A Hero for Christmas
Catherine must continue on the path she had chosen. Once she fulfilled her promise to Roland and visited the Elgin Marbles, she would come home with the sketches she had made of the ancient figures, knowing that she had done the best she could to honor the memory of the only man she had ever loved. She hoped then that her heart would begin to heal. She was certain she would never risk it enduring such pain ever again.
* * *
“Am I late?” asked Cousin Edmund as he entered the small parlor where Sophia had arranged for hot chocolate and cakes to be brought that afternoon for him and her sister.
“Right on time.” Catherine folded her hands on the pale blue of her gown as she smiled at her cousin.
When he had first arrived at Meriweather Hall in the autumn to claim the property that had come to him with his title, so many, including Catherine, had assumed he would offer for her sister. That way, the late lord’s family would not lose their home to a stranger. Shortly after Sophia had announced her betrothal to Cousin Edmund’s good friend, he had told Catherine that he doubted he would be a good match for either of the late baron’s daughters. Catherine had appreciated his honesty, and their uneasy relationship had developed into a friendship.
“I was pleased to get your invitation,” Cousin Edmund said. “After the bad experiences your sister and I first had with strained conversations during tea, I doubted either of you would ask me again.”
Catherine smiled as she motioned toward the tray. “Hot chocolate.”
“Let’s see if I do better with hot chocolate.” He sat facing her and took the cup she held out to him. “I knew winters are fiercer in North Yorkshire than in the midlands, but I guess I didn’t realize how much colder until now.”
“And the winter solstice is still weeks away.”
“We must make sure there is a lot of cocoa in the house then.”
Catherine laughed with him. When he asked how the plans were going for the Christmas Eve ball, she gave him noncommittal answers. She did not want to ask him to stop trying to help, because he was making her more work, nor did she want to admit that she was overwhelmed by the tasks.
“Alfred told me that a suitable log has been found for our Yule log.” Cousin Edmund reached for a cake. “I have forgotten to tell Sophia how much I appreciate her recommendation for Alfred to assume his late father’s duties as gamekeeper. Please remind me to tell her.”
“If I don’t forget...”
He took a bite of the cake, then set the rest on the plate by his half-emptied cup. “I know you have a lot on your mind right now. Was there something in particular you wanted to discuss with me?”
“Yes.” She decided to be forthright. “I wanted to talk to you about Mr. Bradby.”
“Is there a problem?” His easy smile fell away, and she caught a hint of the man who had been such a good leader on the battlefield. Now he was ready to leap to the defense of his friend.
“I wouldn’t call it a problem. I am baffled by something that happened today.”
“Him jumping in to save a boy when there were fishermen ready to go to the rescue?” His good humor returned. “That’s Bradby. Always ready to be the hero.”
“But when I praised his efforts, he gave me a look that could have frozen a fire.”
“What look?”
She described the anger she had never seen in his eyes before, how it had pierced through her, even icier than the sea wind. “But the fury didn’t seem to be aimed at us. It was turned inward.” She looked steadily at her cousin, hoping he had an answer for her. “Cousin Edmund, I knew from the beginning there has to be more to Mr. Bradby than the jester he often portrays. Such a man could not be successful as a solicitor.”
“That intense expression was one that we once were well familiar with.” Cousin Edmund took a sip from his cup and then balanced it on the knee of his black breeches. “We saw it often early on in the war. Bradby has an acute sense of fairness, and when he believed anyone was being treated unfairly, he was ready to do battle.”
“A true Don Quixote.”
“Truer than you may guess. He seemed to break into two parts of the character after the battle where he saved Northbridge’s life. On one hand, he has become like the silly man who believed a downtrodden woman was his queen. On the other, he is willing to joust with windmills, if that is what it takes to do what is right.”
“But what about the anger?”
“It’s always there, simmering behind the laughter.” He put his cup back on the table and clasped her hand between his. “Cousin Catherine, one thing you must know. Whenever Northbridge or I have tried to speak to him about what fires that anger, he has gone mum.”
“As he did today.”
He nodded and sighed. “We learned we must act as if we never saw any sign of what he’s trying to hide.”
Catherine wondered how that was supposed to help their friend, but their plan had worked for more than a year. Even though every instinct warned her not to acquiesce, she nodded. Her cousin and Charles knew him far better than she did. She hoped she was doing the right thing.
* * *
As he walked through Meriweather Hall, Jonathan sneezed once, followed by a second time and then a third. He hoped his beef-headed heroics that morning were not going to leave him with a head cold. That would be the ultimate joke on him and his scheme to be a true hero.
“Bless you,” he heard from the small parlor to his left.
He paused and looked in to see Meriweather and Cat slanting close to one another. Were they holding hands? When they hastily moved apart, Cat busied herself with the tea tray, as if she could not bear to look in his direction.
“See, the conquering hero comes!” crowed Meriweather as he came to his feet and motioned for Jonathan to enter.
Jonathan pretended to find his host’s comment amusing. With a terse laugh, he said, “I didn’t realize you were a fan of Handel’s Judas Maccabaeus.”
“Is that where the quote is from? I had no idea.” He waved toward the table. “Would you like something to warm you after your dip in the sea?”
“There is hot chocolate,” Cat said, standing with the lithe motion that always drew his eyes. “I find it comforting on a winter afternoon. If you would prefer tea, I can ring for it.”
“Hot chocolate sounds perfect.” Jonathan saw the twinkle in Meriweather’s eyes and looked away.
Yes, he had made a fool of himself this morning by diving into the sea when dozens of fishermen were standing by their cobles. He wished everyone would forget the incident. Or were Meriweather’s eyes bright because he had been holding Cat’s hand? That was what Jonathan wanted to forget.
Meriweather is your friend, and you should want him to be happy, an annoying little voice whispered from the back of his brain. And you have nothing to offer Cat other than a lie.
Even so, he was unable to meet his friend’s eyes as he took the cup Cat held out to him. He took a sip. It was delicious, but it could not warm the cold at his core when he thought of her hand in Meriweather’s.
Lord, give me the strength to do what is right for Meriweather and Cat. They deserve a better friend than I have been. It is bad enough that I am a fake hero. Do not let me become a false friend, too.
“You will have to come back in the summer,” Meriweather said, still grinning. “It should be a bit warmer for bathing in the sea then.”
“Actually the North Sea stays cold all year.” Cat sat as gracefully as she had risen.
“Then maybe your dip in the sea wasn’t so want-witted, after all.” Meriweather chuckled.
The familiar fury rushed through Jonathan. For once, it was not aimed at himself. If Meriweather thought to belittle him in front of Cat, then he was not the friend Jonathan had thought him to be.
“What would you have me do?” he fired back. “Stand there trying to decide whether I should help or not while a child was drowning?”
He realized his voice had been too heated and his words poorly chosen when color drained from Meriweather’s face and Cat gasped. Meriweather put his cup on a nearby table. Pushing past Jonathan, he walked out of the room. The door slammed in his wake.
“Oh, my!” Cat whispered. Her face was as pale as Meriweather’s had been.
Jonathan strode toward the door but halted when Cat called out to him. He turned. Distress dimmed her eyes as she slowly rose again.
“How could you say that?” she asked, each word lashing him. “How could you make a joke about his inability to make a decision?”
He almost snapped back that she had not come to his defense when Meriweather was jesting about him. Then he recalled that neither Meriweather nor Cat understood how Meriweather’s humor sliced into him. They had no idea that he was a fake hero who needed to prove his worth.
He sighed. Upsetting everyone was not his intention. It was his fault that he had been such a beef-head earlier. It was also his own fault that he had been foolish now. How could he foist his blame on his friend?
“I meant him no insult,” Jonathan said, wondering if Cat would believe him.
“You don’t need to explain that to me.” Her voice was strained. “You need to tell my cousin that.”
“Miss Catherine, I trust that you know that I meant him no insult. He is one of my dearest friends.”
She walked to where he stood and tilted her head back to meet his eyes. “Of course I do, and, deep in his heart, Cousin Edmund knows, too. He is frustrated at how the war changed him.”
He tried to comprehend her words, but it was difficult when her face was at the perfect angle for him to lean down and brush her lips with his. He shoved that thought away. Already he had wounded his good friend. He did not need to hurt her, as well.
“At least you have a few good memories of what you experienced,” she went on when he did not answer.
“Very few.” He thought of the camaraderie he had enjoyed during the war.
“You can always recall that you saved Charles’s life. My cousin doesn’t have that to comfort him.” She looked past him to the door. Her amazing eyes were the color of the hot chocolate and just as warm when they focused on him again. “I hope when we go to London, it is not too much for him. He plans to take his seat in Parliament, and the other lords will expect him to vote on issues brought before them.”
“While you enjoy all the events of the Season.” He managed to keep the bitterness out of his voice.
“I don’t know about all the events, but I am excited about going to London.”
“I am sure you are.” He bowed his head toward her. “If you will excuse me, Miss Catherine, I need to make my amends to Meriweather.”
If she replied, he did not hear her, as he rushed from the room before he gave in to the temptation to grasp her by the shoulders and try to instill some good sense into her. He despised the idea of charming, innocent Catherine Meriweather changing as his siblings had to meet the expectations of the ton.
Maybe he could talk her out of going. He had no idea how, but he must try before Cat’s life became an illusion just as his sisters’ lives had.
Just as his was.
Chapter Four
“Catherine?” Meriweather grumbled under his breath and loosened his cravat to begin tying it again in front of the glass in his grand bedchamber. “Of course I like her. She is my cousin.”
Jonathan sat and watched. He doubted his friend would ever get the complicated arrangement of his cravat to his satisfaction. He could help, but that was not the reason he had come to speak with him at such an early hour.
Meriweather’s valet stood to one side, eager to offer his assistance. The short, pudgy man clasped his hands behind his back only to suddenly reach out to assist his lord, but then drew his hands back and clasped them again.
“Lane, that will be all,” Meriweather said without glancing at his valet.
Lane bowed his head before leaving.
“The servants are too loyal here,” Meriweather said. “They listen at doors in hopes of serving us better.”
“Or to have some tidbit of gossip to share in the kitchen.”
Meriweather chuckled, then grew somber as he drew on his waistcoat and began buttoning it. “You know, I never had a manservant before. I was quite capable of dressing myself, but I have come to depend on Lane to lay out my clothing and assist me.”
“As you should, now that you hold the title of Lord Meriweather.” Jonathan pretended not to hear his friend’s frustration. Meriweather was more distressed about not being able to decide which clothing to wear each day than having a man to brush the lint from his coat.
“You aren’t here to discuss how I’ve become accustomed to the life of quality. You didn’t bring the papers with you, so you are not here to have me sign them.”
“If you are ready to review the lease, I can get the paperwork now.” Jonathan started to rise. He wondered why he had not put the facts together before he had arrived at Meriweather Hall. He should have guessed when Meriweather arranged to lease a house on a fashionable square in London that he intended to fire off his cousin into Society.
“Not now.” He motioned for Jonathan to sit again. “What is bothering you, Bradby?”
“Your cousin.”
“I usually would say you must be more specific, but I have eyes, and I have noticed how often yours are on my cousin Catherine.” He buttoned up his dark blue waistcoat. “Not that I can blame you, for she is charming and lovely. I assume you find her that and more.”
Jonathan considered his words with care. He knew the power of words from his law work. “Odd that you should say that after what I witnessed.”
“Witnessed? Speak plainly, man!”
“I saw you holding her hand.”
“Me? I never—” His eyes widened. “Of course. In the small parlor the other day. She asked my advice and was distressed by what I told her. What you saw was familial affection. Nothing more.” He turned from the mirror and grinned. “Do you have another type of affection for my younger cousin?”
“I barely know her, and she barely knows me.”
“She appears to know more about you than you suspect.”
That shook Jonathan. He had been certain that his secret was so well hidden that nobody would perceive it. His friends had not, because they thoroughly believed the lie that he was a brave hero. How had he betrayed the truth to Cat?
“If I may, can I ask what she sought your advice about?” he asked.
Meriweather gave his cravat a final twist before he answered. “You.”
“Me?”
“She was bothered by your darker side, which she had not encountered before that morning on the shore.”
Jonathan was brought up short. He had not guessed that Cat had been so distressed by his anger at himself.
“And there may be more,” Meriweather said as he considered his cravat. “She may have been troubled by your attempt to rescue that child.”
“What?” He came to his feet. “You cannot believe she would ever allow a child to be endangered.”
Meriweather faced him. Raising his hands, he motioned for Jonathan to sit again. As soon as Jonathan had complied, Meriweather said, “You mistake my meaning. It is not your actions that would have upset her. Just the fact that both you and the child were in danger in the sea.” He went to where his brightly polished boots waited by a stool. “I have heard enough in the past couple of months to know that she was involved with a young man before the war. His name was Roland something-or-other. He joined the navy and died in battle.” He sat and tugged on a boot, grimacing. “I probably should say no more.”
“Probably not.”
Meriweather stood to stamp his heel down in the tight boot. “Or maybe you should know. Help me here.”
Jonathan stepped forward to grasp the top of the boot so his friend could force his foot into it.
“Not with the boot!” Meriweather stamped away, his foot partially in the boot. “Help me with deciding if I should tell you or not. Rip me! I can’t even make the simplest decision.” He sat and slumped in a nearby chair. “Will I ever stop doubting myself?”
“You are asking me for more help than I can give.” His heart ached for his friend, and he knew of only one solution. “If you take this problem to God, He will help you.”
“Don’t you think I have already done that? Every night and every morn, I pray for God to show me His mercy and help me rediscover how to make even the simplest decision.” Meriweather waved his hands to halt Jonathan’s reply. “I know what you are about to say, because it is what I would say if our situations were reversed. God’s time is different from man’s. We must be patient.”
“That is what I would say,” he replied, though he thought of how often he was impatient for the chance to prove that God had been right to let him survive the battlefield.
Meriweather finally jammed his foot all the way into his boot. Resting his elbows on his knees, he looked up at Jonathan. “I thank God that one of us came through war relatively unscathed.”
Jonathan gulped so loudly he was surprised his friend did not react. He should tell Meriweather the truth that haunted him. He could not. He turned on his heel and walked out. He was halfway down the stairs before he realized Meriweather had not told him about the young man who had touched Cat’s heart. It served Jonathan right not to hear the truth when he could not speak it himself.
* * *
The breakfast-parlor was empty when Catherine entered it. Two days had passed since she had sought her cousin’s advice, and that afternoon had splintered with anger. Despite Mr. Bradby’s determination to speak immediately to her cousin, she had seen no sign of any mending of the differences between them.
Not that she had seen either of them often. Her fitting sessions with Mme. Dupont were aimed at providing her with the best designs possible for her sojourn in London, but most of the gowns the modiste suggested were, in Catherine’s opinion, silly. Yesterday she had told Mme. Dupont that she had some ideas of her own and would bring them to the session today. She suspected the seamstress agreed only to placate her. Mme. Dupont was due for a surprise when she saw the patterns Catherine had completed late last night after spending the evening scanning magazines from London. La Belle Assemblée, Ackerman’s Repository and The Lady’s Magazine had given her ideas, and she had added her own touches for clothing that would be both useful and beautiful. She focused on one gown, which she could wear to the British Museum for her visit to the Elgin Marbles. It must be a shell pink, because that was the color she had imagined wearing when she and Roland went to visit the ancient carvings. He always told her that she looked her best when she wore pink.
Before she showed the designs to Mme. Dupont, she wanted Sophia’s opinion. She had hoped Sophia would be at breakfast when she arrived.
Catherine put her sketchbook on a chair at the table and then went to the sideboard where steaming servers held eggs, oatmeal, muffins and more than a dozen other choices. Taking a plate, she spooned some eggs onto it, and then selected sausages that smelled of apple cider and black pepper.
At the sound of boot heels behind her, she looked over her shoulder. Her smile wavered when Mr. Bradby entered the breakfast-parlor. He wore a bright blue coat and a yellow waistcoat over black breeches. When he moved past a window, his ginger hair caught fire.
He walked to the table. If he espied her sketchbook, he was sure to ask her about it. She did not want to admit to her love of art and chance that he would think of it as a waste of time, as one young man had coldly described her work when he had called at Meriweather Hall. Also there were articles about the Elgin Marbles, clipped from newspapers, pasted into the back of the book. If he saw those, he was sure to be curious why she was intrigued with the ancient Greek sculptures. She wanted to avoid speaking of the promise she had made to Roland until she had fulfilled it. Maybe she should pull out the pages with her sketches for Mme. Dupont before she showed them to Sophia.
But for now... She gave a moment’s thought to rushing to the chair where she had left her drawings, then halted herself. Acting so out of hand could draw his attention to her sketchbook.
“Good morning,” Catherine said, hoping her voice sounded carefree. “Either we are very early or very late.”
“The former.” He met her eyes steadily. The rage she had seen after their time on the shore was now gone, replaced by regret. “Your cousin should be down in a few minutes.”
She set her plate on the table, then poured herself a cup of coffee. Casual. Just act casual. She carried the steaming cup to where she usually sat. Placing it next to her plate, she drew out her chair and sat, sliding the sketchbook onto her lap.
She had no idea if she betrayed her tension somehow, or if Mr. Bradby had extra-keen eyes. “What is that?” he asked as he sat across from her.
She put the sketchbook on the floor by her feet, putting the toe of one slipper on it. “A book I have been enjoying.” That was the truth, and she hoped he would not question her further. “Did you get one of Mrs. Porter’s blueberry muffins? They are a rare treat.”
“I did.” He looked down at his plate. “May I give our thanks for this wonderful meal?”
“Of course.”
He bowed his head, and she did the same, hoping—as she did each time someone said grace or she attended church—that she would again feel God’s comforting presence. The loss of Him in her life added to her grief from losing Papa.
“Lord,” Mr. Bradby said, “we thank You for Your benevolence in bringing us to this table on the beautiful morning You made. We are grateful for the food we are about to eat, and we are grateful for having each other in our lives.”
Catherine was glad her head was down so he could not see her amazement. After how he had acted the last time they spoke, she had not expected him to speak of having her in his life, especially in prayer that should come from the heart.
“Amen,” she said after he had. “That was lovely, Mr. Bradby.”
She reached for her fork, but paused when he asked, “Would you be offended if I asked you to call me by my given name in exchange for permission to address you as informally?”
She smiled. “Is that a very convoluted way of asking me if I’d feel comfortable calling you Jonathan?”
“I am a solicitor. Not too long ago in the past, my ilk was paid by the word. It is a habit that has been passed down ever since.” He leaned one elbow on the table and smiled. “But, Miss Catherine, you have yet to give me an answer to my question.”
“If I understand your question—and that is a mighty if—then, yes, I would be pleased to have you call me by my given name, and I shall do the same when I speak with you.” She pushed his elbow off the table. “Solicitor, one must mind one’s manners here.”
“Truly?”
She laughed, glad that he was once again the funny man whose company she had enjoyed during his last visit. “If my mother was here, she would be shocked by a gentleman with his elbow on the table.”
“I shall endeavor to make sure my manners are the pattern-card of perfection by the time Lady Meriweather returns.” He stood and bowed deeply to her, sweeping out his arm like a grand courtier.
“Are we too late for the dance?” asked Cousin Edmund as he and Sophia walked into the breakfast-parlor.
Jonathan laughed. “We were just being silly.”
She looked from her cousin to Jonathan and back, relieved when they both smiled. Cousin Edmund must have accepted Jonathan’s apology. For that she was very grateful. Christmas was the time of year for good spirits, not angry ones.
The light conversation continued while her cousin and sister served themselves and came to the table. Catherine let the others chat while she listened. Later she would show Sophia her sketches. For now she would enjoy the companionable meal.
She looked up startled when Cousin Edmund’s voice took on a sharper edge as he talked of more serious matters. “Those curs dared to threaten Alfred Demaine and his mother.”