Page 49 of Indecently Daring

Though he was staring at Lady Catherine, her friend knew very well he was addressing her.

“Cat. Come away now, before he murders you. I told you it was useless.”

Something flickered in the girl’s eyes, but Ciarán refused to see it, refused to look at her a moment longer. Instead, he turned on his heel and went back to his table. He downed his drink and poured another without giving them so much as a glance. The next time he looked up, they were gone.

Chapter 15

Dearest Mama,

Your letter made me feel more ashamed than I can properly convey in writing, and I have much to be ashamed for. Please forgive me for being such a wretched son when you have both been the very best of parents. I will do better, I swear it. I will make you proud of me, only I beg you, give me a little more time.

To set your mind somewhat at ease, I am in excellent health, and other than the fact I know I am making you worry, I am in good spirits. I feel, at last, that I know who I am. Warts and all.

It’s hard to grow up in the shadow of such a man as father. This is not a whinging, woe is me remark, please understand that. I have had the most wonderful childhood, and a life filled with more love and happiness than anyone has a right to. But I have always been terrified of falling short of his example. I suppose I still am. He is everything a man ought to be, a kind parent, a devoted husband, the epitome of a proper English gentleman. He is loved by those who know him, admired by those who don’t, and feared by those who would do him harm. I have spent my entire life wanting to emulate him and knowing I could never be him, never be everything he is, but finally I understand something he tried to tell me so many times. I do not need to be him. He tried to make me listen, but I would not. I hear him now. I hear and understand what he tried to teach me. Better late than never, I suppose, but I realise now, I can only be myself, as imperfect as that may be. I hope he will not be too terribly disappointed all the same.

There is so much work to do at Goshen Court, sometimes I fear the place will fall down before I get to it, but I am making progress, good progress. I think by summer’s end, the place might be somewhere I should be proud to show you.

If you would be so very kind and patient as to give me that time, I shall very much look forward to revealing all I have hidden from you.

―Excerpt of a letter to The Most Hon’ble Matilda Barrington, Marchioness of Montagu, from her son, The Right Hon’ble Philip Barrington, The Earl of Ashburton.

25th January 1845, The Lamb, Holbrook, Sussex.

Cat stared back at the pub, her beautiful face filled with confusion, her blonde brows knitted.

“Come along, love. If we go back to the hall, there’s bound to be someone to help,” Alana pleaded, tugging at her arm.

Cat nodded, distracted still.

“I don’t know what you expected from him. He doesn’t give a damn about anyone but himself, that’s plain enough.”

“It is not!” Cat exploded.

Alana stopped, rather shocked by the force of her anger.

“He lent your vicar his horse, didn’t he? And gave him money! If he didn’t give a damn, he wouldn’t have done that. He was just… just annoyed, with me, and… and he wanted to punish me by not helping, that’s all.”

“Perhaps,” Alana said, hoping agreeing would calm her down. “But what kind of man would act in such a way?”

“One who believes the world hates him and wants to hate them right back,” Cat snapped, a catch in her voice now.

“Oh, love. Please, don’t get yourself all worked up over him. He doesn’t care. Not for you, not for anyone. Perhaps you’re right, but he’s a long way past saving.”

“Is that what your vicar would say?” Cat retorted, her voice sharp.

Alana frowned. “He’s not my vicar, and no. I don’t suppose he would.”

She recalled then all Harry had revealed about his past. What might she have thought of him when he was in the gutter? Would she have troubled to see the man he might have been, or would she have left him there and walked on? But Harry was different, she reasoned. Harry had pulled himself out and straightened himself up and… he hadn’t done it alone. Someone had helped him.

“He’s got no one, Lana,” Cat said softly, echoing the thought as if Alana had spoken aloud.

“Then he should speak to Harry, confess his sins, ask God for help,” she said briskly, still not seeing how Cat could possibly do the wicked man any good. “I don’t know what the answer is for Kilbane, but it’s not for you to save him. He’s a grown man. He can save himself, and I promise you he won’t thank you if you try to do it for him. If you ruin yourself over him, you’re a fool.”

But Alana saw the stubborn look in her eyes and knew they were both idiots, both falling for men who didn’t want them.

“Come on, Cat. The more time we waste, the farther away they’re getting.”

Cat nodded, her expression pinched, and they walked on.