Love and the Single Heiress

Genevieve frowned. “Although… you were very well acquainted with Lord Bickley before he asked for your hand, were you not?”

A warning bell chimed in the back of Catherine’s mind. “Our families were well acquainted, yes,” she admitted.

“Indeed, I recall you mentioning that you’d known him nearly your entire life, is that not correct?”

“Yes.”

“And you believed that he was a decent, kind, loving man.”

Catherine frowned. “I see what you are trying to do, Genevieve, but what you are saying only serves to prove my point. Yes, when I married Bertrand-a man I’d known my entire life-I believed us well matched. I thought him kind and decent. And although I did not harbor any deep, heartrending emotion toward him, I felt respect and an affection that I was confident would bloom into an abiding love. I honestly cared for him. And look how disastrously my marriage turned out. If I’m capable of so misjudging a man I’d known for years, how could I hope to properly judge a man with whom I’m barely acquainted?”

Genevieve searched her gaze for several seconds then said, “I shall give you an honest answer to that question Catherine. Lord Bickely was cosseted and fussed over his entire privileged life. I’d wager to say that if Spencer had been born perfect, you and your viscount would have maintained a formal, friendly union, without either of you ever developing any ‘deep’ or ‘heartrending’ emotions toward one another. It was when adversity was thrown at your husband that he showed his true character.”

“I wholeheartedly agree. My father has often said that how a man handles difficulties is the true test of his worth.”

“And look how Mr. Stanton has handled himself since arriving in London. He has remained steadfast and loyal to your brother and their museum project. He kept a calm, cool head, protecting you and administering aid when you were hurt. He set his own concerns aside to escort you to Little Longstone to ensure your safety. He has taken the time to develop a relationship with your son. He is not a pampered aristocrat, but a man who has made himself. In the short time you’ve known him, you’ve shared more intimacies with him than you did with your husband of ten years. That is how you know what sort of man he is.”

Catherine closed her eyes and pressed her fingertips against her temples. “Why are you saying these things? I came here hoping you’d help me see things more clearly.”

“That is precisely what I am attempting to do. I believe the problem is that I am not saying the things you wish to hear.”

She lowered her hands into her lap and offered a weak smile. “No, you’re not.”

“Because I’m your friend. Because I don’t want you to make a mistake that you’ll regret the rest of your life. Because not facing the truth, not listening to your heart is more damaging, more hurtful than any other pain. And I do not think you’ve really examined your heart in this matter, Catherine. You’re afraid to do so, which, given your past, is completely understandable. Indeed, I would be frightened as well were I in your position. But you must try to put your fears aside. You were denied happiness for so long, my dear. Don’t deny yourself again.”

“But don’t you see, I’m not denying myself! I wanted a lover, so I took one. I don’t want a husband, so I won’t take one. There are precisely four reasons why a woman should marry.” She ticked the items off on her fingers as she said, “To increase her fortune, to better her social standing, to have a child, or if she requires someone to take care of her. As I am financially secure, am high enough in precedence, already have a child, and do not require someone to take care of me, I’ve absolutely no need or desire for a husband.”

“There is a fifth reason for a woman to marry, darling.”

“What’s that?”

“Love. But since you’re obviously not in love-”

“I’m not.”

“Well, that’s that.”

“Yes, it is. I’m happy, Genevieve.” As for examining her heart, she’d done so thoroughly enough. She’d certainly delved as deeply as she intended to.

For several seconds, Genevieve said nothing, just treated Catherine to an unreadable look. Then she smiled.

“I’m glad you’re happy, darling. And very relieved that you won’t be suffering a broken heart. And obviously you know what is best for you. And Spencer.”

“Thank you. And yes, I do.” Yet even as she said the words, Catherine had the sneaking suspicion that she’d agreed to something she should not have.

“Now tell me dear, whom do you think you’ll take as your next lover?”

Catherine blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Your next lover. Do you think you’d prefer an older, more experienced man? Or perhaps a dashing young Brummel sort you could easily bend to your will?”

A most unpleasant sensation prowled over her skin at the thought of another man touching her. Before she could reply, Genevieve mused, “And I wonder what sort of woman will next warm Mr. Stanton’s bed? I’m certain he won’t be lonely for long. Heavens, you saw how the duke’s nieces all but salivated at the sight of him. And London is positively littered with gorgeous, sophisticated women looking for a distraction from their daily lives. Mr. Stanton would certainly provide a lovely distraction.”

Heat suffused Catherine’s body. An impossibly unpleasant sensation prowled over her skin at the thought of another woman touching Andrew. She narrowed her eyes at Genevieve, who regarded her with the innocence of an angel. “I know what you are doing, Genevieve.”

Her friend smiled. “Is it working?”

Yes. “No!” She jumped to her feet, a myriad of emotions pummeling her. Confusion. Frustration. Anguish. Fear. Jealousy. And anger. Her hands clenched, and she tried to decide if she was more angry with Genevieve for goading her, at Andrew for bringing all these unsettling feelings into her life, or at herself for allowing the situation to evolve into this.

“I don’t care who his next lover might be,” she fumed, anger convincing her she spoke the truth. “Nor do I know who mine will be. But I’m certain I’ll find someone. Why should I be alone?”

“Why indeed?”

Genevieve’s complacency only further served to fuel Catherine’s ire. Determination stiffened her spine. “Exactly. I shouldn’t be alone, nor do I intend to be.” Reaching down, she picked up her reticule. “Thank you, Genevieve, for this chat. It has proven most… enlightening.”

“Always glad to help, my dear.”

“Now, if you’ll please excuse me, there is someone I must call upon.”

Something that looked like worry flickered in Genevieve’s eyes, but was instantly replaced with her normal insouciance. “Of course. Shall I see you out?”

“No, thank you. I know the way.”

And I know exactly where I’m going.

Andrew stood a bit apart from Mr. Carmichael, Lords Borthrasher and Kingsly, and Mrs. Warrenfield, waiting for them visually to assess the museum’s damage. Finally, they turned toward him, each bearing grim expressions.

“This is dreadful,” Mrs. Warrenfield murmured in her deep, raspy voice, her words partially muffled by her black veil.

“A frightful mess,” Lord Borthrasher agreed, his lip curled with distaste, his cold, vulturelike stare skimming over the room.

Lord Kingsly’s beady eyes narrowed, and he folded his arms over his paunch. “Never seen the likes of this.”

“Looks to me like it might take even longer than the two months you’ve estimated to put this back to rights,” Mr. Carmichael said, slowly stroking his chin, drawing Andrew’s attention to the man’s intricate gold ring bearing a square-cut diamond surrounded by onyx. Carmichael then clasped his hands behind his back and glared at Andrew. “Have you nothing to say, Mr. Stanton?”

Andrew’s gaze encompassed the group. “I am confident that two months will be sufficient time. I’ve spoken with the glazier regarding new windowpanes, and additional workers have been hired on to re-lay the floor. Barring