At these words, he began to feel feverish. A scrim of sweat broke out over his entire body.
He swore again, earning himself a scolding from Mrs. Morrison. He told Mrs. Morrison to let any letters or visitors into his study and to call for his solicitor, the accursed Mr. Lawson.
His butler came in with a note and he sighed with relief. It must be from Catherine. She would tell him what was happening.
He tore it open.
John,
Mary will accept the annuity.
I am returning to London and must break our engagement.
Please do not follow me.
Catherine
He put the letter down in a daze, but he could already feel the pain permeating his body, as if something had been physically ripped out of him. He experienced a flash of anger at Mary Forster, who, he concluded wildly, must have convinced Catherine not to marry him.
Or, perhaps, he thought, with a sinking feeling, she had always planned to break the engagement once they found Mary.
No,he told himself,that didn’t make any sense.
What they had was real.
It couldn’t be a part of a subterfuge or scheme.
John knew he needed to go after her—to go find her in London—even though she told him not to follow. Something else must have happened with Mary Forster. Something he didn’t understand.
He stood up and felt the floor sway under him. Fresh sweat sprung up again over his skin. Really, he felt quite odd. He sat back down in his chair out of necessity and then heard a knock on his door. He called for the person to enter.
It was Mr. Lawson. The man looked less than elated to be summoned. He was twenty years older than John and wore little spectacles. Most of his hair was gray. He looked at John warily as he entered the study and John didn’t blame him, given how furiously he had cursed the man out when he had last seen him. At one point, he had been in a such a lather that he had threatened legal action against Mr. Lawson himself.
“Your Grace,” Lawson said and gave a deep bow.
“I found her,” John said. Lawson’s eyes brightened.
“Miss Mary Forster, Your Grace?”
“Mrs. Ryerson,” John corrected.
He slid the piece of paper that Lady Trilling had given Catherine yesterday morning across the desk. It felt like a lifetime ago. He had been so sure of their love then. And now he didn’t know what to think.
Lawson looked relieved. He was a solicitor’s solicitor, the loyal vassal of many high-ranking gentlemen, but John knew that he liked assets tied up neat and tidy. He couldn’t have enjoyed his father’s gamble.
“And she accepts the annuity, Your Grace?”
“She does,” John managed, the strange pain flashing once more and making him lose his breath. He thought of Catherine and felt he might pass out.
“I will call on her first thing tomorrow morning, Your Grace, and present her with the formal paperwork for the annuity.”
“Thank you, Mr. Lawson.”
He thought of what he had promised Catherine—the remaining nine thousand pounds—and how she had, irrespective of everything between them, undoubtedly upheld her end of the bargain. She deserved the money, even if he couldn’t win her back, or understand what had happened, although he desperately hoped he could.
“And, Mr. Lawson, please forward a check for nine thousand pounds to Catherine Forster at her address in London. The same as before. Immediately, please.”
Suddenly, he remembered that day in the carriage when he had told her he would pay her five hundred pounds to answer his question about her virginity. They had both forgotten about it in their alarm for Henrietta.
