“What was that?” Catherine exclaimed, moving toward the closed door.
“Do not concern yourself, Miss,” the butler said hurriedly, placing himself between her and the door. “A common household accident.”
Gone was the urbane, superior butler. In moments he’d been changed into a harried, nervous man. The transformation was so complete and instantaneous that Catherine found herself halting in surprise and wonderment.
The doors behind the butler opened and a red-faced, sweating footman came out of the room. He awkwardly carried a tray of broken china before him as he moved in a bandy-legged fashion, the front of his uniform wet from the waist down.
“Mr. Pennymore, I’m giving notice,” he said, shoving the tray into the butler’s hands.
“Let’s not be hasty, John, please,” implored the butler, hurriedly putting the tray on one of the empty side tables.
“Hasty! My manhood’s scalded and you tells me not to be hasty?”
“John!”
Catherine bit her lip to contain a giggle, while behind her Maureen gasped in shock, and a pained look of empathy pursed Dawes’s mouth and twisted his features.
“She don’t even apologize, just reprimands me for calling out in me pain. No sir, I’ll not stay another day in this madhouse. I’ll just be changing and collecting me wages.”
“A raise, John? How about a raise?”
“No sir, it ain’t worth it,” proclaimed the footman as he turned to make his way carefully down the hall.
“Double your wages?” Pennymore offered desperately.
The footman stopped for a moment, then carefully turned to look at the butler. “It depends on how me fragile condition heals,” he said loftily and continued down the hall.
Watching him leave, Catherine valiantly struggled to repress an urge to laugh without success.
Pennymore smoothed his thinning hair back into place and turned around to stare down at her as if she were some insect under a magnifying glass. He had transformed once again and was the epitome of the arrogant butler.
“If you will wait here, I will, as I told you before we were so rudely interrupted, inform the countess of your arrival.” He sniffed dismissively, then turned to proceed into the room.
Her curiosity increasing with each moment, Catherine began to examine her aunt’s home. She walked down the hall. It was elegant in its architectural design, a black-and-white marble floor, marble pillars, a graceful curving stairway, and deeply patterned plaster medallions on the ceiling highlighted with gold leaf were among its features, yet the house seemed strangely barren. The hall was devoid of decorative accoutrements. Niches in the wall, obviously designed for statues, were bare. Side tables, intricately carved and layered in gold leaf, stood well out of the way in almost inaccessible corners, devoid of vases, trays, or other items.
Stark. That was the word Catherine decided she would use to describe Harth House--elegant yet stark. It made her wonder if her aunt were as wealthy and snobbish as she had assumed. The lack of expensive bric-a-brac could connote a reversal in the family fortunes and the necessity of selling off family heirlooms.
Catherine suddenly felt uncomfortable in her masquerade and determined to act cheerful and friendly, for it was possible Lady Harth could ill afford to present four nieces and was genuinely doing so out of some misguided notion of family honor.
Or perhaps she was quite mad, as the footman suggested.
With decidedly mixed emotions, Catherine heard the door open, followed by the rustle of silk skirts. She took a deep breath, placed a smile on her lips, and squared her shoulders.
A tall, angularly-built woman garbed in a mustard-colored gown stopped ten feet away. She folded her hands before her, tilted her head back, raised one thin eyebrow, and stared down her aquiline nose at Catherine.
Catherine’s smile faltered, a blush surging up her neck to her cheeks, staining them deep red. Suddenly she was uncomfortably aware of her rain-drenched clothes and her cold, damp feet. She shifted position restlessly before the woman’s considering stare. Anger flared within her, and she abruptly raised her head to meet the gaze of the woman. It was then she saw the other woman, who was wearing a gage green gown, a plump woman with an open and sadly smiling countenance. She reminded Catherine of her father. Confusion swept through Catherine. She dropped her gaze to the floor.
Pursing her lips at her sister’s stiff, unwelcoming demeanor, Lady Orrick swept past her sister, Alicia, to enfold Catherine in a welcoming embrace. She clucked her tongue. It never failed that after one of her sister’s accidents she turned formidably arrogant. It was as if she blamed the next person she saw for her clumsiness.
“I just can’t believe it! Ralph’s little girl, after all these years!” Lady Orrick cooed delightedly, her sharp eyes rapidly scanning Catherine and her entourage. She nodded once to herself in satisfaction, though she was curious as to the child’s drab clothing. The girl’s mother, she remembered, dressed conservatively but at least possessed an excellent sense of color and style.
Lady Orrick turned back to gauge Alicia’s reaction. Obviously, her sister saw nothing amiss in their niece’s attire,so busy was she assessing her niece as a person. Lady Orrick’s eyes narrowed; their sparkle dimmed. She was not pleased by the looks exchanged by her sister and Catherine in awkward silence, though the answering challenge she saw on Catherine’s face intrigued her.
“Passable,” the tall, angular woman finally declared, stepping closer. “Those freckles are deplorable, but you’ll do. I am your aunt, Lady Harth, Countess of Seaverness. You may call me Aunt Alicia,” she declared briskly. “This is your Aunt Penelope, Lady Orrick.”
“Orrick?” sputtered Maureen Dawes, drawing all eyes toward her for the first time.
Catherine whirled around, reaching out to grasp Maureen’s wrist, silently imploring her to be quiet. “We—we encountered a young gentleman along the way by the name of Orrick. He was blond, blue-eyed, probably about twenty. Is he any relation?” Catherine said rapidly, pulling down on Maureen’s hand and all the while smiling brightly.
