchambers—most particularly, which apartment was to be allotted to him.

She knew full well that both her mother and father would have been astonished by the eagerness with which she had engaged in the preparations.

Indeed, her brother’s glance betrayed no small measure of suspicion.

But there was no retreating now; the moment was upon her.

She must act this very night, or lose the opportunity altogether.

Should her design succeed, her family would be left with little choice but to support her—for their reputation would be wholly engaged in the outcome.

She cast a cautious glance beyond the door and, finding the corridor empty, stepped from her chamber.

After a wary glance behind her, she slowly made her way toward the staircase.

Yet scarcely had her foot touched the first step when a sound from above caused her to halt.

She barely managed to conceal herself within the shadowed alcove below when two gentlemen—Mr.

Hawthorne and Mr.

Pembroke, if her ear did not deceive her—descended the stairs.

“He appears quite smitten. I daresay no other lady could hope to rival her now,”

remarked Mr. Pembroke.

“Indeed, I cannot fault his taste,”

said Mr. Hawthorne.

“The lady is truly an angel.”

“Quite true, quite true,”

Mr. Pembroke agreed warmly.

“An angel.”

Lady Catherine closed her eyes, endeavouring to compose herself.

There could be no doubt as to the identity of the angel they so ardently admired.

She must prevail this evening—or she would surely lose him to that angel.

She remained concealed, listening with care.

Once assured that no footsteps stirred above or below, she slipped from her hiding place and ascended the stairs.

At the landing, a leftward turn brought her to the chamber assigned to the gentleman.

There, she cast a wary glance about her, then drew the key from the pocket of her gown.

The lock yielded with a gentle turn.

Stepping inside, she secured the door behind her before moving to the nearby table to extinguish the candle.

Only when the chamber lay in darkness did she allow herself a quiet sigh of relief.

She hoped—nay, prayed—that the gentleman had imbibed sufficiently to dull his senses and cloud his understanding, for her design depended upon his remaining confined with her in the chamber.

She must contrive some means of detaining him until her maid, charged with following discreetly, could fasten the door from without.

A sprightly gentleman might yet prove difficult to manage, even in darkness.

One further concern was the gentleman’s valet.

She had taken pains to acquaint herself with his habits during his last visit, and had discovered that the manservant never entered his master’s chamber unless expressly summoned.

It therefore fell to her to forestall the gentleman’s ringing of the bell—at least until her maid could secure the door from without.

Lady Catherine listened as footsteps passed quietly by the door.

With deliberate care, she unfastened the buttons of her cloak, allowing it to slip from her shoulders before placing it neatly at the end of the bed.

Her gown was comely enough, though she knew its effect would be lost in the darkness.

Her scheme, in any case, did not rest upon charm or any manner of feminine artifice.

She harboured no illusion that her appearance could rival that of the angel who had already captivated the gentleman’s heart.

With a soft sigh, she seated herself at the edge of the bed, preparing for what promised to be a long and tedious vigil.

Yet her wait proved shorter than she had anticipated.

Scarcely had a few minutes passed before another set of footsteps approached and paused at the threshold.

So unexpected was the arrival that, for one suspended moment, she faltered—uncertain how best to proceed.

But her purpose soon reasserted itself.

She rose and moved quietly to the side of the door, taking care to keep herself out of view.

Her breath stilled as the key turned in the lock and the door creaked open—only just wide enough to admit a tall gentleman.

Though his features were obscured, the outline was unmistakable—it was he.

She stood motionless as he entered and quietly secured the door behind him.

He approached the bed, set something down with deliberate care, and halted—his head tilting slightly, as if trying to place where the table, and the candle that had once rested upon it, had stood.

She needed no further cue.

With sudden force, she pushed him forward; he stumbled and fell, chest-first, upon the bed.

Before he could recover, she threw herself after him, her full weight bearing him down.

He twisted under her grip, straining to turn, but she clung with such desperate strength that he could not dislodge her.

It did not take her long to realise that maintaining her hold until the maid’s arrival would prove far more difficult than she had anticipated.

He was a man of considerable strength—and by no means so inebriated as she had supposed.

Once the first shock had passed, he succeeded in wrenching his hands free and attempted with great force to throw her off.

She held fast, and for a moment compelled him to draw his hands back.

But when his hands returned, they did not settle upon her shoulders as before, but ventured lower still, to the place that made her stiffen with alarm.

Then, quite suddenly, he went still.

A sharp gasp escaped him, and before she could fully apprehend what had passed, his hands began to roam—tentative at first, then bold, exploring without the slightest reserve.

It was only much later that Lady Catherine realised: she had never heard the maid’s key turn in the lock from without.