“I’d like,” she said, lifting the silver dome covering the tray to reveal a modest offering of ham and poached eggs along with two toast points. “There’s more here than I usually eat.” Shehelped herself to a napkin and a toast point as Matthew dished up a poached egg and a slice of ham. He offered her the plate, and she set her cup of chocolate on the nightstand to take it. “You’re rather good at this,” she commented, waving to how he was dishing up his own plate. She noted how he had already placed a knife and fork on her dish.
“Sometimes it’s easier to eat up here than in the breakfast parlor,” he replied. “Probably warmer, too.” He glanced towards the window. “Chessings said there is at least three inches of snow on the ground.”
“Oh, my,” she replied. “Is it still snowing?”
“No. Stopped earlier this morning. Apparently it’s not so deep as to prevent caddies from delivering messages.”
Catherine stopped eating. “You’ve had a message already?” she asked in surprise. “It’s Sunday.”
He winced. “Yes, but it has worked in our favor. I instructed him to go to Kingston House with word that you are safe. That you took sanctuary from the snow with a friend.”
Catherine inhaled softly, not having thought about her father. Would he have noticed she wasn’t at home? She wondered if Eliza had spent the night at Kingston House. Surely she would have asked after her. Noticed her absence at breakfast.
She glanced at the clock over the mantel and relaxed. On a typical Sunday, her father wouldn’t rise from his bed for another two hours.
“Did he bring good news? The caddy?”
Matthew once again chuckled. “He actually came with a question. From Mrs. Dove-Lyon,” he replied.
“Oh, dear. What sort of question?”
After finishing a bite of ham, he said, “When we’re to wed.”
Catherine gasped softly. “How…?”
“I think she has spies watching us,” he said. His eyes suddenly rounded. “In fact…” He paused and furrowed his brows. “Do you remember seeing a man at Gunter’s last night? The one facing the front, near the door?”
Shaking her head, Catherine said, “I wasn’t really angled in that direction, but come to think of it, there was a gentleman there, all by himself,” she murmured. “You think he was a… a spy? For Mrs. Dove-Lyon?”
Matthew shook his head. “I think it was Titan.” His brows furrowed, as if he was remembering something else.
“I don’t know anyone named Titan,” she said.
“You haven’t been to the Lyon’s Den?” he asked, his dark brows furrowing.
Catherine shook her head. “Mrs. Dove-Lyon came to me. At the Temple, whilst I was working,” she replied.
Dipping his head, Matthew took a slow breath. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. We are to marry, after all.”
Nodding, Catherine moved to take another bite of toast, but paused. “When he delivered the breakfast tray, your butler said something about Lady Wingfield. Is there… is there a woman living here in your house?”
Stiffening, Matthew dropped his slice of toast to his plate and set it aside. “Uh, not yet, but she will,” he hedged.
“Is she… is she some sort of relation to you?” she asked, trying to keep from sounding jealous.
“No, but she… she will be,” he stammered.
“Who is she? To you?” Catherine asked, her alarm mounting. “A… a mistress?”
“No!” he replied.
“Then, pray tell, what?”
Matthew displayed an expression of pain before he finally said, “She is you.” He cleared his throat. “Youwill be Lady Wingfield.”
Even as he made the claim, he displayed a wince worthy of a condemned man, for he had apparently guessed how Catherine would react.
Chapter Twenty-Two
