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Chapter Three
Some rise by sin, and some by virtuefall.
—Shakespeare,Measure for Measure
Catherine emerged fromthe dense copse of trees and approached Stratton Hall. The setting sun was partially hidden behind the old manse, and the weathered red sandstone building was magical in its departing rays. She’d lingered in the woods, the comfort of the familiar path calming her pinging nerves. It was done by now. Nicholas knew. Although cowardly, she was glad that she did not have to see his face when he heard. Nor confront his immediate wrath, for he would never understand.
She walked slowly across the lawn. Other than the dining room on the west side and the kitchens at the back, to the east, the house had changed little since the sixteenth century. A central structure encased by two wings, it was imposing but nothing like Woodfield Park. Stratton Hall was not grand. No whimsical additions, only practical ones. She would reside here for all her days. What else was there to do? She had given her heart long ago and could not, would not, settle for another.
A sigh escaped before she could quell it. What was done could not be undone. She tugged the ribbons at her chin and removed her bonnet, letting it dangle by its shallow brim on the edge of her fingers. No one was about. Her father had left to spend time with friends in Worcestershire. He disappeared a lot lately, no doubt escaping the somber mood of the hall. All laughter had ceased the day Daniel was killed. And all hope for the Strattons had departed with Laurence. Lord how she missed Laurence’s cheerful presence.
The hall was not a grand entrance but a serviceable room, its high-beamed ceiling echoing voices of days long ago. She laid her hat on the weathered table, its etched surface testimony to the many meals that had been eaten on it once upon a time. She ran a finger along one of the grooves.We come. We go.
The walls were adorned with hunting trophies, the activity a tradition passed down through the ages and a nasty habit her father continued after his grand tour. He was proud of each and every one, but Catherine found the glossy-eyed wildlife somewhat unnerving. However, she’d made peace with a buck on the far wall. She walked to him now, holding his gaze. He was too high to pet, but she’d always imagined stroking him when she was a child. She felt the urge to do so now.
“What do you say, my friend? Can you bear to watch me grow old? To never hear again the sound of children gracing these halls?” She turned at the discreet cough. “Edwards.”
“Miss Baring. I worried I would have to send out a search party for you.”
It was good to know that someone cared. “Well, at least you know which path to follow,” she replied, struggling to keep her smile and remain cheerful. “You won’t need to fret anymore. I won’t be straying far now.”
He did not alter his expression, but she saw understanding in those dark eyes. “Lord Walford is home, then?”
“Yes, he is. And he is the perfect picture of health. Praise God that he has walked from the continent unscathed.”
The butler bowed his head. “Amen.” Then he picked up her bonnet, brushing at some unseen speck of dust. “You must be hungry, Miss Baring. You have been gone the better part of the day. I shall have Mary prepare you something.”
“Thank you. Tell her to keep it simple. Some cheese and bread will suffice. And some preserve. You know how I must have a sweet. I’ll take it in my room.”
She headed for the stairs at the end of the hall, then stopped and turned around. “Oh, and Edwards, I would so love a bath if the boys are not too busy.”
“For certain, miss.”
Her legs felt heavy as she ascended the stairs. She stopped in the landing where the stained glass shimmered in the fading light, its beauty as captivating as ever. The collage of color depicted a hero, triumphant in battle, holding up his arms in jubilation. She fought tears. Nicholas was home. Finally home. But she could feel no victory. Nor must he.
Shaking her head, she took the last few steps to the next floor before drifting down the long hallway. She loved that she was at the end, far away from the rest of the family. It was always her refuge, and she hoped to find succor there this evening.
Her shoulders dropped when she entered the room. There was no need to pretend here. She did not even have to face a lady’s maid. They kept a simple staff. One of the downstairs girls helped when she needed assistance, which was seldom in the last few years.
After removing each glove, finger by finger, she laid them over the edge of her dressing table and then sat down. She unbuckled her walking boots and drew off each one before setting them under the table, out of the way. Next, she untied her garters and listlessly peeled off each stocking, wriggling her toes. One thing she’d learned through Daniel’s death was that the mundane daily routines and rituals brought comfort.
At the sound of a light tap, she dropped the dress back over her legs, tucking her toes under and out of sight. “Enter.”
The boys dragged in a large copper tub and placed it before the fireplace.
“Would you like the fire lit?” one asked.
“No, Samuel. It’s warm enough this evening. I shall be fine.”
He tipped his cap in deference and departed with his twin brother, Sampson, to get water. They were so alike, and hardly boys anymore. Only a few years younger than her four-and-twenty, they always seemed so much more youthful. Not to mention Edwards always referred to his sons as “the boys.” Said he named them as he had so they’d both come running when he hollered, “Sam!” Half the work, he’d say with a grin.
She waited as the boys made multiple trips to fill the tub. No fancy additions here. No separate bathing rooms or water closets. She still had to visit the back garden or use the pot under the bed. It was not an arduous existence by any means, but she was not enfolded in the lap of luxury. Not for lack of means. Her mother had died giving her life, and the house had lacked a woman’s influence her whole life. Her father’s two greatest passions were politics and hunting. Updating his home did not enter into his thinking. Except here. He gave her carte blanche with her own room. Her large, canopied bed dominated the room, its luxurious deep-blue velvet a contrast to the rich, creamy silk walls. The plush furniture cushions were wrapped in cerulean chintz. She always felt afloat, the room her own whimsical sky, her sanctuary.
Sadie brought in the simple dinner as the boys finished topping up the bath with hot water. “Would you like assistance, miss?”
Sadie wanted to be her personal maid, but Catherine did not see the need for such attention at Stratton Hall. Unfortunately, Sadie knew that Catherine had planned on taking her to Woodfield. She’d been quite excited about finally taking on that role and thrilled at the thought of living in a great manse. It would seem the dreams of many had died in the woods that day.
“I shall be fine, thank you.” Catherine had no energy left to force a smile.
Sadie nodded solemnly but didn’t say anything. Catherine usually enjoyed Sadie’s bantering comments but, today, was grateful for her silence. Sadie placed a small pile of drying cloths near the tub and closed the door as she left. Catherine moved to it and lowered the latch. It was not something she usually did, but she wanted no interruptions.
She disrobed, placing each item carefully over the chairs, then settled into the tub. The hot water helped leach some of the anxiety from her bones. If only it could have the same effect upon her mind. As she sunk lower, her knees popped into the cooler air, but her shoulders were comfortably immersed. The dull gray dress mocked her from where it was draped.“Oh, Catherine, you dress in full mourning. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you are wearing widow’s weeds.”She should have said something then. He should have heard it from her. She was such a coward! She closed her eyes to block out her clothing and to hide from her room, the blues too reminiscent of the changing colors of Nicholas’s eyes.
She had done what she’d had to. Revisiting all the reasons she’d accepted Daniel’s proposal would bring no alternative to light. She’d known what she was giving up when she’d agreed to it. If faced with the same dilemma again, she would make the same choice. She sat up abruptly, pain twisting her insides, and splashed water on her face. There it was. She would make the same choice, for it was the only one. She swiped at her eyes and lay back against the tub, staring up at the ceiling.
Then why did it now feel so wrong?
