An Impetuous Miss Read online

  When Cat finally turned to meet her reflection, she did so with some satisfaction. In spite of her reputation for being bookish, Cat enjoyed her appearance, which had become increasingly dramatic as she grew taller and her figure matured in the last two or three years. Her green eyes turned up at the corners as she smiled, and she realized that, as Cecily had often remarked, she did look very much like a pretty cat who had just figured out how to corner a tempting mouse.

  “That's a job and a half I've done today, Miss Cat, but I daresay you look as fine as Miss Cecily!” exclaimed Felicia, who felt her labors earned her a proprietary interest in her mistress's appearance.

  “Yes, I suppose I shall do all right,” Cat concurred languidly, feigning boredom. Felicia merely rolled her eyes and sighed at the mistress she adored but would never understand.

  Downstairs, the air was thick with the combined agitation of Cecily and Aunt Leah. The bride paced back and forth wringing her hands as her mother followed, seemingly in tow as she attempted to straighten Cecily's veil and retie her satin sash.

  “She's already got the gentleman, Aunt Leah,” Cat called as she descended the stairs, “but she won't if we keep him waiting at the altar!” At that, Uncle Martin tut-tutted and shooed the distraught pair toward the carriage which would take them the short distance to the church.

  Once the party was securely settled in the carriage, Aunt Leah collapsed into exhausted catatonia, and Uncle Martin, not one to be effusive, surveyed his daughter and niece with pleasure and told them they were looking well. Cecily smiled as she, too, regarded Cat in secret satisfaction and squeezed her hand. Perhaps her little plot would work after all.

  ****

  It was with some degree of astonishment that Cat watched Cecily sail through the rest of her wedding day with composure and serenity. Apparently, the perfection of the ceremony itself, and perhaps the sentiments it celebrated, had eliminated all the disorder and jangled nerves of the morning hours, for Cecily and John did indeed make a storybook bride and groom.

  Surprisingly, it was Cat herself who spent the remainder of the day in a turmoil of emotions. Just before the ceremony was to begin, Cecily had suddenly grasped her cousin by the arm. “Oh, Cat, I almost forgot! I wanted John to wear a rose from my bouquet in his buttonhole! I know you must think me a sentimental fool, but would you take this to him for me? I shall have Papa tell the organist to play another hymn, so you will have plenty of time.”

  Overcoming her exasperation with the excesses of young lovers, Cat took the flower and proceeded with haste to the sacristy door. There she found John pacing back and forth closely followed by a hovering Parson Tweedle, whose nervous complaints at such functions were well known. At the window seat lounged a tall blond man, watching with amused indolence the distress of his companions. His very composure in such a scene annoyed Cat, who hurried in and caught John's coattail as he sailed by.

  “Be still half a moment while I fix this flower, John. It comes fresh from Cecily's bouquet, a token of her dearest love!” Cat succeeded in smiling prettily as she delivered this little speech, although John looked at her with some suspicion. He had seen enough of her in various moods over the last several months to distrust her present tone. However, he soon recollected himself and took her by the arm.

  “I say, I'm glad you've come. Cat. May I present my cousin, Charles Hazelforth. He only just arrived last night and he will be standing up with me today. Hazelforth, this is Cecily's cousin, Miss Catherine Mansard.”

  With some sudden interest, Hazelforth had roused himself from his perch on her entry and now bent briefly over Cat's hand, drawling smoothly, “Your servant, Miss Mansard. John is clearly fortunate in his new family as well as in his bride.”

  “That is my opinion as well,” Cat returned with an icy sweetness, for the glibness of Hazelforth's compliment had ruffled her already much tested humor. It was her confirmed conviction that much of the falseness of the society she scorned was characterized by such conventions. “We shall see in time if Cecily is likewise blessed, I suppose. Though John is certainly a paragon among men, my estimation of his family is still at a formative stage.”

  Cat had considered this an appropriate set-down, and was therefore dismayed when Mr. Hazelforth merely threw back his head and laughed heartily. Nothing could have ruffled her more, for, while she was ordinarily good-natured, she despised any mirth at her expense. As the color rose to her cheeks, she turned abruptly and hurried away to take her place in the processional. Just outside the sacristy door, however, she discovered that the silk tie on one of her slippers had come loose and, as she stooped to retie it, she heard Mr. Hazelforth's voice from the open window above her head.

  “Great heavens, John, however did such a creature find her way into sweet little Cecily's family? I vow I expected her to bite me any minute!”

  “Oh, that's just Cat's manner,” John replied affably. “I swear I was half afraid to be in the same room with her for months when I first knew Cecily. But Cat's all right, really, if she's in a good mood and not reading. If you interrupt her in the middle of a book, there's deuce all to pay.”

  “Really? And is she held rapt by these tiresome French novels as half society is these days?”

  “Well, you know I'm not much for the books,” John returned good-naturedly, “but I believe her taste pretty much runs the gamut. Burns and Burney, Richardson and Radcliffe, Cowper and the crew.”

  “A lady scholar! Heaven preserve us!” Hazelforth exclaimed in tones of mock horror. “Well, I suppose she must find some way to occupy her time, as she's clearly not concerned about her reception in society.”

  “No, I suppose our Cat is somewhat eccentric, but she's determined not to marry anyhow, so I expect it's well enough.”

  “She's certainly pretty enough for the London set, but within a month no house would receive her unless she behaves differently than how she just did. She'd have to be as rich as Croesus to tempt a member of the ton,” Hazelforth went on speculatively.

  “She very nearly is,” replied John. “Quite likely the richest heiress in three counties, so even though she says she'll have none of London, I expect she'll continue to have offers. Watching these wags get their comeuppance is deuced good sport, though. I say, Charles, you seem uncommonly interested in our Cat. Never tell me you're thinking of having your measurements taken for the old leg shackles?”

  “I assure you, John,” came the quick reply, “I shall allow you to enjoy that blissful state all by yourself. Your Miss Mansard is quite a picture, but I hope you do not imagine that, after all this time, I should at last surrender my heart to her tender mercies.”

  At this, Cat felt that she had heard quite enough for the present and hurried away with their amused laughter at her heels. Odious men! They always brought out the worst in her. Oh, why couldn't she just have been quiet and kept her misanthropic thoughts to herself, she wondered in agitation? She hoped with some contrition, though, that her loose tongue and reckless manners would not hurt Cecily's reception in her new family. It was frustrating, however, to be reminded that merely speaking her mind was the source of either shocked dismay or, far worse, disdainful amusement.

  “Thank you so much, Cat,” Cecily beamed at her when she had finally made her way back. “I feel much better now. Did you meet Mr. Hazelforth?”

  “I did indeed,” Cat fumed. “Annoying creature!”

  “Why Cat! Whatever is the matter?” Cecily asked, her eyes wide with concern.

  “Tut tut, girls,” Uncle Martin broke in hastily, “It's time to begin.”

  It was all Cat could do in the seconds that remained to compose her countenance, if not her spirits, to avoid looking like a storm cloud as she preceded Cecily down the aisle. As the organist began to play a Handel largo, Cat prodded forward the three little girls in white dresses who were to scatter rose petals and lavender before them; then she gave Cecily's hand a quick squeeze and began down the aisle herself.

  That pathway seemed su
ddenly miles long and indeed presented an exercise in self-control. At the foot of the altar stood John, with whom she was now quite out of charity, as well as his odious cousin, who was smiling at her with insufferable good humor. Cat doubted that Mr. Hazelforth had ever met with any emotion or situation sufficiently unnerving to ruffle that smooth demeanor. It was galling that someone as provoking as he should look so collected. Rather than meet his cool blue gaze, Cat obstinately concentrated on the periphery of the scene and, by the time she reached the altar, felt not only ruffled, but rather cross-eyed as well. It was with no small amount of difficulty that she regained her equanimity and could turn to watch Uncle Martin hand Cecily to John as the ceremony began.

  As Cat watched the bridal pair take each other's hands and repeat their vows, however, she felt her temper unbend a little. John and Cecily's love shone from their faces in a clear radiance. Cat's eyes grew uncharacteristically moist and she felt an aching catch in her throat. Would she ever know such happiness in the solitary life she had chosen for herself? Or, she wondered with a sniff of sheer self-pity, would the loneliness of the days to come overwhelm her and turn her into nothing but a disagreeable, lonely recluse?

  Just then, she looked across the aisle to see Hazelforth smiling quizzically at her, as if daring her to call forth the wedding tears traditionally expected from her sex. Cat was determined to avoid them. She could not, would not, show any sign of female weakness to this loathsome man. Stubbornly, she pulled in her lower lip before it began to tremble. Then, her fingers sought out a thorn amid the roses she carried. Perhaps, she decided stoically, a little pain would allow her to master her unruly emotions. She bit her cheeks and stared straight ahead as the sharp pang stole focus. Impassively, she stood through the rest of the ceremony, almost oblivious to its content.

  Before she knew it, Parson Tweedle had pronounced the couple man and wife, and Cat was suddenly forced to take Mr. Hazelforth's proffered arm and follow the happy couple out of the church. She stole a quick glance from beneath her heavy eyelashes, only to see him smiling at her with every appearance of good-natured innocence; only a slight crinkling at the corners of his very blue eyes, however, betrayed what she suspected to be a hint of mischief. She returned his smile coldly.

  Looking more closely now, Cat could see that he appeared to be a somewhat older man than John, perhaps even thirty, for there was the beginning of silver in his curling blond hair. He was actually quite good-looking, although rather old, she reminded herself. Nevertheless, she found herself wishing unaccountably that she had held her tongue in the sacristy and not ruined herself in his estimation so quickly. As they reached the church steps, he leaned over solicitously to protect her from stray grains of rice that some village children were throwing with reckless enthusiasm, and Cat felt a puzzling thrill race through her at his nearness. The pleasant scent of bay rum mixed with the fragrance of her own lavender in a heady swirl, as Hazelforth guided her through the crowds of well-wishers to a waiting phaeton that would follow the bride and groom back to Sparrowell. As he handed her in, she noticed to her chagrin that her wounded finger had left a spot of blood on the dove-gray of his sleeve. At her sharp intake of breath, his eyes followed hers to the offending stain.

  “Miss Mansard, are you hurt?”

  “I seem to have pricked my finger on my bouquet,” she stammered in confusion, the color rushing to her cheeks. “I'm so sorry.”

  “No matter, my dear,” he smiled at her, “but I should have thought that, as a rose with some thorns of your own, you'd be well aware of the hazards of seemingly innocent bouquets. I never trust roses myself.”

  “Nor should you,” Cat countered, bristling at him once again. He might at least have expressed some sympathy for her poor finger, which was now throbbing quite painfully. “Nor a Cat with its claws in velvet.”

  “Touché,” Hazelforth returned with a tip of his hat.

  ****

  Cat, and indeed the entire household, had their hands full during the reception. On the surface, all went smoothly, for guests were greeted, introductions made and nuptials toasted with apparent ease. However, the day was punctuated by the minor crises of the kitchen and cellar which always arise just when one is sure that plans for the entertainment have been perfected. While a fluttering Aunt Leah made sure that John's family and other important guests were properly attended to, Uncle Martin saw to the butler's concerns, and Cat found herself summoned several times for short conferences with Cook.

  Even though her little dogs were spending the day sequestered out of harm's way in her chamber, the pair had been accused of somehow making off with a tray of miniature cream pastries. In spite of any and all precautions, Brutus and Caesar were often able to make their presence felt in the kitchen and were frequently, therefore, suspected when any culinary misfortunes arose. Their honor, however, had been cleared after a brief search of the auxiliary pantry, but Cook predicted in dark tones that some evidence of their skullduggery would surface before the day was much older. This worthy had generaled a long-term battle against the two dogs, and only the inducement provided by generous bonuses (which coincided, of course, with the dogs' forays into her realm) convinced her to remain at Sparrowell. Cat breathed a sigh of relief as she looked up to her chamber window and saw their noses pressed against it. She realized with customary resignation that they once again trespassed, boldly climbing up on her favorite love seat in order to watch the festivities below.

  The day had grown quite warm, and the intensity of the brilliant sunshine had forced the ladies to unfurl their parasols. Cat only wished that she might avail herself of her fan as well, but the necessity of shaking hands with all and sundry as they passed through the receiving line precluded this relief. The number of well-wishers and the length of their effusions had kept Cat from further conversation with Mr. Hazelforth who stood at her side throughout the proceedings. For this reprieve, she was glad. Her brief encounters with him thus far had left her feeling foolish, bad-tempered, and terribly, terribly young.

  Cat had heretofore found herself the decided mistress of verbal sparring, but was forced to allow that she had not met anyone who had proved a real challenge until now. She was not at all sure she liked the notion of an equal match. She reflected with some dismay that her experience was not broad and her estimation of her own prowess in such matters had undoubtedly been inflated. It was easy enough to come off the victor in contests with Cecily and others of her small circle, and indeed those foppish fellows in Bath, but this older man of the world was quite another matter. One withering glance from those blue eyes, however good-humoredly they now sparkled when she encountered his glance, would doubtless defeat her without his having to so much as rouse himself to a defense. Above all things, Cat could not bear to look ridiculous, and so long as she felt their score had been left even, she determined to have as little further contact with the gentleman as was possible.

  Early on in the reception, however, Cat caught the disagreeable sight of Snagworth collaring two young boys in the rose garden and disappearing with them into the house in an apparent fit of rage. All she needed was another emergency! At her groan of irritation, Mr. Hazelforth cast his eye in that direction as well. Looking about to ascertain whether the disturbance had been more generally noted, Cat quietly disengaged herself from the receiving line with as much grace as she could summon and made her way to the Hall with Hazelforth—uninvited, she fumed inwardly—following close upon her heels.

  Just inside, they were met with the sight of a furious Snagworth shaking a pair of round-eyed, trembling youths whose torn and dirty party clothes revealed that they had indeed been up to some sort of rascalry. Snagworth's jowly face was trembling with dark fury as he snarled, “If I ever again catch the two of you in that garden or any part of it, I'll cut your hands off and feed them to those villainous dogs …”

  “Snagworth!” Cat interrupted, appalled at such a speech. “Control yourself! Unhand those boys this instant!”

 
“Ah, Miss Catherine, best let me deal with this pair. You'd not say that if you knew aught of their black knavery,” he retorted grimly without releasing his grip on their collars.

  “Do not vex me further!” Cat snapped, reaching forward and drawing the terrorized boys away from him. “This sort of function is tedious to the young, and it is only to be expected that they might seek out some mischief where there is no amusement. I am sure they were only playing.”

  “Playing, you say! Playing!” Snagworth continued to rage, his face growing even more livid. “They was not playing! They was digging! Digging and pulling at those rose vines with never a thought to nothing but their own devilish destructiveness!”

  “Watch your tongue, sir!” interrupted Hazelforth for the first time, in a tone that froze Snagworth where he stood. “James and Herbert, isn't it? I'm afraid you will have to excuse my young cousins. Miss Mansard. They appear to be depending on their new status in your family to overstep their bounds somewhat. Well, what is it boys? What were you about?” he demanded sternly.

  James and Herbert hung their heads shamefacedly. Cat knelt down to their level and lifted their chins to meet her gaze. “No one will punish you, boys. I think I can guess what you were up to. Has Cecily been telling you stories about Sparrowell Hall?”

  The boys nodded in unison. Then James, the elder of the two, spoke up with apparent bravery, now that the threat of punishment had been withdrawn. “She told us some wondrous stories, but we'd like to hear some more! Herbert and I were awake half the night to think we'd be coming here today and could look for treasure!”