“But you do not know which answer you wish to give me,” Richard offered, knowing the conflicted look on her face was likely small in comparison to the war going on inside of her beautiful mind.
“I need more time…that is all.”
There was nothing more that he could say. He would, of course, respect her wishes. He would never push her further than she needed to be pushed.
“Then you shall have it.” He reached for her hand as he stood after her, and she offered it so that he could kiss the back of her hand in farewell. “I look forward to seeing you again, Lady Catherine. No matter what your answer shall be.”
Though, he knew in his heart which one he truly wanted.
Chapter 16
The passage of time was always something that fascinated Catherine. When everything had happened with the creditors, it had been one of the longest days of her entire life. A misery that just would not end no matter what she did or how hard she tried to fix it for herself or her mother. The carriage ride out to the cottage? A hundred years long. Listening to her mother cry?
A veritable infinity of sorrow. But the passage of days where Lord Landry and Lord Wentworth came out to the house to call upon her? It passed like a blink of an eye. Each day felt shorter and sweeter than the one before it.
Even if that did mean that the dinners that she had to endure with her mother speaking to her endlessly about how excited she was for the engagement was something else entirely. She had chosen not to include her mother in the conversations that she had been having with Lord Landry about reconsidering his offer.
He seemed very intent on doing everything in his power to ensure that she found him appealing. He continued to bring gifts. Nothing so extravagant as her pianoforte, but sweet things to help make their life easier out in the cottage or gifts for their table.
Even stranger yet was how taken with Elizabeth the enticing Lord Wentworth seemed to be. He, too, would bring small presents and gifts in the hopes that she would be there. Catherine had yet to ask her new friend how she was taking the attention. As far as Catherine knew, her friend was very happily married. Though, she did seem to encourage the attention of Lord Wentworth when it was available to her.
Catherine just needed to find a way to pluck up the courage to ask her about it. Sooner rather than later.
On this particular afternoon, Elizabeth and Lord Wentworth were out walking the gardens privately. Normally, as a married woman, Catherine would think nothing of her choice. But there was something more there. Something that she would not understand until her friend chose to confide in her.
As such, the songs that Catherine had chosen to play in the small sitting room were a touch more melancholy in nature than she normally would have had them. Mother sat across the room, embroidering napkins with the mirror image of the bright spring arrangement that Lord Landry had brought with him earlier in the day.
Arabella glanced up every handful of moments or so to ensure that the pair were still sitting near enough to one another. Whatever existed between the pair of them was all that her mother was able to speak about.
“All right, I confess it. This is the true reason that I have been coming here every day that I possibly can,” Lord Landry admitted suddenly with a sigh as Catherine shifted from one song to the other.
“And what reason would that be, my lord?”
“Ever since hearing you play for the first time, it has created this need inside of me that I cannot help but feed. It is an insistent thing. I only wish that I could have been bornhalfas talented atanythingas you are at the pianoforte,” Lord Landry complimented her easily.
The words of flattery warmed something in her chest that she tried to pretend did not exist. She struggled to keep from smiling at the excessive praise as she continued to play.
“You were not lying when you said that it was your passion,” he continued. “I hear the songs that you play in my sleep. They haunt my dreams in the very best possible ways.”
“You are trying to bait me into conversation, my lord. It shall not work.”
“Is that such a crime to wish to speak with you?” His brow raised quizzically as he stared at her.
Catherine nudged him with her shoulder to push him slightly further from her person on the bench so that she could focus. Her fingers slipped over the keys, and she played the wrong note. She had half of a mind to punish him for it. “You are a distraction.”
Lord Landry’s smile shifted. She could see the way that he re-oriented himself beside her from the corner of her eye. It was annoying how much she had come to expect him to be around. He was dependable now, his presence like clockwork. He had managed to integrate himself into her routine.
“I could be more of a distraction,” Lord Landry admitted as his hand slipped from where it had been resting on his lap, to the top of her thigh. The soft touch was warm and intimate enough that she knew that if her mother were to happen to see it—the choice of the proposal would be forced from her. “Have you given any more thought to your final answer?”
His knuckles brushed against the space where his thigh was dangerously close to hers.
Pragmatically, it was a sound solution to their present problems. She could not even lie to herself any further and pretend that she did not enjoy his company or the goals that they were working towards together. Now that she was able to separate the image of him from his father, she liked him more than she realized.
Her gaze slid up his frame slowly, savoring the details of him as her heart thundered in her chest. It was just a small touch, and yet, she would not deny that it thrilled her. Her dreams had more than filled in the blanks of all of thepossibilities,including having him in the way a wife could have her husband, here on this very bench.
Putting aside the wants of everybody else in the room—she desired him. Her gaze lingered on his lips. Watching the pulse in his throat and then flicked up to his kind eyes. The impulse to touch him was nearly overwhelming.
Get a hold of yourself. He asked you a question.
