With a sigh, she decided to stroll around the Serpentine. Looking at the ducks put her in a better mood. Though it was depressing to be turned down for work so often, her situation was not dire. In Paris she had sold the pearls left by her mother. She'd felt a pang, but the money gave her a little security now. Anne and Charles and his mother had been wonderful, and Amy, with the versatility of the young, was perfectly happy to be with her friends. Something would turn up in time.
It was nearing the fashionable hour, so she studied the elegant people riding and driving through the park. She was smiling to herself over the costume of a truly ridiculous dandy when suddenly she saw Lord Michael Kenyon driving toward her in a curricle. Her heart began pounding and her hands clenched spasmodically.
Because the day was fine, he was hatless, and the sun caught russet highlights in his windblown hair. He looked wonderful, with so much vitality that it was hard to remember how weak he had been when they had parted in Brussels. He had written to her from Wales to assure her of his safe arrival and complete recovery, but it was good to see the proof.
He would not notice her in the afternoon crowd. It was all she could do not to wave and call out. She would love to talk with him, but in her present state, she might be unable to conceal her feelings.
She was glad for her restraint when she noticed the young woman sitting beside him in the curricle. The girl was pretty and very appealing, with a slim figure and shining brown hair visible beneath her fashionable hat. Her delicate face showed warmth and wit, and character as well.
Michael glanced at his passenger and made a laughing remark. She joined in and briefly laid her gloved hand on his arm in a gesture of quiet intimacy.
Catherine swallowed hard and slipped into a group of nursemaids and children. The references to Michael in the society columns had hinted that he was looking for a wife. One paper had suggested that an "interesting announcement" was expected soon. From the looks of Michael and his companion, the issue was already settled, if not yet officially announced.
She took one last hungry look as the curricle passed. If she had not known him, that austerely planed face might seem intimidating. As it was, he was simply Michael, whose kindness and understanding had touched hidden places in her heart.
Wearily she made her way from the park. Now that she was a widow, she would be shamelessly throwing herself at Michael-if she were a normal woman. But she wasn't.
She thought of the ruined kaleidoscope buried among her possessions at Anne's house. In Brussels Michael had told her to throw it away. Instead she had kept the twisted silver tube, cherishing it as a memento of what had been between them even though it was useless at the task for which it had been designed. But it was no more useless than she had been as a wife.
She quickened her pace. Another marriage was unthinkable. That being the case, she should be happy that Michael seemed to have found a partner worthy of him. He deserved that.
If she worked at it long enough, perhaps she really would be so generous.
When she reached the Mowbrys' house, Catherine was still debating whether or not to mention that she had seen Michael in the park. She decided against it. Though Anne and Charles would be interested, Catherine would not be able to sound suitably casual.
When she entered the front door, Anne called from the drawing room, "Catherine, is that you? There's a letter for you on the table."
She opened it incuriously, assuming it was another discouraging missive from an employment agency.
It wasn't. In brief, formal terms, the letter stated that if Catherine Penrose Melbourne would call on Mr. Edmund Harwell, solicitor, she would learn something to her advantage.
She reread the note three times, the hair at her nape prickling. It might be nothing. Yet she could not escape the feeling that her luck was about to change.
Chapter 17
Michael was starting his second cup of coffee when his host and hostess joined him in the breakfast room. He did not look at Lucien and Kit too closely. Luce's arm was around his wife's waist, and their expressions had a lazy contentment that made it obvious what they had been doing before they rose from their bed.
Her glossy brown hair loose over her shoulders, Kit gave his arm a friendly pat as she passed on her way to pouring coffee for her husband and herself. "Good morning, Michael. Did you enjoy Margot's party last night?"
He glanced up from the newspaper. "Very much. The fact that it was all friends, with scarcely an eligible female in sight, meant I could relax. A pleasant change after being hunted like a fox by every ambitious mother and daughter in London."
Lucien laughed. "You're giving the hounds a good run. But there was at least one unmarried female there-Maxima Collins, the American girl who is staying with Rafe and Margot. You seemed to enjoy talking with her."
"She may be unmarried, but she is definitely not eligible. Robin Andreville acted like a cat in a catmint patch when he was around her, and she didn't seem to mind one bit." Michael thought about the young lady in question with a trace of regret. Her wit and directness made her the most attractive girl he'd met all spring. "Even if Miss Collins were available, she's too short for me. We would both have sore necks all the time."
"True," Lucien agreed. "You'd do better with someone of Kit's height." To demonstrate the convenience, he tilted his wife's chin up to give her a light kiss.
Michael smiled at the raillery, but he couldn't suppress a twinge of sadness. All his old friends had married, even Rafe, the confirmed bachelor.
For a moment, Catherine's image glowed in his mind. He forced it away. God knew he was trying his best to forget her. He had come to London with the idea of undertaking the search for a mate that had been delayed by Napoleon's escape from Elba. He had danced with countless females, called on the more promising ones, taken a few for a ride or drive. There were none he could imagine living with for the rest of his life.
He had thought the search for a wife would be easy if he didn't insist on love, but he couldn't even find a decent companion. He found far more pleasure in talking with Kit or Margot, Rafe's delightful wife.
He was turning a page when a footman entered. "Lord Michael, a messenger from Ashburton House brought this for you."
Michael's face went blank as he accepted the letter and tore it open. The message inside was brief and to the point.
Lucien asked, "Trouble?"
"It's from my brother." Michael rose to his feet, pushing his chair back brusquely. "Benfield says that the most noble Duke of Ashburton has had a heart seizure and is about to shuffle off this mortal coil. My presence is commanded."
Lucien regarded him gravely. "You don't have to go."
"No, but deathbed vigils are the done thing," Michael said cynically. "Who knows? Perhaps my father will have a last-minute change of attitude. Apologies, repentance, eleventh-hour reconciliations. Could be quite amusing."
Neither Lucien nor Kit were deceived by his brittle humor, but they made no comments. There really was nothing to be said.
The truly depressing thing, Michael realized as he prepared to leave, was that in his heart, he could not prevent himself from hoping that his ironic words would come true.
Edmund Harwell rose as his clerk ushered Catherine into the office. He was a thin, neat man with shrewd eyes. "Mrs. Melbourne?" Then he blinked, disconcerted. "Island eyes."