of time acting the sop and bemoaning his fate until finally, thankfully, some small part of something triggered past the absurd dismal feelings he was having and clicked into his brain. Was he truly foolish enough to allow the woman he had pined for be swept away by another man yet again?
He sat up in bed as this odd feeling of determination began to spread through him. Why in the world would he lay here in agonies when it was up to him to put this all to rights?
Atten was right! Botheration! Why was his mother, or anyone else, allowed to decide for him what to ponder and feel? He had the tenderest of feelings for the lady, and nothing would change that.
She needed him. She might not discern such feelings at the moment—clearly, she felt she desired him to be as distant as possible. Yet that did not matter one jot because he recognized the truth. Yes, he had unspeakably stuck his foot in it this time, but he could and should rally. There was no reason why he did not make it up to the lady.
She deserved a grand gesture. Something prominently and distinctly so thoughtful and unique that she would straightaway remember their time together before and allow those warm, happy memories to return.
Lady Romney preferred him—or at least, she had at one time. There was no reason why he could not repent from his blunder and press forward with his suit. None at all.
A grin spread its way across his face. Now, what could possibly be such a gift of contrition for the lady?
***
Earlier that week, Lady Romney had received a letter from Mrs. Darell, a particular friend of her late husband and his departed wife, an older woman who had been connected to the family for years. She had heard that Catherine was in town and desired her to come over for a chat, as she had been laid up and could not get about as she was once wont to do.
Catherine had responded immediately that she would be by sometime within the sennight. After having Cook prepare a rather full basket of jams, breads, scones, and sweetmeats, she left quite early at eleven o'clock that morning to guarantee she could return in time to rest for a bit afterward before their evening preparations to go out began.
As it was Thursday, her stepdaughter-in-law intended to spend some time making rounds to more than a few women. It seemed the perfect excuse to allow Sophia to visit her friends without putting anyone out. There were only so many unfamiliar people’s homes Catherine could go to before she could feel the beginnings of the headache coming on. There was nothing more tedious than listening to several women blather on about the exact same things and people and fashions as the last three calls before them.
Mrs. Darell was a pleasantly plump sort of woman, who laughed a little too loudly and whose shrewdness seemed to make one squirm at times. But overall, she was a gentle sort, who cared greatly for those around her. She had a prodigious soft spot in her heart for her dear friend, the late Countess of Huntingdon, and was wont to extol over her aptitudes as anyone else, but thankfully, she did not do so for very long this time. Instead, she and Catherine had a rather nice tête-à-tête.
In fact, if she were not careful, Catherine would be revealing all the sad and terrible details of her own life to the woman, yet she found she was able to leave the place politely just short of an hour with her tears and dignity intact. "I promise I will be along again soon," Catherine said after slipping into her kid gloves and kissing the older woman's cheek. "It has been a wonderful coze. Thank you for thinking of me."
"Not at all! Not at all!" Mrs. Darell smiled, her wrinkles wreathing about her face. "See that you do come again. I still have yet to discover about this rascal Lord Hamson, whom I have heard so much about."
Catherine froze while buttoning her pelisse in the front room of the widow's home. "And how could you have heard such a name as Lord Hamson? And why would
He sat up in bed as this odd feeling of determination began to spread through him. Why in the world would he lay here in agonies when it was up to him to put this all to rights?
Atten was right! Botheration! Why was his mother, or anyone else, allowed to decide for him what to ponder and feel? He had the tenderest of feelings for the lady, and nothing would change that.
She needed him. She might not discern such feelings at the moment—clearly, she felt she desired him to be as distant as possible. Yet that did not matter one jot because he recognized the truth. Yes, he had unspeakably stuck his foot in it this time, but he could and should rally. There was no reason why he did not make it up to the lady.
She deserved a grand gesture. Something prominently and distinctly so thoughtful and unique that she would straightaway remember their time together before and allow those warm, happy memories to return.
Lady Romney preferred him—or at least, she had at one time. There was no reason why he could not repent from his blunder and press forward with his suit. None at all.
A grin spread its way across his face. Now, what could possibly be such a gift of contrition for the lady?
***
Earlier that week, Lady Romney had received a letter from Mrs. Darell, a particular friend of her late husband and his departed wife, an older woman who had been connected to the family for years. She had heard that Catherine was in town and desired her to come over for a chat, as she had been laid up and could not get about as she was once wont to do.
Catherine had responded immediately that she would be by sometime within the sennight. After having Cook prepare a rather full basket of jams, breads, scones, and sweetmeats, she left quite early at eleven o'clock that morning to guarantee she could return in time to rest for a bit afterward before their evening preparations to go out began.
As it was Thursday, her stepdaughter-in-law intended to spend some time making rounds to more than a few women. It seemed the perfect excuse to allow Sophia to visit her friends without putting anyone out. There were only so many unfamiliar people’s homes Catherine could go to before she could feel the beginnings of the headache coming on. There was nothing more tedious than listening to several women blather on about the exact same things and people and fashions as the last three calls before them.
Mrs. Darell was a pleasantly plump sort of woman, who laughed a little too loudly and whose shrewdness seemed to make one squirm at times. But overall, she was a gentle sort, who cared greatly for those around her. She had a prodigious soft spot in her heart for her dear friend, the late Countess of Huntingdon, and was wont to extol over her aptitudes as anyone else, but thankfully, she did not do so for very long this time. Instead, she and Catherine had a rather nice tête-à-tête.
In fact, if she were not careful, Catherine would be revealing all the sad and terrible details of her own life to the woman, yet she found she was able to leave the place politely just short of an hour with her tears and dignity intact. "I promise I will be along again soon," Catherine said after slipping into her kid gloves and kissing the older woman's cheek. "It has been a wonderful coze. Thank you for thinking of me."
"Not at all! Not at all!" Mrs. Darell smiled, her wrinkles wreathing about her face. "See that you do come again. I still have yet to discover about this rascal Lord Hamson, whom I have heard so much about."
Catherine froze while buttoning her pelisse in the front room of the widow's home. "And how could you have heard such a name as Lord Hamson? And why would
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