Chapter One
Present Day
Sallingford House, Cheshire
Thursday, January 1st,
1846
The arrival ofHis Grace the Duke of Gillingham at Lady Pennington’s New Year’s Day gathering caused quite a stir. Understandably, given that the fellow hadn’t attended any kind of social event since his scandalous marriage eighteen years before.
It certainly never occurred to Catherine that His Grace would put in an appearance that day. Not only because of his elusive lifestyle, but also because, barely six months earlier, he’d been widowed, his wife dying of consumption.
It appeared, then, that his period of mourning was over. Catherine thought it a bit premature, but men, unlike women, were not expected to adhere to such established practices.
Had Catherine known the duke would be present at Lady Pennington’s gathering, she would have avoided the event. As it was, she now stood in frozen shock, staring at him across the wide expanse of a marble-tiled floor. He was unaccompanied, yet appeared to be searching for someone, his gaze wandering over the sea of faces, most of which, in turn, were fixed upon him.
Catherine’s shock then gave way to a bizarre sort of panic, one that demanded she hide before his focus settled on her. Though it made little sense, she surrendered to it, and moved to stand behind one of the massive marble columns that graced the four corners of Lady Pennington’sgrand salon. There, she pressed a gloved hand to her throat, heart and mind racing.Eighteen years.That’s how long it had been since she’d last seen and spoken to him. Eighteen years and seven days, in fact. Despite the passing of time, she couldn’t bear the thought of facing him. Not after what he’d done.
When Catherine had last spoken to him, he’d been a mere Marquess– the Marquess of Hawes, specifically. Even then, his title wasn’t part of her rhetoric.Theirrhetoric. He had called her Cat, she had called him Lysander, and she had loved him with all her heart. And, at the time, she’d been assured he felt the same.
An old familiar ache stirred beneath her ribs.
Furtively, she peered out from behind her hiding place, and reabsorbed the reality of his presence, taking the time to observe him in detail. It seemed the years had not been too unkind.
He looked to be hale, standing tall, head held high, spine and shoulders straight. No sign of a paunch beneath his finely tailored coat and snug trousers. Arms by his side, he stood with feet planted slightly apart, securing him to his spot as he continued to survey his surroundings. A visible frosting of silver, at his temples and sideburns, gave testament to his forty-eight years upon the earth, while the rest of his hair remained as black and abundant as ever. As always, a few errant strands tumbled carelessly over his forehead, the rest swept back from his dark brows to curl softly where it brushed his collar. His face, or more accurately, his expression, exuded a certain calm maturity, as if the passing years had tempered the devil-may-care attitude that Catherine had known him to possess. The square jaw implied his inherent stubbornness, which surely remained. His mouth, wide and full-lipped, was not set in his familiar smile, but neither was it firmed in disapproval. Catherine touched her lips as she remembered his kiss.
Soft. Teasing. Demanding.
She inhaled through her nose, imagining she could detect the subtle hints of sandalwood and citrus that always used to accompany him. Did they still, she wondered?
And as for his eyes…
Of course, from where she stood, she couldn’t gaze into their gray depths. But there had been a time when she had done so and found herself captivated by the promises they appeared to convey.
False promises, as it turned out.
As Catherine continued to watch, a woman approached him; young and beautiful, with an ivory complexion and hair like spun gold. She seemed vaguely familiar, though her name remained elusive. Her touch on Lysander’s arm drew his attention and brought the missing smile to his lips. He bent his ear to her mouth and, judging by the resulting expression on his face, whatever the woman said pleased him. As if to substantiate that, he took her hand and kissed it. Catherine ducked back behind the column, out of sight. Leaning against the cold, hard marble, she closed her eyes. It seemed he’d wasted no time in finding another to warm his bed. Who was she? Catherine frowned, searching her brain for the woman’s identity.
“Goodness, Aunt Cat. Are you quite well?”
Startled, Catherine opened her eyes to see her young niece, Evie, regarding her with concern. Was it Evie? It might have been Clara. The twins looked so alike. Catherine straightened and silently cursed the warm flush wandering over her face. “Oh, yes, dear, I’m perfectly fine. I just find it a little stuffy in here, that’s all. In fact, I might step outside for a moment and take some air.”
“Oh, but it’s bitter cold out, Aunt,” the girl replied, glancing at the nearby window. “Maybe a walk along the hallway might be better? I’m sure it will be less stuffy there and nowhere near as crowded. I’ll go with you if you like.”
“Oh, no, that’s not necessary, dear, I’m all right, really. Just a little tired. It was a late night, after all.” Catherine managed a smile. “But I appreciate your suggestion and shall act upon it.” She changed the girl’s focus. “Where is your Mama?”
“Playing cards in the games room. And they’re looking for more players if you’re interested.”
Catherine nodded. “I’ll consider it, certainly, but I’ll take that stroll along the hallway first.”
Evie, if that’s who it was, smiled, nodded, and wandered off. Catherine lingered for a moment before daring to take another peek from behind the column.
Lysander had gone. So had the woman.
Catherine cast a quick glance around the room but saw no sign of him. She then silently castigated her behavior, which was unquestionably foolish, and quite unlike her. But then, the wretched man had always managed to bring out an unrecognizable side of herself.
What was she so afraid of? Her connection to Lysander had long since been severed. She’d been young and naive, believing his interest in her to be serious. Something unbreakable and everlasting, forged from love. Certainly, the engagement ring he’d given her should have meant something, but in the end, it had only intrinsic value. As a promise of a sacred and lifelong union, it turned out to be worthless.
