“Well, you are not alone there, for she does not think much more of me if she thinks of me at all!”
“Ah, but by your looks alone, you are a true Shreveton. But I digress. Let me tell you about my inheritance, for it lies at the base of my presence in London. Have you ever heard of Burke horses?”
“Yes, of course. Father would love to own one but says it wouldn’t be fair to the animal because he is at sea so much, you know, and no one is about to exercise it. Mother said she would, for she loves to ride, but Father told her that no woman can control a Burke horse.”
“Fustian,” Catherine said and rose from the bench. “I school Burke horses.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“It’s true, I assure you. My uncle is Sir Eugene Burke, and I shall be his heir,” Catherine added with pride and satisfaction.
At Susannah’s shocked expression, Catherine laughed and went on to tell her enthralled cousin about the events leading up to the start of her sojourn to London and her reason for the dowdy disguise.
“It is how Aunt Alicia expected me to appear. Why should I disappoint her?”
Susannah laughed, feeling more at ease with her cousin though vestiges of awe remained.
“I must admit, however, that last evening I had cause to regret my attire,” Catherine said ruefully.
Susannah encouraged Catherine to tell her the story. Catherine tried to give her a summary; however, Bethie, methodically unpacking Catherine’s trunks, continually threw in elaborations that forced Catherine to elaborate in kind.
“And you say Sir Philip Kirkson gave your Mrs. Dawes that black eye? And that Cousin Stephen was involved? Aunt Penelope will be mortified to learn that.”
“Which is precisely why we won’t tell her.”
“But what about this gentleman who tried to warn Sir Philip to leave you alone? Who was he?”
Catherine quickly turned away from Susannah to hide the telltale blush that flared brightly on her cheeks. “Um, I think he was called Stefton,” she managed, fighting down the strange surge of tingling that rippled through her body at the thought of his dark satyr visage and black locks that curled across his brow.
“Stefton? The Marquis of Stefton? He actually intervened?” Susannah asked, rising and crossing to Catherine’s side to place a hand on her shoulder.
“Ultimately, yes,” Catherine said, puzzled by her cousin’s reaction.
Susannah shook her head, her hand falling from her cousin’s shoulder. “How odd,” she said softly, a pensive expression in her eyes. “From what I’ve heard of him, he’s more inclined to pull up a chair to watch than to lift a finger to defend anyone.”
“Well, he very nearly did just stand back, and truthfully, in the end, he found the whole quite comical, for he laughed heartily.” The memory of amusement glinting in his silver eyes coupled with his rakish, thoroughly masculine smile set her limbs quivering. Angrily she banished the image from her mind.
“I believe he took the entire incident as a sideshow for his enjoyment,” she said firmly. “I am convinced the only reason he did anything at all was because he and Kirkson have some great dislike for each other, and he knew it would be the perfect way to nettle Kirkson. Of course, he waited until mere moments before Mr. Dawes burst into the room,” Catherine finished waspishly. Then she paused for breath and grinned. “But enough of what has gone before. You and I need to plan for what we must do in the future."
“Do?” Susannah asked doubtfully.
“Yes,” Catherine said, coming to sit by Susannah on the end of the bench, “for unless I miss my guess, the two of us will have to band together so our more illustrious cousins don’t ride roughshod over either of us.”
“That is true,” Susannah declared fervently.
“How is it that Aunt Alicia invited us to come to London for the Season? She doesn’t seem the type to open her doors so readily.”
Susannah laughed. “Now that is a tale, and it owes its beginning, I believe, in her son’s self-exile.”
“Exile!”
"Self-exile. Aunt Alicia has been after her son, Justin, to marry for two or three years now. Claims it is his duty. She tries to promote a match by throwing countless suitable youngwomen at him during dinner parties, house parties, and balls everywhere. To escape his mother’s matchmaking propensities and hopefully teach her a lesson against meddling, he left England for a protracted visit to some family properties in the West Indies.”
“Wise man.”
“I’m not so sure,” countered Susannah. “Justin—Viscount St. Ryne—is a prime catch in the marriage mart, and for years Aunt Alicia has been asked to every social event because she is the mother of a prime catch. Only she didn’t know that was the reason until Justin was out of the country and the invitations to her began to fall off drastically. It’s perfectly understandable. That incident at tea was not unique. Aunt Alicia is clumsy. Frightfully clumsy. Who would invite a walking disaster to a party if they did not need to?"
“I’ll bet I’ll hear some blisterin’ stories belowstairs then,” Bethie said eagerly while placing Catherine’s stockings in a dresser drawer.
