“I agree.” She glanced at the carriage. “I thought you might want a haven, too.”
Catherine smiled. “I am sure his usual good humor will return once he has dry clothing and something warm inside him.”
Vera nodded but did not look convinced.
Rightly so, Catherine discovered, when she climbed into the carriage. Mr. Bradby neither looked in her direction nor did he speak all the way back to Meriweather Hall. The damp wind coming off the sea was cold but not as frosty as the silence in the carriage. Catherine tried to start a conversation once and then gave up. Even when the carriage turned through the gates of Meriweather Hall, he said nothing.
She got out on her own and directed the footman who came to greet the carriage to assist Mr. Bradby. Hurrying inside, she gave instructions to another footman to have tea and bottles filled with hot water delivered to his chambers.
Only when she was going upstairs did she remember that she had not thanked Mr. Bradby for helping her and Vera collect mermaid tears. Her steps faltered, but she kept going. She did not have the courage to face him again, when he was in such a snappish mood.
She was going so quickly that she almost ran into her sister who was coming in the opposite direction at an equally determined pace.
“Where have you been?” asked Sophia. “I have been looking everywhere in the house for you.”
“I was—”
Her sister gave Catherine no chance to explain. “You should have told me where you had gone,” said Sophia, usually so calm, as she rubbed her hands together anxiously. Everything about the upcoming wedding seemed to leave her on edge. “Mme. Dupont is furious that you have missed another fitting. You know we have barely six weeks to get everything done.”
Catherine sighed. “I forgot about this morning’s fittings. We went down to the beach, and our appointment with Mme. Dupont slipped my mind.”
“The beach? Why would you go to the beach on such a blustery day?”
“For your wedding breakfast. I know how you love mermaid tears, so I’ve been collecting them since you announced your betrothal. Think how pretty they will look scattered on the tables.”
Sophia’s eyes grew round. “What a wonderful idea! Oh, I wished I had your artistic imagination. I never would have thought of such a thing.” She swept her sister into a big embrace. “I’m so glad to have you overseeing the wedding breakfast. It will be unforgettable.”
“Yes, it will.” She hoped it would be memorable for the right reasons, rather than the fact that she had made a muddle of it. “We were able to find quite a bit. Vera joined us looking for the pieces of glass.”
“Us?”
“Mr. Bradby helped, too.”
A smile brightened Sophia’s face. “So that is how he got soaked! I saw him coming into the house, dripping wet. Ogden had one of the maids trailing Mr. Bradby with a cloth to wipe up the floors. Did a big wave splash him?”
Catherine walked with her sister along the corridor as she gave a quick explanation of how Mr. Bradby had jumped into the sea to save a child. “He paused only long enough to give Vera the mermaid tears he had found. Which gave the fishermen a chance to launch their cobles and reach the boy before Mr. Bradby did.”
Sophia turned the corner toward the hallway that led to their rooms. “What a brave man!”
“That is what I said, but he brushed aside my words as if he didn’t want to hear them.”
“Heroes can be like that. They do something amazing but don’t want to talk about it afterward.”
Catherine considered her sister’s insight. Was that the reason Mr. Bradby had been tight-lipped? Her efforts to draw him out had been for naught, and if he had not spoken with Vera too, Catherine would have wondered if she had distressed him somehow.
And the anger she had seen in his eyes. Vera had been right. That fury seemed to belong to someone other than Jonathan Bradby, who had always been ready to make them laugh. What else lurked in the depths he had hidden so successfully? She needed to talk with Cousin Edmund, who had known him during the war. Maybe her cousin could offer some insight into Mr. Bradby’s peculiar behavior.
That would have to wait until she endured the fitting she had missed. The modiste jumped to her feet when Catherine followed Sophia into her sister’s room. A book dropped to the floor, and Mme. Dupont quickly picked it up and shoved it into her bag.
Catherine bit her lower lip to keep from smiling when she saw the author’s name emblazoned on the cover: Mrs. Ross. She hadn’t guessed the seamstress read gothic novels where even heroes and heroines went into decline and died before the end of the story. Such fanciful stories for a woman who insisted on acting practical at all times.
“I am sorry to keep you waiting, Mme. Dupont,” Catherine said to cover the modiste’s embarrassment.
“Non, non.” Mme. Dupont was once again determined to be in charge. “You are my customer. You have—how do they say?—no need to apologize to moi.”
Catherine tried not to roll her eyes at the seamstress’s fake French accent. To do that would chance making Sophia laugh, and they both would earn another scowl from the self-styled Mme. Dupont. The seamstress’s name was probably a very English one, but she clearly thought posing as a French modiste was good for her business.
Mme. Dupont waved her hand at the middle of the room. “Come, come, mademoiselle.”
Catherine had to admit that, despite her charade, Mme. Dupont was skilled with a needle. The wedding dress she was making for Sophia was the most beautiful Catherine had ever seen. It was unblemished white with delicate lace accenting the modest neckline, and the design was perfect for a tall, slender woman like her sister. The sketches Mme. Dupont had made for the gown Catherine would wear to the wedding had different lines because she was more than six inches shorter than Sophia.
“Get up on ze box,” Mme. Dupont continued, “so I can measure you for ze gowns.”
“Gowns?” asked Catherine, surprised. “I need only one for the wedding.”
“But,” her sister argued, “you need a full wardrobe for your Season in London. You will want to catch eyes when you attend soirees and assemblies.”
She nodded, though she doubted she would be there long. Only long enough to go to the British Museum to view the Elgin Marbles. What would her sister and Cousin Edmund think if she spoke of her plans and how she had no expectations of any man proposing to her? Even if one did, she would have to decline his offer of marriage. The idea of losing someone else she loved was too painful even to think about. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she was unsure if they were for Roland or her father or both.
“We want you to look your best, Cat,” Sophia went on.
“I thought you agreed not to call me that.”
Sophia put her hands on Catherine’s shoulders. With Catherine standing on the box, her sister’s eyes were level with hers. “I’m sorry, but I know how important going to London is for you.”
For a moment, Catherine believed that her sister had discovered the true reason for her longing to visit London. Then Sophia began to talk about needing several gowns for afternoon calls as well as riding clothes for Hyde Park and undergarments.
“All the clothing must be ready before Miss Catherine leaves for London,” Sophia said to Mme. Dupont who was making hasty notes. “Lord Meriweather intends to go up to London for the opening of Parliament at the end of January, and my sister will be traveling with him. Will it be possible to finish everything in time, Mme. Dupont?”
The seamstress looked aghast. “Miss Meriweather, you know I will try my best, but the end of January is only a few weeks after your wedding.”
Sophia’s