Catherine recalled his haggard features, even more pronounced than when she had seen him in London. “He has much to attend to at Bellamere.”
“Indeed,” her mother said. “Given his current coil, I suspect Lord Somerton will want to confirm the contents of your husband’s letters. Probably wants to make sure Ashcroft did not implicate him in any way.”
“Implicate him in what?”
“I have no notion,” her mother said. “This situation has grown so complicated that I wouldn’t be surprised if a French spy were to appear before this was all over.”
“Oh, Mother,” Catherine said. “Do not let that active mind of yours run amok. As much as I hate to consider this, I suspect Jeffrey attached himself to the wrong woman and Mr. Cochran and Lord Somerton are somehow involved.”
“I must say I like my theory better,” her mother said. “Yours is just so… common.”
“Indeed, it is.”
They stared at the garden gate, both steeped in their own musings, then Catherine shattered the silence. “I am thinking of offering Lord Somerton my help.”
“Help with what, dear?”
Swallowing back her apprehension, Catherine said, “He’s been away for a long while. It will take him days to meet with the tenants, hear their grievances, locate the appropriate craftsmen, and monitor their work. All while he searches for a new steward.”
“Don’t you have a list of what needs to be done?”
“Yes,” Catherine said. “I gave what I had to him, but I’m sure he will wish to visit each site.”
“What are you thinking, daughter? Why this?”
Catherine braced herself. “Working with the earl on the repairs will give me an opportunity to observe his activities.”
Her mother’s lips thinned into a firm line. “I do not understand what this Mr. Cochran thinks you will see. It’s not likely that his lordship will reveal anything of value. One does not carry on about one’s treasonous exploits in front of a neighbor.”
“You are no doubt right.” Catherine found herself unable to confess that she had another reason for spending time in the earl’s presence. “However, according to Mr. Cochran, Lord Somerton knew more about Jeffrey’s death than he let on during our conversation. Perhaps I will see or hear something of relevance.”
“I can’t be comfortable with this situation,” her mother said. “Lord Somerton is no fool.”
“Nor am I,” Catherine said. “I will remain vigilant.”
“Promise me, you will cease this charade the moment you detect danger.”
“Promise.” Catherine kissed her mother’s forehead, then sighed. “Even in death, my husband keeps us in a constant state of anticipation. Always waiting for some sign of him—a letter, a gift, a visit. Why did I not put an end to this half-life three years ago after he missed Sophie’s fourth birthday?”
“What would you have done, Catherine?” her mother asked. “Gone to London and dragged your husband home?”
“Why not? It’s what a husband would have done to a wife in similar circumstances.”
“I can think of two reasons.” She anchored the basket around both her forearms. “One, if you had managed to force your husband home—and that’s a rather large if—society would have labeled you a termagant and your husband a gelding.”
“Mother, I don’t think—”
“And two, any man who must be led home by his ear would not have made a happy addition to this household.” Her lips pursed. “I daresay if you had not been moved to stick a knitting needle in his eye, I would have.”
Catherine’s lips twitched. Wouldn’t the infamous Isaac Cruikshank have had a jolly time drawing a continuity scene with Catherine dragging her husband home by his oversized ears in one drawing and her mother chasing after her wayward son-in-law with a sharp, gleaming knitting needle in another? She could even see the title of the caricature: The Gelding.
The humorous Cruikshank scene faded to the back of her mind and an image of her daughter’s hopeful, yet guarded expression surfaced. An expression she had seen so many times over the years, one that diminished into disappointment and then resignation.
“A daughter should know the security and strength of her father.”
“Yes,” her mother said. “But so few do when competing with the ton’s entertainments or the Crown’s business.”
Catherine’s throat clenched at the note of regret tingeing her mother’s voice. For years, she had resented her mother’s passive attitude toward her father’s long absences while an officer in His Majesty’s Royal Navy. Not until she found herself standing in her mother’s shoes had she been able to put aside old resentments—and exchange them for new ones.