Page 12 of The Making of Lady Catherine de Bourgh
Chapter twelve
S itting in the Sedgwick parlour some days later, Catherine found it hard to focus on the latest on dit. It was difficult to join her friends’ debate about hat sizes when she could only concentrate on her doubts about her reputation being intact.
“Sir Lewis said my new hat was very unique at yesterday’s garden party,” Emilia said, blushing. Miss Hawkins had lately invited Catherine to use her Christian name, Emilia. She felt some guilt knowing she would never invite them to do the same. Her mother would abhor it.
Virginia tittered. “And unique it is, my dear. Not many hats require the wearer to move with such delicacy. I imagine the gentlemen were taking great care not to get tangled up in the ostrich feathers at your approach!”
“You jest!” Emilia pouted. “You told me you loved that hat. You said the feathers were elegant! The milliner said it was very modish in London this year.”
“I liked the feathers just fine,” Diana spoke up. “Do not listen to Virginia. She only seeks to badger you because she is jealous of your new collection—especially the gold wool felt and the one made of beaver fur, for they are so large! You shall have to tease your hair to the heavens to hold up those new masterpieces.”
Emilia blushed. Her mother had taken her to London for a few days of shopping, and the ladies could speak of naught but her new wardrobe. Catherine, for one, was jealous of the new redingote Emilia brought home with her, made of a stunning green silk with a matching striped skirt.
“I am sure Sir Lewis was overcome with admiration,” Virginia conceded. “Now, let us change the subject.”
“Or he was teasing you, as the officious man likes to do,” Catherine murmured under her breath.
It took a moment of silence for Catherine to realize the other ladies had heard her snide comment. The silence was deafening as she took in their expressions of shock.
“Pardon?” Emilia looked stricken.
Diana spoke at nearly the same time, “Officious? But he is always so obliging.”
Virginia only looked at Catherine in confusion.
“Pardon me, Emilia. I am sure he liked your hat,” Catherine aimed to decrease their attention on her. “It is only—only that the man seems to have a satirical side to him.”
The ladies looked at her with more uncertainty.
“But he is so helpful and kind!” Diana argued.
“And handsome! All the ladies think so,” Emilia chimed in.
“If he is such a catch, why is the gentleman not married?” Catherine retorted.
Virginia was quick to answer, “He is a widower! He must be heartbroken over the loss of his wife. She was a very beautiful woman. Almost everyone remarked upon it. And she had a fabulous fortune.”
Diana leaned in conspiratorially, “My parents tried everything they could to put me before Sir Lewis when I had my debut, but he showed no interest in me or any other local ladies. I was so relieved when it was Mr Bates who went to my parents with his intentions. Sir Lewis is rather intimidating, is he not?”
Intimidating? The man was absurd. Why were all these ladies fawning over the man? The only benefit of an attachment to Sir Lewis would be his fine property.
Virginia joined in, “My father often remarks that he is quite devoted to the arts and education.”
Catherine could not remain silent on the subject. She did not like that he was able to worm his way into the hearts and minds of all the villagers when it was so clear to her that he was a menace. “It seems to me that the only constant object of his devotion is himself.”
An immediate rush of shame ran through her. It was unlike her to be so frank, and she could only blame the gentleman in question for her flippant comments. No one irritated her as he did.
Before she could work herself into a state of distress over her loose tongue, Catherine thought it best to excuse herself and return to Whitmore. She no longer requested the carriage, whether or not Lady Rosamund was using it. She was accustomed to making the trip on foot now, and so she would continue. She did not like to admit it to herself, but it was nearly a certainty that her ongoing walks were in the slim hope of seeing Mr de Bourgh.
Unfortunately, on this day, fate would appear to be laughing at her—or punishing her, rather—for it was Sir Lewis she found as she walked through the park at Rosings.
At seeing her, he began approaching across his lawn with two large hunting dogs at his side.
“Good day, Lady Catherine,” Sir Lewis greeted her.
“Good day to you, too, sir,” Catherine responded in kind, keeping her distance from the animals.
“Do you like dogs?”
“Of course, I do,” Catherine replied, while attempting an awkward dance around the creatures to keep them away from her skirts.
“This one is Beatrice and this one, Benedick.” He pointed to the dogs, but Catherine paid them no mind.
She backed away and forced a polite smile at Sir Lewis. “Lovely names.”
He chuckled and beamed a devilish smile in her direction. What nerve!
“Sit,” he commanded. The creatures halted immediately and obeyed their master. He looked her over and said very seriously, “You do not like dogs.”
“Pray, what is the meaning—”
“You do not like dogs.” He spoke more slowly as if she were a small child.
Catherine’s defences rose at his challenge.
“I heard you the first time—it is only, I do not know why you would say such a thing.”
“Why do you lie about your preferences?” he asked.
“Are you implying that I mean to deceive you?”
“Not on the whole.” He laughed. “However, you do seem predisposed to giving people the answer you believe they will prefer.”
What an affront! “Sir, I beg you to stop this line of conversation now.”
“Or what? You will be angry that I asked you to be truthful with me?”
Catherine bristled. This man never quit.
“Fine,” she admitted, sighing in resignation. “I do not like dogs. There. Does that appease you?”
“You have my thanks.” If possible, his smile grew. “I appreciate your honesty. You should try it more often.”
“While you have proven yourself correct in this one instance, I demand an apology for labelling me a liar.”
“I did no such thing. Do you not lie about your preferences? When Mr Hunter asked you if you enjoyed long walks in the peaks, what did you say? Or how about when I heard you agree with Miss Hawkins that her hat could in fact be larger? Or what about the time I overheard you tell Lady Tilbury that you favoured embroidery?”
She had never in her life felt such an affront on her character! She was not a liar. She was simply helping along conversation. It was polite to agree, but she never made-up stories about great hikes in the peaks or pulled out embroidery that was not her own and took credit. That is what a liar would do. And how could he know so much?
“Are you following me, sir?” She asked impertinently. “Do you hide behind the shrubberies to ascertain my preferences?”
“I do not follow you, Lady Catherine. I simply pay attention. And you have a tell.”
“A tell?”
“A tell is what men who gamble call a change in behaviour that gives away the truth of things.” He walked more closely to her, leaving his well-behaved dogs behind, and reached his hand up to her face, “May I?”
Catherine froze and nodded quickly. He ran his finger in a line from the top of her forehead to the top of her nose. Her entire body reacted to the attention. Every part of her being focused on the touch of his ungloved hand upon her skin.
“You crease your forehead.” He ran his finger back up the same line, “—just here.”
Her breath was coming short and her heart beating more quickly. She cleared her throat, and he broke the contact.
“And how have you ascertained that when my forehead, erm, creases , as you say, that I am lying?”
“Because I am observant. It is almost as if you consider what you should prefer to say before you give your answer.” He still stood close to her. Near enough that she could reach out and touch him. “And I would dearly like to know what you really feel, rather than what you think I want to hear.”
She had no answer for that. A lifetime of training had beaten her own feelings out of her mouth.
He leaned into her personal space, tipping his head to the side in curiosity. His eyes watched her intently. “Do you like dogs, Lady Catherine?”
“No, I do not. They are dirty, and I assume they carry diseases, and they make a mess of polished floors and hemlines. No matter how behaved, I cannot countenance animals permitted inside homes.” Unburdening her true thoughts came rather more easily and more thoroughly than she would have assumed.
He laughed uproariously at that. “That is what I thought. Good day, my lady.” At that, he tipped his hat and took his dogs in the other direction.
Catherine could not leave the grounds of Rosings fast enough. The presumption! That base miscreant!
She could not decide if she felt relief or anger at his performance. The nerve of that man!
Though, it felt rather freeing to speak the truth. To actually speak her mind and not receive judgment or redirection in return was remarkable.
When she arrived back at Whitmore, she was surprised to find Mr de Bourgh speaking to Harold, her aunt’s coachman.
The men were in deep conversation until Catherine cleared her throat. She could not very well pass the stables and not acknowledge an acquaintance, could she?
“My lady! What a surprise.” Mr de Bourgh approached her with a welcoming smile.
Indeed, this is how a gentleman should behave.
“A surprise to find me at Whitmore? I should think it rather the opposite. What business finds you at our stables today?”
Mr de Bourgh’s smile dropped momentarily but quickly recovered. “Just a little business with some local farmers—a dispute, you see. Nothing I would want to bother you with.”
“I thank you,” Catherine replied, however much she would have liked to hear of it. Nothing was below her attention if it meant settling a squabble for her dear aunt.
“Shall I escort you home?”
“As you see, I have already reached my destination sir,” she responded with a small chuckle. “Would you like to come inside for some refreshment? I am certain Lady Rosamund would like to greet you.”
“Thank you, no. I am sorry to say that I cannot stay,” he replied and then spoke more softly. “I have missed our walks of late. Perhaps I shall see you when next you walk through the gardens at Rosings.”
She hung on his every word. He too enjoyed their walks and had missed her! “Thank you. I hope to see you soon, as well.”
“Good day!”
She nodded in his direction but had to force herself to look the other way for fear that he would see the silly grin upon her face. That gentleman was able to lift her spirits so quickly after his cousin had insulted her pride. It was like whiplash—going from one de Bourgh gentleman to the next.
“What does Lady Ashby say in her latest?” Lady Rosamund indicated the letter that Catherine had been devouring for some time.
“Anne and Mr Darcy are engaged.”
Her aunt set down her teacup and did not give herself the trouble of concealing her pity. “How do you find the news?”
Catherine breathed deeply. “It was a matter of course, Aunt.”
It was a nuisance, her grief over her sister’s betrayal.
Catherine was decided. Rather than speak of Anne, she would prefer to finally get some answers about her odious neighbour than continue the course of their current conversation. It would certainly be a distraction from the self-ridicule that currently resided in her mind.
If Sir Lewis was going to have such an understanding of her, it only followed that she too should have as much information as possible about him. And for reasons she would not like to ponder too deeply, she could not dislodge the gentleman from her thoughts.
It was a delicate thing, asking about a man. Even with all the trust between herself and Lady Rosamund, she did not want to betray her true feelings for Sir Lewis, nor did she want her aunt thinking she might admire him.
“I came upon Sir Lewis on my walk back to Whitmore today,” Catherine remarked.
“Did you?” Lady Rosamund smiled over her wine glass.
“He was walking with his hunters.”
“It was a lovely day for it, I suppose. Though I know little about dogs.”
“Was his wife a friend of yours before she died?” Catherine asked carefully.
“No, I never knew her. She was already gone before I moved to this part of Kent. I have heard she was a beautiful woman from a very good family. It was a prosperous match.”
Catherine wondered at that. Who was this paramour?
“He was a second son. Did you know that?” Her aunt interrupted her thoughts.
“No! I had not heard.”
“Yes, he was not the heir to Rosings. His parents chose his wife for her fortune because of his expectation of a military career. The death of his elder brother was unexpected, not unlike the loss of Eloise.”
“I am sorry to hear it.” And Catherine truly was.
“He returned home to care for Rosings, and it was during his first year of landownership that his wife died. I was not here at the time, but he lost both his brother and wife in under a year. Most of our neighbours did not know her well, for they were in mourning during their time at Rosings. I believe they made their home in London before coming to Kent, but I am not certain.”
“What a tragedy. To lose your brother and wife in such quick succession!”
Catherine felt some guilt for her anger towards Sir Lewis. The man did deserve some compassion after all.
“Yes, it was a great misfortune, but no one would accuse Sir Lewis of being conquered by his melancholy. To know him now, you would never suspect it.”
Catherine had to control the urge to roll her eyes. No indeed, she would never have called the gentleman melancholic. She would rather call him a pest.
“And his knighthood?”
“I have never asked directly. I was told it was granted to him in response to a heroic act while serving in the military.”
Perhaps the gentleman was more worldly than she had first perceived.
The next week found Catherine at Virginia’s home nearly every afternoon. She wondered at the ladies’ preferences for meeting at the parsonage so often, but it did offer a slim chance of seeing Mr de Bourgh, and so she continued to agree to their afternoon teas.
Unfortunately, she saw Sir Lewis as frequently as she saw Mr de Bourgh.
On Monday, Sir Lewis came upon her, teasing her endlessly by asking her questions about her preferences. And she gave the honesty he requested.
“What think you of the gardens at Rosings?”
“The formal gardens are just as they should be, but I think some additional hedges near the lane would offer more structure.”
“My steward thinks we should replace our outbuildings and stables. What say you?” He asked her.
“Maintaining the integrity of all structures on your property is a sound way to invest in the estate and the community.”
And even more ridiculous, in the next breath, he asked, “Would you serve venison or duck when hosting a guest?”
“I would learn of their preferences first.”
Strange man, indeed. Why he continued to pepper her with questions, she would never know.
On Tuesday, however, she was fortunate to discover Mr de Bourgh.
She felt a rush of excitement to find him not only on the grounds of Rosings, but she could almost guess that he had the appearance of having waited for her, as she found him lingering nearest to the path that came from the parsonage. She felt a rush of excitement knowing he might be paying close attention to her schedule in order to find some time to walk with her. Once they had dispensed with the necessary pleasantries, his good spirits raised her own as he escorted her to Whitmore, as he had before.
“It is so nice to spend time out of doors with a lady who so appreciates nature.”
He was amiable as ever, but she felt a twinge of guilt for never telling him any truths about her preferences. Damn Sir Lewis for planting such thoughts in her head!
“Thank you, sir. The weather is very fine today.”
“It is an excellent day, indeed.” He smiled, and she felt her pulse race.
She could sense that he was going to say more, but they were interrupted by his cousin who was approaching them and calling their names as he came down the front steps of the house. “Lady Catherine! Arthur!”
Mr de Bourgh leaned in to whisper quickly, “I am afraid that I shall have to abandon you, my lady. As you see, my cousin is doubtful to be pleased to see me not tending to our business. I shall leave you before I hear his thoughts on my delinquencies, but I shall wish you a good day and hope to see you soon.”
He was gone before she could tell him to forget his cousin altogether. He did not work for Sir Lewis. He was a gentleman!
“Pardon me, my lady. Where has my cousin run off to so quickly?” Sir Lewis asked.
“I am certain I do not know, sir.” Catherine kept her gaze on the path and did not slow her pace for Sir Lewis.
“Shall I escort you home?” Sir Lewis joined her in the direction she was already walking.
“That will be unnecessary. I know the way.”
“As you wish,” he replied and bowed, turning his boots in the opposite direction.
And with that, he let her go.
On Wednesday, Mr de Bourgh and Catherine were not interrupted by Sir Lewis but by a gardener who said the gentleman was needed in the manor house. After informing the servant that he was more than aware of his duties, they spoke of the upcoming assembly, a picnic planned for some days later, and a private ball at the end of the month at Persimmon Park.
Why could not the gentlemen in London have been this easy to converse with? How much more productive her first Season would have been if Mr de Bourgh had been present—with her brother’s friendship with him and his being the heir to such a grand property in Kent. Her mother surely would have been overjoyed to find such a gentleman showing interest in her.
Perhaps this is what Lady Ashby meant when she encouraged her to be happy—she could see it clearly, marrying Mr de Bourgh. Her parents would be so pleased with her choice, and she would see the earl and countess often when they visited London, until such a time as they took over the responsibility of Rosings; though it appeared Sir Lewis had much need of Mr de Bourgh’s assistance, and they would be often in Kent, with her dear aunt nearby.
Unlike Virginia, Catherine had no desire to go against the earl and countess’s wishes. But if she could do it on her own, that would be the accomplishment of her lifetime. Women could not pursue men overtly—but she could discreetly put herself forward as she had been taught, holding tightly to her mother’s teachings, and find victory on her own. What a lark that would be!
On Thursday, it was Sir Lewis she found waiting for her.
“Do you make it a habit of walking the grounds of Rosings each day, my lady?” Sir Lewis asked.
“You know I am coming from the parsonage and only seek to provoke me, sir.”
Catherine did not stop her progress as she moved through the formal gardens and walked towards the woodland that bordered Whitmore.
“Does not your aunt have a carriage at your disposal?”
“I am perfectly capable of walking,” Catherine replied.
“But you do not favour the outdoors. Anyone who has paid you any little attention has noticed such.”
“Are you banning me from your property, sir?” She did not turn to see his reaction.
“Until such a time as you give me a reason to, I would never do such a thing.”
“You sound resolute that I shall give you a reason. Do you think so little of me?”
“You twist my words, my lady.”
She peaked under the wide brim of her hat to catch his expression. He looked pleased rather than irritated.
“I do not, and you know I do not.”
Such an ogre of a man! Everyone found him so obliging and helpful, but she knew the truth. He was sinister and sneaky—always waiting to bait her on her walk home from a parsonage, no less! Why could the man not simply be serious? And why could she not have seen his cousin instead?
“Why do you tease me so? Can you not simply let me pass through the grounds without following me with your absurd questions and poking holes in my character?”
“I would never deny your excellent character, I only mean to display how much I applaud frankness in ladies of good character.”
“Well, frankness you have received. Have you not?” She stopped and turned back to face him.
Seeing him just there, standing over her, broody and staid, she wondered why his typical snarky grin was missing.
“Are we finished, sir?” she asked, her voice laced with a haughtiness she rarely displayed.
“Quite finished.” And he turned to go.
Surprisingly, she felt his loss in an almost physical way. Her body responded to his nearness, even when she tried to deny her draw to him. She always felt some little relief to be so honest in his presence. It was as if the person she always pretended to be—the precise one with the perfect answers and controlled manners—had a moment’s break that allowed her true self to shine through. But, as always, she quieted such thoughts and reminded herself that he only teased her to find fault. He was not seeking friendship, only someone to taunt.
On Friday, she asked her aunt to send the carriage after tea.