Page 22 of The Making of Lady Catherine de Bourgh

Chapter twenty-two

A fter many hours alone, and a meal shared in bed with her husband, Catherine snuck into her room and called for Dawson. Sir Lewis was slumbering soundly, but she was too restless to sleep.

The fulfilment she felt in that moment was everything she had ever wanted and never knew she did. It was a shock to learn that such intimacy was possible with another person.

She was in love with her husband—something she never imagined.

Dawson came to dress her in a simple gown that Catherine could remove later on her own. She excused her lady’s maid for the night and slipped out of her room.

Her mind was too full of reflections and sentiment to rest. And while she knew she would not find any meaningful distraction, she went to the library to read.

Entering the library, she walked directly to the shelves she knew would hold something of interest. She ran her fingers across the leather-bound spines. Fielding. Bacon. Defoe. Locke. She found herself too preoccupied by her own thoughts to make a choice—and too distracted to notice she was not alone.

A gentleman cleared his throat, causing Lady Catherine to jump. She covered the small scream that escaped her lips with her hand.

“Mr Darcy!” she finally said when she noticed the gentleman sitting on a large leather chair in the corner of the room.

He stood and bowed. “Lady Catherine, how do you do? I did not mean to startle you.”

She moved her hand to her chest, willing herself to calm quickly. “I am well sir, thank you. Whatever are you doing in here?”

It was after ten o’clock. She had noted the time when she crept out of her bed chamber.

“I am waiting for Lady Anne. I believe she went to fetch something from the music room just now before I took my leave of her.”

“And the countess?” Catherine could hardly allow that Elinor would leave Anne and Mr Darcy alone in the library at night.

“The housekeeper came to fetch her. I am sure she, too, will return soon.”

“Oh, well, please do not let me interrupt.” Catherine made to leave the room.

“You do not interrupt. I am thankful, frankly, for this opportunity to speak to you,” Mr Darcy said.

He gestured for her to sit in a nearby chair, but Catherine jutted out her chin and remained where she was.

“We spoke earlier today. You congratulated me on my marriage. We pondered on the weather. I do not imagine we have more to discuss.”

Catherine felt ignited with confidence. She had Sir Lewis by her side and a love she could never have imagined. She felt emboldened and cared for. Mr Darcy had only sought a wife, and Sir Lewis had wanted her . The difference was so obvious now.

Mr Darcy took a few short steps towards her, “I wanted to apologise for any pain I caused you this winter past.”

“Oh, would you now?”

He looked confused at her response. “Of course, we are to be family, and I wish to—”

“Wish to what? Be dear friends?” Lady Catherine laughed heartily. “Mr Darcy, we shall never be friends. What woman would find friendship with the man who jilted her? Cuckolded her with her own sister !”

He looked stricken by her outburst. Emboldened by Sir Lewis’s love, she felt the confidence to finally say all she wished she had at Oakley months ago. Mr George Darcy had not cared how his actions would affect her reputation, and he deserved to know the harm he caused her.

“I could have been ruined! I was forced to make difficult decisions about my future under the threat of scandal! I abandoned a second Season in town and fled to the country. I very nearly ended up married to a scoundrel and was forced to marry Sir Lewis. All because of your selfish choices.”

“Sir Lewis seems a fine gentleman.” Mr Darcy eyed her warily.

She was tempted to tell him that Sir Lewis was twice the man he was and that she loved her husband with all her heart, but something inside her wanted to harm Darcy the way he had injured her. “He is tolerable, to be sure, but I certainly would not have gone looking for a no-name widower in the back country of England. My parents had a plan, and you ruined it!”

She let the silence sit quietly between then. It was something she had seen Sir Lewis do, and she emulated him now. Let Mr Darcy wallow in bewilderment and anxiety for once. Let him feel the confusion and humiliation she felt for nearly a month in her own home due to his disinterest.

He nodded and said quietly, “I am sorry. Sincerely. Please excuse me.”

It was not nearly as fulfilling as she had imagined, railing at Mr Darcy. Neither had arguing with Anne been earlier in the day.

It left her feeling rather empty, to be truthful. She should have remained in bed with her husband. Mr Darcy and her sister would never understand the distress they caused—and even if one day they did comprehend it, that would alter nothing.

Instead of finding a book, she too escaped the library and returned to her bed chamber to sleep.

Catherine woke to a rare feeling of complete contentment. She stretched her arms across her bed and smiled into the soft morning light filtering into her chamber. Memories of the prior day were already playing through her head, and she could barely keep from giggling outright. Who had she become?

Happy.

She had become happy.

She had a man who loved her—a steady, clever, strong husband.

And she loved him too.

It was a startling thought, but she was becoming increasingly accustomed to the idea.

Dawson joined her some time later, and Catherine could not contain her joy. She smiled and thanked her maid more than once, and two times she tripped trying to step into her skirts.

She was completely mad. All sense of propriety and decorum had fled.

Unburdening herself to Anne and Mr Darcy had also created a lightness in her. She had said what she needed to say, and now it was time to go home. Following her sisters to Derbyshire did not interest her. She and her husband could visit later in the year—stay for a few months and attend Anne’s wedding. But, for now, she felt a stranger in a place that had once been home, and all she wanted now was to wrap herself around her husband and tell him she wanted to remove from London directly.

“Has the family already broken their fast?” she asked Dawson.

“Lady Barringer took a tray in her room, and Lady Anne is in the dining room now.”

“Has Sir Lewis awoken?”

He was the only person she was really concerned with that morning. And why was she asking Dawson when she could find out for herself by opening the adjoining door? She began to move in that direction when Dawson answered her.

“He left at first light, my lady.”

Catherine stopped, frozen in her misunderstanding.

“Where has he gone?”

“Back to Kent, my lady. I assumed you knew. I was only told this morning.”

“No—no, I did not know.” It was beyond embarrassing to learn such a thing from one’s servant.

“Did he leave a note?”

“I was not passed a note—but I can check his bed chamber, if you like.”

“That will not be necessary. I shall check myself,” Lady Catherine said.

Dawson added, “A footman told me that he woke Mr Elliott around half past ten last night, and they were gone before the sun rose.”

Catherine took herself to the window and searched the streets of London for an answer and found none. Her expression must have betrayed her thoughts for Dawson began to ramble.

“It was the night footman; Griffith, I believe he is called. He was stationed near the main staircase last night. He was waiting until Mr Darcy departed, he said. And Sir Lewis woke just after ten o’clock and was walking the floors, first going downstairs, and then up to the library. Then he returned to the footman. He asked him to wake his valet and send him to his chambers immediately. Mayhap he received a letter of some importance?”

“Did an express arrive?”

“No, my lady.” Dawson looked at Catherine sympathetically.

And then it hit her. The library . Just after ten. And he was gone before the sun rose in the sky.

“Oh no,” Catherine whispered. He must have heard her—and she could not even remember the exact words she had used, but her stomach dropped at the memory of calling him tolerable . She said she was forced into the marriage.

Her husband could never understand that those words for Mr Darcy had naught to do with her relationship with Sir Lewis now. She was resentful and hurt, and Mr Darcy had caused her so much self-doubt. She had wanted to hurt him, and instead, she had hurt the man she loved.

And yet, she had never told her husband that she loved him. Catherine had offered herself wholly to him but had not uttered the words.

Mr Darcy did not hold a candle to Sir Lewis. But her husband could not know the truth of her feelings, because she had never divulged them as she should have. No one could compete with Sir Lewis de Bourgh! And now she was on the precipice of losing the one thing she desired more than anything else in the world.

It was time to leave London. Now.

Dawson was efficient as they began packing her trucks. It was the work of minutes to send word to the housekeeper that she would depart by mid-morning. As it happened, she learned that her husband had taken the barouche and left her the carriage and four. Always putting her above his own needs—that was her husband. And that knowledge, of his unfailing solicitude, heartened her desire to depart with even more haste.

She took a seat at the escritoire in her chamber, writing quick notes to Elinor and Anne straightaway. It was a cowardice, indeed, to slink off without a formal farewell, but she had little time and insufficient concern for the others in the house and their feelings.

Just as she was preparing to depart, Anne let herself into Catherine’s chamber, beholding her with obvious contempt.

Dawson immediately acknowledged the tension in the air with a smart nod and excused herself.

“You are leaving London,” Anne said sharply.

“I am.”

Anne fidgeted with her hands and appeared unsure of herself. It was a rare thing to see her sister flustered.

“I do not wish you to leave while we are on bad terms,” Anne finally said.

“We are not. We are as we always were.” Catherine avoided her sister’s gaze, continuing to gather her belongings about the room.

“If this is what you wish—for us to be relations in name only, I shall leave you. But that is not what I want.”

Catherine knew not what to say to her, but finally she faced her younger sister. “I wish you no ill will. My emotions got the best of me yesterday. I had not seen you in so long and—and even before then, we were speaking infrequently. We have lived much of our lives apart.”

“I could not agree more. I know little of you . . . but I would like to change that. I have always looked up to you.”

“Have you?” Catherine was amazed to hear it.

“Of course I have.”

“I did not know that was promised. You have always seemed rather set apart.”

“Just because we are not alike does not mean I did not envy you in many ways. I did try to emulate you and our mother, but it did not come easily to me.”

“That is an understatement,” Catherine retorted.

Anne laughed uncomfortably. “Mr Darcy sees me for me. Like I believe Sir Lewis views you. And when I found so many things in common with him, and our dreams were so alike, I—I could not watch him marry my sister. No matter how much I respected you and desired to see you happy. And I am sorry. I should have taken your feelings into consideration. I ought to have spoken to you directly. I know it was not easy.”

“It was not.”

“I want to do better,” Anne said. “I know that one conversation cannot change the past, but I hoped we might exchange letters.”

“We may.”

Anne sighed, seemingly relieved. “Thank you. I should like to have a sister—in blood and in my heart.”

The thought warmed Catherine, but she remained wary. “We could try.”

Anne nodded and wished her sister safe travels to Kent.

As it happened, Lady Catherine was unable to slink out of London without speaking to the new Lady Barringer either. As she descended the main staircase, the lady of the house awaited her near the entry.

“I am conscious that you are hurt and did not feel at home here,” Elinor began, “But I want you to know that you are always welcome—here and in any of our homes. You are dear to me, and I have been so pleased by our friendship.”

Lady Catherine could not comprehend all of her mixed emotions well enough to explain her unease to her sister by marriage.

“Thank you,” Catherine responded. “I welcome your continued correspondence and hope to see you again soon.”

Though more formal and less friendly than Catherine would have imagined the visit, the hostility between them would soon wane, and she did deeply want to continue their friendship.

The road was dusty, and Catherine had not the faintest clue how to send ahead for fresh horses like her husband had done on the trip to London, and so she directed the driver to stop in Bromley at the Bell as she had with Lady Rosamund many months ago on their trip into Kent. Catherine shook the dirt from her skirts and took some little refreshment indoors with Dawson while Marley saw to feeding, watering, and resting the horses. The stop could take some hours, he had told her. The sunshine had been unforgiveable, and the horses had worked themselves into quite a lather that morning.

The delay was causing her some anxiety, as was the conversation she owed her husband. No matter how many times she went over it in her head, the words never sounded right. Even to her, the practiced explanations felt empty and trite.

After nearly two hours, the travel party was finally moving in the right direction once again.

When the carriage pulled up in front of Rosings Park, Catherine did not wait for the footman to help her down. She leapt out of the conveyance, picking up her skirts while she took the stairs as quickly as possible.

When she entered the ornate front hall, the butler found her immediately.

“My lady, please pardon me. We were unaware of your arrival today.”

“There is no need for apologies, only please tell me where I might find my husband.”

“He rode out to the Pope farm not two hours ago. There was some concern about irrigation. The steward was summoned this morning and had not yet returned. Sir Lewis thought to follow him.”

This changed her plans. Did she await her husband or go after him? She had not been on a horse in years. But she could not wait another minute after all the delays of the day.

“Please have a horse saddled for my use and send Dawson to my chambers.”

Catherine had a general idea where the Pope property was, though she had never gone as far as viewing it. It mattered not, at this point, for her mind was made up.

Dawson was frantically pulling gowns out in the dressing room. “You only have the one riding habit, and it is blue, my lady. I apologise—”

Catherine blew out a breath of frustration. Nothing was going to plan.

“No need to apologise. I had no notion that I would go riding. I will ensure I am not seen.”

She could not ensure that, and Dawson knew that as well. Wearing anything other than black would be entirely unseemly, but she had little time to waste. Certainly not enough time to have one of the black gowns adjusted for riding—and she had no intention of sitting around and awaiting her husband’s return. So, she would put herself on a horse in a blue gown, while in mourning, for she could do no less.

When Catherine approached the stables, a mare was being saddled in the paddock.

A stable boy helped her onto a block to allow her to climb onto the beast more easily, although immediately she was second guessing her choice. It had been many years since she had ridden, and she feared the horse could sense that, too. Animals had a way of understanding Catherine’s distaste for them, and she knew horses comprehended more than most.

Catherine took the reins in one hand and brushed the cheeks of the horse with the other.

She whispered to the horse, “Let us make an agreement. You carry me safely to my husband, and I will promise that you shall never have to convey me anywhere again in your life. And I shall bring you some treats from the kitchens on the morrow.”

The horse nickered a response, and Catherine unbelievably took it as acceptance.

Speaking to horses, she would have to address another day.

Giving the animal a little prod of her heel, they surged forward in the direction of the fields north of Rosings Park. Twice, she was forced to pull up to a gate, dismount, open the gate, guide the horse through, close the gate, and then climb into the saddle again using the fence for assistance. She must look ridiculous. Anne would have jumped the fences with great ease and enjoyed it, no less. Catherine, on the other hand, was caution’s dearest friend.

When she heard the sound of hoof beats approaching her in the wood, she prayed that God would produce her husband and not any nefarious persons.

God did bless her in that moment, for coming around a bend was the person dearest to her heart. Sir Lewis looked more beautiful to her in that moment than ever before. His hair was tousled, his face slick with some perspiration, and his formidable arms in control of his much larger horse.

“Catherine!” he greeted her with no little surprise.

When he guided his horse to stand next to hers, his expression was indeed one of shock.

“Sir Lewis,” she said, out of breath.

“What has happened? Why are you here?” Sir Lewis asked. He looked behind and around her, “Are you out here alone?”

“Why are you here?” Catherine asked stubbornly. “I left your bed and woke in mine to find you gone—departed from town without a word, not even a note. You must know how that felt after what we shared yesterday.”

Sir Lewis grunted gruffly, pulling roughly on the reins, and his horse became agitated. He was usually more in control of himself.

Looking around, he nodded and said, “Follow me. I do not want to speak here.”

Catherine agreed and guided her horse to the side of the rough path to allow her husband to pass and then turned her horse to follow him. He led her a different way than she had come, eventually arriving at a small cabin in the woods.

He dismounted his horse, tied the reins to a tree, and moved to assist Catherine with hers.

“This is the old steward’s cabin. It is empty now, so we might speak in some privacy. I fear Don Pedro might have thrown me if we tried to have this conversation while riding.”

Even making a little joke about his beloved horse tossing him did not bring about a smirk. He was all seriousness. It did not bode well for her.

She followed her husband onto a quaint porch where he guided her to a small wooden chair. Catherine carefully spread out her skirts and then took in Sir Lewis’s face. Hardened as it was, it was dear to her.

He sat on another mismatched wooden chair next to her, careful to angle his boots away from her skirts. It felt a great distance from the intimacy of the prior day. His hands were in fists, and the sharp set of his jaw told her he would not make this easy on her.

“I did not mean to worry you,” he began. “There was no need for you to rush to Kent. You should have remained with your family.”

“My family? Why would I want to remain with them. This is my home.”

“And so it is, by law, but I will not hold you here,” Sir Lewis said sharply. His tone was laden with emotion.

“And what if I said that I wished to be here?” Catherine replied firmly.

“We both know that is a lie.”

She drew her finger down her own forehead. “I am certain you do not find evidence here—for I know it in my heart, in my very bones, that there is nowhere else I would rather be . . . than with you.”

His gaze hardened. He was a stubborn man, and her words did not sway him.

“Last night in the library—”

He stood at once. “Please, I beg you—I do not need an explanation—”

“I was bitter,” she explained. “I was angry. I was finally able to tell Mr Darcy how much pain he caused.”

“Lady Catherine, I warn you—”

“Warn me all you want, but I will not stop.” She, too, stood. She pushed a finger at his chest and continued. “I intended to hurt him. I wanted him to feel the anguish he had caused me. I desired that he understand how little he had considered my future when compared to his own desires. But where I found the strength to put him in his place was entirely because of you.”

His eyebrows rose.

“You helped me find confidence I never knew I had. You helped me find a way to speak my truth. But I did lie to Mr Darcy.”

“Did you?” Sir Lewis asked.

“Yes. I did not tell him that his rejection was the best thing that ever happened to me. If Mr Darcy had proposed in January, I would never have had the opportunity to meet you. I might have never known what it is to be married to such as singularly wonderful man. It would have been the greatest failing in my life—for I would never have experienced the act of being loved.”

His breathing was deep and full of feeling.

She reached out and grabbed one of his fisted hands and spread his fingers out gently, weaving hers with his. “I love you, Lewis.”

There. She had dropped the title and dropped her inhibitions with it.

He turned his face away, not seeming to believe her.

“I was still distressed about how Mr Darcy had treated me. He was selfish. He hurt me—and my sister with him. And I finally found the strength to tell them both. But I should never have brought your name into our dispute. You were undeserving of that abuse. You have shown me nothing but compassion and kindness—and I thanked you by tarnishing your name to another.”

Finally, he looked her in the eye.

She continued, “Hear me now. For I speak only the truth. I love you and want only you. If I had to experience it all again to have you, I would—even sending you round to the servants’ entrance in the rain!”

The side of his mouth quirked up, a sign that her little provocation was helping to break down his defences.

She stepped closer to her husband, gentling her voice. “You are my truest friend and the only person I would ever choose to rely upon.”

Finally, his eyes softened, and the tightness of his jaw slackened.

“I know why you ran,” Catherine said. “I would have too. If I had heard you speak of my only being tolerable , it would have broken my heart. I owe you the most sincere apology. I am sorry. Please, I beg of you to forgive me.”

Eyes locked on Catherine’s, he took a step forward, followed by another, until Lewis backed her up against the rough wooden slats of the cabin. His divine, familiar scent enveloped her. Her eyes dropped to the pulse at the base of his throat, then travelled to the tense cords of his neck before snapping back up to his.

He pinned her to the spot and heated her skin with only a look. Lewis had Catherine cornered, like a predator, and she wanted to abandon her defences and hand over her whole heart.

She could not draw her attention away from him, for Catherine was a victim of his commanding presence.

“I awoke alone last night—cold without your presence,” he said slowly and quietly. “I feared you might have regretted what had occurred between us, and so I sought you out to ensure all was well. When you were not in your bed chamber, I dressed and walked throughout the house looking for you. When I heard you in the library—I—I cannot describe the pain I felt, Catherine. I was out of my mind with jealousy! I wanted to tear into that room and beg you on my knees to love me in return.”

Her heart jolted at that.

“To have you in my bed merely hours before and then to hear you speak to him , of all people, about how you regretted me.”

“I do not—I never could.” Catherine reached up to touch Lewis’s face, and he allowed it.

“But you did—you spoke of being forced to marry me. I never meant to impose myself upon you. I never sought to cage you in. I thought I was giving you freedom, but I see now that in my selfishness to have you—to make you mine—” His voice was laden with regret.

“I am sincerely happy you were selfish that day. And I am yours. I will never be another’s.”

He was swimming in regret and defeat, and she had caused it.

Catherine closed the space between them, and she took his face in her hands and turned it towards her. “He means nothing to me, and you are everything. I will spend the remainder of my days ensuring you know this.”

She pulled at his hand and ran his finger down her forehead. “See? I am speaking the truth.”

He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers.

She lifted her chin and softly pressed her lips to his. When his lips did not shift against hers, she moved her mouth against him, trying to show him that she cared even if he would not believe her words.

“Lewis,” she whispered against his lips, and his defences fell.

His mouth began moving against hers, and in unison they clung to one another. A wild pulse of want surged through Catherine’s body while Lewis laid a trail of frenzied kisses down her neck. She could feel his muscled thigh pushing at the weight of her heavy petticoat, trying to get closer. So many emotions were pouring through her—desire, relief, affection—and all at once.

He stopped suddenly, out of breath and resting his head against hers. “I cannot believe you rode a horse to find me.”

“That should have been the first indication that my affection was true. For I would ride for little else.” She laughed lightly.

“I know, my girl. I must say, though, you do have a fine seat.” His smirk was back, along with a healthy dose of sarcasm.

She batted at his chest, “I condescended to ride all the way here and you have the gall to mock me for my poor skills! For shame.”

She could not help joining his laughter.

She leaned back and took in his beautiful smile. “Can we go home now?”

“Please,” Lewis whispered and kissed her forehead.