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“Catherine,” Lord Stratton began, staring at her with such fondness Nicholas fought jealousy. What was it like to know a father’s enduring love?
“Catherine,” he repeated. “You burst into the house, at the ripe old age of six, declaring your love for young Nick. Despite my many attempts over the years to veer you from your course toward this young scoundrel…” He paused, at last staring directly at Nicholas. The ensemble tittered approvingly, but he didn’t miss the dead seriousness in Stratton’s eyes even if the others seemed oblivious.
“…you could not be dissuaded.” He held Nicholas’s gaze for another painful moment, then turned his attention to Catherine.
“You were right, and I was wrong.” Stratton walked around the table and stood behind Catherine, touching her locks lovingly.
Irrational resentment reared. Nicholas gripped the tablecloth at his lap, fisting it, twisting it. That washisCatherine. He longed to claim such an unaffected familiarity.
“You saw love,” Stratton continued, “knew it for what it was and claimed it.” He glanced around, settling on Nicholas across the table. “If we could all be as wise as that young girl, life would be rich indeed.” Stratton raised his glass, holding Nicholas’s gaze.
“God bless this love. The years have thrown unforeseen obstacles in its path, but never has a girl been truer. Her love for all is pure.” Finally releasing Nicholas from that penetrating stare, Stratton waved a path around the table with his glass.
“I regret their haste. However, I remember it well. Just so, I loved her mother.” His eyes softened, and he pressed a kiss to Catherine’s head. “You make her proud in all you do.” He tilted his glass and tipped back the contents.
Nicholas unclenched his fingers, letting go of the cloth, a wave of guilt washing away anger. The women were teary-eyed. The men smiled fondly. He was surrounded by a sea of emotional people sipping libations. The toast had definitely been heartfelt. He respected Lord Stratton. He’d always been the warmth to Nicholas’s own father’s cold. The baron had been a part of Nicholas’s life for as long as he could remember. So had Catherine. Nicholas threw back his wine. Stratton paused behind the chair and placed his hand on Nicholas’s shoulder as the guests began to talk once again.
“I consider you a son,” he said, so quietly the exuberant table could not possibly have heard. “I expect you to behave accordingly.”
*
Catherine averted hergaze from both men, looking down at her lap. Her father made a high demand. He of all people should realize Nicholas had the right to be angry, to be unhappy with the state of their marriage. The fault for everything wrong lay on the home front.
“Lady Walford?” Mr. Randall held out a plate of beans, his eyes twinkling merrily in the candlelight, his dimpled cheeks exuding pleasure.
“Yes, please.” Some of Catherine’s strain lifted at his welcoming face, and she found it easier than she’d expect to smile in return. He had been included tonight because he was a guest of Lord and Lady Thornwood. He and his new wife were enjoying a country visit. When they’d drawn up the list, Fredericks had mentioned the man had recently surrendered a commission.
“I understand you were once with the army, Mr. Randall?”
“Yes, cavalry officer”—he lowered his voice and inclined toward her conspiratorially, his voice a stage whisper—“now turned pirate.”
“Christopher!” His lovely, young wife leaned into the table, reprimanding him. Her dark eyes warmed at his grin.
“What, Mrs. Randall? Is that not why you fell for me so quickly?”
Catherine tried not to resent the sweet teasing between the two. It was how she had imagined married life. Mrs. Randall now contemplated her plate, her cheeks flushed.
“I do, of course, jest, my lady,” Mr. Randall said. “I own a shipping company, and it keeps me busy on the waters during this time of war with the Americas. Many consider the profits made by merchants privateering.”
Nicholas had dreamed of such enterprise before he’d left, despite his father’s disdain of anything mercantile. He’d had plans for their future, one day dreaming of architecture, the next of building a profitable business in commerce. Now he was to be an earl. His path had changed, and he would not travel the road of his choice. Catherine had not thought of what that meant to him. He’d always been fiercely independent, had needed to be. Now he had a responsibility to the estate and its tenants. How did he feel about the unexpected burden?
“Were you on the continent, Mr. Randall?” Nicholas interrupted, clearly listening in on their conversation.
“I was, my lord.”
“Your rank, sir?” Nicholas’s voice was clipped, almost challenging. She knew he was as displeased as she about the dinner, but had he lost all manners in the last years?
Mr. Randall’s placid expression grew serious. “Captain, my lord, cavalry. My final stand before resigning my commission was the Battle of Fuentes de Oñoro, a year ago.”
Nicholas still sat rigidly, but his tone softened. “Wellesley talked of it. You lost a lot of men.”
Mr. Randall cleared his throat, glancing at his wife, who was now deep in conversation with Lord Woodfield. “Perhaps we can discuss it after dinner?”
Nicholas looked at Mrs. Randall, then nodded, and the tension between the men seemed to dissipate. Mr. Randall turned to the dowager and took up a conversation, while Nicholas renewed his talk with Lady Thornwood. Catherine touched her temple, her pulse thrumming madly, as she stared at Nicholas. She did not know this man, this soldier who interrogated a guest at the dinner table. Perhaps she never had.
