“You must be Miss Forster,” he said, looking a little awed, bowing low.
“I am,” she said, smiling, “I’ve come back.”
And then she noticed that the entire space had been transformed. The furnishings were new. The walls had been repapered. No longer the dingy apartments she had left, the place shone.
She stood there, in shock, as the footman took off her wrap. Lady Wethersby and Ariel must have used part of the thousand pounds to redecorate the place. Despite all she had lost in the past twenty-four hours, she felt a glimmer of joy, because she knew, at the very least, her pain had bought a better life for Lady Wethersby and Ariel.
Lady Wethersby came into the parlor and, seeing her, screamed.
“My darling!” She embraced her. “I hope you do not dislike the changes here at Halston Place.”
“It is magnificent,” she said, hugging Lady Wethersby again and feeling, for the moment, so glad to be home.
“Catherine!”
She looked up and saw Ariel, outfitted in a neat new kit befitting his status as the heir to the Wethersby baronetcy. He ran to her and hugged her around the waist.
Before she could stop it, she was crying. All the tears that she hadn’t shed with her aunt, all the tears that she had suppressed on the coach ride home, burst out and ran down her face silently.
“Catherine! What is wrong?” Ariel said, reeling back in shock.
“Catherine has had a long journey, my love. And traveling by stagecoach—it would reduce any woman to tears. Here, Catherine, sit.” Lady Wethersby gestured towards the sofa. “Melinda is bringing the tea.”
When Melinda brought the tray, Catherine had the opportunity to admire her new dress, which befitted her role as housekeeper of their refurbished establishment. Once Melinda bustled out of the room, Ariel tried to pepper Catherine with questions about her history writing, but Lady Wethersby cut off his line of inquiry. Catherine felt grateful for Lady Wethersby’s sensitivity, although it was somewhat out of character. She was usually very curious herself.
“This came for you this morning,” Lady Wethersby said, sliding a letter across the table. Her pulse doubled. She knew it could only be John’s response to her letter.
When she broke open the seal, however, she saw only a check for nine thousand five hundred pounds and a curt message from his solicitor, Mr. Lawson, indicating that the enclosed was for services rendered.
Nine thousand and five hundred.
For a second, she was confused, but then she remembered the question he had asked her in the coach.
She swallowed hard.
He hadn’t chased down her stagecoach nor had he arrived here before her on horseback, but he had sent those extra five hundred pounds. For some reason, those extra pounds gave her a little hope that she would see him again.
Even though she knew she shouldn’t hope for such a thing.
She dreaded the prospect of having to explain to him why she couldn’t marry him without telling him the truth.
At these thoughts, she felt tears threatening again and pushed them back. She didn’t want Ariel, who gazed at her over his tea with curiosity, to see her cry again.
“What is it, Catherine?” he said, fear in his voice.
“It is the rest of the money that the Duke of Edington paid me for writing the history.”
“How much?” he said, frowning.
Lady Wethersby swatted her son’s arm.
“Sir Ariel!”
Her son stuck out his tongue in response.
“It is ninety-five hundred pounds.” She handed over the check to Lady Wethersby, whose mouth dropped open.
“Ninety-five hundred pounds.” Her voice was full of wonder.
