Page 7 of The Lady
“I hear some gentlemen advertise in the papers for their bride. They then review the correspondence and proceed from there.”
Doctor Caton caught the gleam in her eye and smiled sadly down at his own hands. “If that is your recommendation perhaps, I shall try it.” He stood as if he meant to leave, and despite her sore kneecap Flora rose too.
“I have heard of matchmaking services, although I know of none personally?—”
“The key thing, I think, for the lady would be her understanding of my delicate situation. How precarious it is. Of my hovering between one realm of society and the other. She would have to associate with lords but not expect… Besides, there is ever the matter of my mother, the dowager…” Caton trailed off with a sigh, and Flora saw his predicament. And wished heartily she did not sympathise.
“I suppose.” She too drew out her sentence as if truly mulling over the situation. “I could offer you my expertise on the matter.” Could she marry him to someone terrible or just shockingly vulgar? The possibilities spread out before her delightfully. It would cause him to regret the day he ever dismissed her as a fool. Besides which, what if she accidentally married him to someone who made him happy? That thought was too terrible to consider. “My family is certainly one used to scandal. I am sure I would be able to assess the suitability of whichever young woman you deemed of interest.”
“I would be delighted to accept your help, my lady.” Doctor Caton drew nearer to her, and the faint scent of cake, tea, and his person lingered in the air around him.
Flora who had the pleasure of visiting Paris, of going to the best perfumeries in the modern world, was struck at how delicious Caton smelt. How she longed more than she thought sensible, to take a step closer, and press her face into the small gap between his stiff collar and the fraction of his exposed neck. She would almost imagine doing so, and then she would rub her face and nose against the skin, sinking into the scent of him and sensation that would greet her there.
“Excellent,” she managed to say brightly as she turned to give him access to the door, but the blasted man did not leave. Instead, with his damned ungloved hands, he leant down and lifted her right hand to his mouth. How she cursed and thrilled in the fact that she had removed her own kid gloves.
Pleasure and vexation in equal measure pulsed through her as Flora watched Caton bend a little to bestow a kiss on her knuckles. At the touch of his mouth, the former sensation won out, and delight at the breath of his lips poured through her frame. How could she successfully plot his embarrassment when her body was liable to be seduced so easily?
“I await your correspondence on how best to proceed,” he said, and Flora must have nodded because he was gone. Yet no matter how much she flexed her hands, the sensation of his touch would not leave her.
CHAPTER 4
Aweek went past, and there came no letter from Lady Flora. Part of Philip’s mind was reassured, telling himself that as he whiled away the lonely evenings, Lady Flora was a grand lady, hardly likely to waste her time on the likes of him. He had been silly to bow to the idea of a matchmaking scheme.
But the question remained, why had she offered? The mitigating effect meant he spent an inordinately large amount of time watching the post, both eager and annoyed with himself as he sat around awaiting her letter.
So much so, that on this bright Saturday morning, he finally snatched up a missive clearly written by a feminine hand, and he felt extremely relieved. Sunlight poured cheerfully through the lace curtains, and it seemed like the summer wished to impart a great deal of joy onto the inhabitants of London.
He had grabbed up the letter without properly judging the handwriting and had ripped open the envelope, unfolding the pages before realising who it was from.
Disgust curled through his stomach as he moved the letter farther back and scanned over his mother’s scrawl. There were the normal complaints, all too familiar to Philip. There was the regular levy of abuse and resentment that his presence in Townhad ruined her reputation, deprived her of all good society. It was nothing that Philip had not heard for the last ten years, save for the postscript, which was written in an unfamiliar hand?—
Dear Sir,
I regret to inform you that the dowager’s condition has worsened since she composed this letter. Mrs. Winchester and the lady herself urged me to send this regardless.
I have taken the liberty of contacting Lord Langley, and we are awaiting his imminent arrival. Should you wish to communicate with the dowager, I would recommend doing so in person, within the week.
I write respectfully, your humble servant, etc. etc.
Edgar Peters, physician
Philip lowered the page,frowning as he tried to make sense of the postscript and what action he should take. Certainly, he had envisioned her death when he was younger, but with age and a little wisdom, his vindictiveness had decreased. The strangest occurrence was that Langley had not reached out to Philip to say their mother was dying. In fact, from what Langley had said on his last visit, the dowager was still as bilious as ever, and physically, she had been as hale and hearty as a woman half her age.
His eyes travel to where he had stored all his mother’s letters, going over to the leather case and pulling it from the shelf. A wiser man than him would have destroyed these years ago, but the truth of the matter was it was the only sign that his mother acknowledged his presence. She was his only parent. No one had ever bothered to inform him of the footman who had sired him. Since he had no idea who his father was, or where the man might be. The family who had raised him and bestowed their name on him—the Catons—were not motivated by anything but money,so in his sentimental heart, it was better to cling to at least one sign of recognition than have nothing from either parent. At least he could take comfort in the presence of his brother.
A wry grimace played over Philip’s face as he considered the most horrible parts of his mother’s letters, which had stayed with him, regardless of whether they were written two years ago or ten.
The very worst mistake.
How I regret the moment you were born.
No mother should endure what I have.
How could he have really considered marrying when even his own mother regarded him as a thing so unlovable? It beggared belief. He could not inflict himself on another woman.
Since this morning, he had no appointments scheduled, he could depart for Derbyshire where his mother had hidden away. Yet there was little desire in Philip for such a reunion, any sweet sentiments his mother might express would be false, and he was not overly inclined to listen in person to her diatribe.
As he dwelt on the options before him, there came a knock on the door, and his housekeeper, Mrs. Wotton, slipped into the room, and said, “There is a young lady waiting for you in the front room, sir.” She handed over a card, and as Philip took the fine silk calling card, he sawLady Florascrawled on the page.
