A Grand Design Part 23

She blinked slightly unfocused eyes. "Gossip? Oh, good heavens. I'd forgotten. There was no gossip, not really although now . . ."

"What do you mean, no gossip?"

"Well, there was talk, certainly, but it hardly countenanced."

He appeared baffled. "Lady Leverham-"

"Lady Leverham," Cate said tartly, "is terribly sweet and a bit of a peagoose. She failed to notice that in all the nonsense being said about you, no one actually mentioned me." She grinned. "I am an utter n.o.body, it seems. Lady Reynolds does not know my name and couldn't be bothered to come up with a better description than 'tall and blowsy.' "

"Oh, Cate."

"It doesn't matter. As long as you speak kindly of me."

Oh, and he would. Every hour of every day. "If you only knew-"

"Lord Tregaron?"

"Our peagoose of a hostess requires my presence," he muttered.

One of her hands fisted tightly in his coat-a precaution that Tregaron found as charming as it was sensible, considering his affliction and the long descent to the turret floor- Cate followed him down the stairs. As expected, Lady Leverham was waiting at the bottom.

"You have dropped your defenses, young man," she snapped. "I shall have to send someone up to fetch them."

"My apologies, madam," he replied, fighting a smile. "I have brought the fair maiden from the tower, however."

"So you have," the lady conceded. "That will do. Now come along, both of you. We are lining up for the gavotte."

"Shall we dance?" Tregaron murmured into Cate's ear.

"Not unless they play a waltz."

"Splendid woman!" He resisted the urge to waltz her right out the door and back into his bachelor rooms. "I'll take you home."

"Oh, no!" she protested. "I did not mean-"

"I need to speak with your uncles, Cate."

She blushed fetchingly. "Oh. Well, then."

From the corner of his eye as they went, Tregaron got a brief glimpse of a small figure with a bow and arrow. He shook his head at the lengths to which Society went to cast their own little nights of comedy. No doubt Lady Leverham had commandeered a tiger or two to play at being pages to her knightly guests. At least she had not weighed down the unfortunate fellows with chain mail.

Others were not so lucky. He and Cate were nearly out of the ballroom when Lord Leverham caught up, clinking and puffing. "This arrived for you, sir, not five minutes ago," he panted, handing out a folded paper.

Tregaron thanked him and took it. "Well," he announced after reading the single line, "they were bound to abandon subtlety sooner or later."

"What?" Cate demanded as he hustled her down the stairs and into the foyer. "What is it?"

He sent one of the Leverhams' footmen off to find a hack. "Do you often pry into private business, my dear?" he asked blandly. Cate promptly looked at her feet.

"No, I ... Well. I think perhaps there is something I ought to tell you."

"Yes?"

"Well, you see, I ... we ... Oh, bother! You might be so very angry when you hear. You see, I ..."

"Is this perhaps what you are trying to say?"

He gently waved the message in front of her. She s.n.a.t.c.hed it from his hand and read aloud. "Angus and Ambrose Buchanan did none of the designs for your house. Oh, dear."

"Don't worry, darling." Tregaron lifted one of her hands and patted it. "I have known for quite a long time that you are Buchanan and Buchanan. Ah, here is our transport."

"How?" she asked as he lifted her into the carriage. "How?" He gave the direction to the driver.

"How?"

"Ah, Catherine"-he climbed in and settled himself beside her-"How dense do you think I am?"

"I do not . . ."

"Good," he muttered. "That's settled."

With that, he hauled her off the seat and across his thighs. When a man had the urge to kiss the great love of his life breathless, he wanted to kiss her immediately, effectively, and without distraction.

It was a slightly disheveled Cate and deliciously uncomfortable Tregaron who entered the Binney Street house sometime later. He waited only until they'd both regained a modic.u.m of composure before marching her into the chamber where he had found her uncles earlier.

Both Angus and Ambrose were still there, but they'd moved. Each was ensconced in a wing chair, vaguely if blissfully staring into the almost nonexistent fire. At Cate's entrance, they did their best to get promptly to their feet. It took a few moments and some fascinating acts of balance.

Tregaron waited until they were reasonably upright. "Gentlemen, I am going to marry your niece," he said firmly. "And you are going to stop sending me absurd little messages. From now on, if you have something to say to me, for G.o.d's sake, say it!"

Epilogue.

Cate watched from the front window as the very last of the workmen trotted down the stairs to the street. "That's it, then. Done."

Tregaron came to stand just behind her and she leaned back, reveling in the strength of his arms as they encircled her waist. "Thank G.o.d," he muttered. "I was becoming convinced we would never see the last of them."

She patted his hand where it rested at her hip. "As was I. But you do have a beautiful house, Lord Tregaron."

"Mmm. All due to you, Lady Tregaron. Now, when can we depart for Wales?"

Cate laughed. It was a daily question. And now that the last bit of paint was on the walls, the last piece of brocade tacked to its chair, and the trenches in the garden filled with trees and shrubs that looked exactly like those Mr. Patton had uprooted, Cate had an answer.

"We should not need to be in Suss.e.x above two months. Your grandmother and I are already finalizing what designs we can before I actually see her house."

"G.o.d help me. Two months among the Granvilles. Two months under my grandmother's roof."

"You will have a marvelous time. And Gryffydd will get quite fat, I'm sure."

Hearing his name, the little dog trotted from the sunny spot below the other widow, happily rolled over onto his back at Cate's feet, and presented her with his already round belly for scratching.

"Two months," Tregaron repeated glumly. "Then we will go to Wales."

"Absolutely. I do not need to travel to York till spring. And I have informed the Leverhams that I cannot even think about their son's new house near Tarbet until next autumn. Lady Leverham and Lucy are designing new Gothic decor together, and both uncles are commissioned to help. Plus, they will all pitch in on my other projects."

"Whatever pleases them most," was her husband's grim response.

"They are pleased," she said gently, seriously. "The uncles are free from their obligations and are so proud to see me recognized for my designs. Yes, yes, I know you are still annoyed with their methods, but they did not know how else to ... retire, and to make my skills known. Perhaps their lapse into intrigue was a bit much, but they're ever so pleased with themselves. And Lucy only talks about her plans for next Season when Lady Leverham prods her into it. I believe she has quite lost interest in the Social whirl."

"Only until Althorpe returns from Bath. If he ever returns."

"His aunt died," Cate scolded. "It's only right he sees to settling her estate."

"His estate now. Should he formally succ.u.mb to your sister's charms, he will be able to keep her quite nicely in her flounces and furbelows." Tregaron's arms tightened. "I, on the other hand, seem quite determined to keep you out of such things."

Cate shivered deliciously. "You simply hate my wardrobe."

He did not bother to deny her a.s.sertion. "It improves with each visit to the modiste."

There, wrapped in his arms while sunlight streamed through the windows and Mayfair-hated, beloved Mayfair- bustled below. A boy stood on the edge of Hanover Square, too far away to see clearly, but his cheerful whistling could be heard. It was a Burns tune, about love and red, red roses.

Behind Cate, her husband placed a whispering kiss on the nape of her neck. Suddenly, the force of her love for this man struck her like a hot spark in her breast. Turning in his arms, she demanded, "Do you have any idea how much I adore you?"

Grinning, he eyed the brocade chaise behind them. With its mohair throw, plump silk pillows, and choice spot between the fireplace and window, it was the ideal for reading. And not a bad option for other activities. "Why don't you show me?"

Silently applauding her marvelous vision that had become reality in the chaise, the Realm's newest arbiter of architectural elegance set to her current project with skill and enthusiasm.

From Debrett's Peerage, 13th Edition, 1820.

DRACO LLYWELYN ST. CLAIR-WRIGHT, Marquess of TREGARON, Viscount Colwin; succeeded his father, May 1792; born Sept. 27, 1780; married, first, November 1806, Belinda, only daughter of Benjamin Wycombe, esq. of Lancashire, who died 1809. His lordship married, secondly, July 12, 1817, Catherine, daughter of Alpin Buchanan of Scotland, by whom he has issue: John, Viscount Colwin, born January 1, 1819 . . .

end.