Anne frowned. "I'm surprised that the news of his death hasn't reached England. Did it just happen?"
Catherine's mouth twisted. "The authorities feared that if his death became widely known, public opinion would be roused against France. As you know, the moderate treaty that came out of last summer's conference was hard won. The British ambassador personally informed me that a public scandal over the murder of a heroic army officer might endanger the peace."
"So Colin's death has been hushed up."
"I wasn't exactly forbidden to speak of it, but there were several earnest requests that I be discreet. Scarcely anyone knows outside of the officers of the regiment."
"I suppose that makes sense. We certainly don't need another war." There was a long silence as each of them remembered the high price of battle. Shaking her head against the thought, Anne asked, "Are you planning to take a house in London, or would you prefer a quiet place like Bath?"
"Neither," Catherine said grimly. "I must find work. I knew that Colin was bad about money, but I didn't realize how serious things were until after his death. My dowry, the income he inherited from his father-everything is gone. Not only that, but he left a mountain of debts. Thankfully, most of his creditors are officers in the regiment. I don't think any of them will try to send Amy and me to debtors' prison."
Shaken, Anne said, "I had no idea." After a long silence, she said, "No, that's not true. I'd almost forgotten that he owed Charles a hundred pounds. We'd given up hope of seeing it."
"Oh, no!" Catherine stared at her friend in dismay. "You, too? I should never have come here."
"Don't be ridiculous. Colin's irresponsibility has nothing to do with you and Amy. Besides, Colin risked his life to save Charles. That's worth infinitely more than a hundred quid."
Comforted by the reminder, Catherine said, "Colin had his failings, but lack of courage wasn't one of them."
"He was a good soldier. But what is this nonsense about looking for work? You shouldn't have to do that." Anne hesitated before adding, "I know it's too soon to be saying this, but you're a beautiful, charming woman. You'll marry again. Any eligible officers in the regiment would marry you in a minute."
In fact, several of them had offered before Catherine had left France. Trying to keep the revulsion from her voice, Catherine said, "I will never remarry."
"I don't wish to speak ill of the dead, but… well, Colin was not always an ideal husband," Anne said quietly. "Not all men are like him."
Catherine appreciated her friend's delicacy in not mentioning Colin's affairs, but the issues were far deeper than that. In fact, in his careless way, Colin had been a more tolerable husband than most men would be. But the subject was not one that could be discussed with anyone, ever.
"I will never remarry," she repeated. "Since I have no relatives who can help, that means working for wages. I can be a housekeeper or a nurse companion for an invalid. I'll do anything as long as I can keep Amy with me."
"I suppose you're right," Anne said reluctantly. "And if you change your mind, there will be no shortage of men eager to cherish you for the rest of your life."
Not wanting to discuss the subject further, Catherine glanced around the cramped drawing room. "You had said we could stay here if we ever came to London, but the house is not large. Is there really room? Be honest-I can make other arrangements."
"Don't even think of leaving. We'll be a bit crowded, but there's a nice, sunny little bedroom that you and Amy can share. Charles's mother is a darling-he got his easy disposition from her. She'll be delighted to provide a home for the woman who nursed her only son after Waterloo."
"How are things with you? Has Charles found a position?"
Anne's face tightened. "Not yet. There are not enough jobs, and too many other former officers looking for similar positions. A pity that neither Charles nor I have influential relatives, but he will find something in time."
"How does Charles feel?"
"It's hard on him, of course. He's adjusted to the loss of his arm, but he's used to being busy. Being in this small house with not enough to do, and no good prospects…" Anne turned her palm upward. "He never complains, of course."
Catherine smiled ruefully. "We're in a fine fix, aren't we?"
She had first used the phrase on the Peninsula one night when the baggage mules had escaped, the children were sick with measles, and the mud hut she and Anne were sharing had dissolved in a rainstorm. Ever since then, the words had made them laugh and count their blessings.
Anne's expression eased. "Things will get better-they always do. We won't starve, we have a roof over our heads, and I won't ever have to see another blasted baggage mule in my life!"
Her words triggered a storm of giggles as they traded frightful memories of the Peninsula. Afterward, Catherine felt better. Things would, indeed, improve. All she needed was a decent job and her daughter. Surely that wasn't too much to ask.
Anne leaned back on the sofa. "Lord Michael Kenyon is in town for the Season. I've seen discreet references to him in the society columns. He's staying with Lord and Lady Strathmore and doing the social rounds."
"Really? Then he must be fully recovered. I'm glad." Catherine concentrated on straightening her twisted gloves. "His family certainly has influence. Have you considered going to him? I'm sure he would be happy to help Charles find a position."
"The thought has occurred to me," Anne admitted. "But it would seem dreadfully forward. He's the son of a duke, while Charles and I are the offspring of a barrister and a vicar."
"Michael wouldn't care about that."
"If worse comes to worst, I'd go to him, but we're not that hard up yet." Anne gave her an oblique glance. "Will you let him know you are in town? You and he were such good friends."
An overpowering desire to see Michael lanced through Catherine. To have him hold her comfortingly as he had the night her robe had caught fire. To see the warmth in his eyes, and hear the laughter in his voice…
She looked down and saw that she had crumpled her gloves again. "No, I shan't call on him. It would be hard not to feel like a supplicant."
"He would be happy to help. After all, you did save his life, and he's a generous man."
"No!" Realizing how sharp her tone was, Catherine said more moderately, "Like you, I would call on him in extreme need-I won't let Amy suffer because I have too much pride to beg. But I don't want to presume on a passing wartime friendship."
Particularly not with the man she loved. Would his offer of aid extend to proposing marriage so he could take care of her and Amy? It might. They were friends, he found her attractive, and he felt a strong sense of obligation. The combination might very well elicit an offer if his heart was not engaged elsewhere.
Her lips tightened. She had not thought twice about turning down the other proposals she had received, but with Michael, she might be tempted to accept. And that would be disastrous for both of them.
Catherine found it harder than she had expected to secure work. There were few positions and many applicants.
She went to every respectable employment agency in London and answered advertisements in the newspaper. Having a child disqualified her from some positions, lack of experience from others. Several agencies flatly refused to consider a female who was "a lady," claiming it would make clients uncomfortable to have a servant who was better born than themselves. Apparently they did not realize that even ladies must eat.
Several times she was interviewed by women who looked her up and down, then dismissed her without asking questions. A kindly agency owner explained that few women would want a housekeeper who was beautiful. As Catherine trudged home through Hyde Park one day, she cursed the face that had caused her so many problems. What men considered beauty had been a blight on her life. The only offer of employment she had received had been from a man whose lascivious stares had made it clear what her duties would include.