The Queen of Diamonds Read online

  The Queen of Diamonds

  by Juliet Moore

  England, Late Nineteenth Century

  "Catherine is a poor relation!" the little girl cried, pointing at Catherine Claremont with glee. "I overheard my mother speaking to Mrs. Newsome about her and that's what she called her."

  "That's because she's an orphan," Susan said. "Her parents left her with us when she was just a baby."

  Catherine glared at her cousin. She no longer desired the biscuits Mrs. Paul had promised them when they walked into the village inn. "They wanted me to live a quiet life," she said, unable to make eye contact with the other girls.

  Susan continued, "And her parents haven't come to visit her since!"

  The other girls gasped in mock horror.

  "That's twelve years!" Angelica added, nodding over her quick math.

  Although the inn's sweet smell was inviting, Catherine found herself looking forward to the scents of the countryside that she'd smell on her way home. "Susan, we need to go home."

  "Oh, Catherine! I don't want to go home yet. It's not even tea time."

  Catherine gave her cousin a pointed look and tapped her small, booted foot. "I'm ready to leave now."

  Susan's face changed. Her tiny nose pinched and scrunched. She replied, "Well, I'm not going anywhere!"

  Angelica took in Catherine's aggravated stance and laughed. "Looks like Catherine doesn't like to talk about her parents."

  "No," Helen agreed with a snide grin. "That must have been why my mother also said that Catherine is scarred for life."

  They all laughed joyously, including her cousin, who usually didn't take so much pleasure in her distress. Angelica, with her finely sculpted hair that she kept perfect even at thirteen, poked Catherine hard in the arm. "I bet you she doesn't even have parents. She was abandoned by wolves."

  "Even they didn't want her!" Helen cried.

  Catherine's eyelids fluttered and tears crept down her face. Her lips fell into a pained pout. She put her head down and cried in shame in the corner of the inn.

  "What's going on here?" A masculine voice boomed above her head, causing Catherine to turn around in fear.

  She gazed in awe at the tall man standing before her.

  He handed her a bright, clean handkerchief. "Are you all right?"

  Catherine dabbed her tears and watched the stranger through blurred vision. His garments were fine, but casually worn. His shirt was fine cloth, but slightly untucked at the top of his trousers, a thin band jutting out from beneath his wool vest. But most significant was that, even then, Catherine sensed an aura of power and strength.

  The man turned to the other girls, who looked at him in admiration. "Don't you think you should apologize for making your friend cry?"

  "She's just a baby," Helen replied. "It's not my fault she's sensitive."

  "Anyone would have a reaction to such cruel words," he said.

  Catherine cringed and wondered how much he'd overheard.

  The stranger adjusted his frock coat, pulling it closed. "Your lack of manners gives me the impression that you girls are the ones who were raised by wolves."

  Angelica stared down at the table and Helen's lower lip shook.

  He turned back to Catherine. "Shall I help you get back home? I promise to get you there safely." When he gestured towards the bakery door, a large ring on his third finger glittered in the sunlight. She examined the piece of jewelry and saw that it was a signet ring. Then Catherine realized what he'd just asked.

  "Oh no, I wouldn't want to put you out," she replied, knowing that if he spent more time with her, he'd realize he'd picked the wrong girl to defend. All the things the other girls had said were true, and the handsome stranger would soon realize that pitying the poor relation was inevitable. "Come, Susan. Let's go."

  This time, Susan came to her side with alacrity. "Pardon my rudeness," she said to him, "but what is your name?"

  "You may call me Harrison," he replied.

  "I'm Susan Shaw and this is Catherine Claremont," her cousin said.

  "It's been nice meeting you both. I only wish the circumstances had been different."

  Catherine nodded. A little less humiliation would've been nice. "Thank you, Mr. Harrison," she said as they moved away.

  "Good luck, Miss Claremont," he said.

  That was the last Catherine saw of him for eight years.

  Chapter Two

  "I detest balls!" Catherine Claremont exclaimed, trying to squeeze herself into the tight ball gown.

  In front of the dressing table mirror, a maid pulling at her long blond hair, Susan laughed. "Only my dear, befuddled cousin would say such a thing."

  "I especially don't want to attend Angelica Newsome's coming out ball," Catherine added, picturing Angie's snide but beautiful face.

  Her cousin's gaze met Catherine's through the mirror. "You ought to forgive her for something that happened eight years ago."

  "I might forgive her if she didn't still do it."

  Susan's head jerked back with a strong stroke of the brush. "Ouch! Lucrezia, would you stop treating my hair like an old piece of rope?"

  "I will as soon as it stops looking like one."

  "How dare you-"

  "Stop it, Susan," Catherine said. "Let her do her work."

  Frowning at the maid over her shoulder, she replied, "Just wait until it's your turn, Catherine."

  Her cousin's words made her hands fly anxiously to her hair. She smoothed it with her fingers and gave up on the dress.

  "Aren't you just a little curious?" Susan's voice was high-pitched with excitement. "We both know the expense her father went to in planning it. It will be the most extravagant party either of us has ever been to."

  "What difference should that make?"

  "Oh, Catherine! You're such a bore."

  Lucrezia pinned one last ringlet into place, smiling at Susan's reflection. "There. Satisfied?"

  She turned her head from side to side, an expression of distrust on her face. "It will do."

  "The Mona Lisa would be jealous, Miss Susan," Lucrezia replied in her heavy accent, never a slave to modesty. She looked at Catherine. "Now, let me help you with that obscene gown."

  As soon as Lucrezia left her side, Susan started, "Why mother insists on keeping you, I'll never know. As though a chance experience in Italy is enough reason to hire someone."

  "She saved your mother's life," Catherine replied.

  Lucrezia coughed loudly. "Miss Susan wouldn't understand something like that."

  Susan shrugged.

  The maid pulled tightly at the sides of Susan's old hand-me-down dress, trying to fasten it. "Your bosom will be displayed for all to see, Miss Catherine!"

  Catherine admired the fuchsia ball gown her cousin wore, the short ruffled sleeves and low-cut bodice emphasizing her lovely figure. "I don't have a choice. My only other ball gown is threadbare."

  "There's gratitude," Susan said.

  At that moment, the maid gave one last tug, fastening the last button. "Finally!"

  Catherine gazed down at her body, frowning at her unfashionably full bosom. "All this and for what? So Angelica can torment me?"

  Frowning, her cousin replied, "I know you hate her, but you have to stop living in the past. So many people are invited, Catherine. Maybe even Mr. Harrison will be there."

  "Honestly, Susan," she said, "I stopped thinking about him years ago. As you said, a chance meeting shouldn't be the cause of so much obsession."

  Again, Susan shrugged. "You're right, cousin. You only thought he was so special because he defended you."

  Only her cousin would think that such a thing wasn't enough.

  * * *

  Tucking a piece of misbehaving hair bac
k under a hair clip, Catherine stepped out of the carriage.

  "Elizabeth!" a woman cried, rushing forward to greet her aunt.

  Catherine stepped back towards the carriage and inhaled deeply. There were so many people, no room to breathe. Of course, with each deep breath, her bosom heaved all the more. She suddenly felt naked in the tight dress. The wide turquoise shawl did little to restore her dignity. Pulling it more firmly across her chest, Catherine wondered if there was anything worse than being trapped by dozens of boisterous partygoers.

  "Susan," she said, "I should never have allowed myself to be talked into this."

  "Pish! You'll enjoy yourself once we get inside."

  She followed her cousin, aunt, and chaperone through the courtyard. One by one, they filed through the grand double doors. Catherine was in a claustrophobic daze while they were announced, the crowd of people only a colorful blur.

  While the master of ceremonies announced their names to the rapidly filling dance floor, Catherine looked around. The rooms on the first floor were all open to one another, creating an easy atmosphere and a constant flow of people treading across the beeswax-polished floor. As usual, Catherine noted, as they started to explore, there was a refreshment room towards the back, a small room for card playing, and a cloakroom for both the ladies and the gentlemen. Mrs. Newsome, the hostess, had brought some lovely greenery in from the garden, some of the plants adequately blocking the small orchestra from view.

  After they'd left their wraps in the cloakroom and repaired the damage the carriage ride had wreaked on their hair, Susan grabbed Catherine's arm. "You have to see this," she said excitedly.

  Catherine gripped her dance card tightly, wondering by whom the little blank spaces would be filled. "Where are we going?"

  "To see Angelica."

  Catherine groaned. "I hate to disappoint you, Susan, but she's the very reason I had wanted to stay home."

  Her cousin didn't pay any attention and continued to drag her along. Then she gasped. "I can see it from here!"

  "See what?"

  "The necklace!"

  Then Catherine saw what her cousin was talking about. Angelica was surrounded by three other girls and her mother. Shining bright like a beacon was the pendant hanging around her neck.

  "Look at the size of it," Susan said. "I'd kill for a diamond like that."

  "I don't see why you feel it is so imperative I see this."

  But it was already too late. They had bearded the lion in its den. Angelica's gaze swept across Catherine's body, stopping at her bodice. "Interesting display, Catherine," she said.

  Susan was not looking at her friend's face. "Your necklace is beautiful. I've never seen such an impressive diamond."

  Angelica nodded superciliously. "Yes, father's associate has done quite well in the rush."

  "The rush?" Catherine repeated, wondering how much the girl really knew about it. "I've heard a little about it. I find it so interesting."

  "I am sure you do. It is a shame no one in your family has anything to do with it." Angelica glanced quickly at her mother. "Of course, it is fortunate we all have different strengths. I am sure someone in your family has a passable talent for something."

  Catherine frowned and looked over her shoulder, praying for a diversion.

  "That's quite a dress," Helen said, glued to Angelica's side, as usual.

  "Thank you," Catherine squeaked, hearing the sarcasm in the girl's voice, but not possessing the courage to bite back.

  "Don't be peevish, Helen," Susan said. "The dress may not fit perfectly, but that's because it was mine."

  Catherine cringed before she looked at Angelica's face. She didn't have to. The piercing laughter was enough. "Catherine's wearing a hand-me-down. Why am I not surprised?"

  "Because Catherine herself is a hand-me-down!" Helen cried.

  "That's not a very nice thing to say," Catherine heard over her shoulder and the masculine intonation sent a shiver down her spine.

  She gazed at the parquet floor in mortification, mustering up the courage to turn around. Were her cheeks red, her bosom scarlet? Catherine realized that she'd gain more attention by staring at the floor like a simpleton than simply facing him. She whirled, spinning precariously on her turquoise dancing shoes.

  She didn't recognize the man that stood in front of her. He was handsome and slim, however, and she found herself wishing her gown were as pretty as Angelica's.

  "I was wondering if perhaps you would like to dance?" he asked.

  Hearing Angelica's snort of disbelief prompted Catherine into action. "Yes, of course," she replied shyly. Feeling the other girls' critical eyes boring into her back, she gazed longingly at the dance floor.

  The young man offered his arm. "I suppose we should go," he said haltingly.

  They walked away together, amidst a chorus of laughs. Catherine sighed. "I'm sorry about that."

  "You hold none of the blame," he replied, leading her through the many dancing couples. "My name is Marcus Watson."

  "Catherine Claremont," she replied.

  He stopped walking and immediately launched Catherine into a quick waltz.

  Catherine took that opportunity to study him. Marcus's hair was dark and his complexion was healthy. A thin mustache framed his upper lip. He was a handsome man, and it sent a shiver through her body to think that he'd asked her to dance. "I have never seen you before, Mr. Watson. Do you live in the village?"

  His sparkling dark eyes met her gaze. "My family lives here, but I've been in school for the past ten years. Most holidays, I elected to stay with friends."

  "That doesn't seem very familial," Catherine commented. "Did they not miss you?"

  "No. They had their two favorites to look after," he said, stepping lightly on her slippered foot. "I'm the third son, in case you haven't already heard."

  "Why should I have?" she asked, wincing.

  Marcus screwed up his face in mock horror. "I thought you might have been warned. I'm not the most eligible bachelor at the ball, Miss Claremont. Probably the least eligible, if I may be succinct. My brothers, on the other hand…"

  "Are your brothers here, then?" Catherine asked, smiling. "May I meet them?"

  He laughed loudly, suddenly twisting her sharply to the left. "Yes, the heir is attending this evening. But I won't let you go that easily, Miss Claremont."

  "Are you so sure that I would be stolen away, then?" she asked, wondering who had taught him to dance, but enchanted just the same.

  "Believe me, you'd be no match for the heir's charm," he said, turning her once again.

  A mirrored sconce caught her eye, reflecting light from the thick candles across the inlaid floor. She blinked rapidly, feeling a little disoriented. Catherine felt as though she'd fallen into a dream. Her gaze flew back to Marcus, who was looking down at her with ill-concealed interest. "Do you always call your brother the heir?" she asked.

  Marcus grinned comfortably. "Since he calls me 'father,' I think he deserves it."

  "Father?" she repeated.

  "My family expects me to go into the clergy," he explained, giving her another whirl and unexpectedly squeezing her hands. His white gloves were soft and silky against her own thin pair.

  "And I assume you don't want to," she said, thinking that his reflex was involuntary.

  "No. I can't imagine such a dull and dreary life." After a moment of silence, he added, "I think my family just wants to get rid of me."

  "I'm sure you're wrong," she replied and shined an unexpected smile at him. Laughter bubbled up from some unknown place. She thought it might be the humor of a madwoman. She understood the feeling of being unwanted and didn't truly consider it funny.

  "I want more out of my life. I want to succeed independently." He sighed. "And I have little choice if I don't want to be a pauper. My mother brought very little to the marriage and, of course, my father's fortune goes to the heir. So the third son is, as usual, left to fend for himself."

  "You're not the only on
e, Mr. Watson."

  "Yes, I know there are many men out there with this problem, but that knowledge doesn't help me feel any better."

  Catherine could picture her aunt's face clearly in her mind. Her throat felt parched when she replied, "No, I was comparing you to myself. My parents have also left me to fend for myself, and that means I'm destined to be a governess to bratty children. Treated like an inferior gnat to be flicked away."

  "You could always get married," he said with a mischievous grin lightening his features.

  "Without a fortune or title to recommend me?" she asked with a heavy sigh escaping her lips. "I doubt it."

  "I wouldn't be so sure," he said, his gaze traveling below her face.

  Blushing, Catherine pulled her shawl across her chest. The waltz ended at that opportune moment and she mourned the end of their short sojourn.

  Marcus offered his arm once again and asked, "Do you desire any refreshment, Miss Claremont?"

  Catherine wasn't entirely sure it was proper, as they hadn't been formally introduced. But her chaperone had long since disappeared into the card room for a long game of whist, so she simply said, "I'd be delighted."

  * * *

  Three weeks later, Catherine was reading in the library when Susan ran in with a childish smirk on her face.

  "Your lover is here to see you," Susan said.

  Catherine slammed the encyclopedia volume shut and looked down at her old, blue tea gown.

  Susan followed her gaze. "Yes, that old thing you're wearing is quite atrocious."

  Frowning at the faded cotton poplin gown, Catherine replied, "I have little choice in the matter. I must not be shallow. He has come to see me, not my wardrobe."

  "Nonsense!" Her cousin pulled her off the small wooden library chair. "It's only natural that you would want your suitor to see you at your best."

  "He is not my suitor," she replied, but knew the lie was feeble at best. Marcus had begun calling on her immediately after the ball. His eagerness-even in the face of his shyness-characterized him. It seemed that he liked to fight against his natural tendencies. Catherine found his hidden strengths charming… even endearing.