Her eyes clouded over a moment. She pierced Catherine with a fierce stare. “I noted you are adapt at contredanses. Dare Ihope you have had instruction in the waltz? Or should we hire a dancing master?”
“I believe we may forgo the dancing master. I am conversant with the rudiments of the dance.”
Lady Harth sniffed in disbelief, her thin nostrils flaring to wide proportions reminding Catherine of a horse. “We shall see,” she said disbelievingly.
“Now, regarding the subject of the Marquis, what were you two possibly discussing that kept him so long by your side? I trust you were not vulgar. That will lead to presenting yourself as a figure of fun in the clubs.”
Catherine wildly cast about in her mind for a suitable answer. She could not tell her of the incident at the inn, and she certainly could not at this point disclose her untold wealth. Suddenly she knew the Marquis had supplied the answer she needed.
“The Marquis is a friend of my uncle. My uncle on my mother’s side of the family. I believe they share an interest in horses,” she said as blandly as possible. Beside her, Susannah’s lace-edged handkerchief was drawn up before her face. Nonetheless, Catherine saw the twinkle in her eyes over the edge of the scrap of cloth.
“I was not aware you had a maternal uncle,” Lady Alicia declared repressively.
Catherine shrugged. “Well, he does live in the wilds of Yorkshire,” she offered apologetically.
“Since you have a family connection,” Dahlia said with false sweetness, “do you think he’ll pay a call?”
“Oh, I hardly think so,” Catherine returned in kind. She leaned back in the settee, one arm extended along its carved wooden back. “I believe he has fulfilled some obligation to my uncle by allowing himself to be seen in my company.”
Lady Harth nodded. “That explains it. He intended to raise your credit in Society, of course. To bring you to the notice ofother gentlemen. I would not have thought Stefton would allow himself to be so accommodating; nevertheless, I trust you are conscious and thankful for the boon he has granted. Truthfully, I had not expected to see you on the dance floor last evening.”
Catherine merely nodded, not trusting herself to speak for the sudden depression that roiled within her. It was one thing to suggest that the Marquis was fulfilling an obligation. It was quite another to have it eagerly accepted.
Pennymore opened the door. “The Most Honorable Marquis of Stefton, The Right Honorable Earl of Soothcoor, and Captain Chilberlain,” he announced.
Lady Harth’s sharp eyebrows rose, her smile as toothy as if she were suddenly anticipating a grand feast. As she stepped forward she managed to both smile and hiss. “Iris, Dahlia, now you may meet the Marquis and turn the meeting to good advantage, but do not overlook the Earl. His estates are not encumbered.”
Catherine was dumbfounded. Color fled her face and her throat constricted until she wanted to gasp for breath. She honestly had not expected him to call. She had convinced herself he was playing a game to relieve his habitual boredom. She did nothing to encourage him, quite shamefully the reverse. She’d tossed and turned in the wee hours of the morning, agonizing over her behavior to her uncle’s friend. The Marquis was correct when he predicted Uncle Eugene would not be pleased by her masquerade and manners. She was doing her family a disservice. She didn’t know why he continually set her back up until she fairly spat like some stable cat. All she knew was that his presence-- nay, just the thought of him--brought on sensations and emotions quite foreign to her nature. Those feelings were like high winds. All she desired was to protect herself from their buffeting, to shutter herself off safely insideherself. Unfortunately, his very name rattled the shutters, and his presence threatened to tear them from their hinges.
And yet, he did nothing to cause the storm he created. Unceasingly he displayed a gentlemanly courtesy to her despite her unruly tongue and sour demeanor. Never once did he step beyond the boundaries of propriety, yet she wanted to treat him as if he had. What was particularly vexatious was that he knew that and derived amusement from her predicament.
Catherine watched the door for his entrance, though she knew she shouldn’t, that she should act unconcerned. Tightness coiled around her throat while the insidious tingling rippled through her stomach, descending into her legs. She could not have risen from her seat even if Harth House burned down around her. Not until she saw his expression this day. What was his purpose in calling? Her heart began hammering loudly in her chest until she was certain all could hear its furious pounding.
Pennymore moved aside to allow the gentlemen to enter.
“Ah, Stefton,” Lady Harth said enthusiastically, extending her hand in a peremptory manner that required the gentleman to extend a chaste salute to her knuckles. “I haven’t seen you since Justin left the country. How good of you to call.”
Stefton murmured a polite response and gravely bowed low, his lips scarcely touching the back of her hand. He straightened. “Allow me to present my companions, Alan Hawk, Earl of Soothcoor, and Captain Richard Chilberlain, late of the Duke of Wellington’s staff.”
Lady Harth inclined her head briefly in recognition of the introductions before returning her attention to the Marquis. “Stefton, I believe you were denied the opportunity of meeting two of my nieces last evening.” She smiled smugly and waved her arm in the twins’ direction, knocking a pillow off the sofa. “Lady Iris and Lady Dahlia Shreveton. They are the daughters, you know, of my brother Aldric, the Earl of Whelan.”
Stefton bowed over their hands, his lips held firmly in a straight line as he observed them vie with one another to capture his attention. They were both sitting so near the edge of the settee that any moment one or the other would slide off its edge, and he was sure that each young lady’s neck and shoulders must ache from straining to lift her head higher than the other’s and to stretch out her arm farther. Their broad, stiff smiles were as identical as the rest of their features. Bookends of bland blonde prettiness. If his mind hadn’t been centered on the woman seated behind him, he would have yawned.
He turned to Soothcoor and Chilberlain to draw their attention to the twins. His mouth quirked, his eyelids drooping over his slate-gray eyes as he noted Chilberlain making his way to Susannah Shreveton’s side, oblivious to the other ladies in the room. That would upset Lady Harth, and he supposed he would have to deflect her ire.
Suddenly his eye caught Catherine’s, for she too had been noting Captain Chilberlain’s objective, and her thoughts flew on a parallel course to the Marquis’s. For a moment, their eyes held, sharing an unspoken commitment to their friends. The Marquis’s eyes silvered, and Catherine felt another wave of tingling ripple through her body. But as swiftly as their eyes caught, they looked away, and the Marquis was drawing Soothcoor forward to attend to Lady Iris and Lady Dahlia.
When he looked away, Catherine felt cut adrift, floundering. She looked down at her hands clasped in her lap, one thumb running restlessly back and forth along the length of the other. She pressed the evidence of her disquiet deep into her lap, irritated that there was any physical manifestation of nervousness that he might see. She pulled a bright smile onto her lips and turned in her place on the settee so that she might also converse with Captain Chilberlain, distracting Aunt Aliciafrom noting the abject disinterest Susannah and the Captain displayed toward their surroundings.
Stefton mercilessly drew Soothcoor forward into the Shreveton twins’ lair, or so the Earl was to tell his friend later. He spent a few minutes engaged in soporific conversation with the twins, watching them preen, flutter their lashes, giggle and posture, all in an endeavor to claim his regard. Soothcoor manfully fulfilled his duties, though his Northumbrian accent became a thicker and thicker burr, difficult to understand. Stefton frowned meaningfully at his friend, only to have his unspoken reprimand met with a bland smile and a sly wink. During one of the many lulls in the conversation, Stefton took the opportunity of shifting his attention to Lady Harth.
“You have become the talk of London, Lady Harth. You are to be congratulated. It is my understanding that several matrons are chagrined that they lacked your foresight. Introducing four nieces in a Season. It is on the lips of everyone and has quite eclipsed talk of Princess Charlotte’s upcoming nuptials.”
Lady Harth smiled complacently. “I am only doing what is right and proper for the family, you know. Shrevetons have always held a respected place in Society. It is only right that all members of the family should be known to Society.”
Pennymore brought in a large silver tray laden with coffee and tea. Lady Harth graciously waved her permission to serve as she continued to talk about the Shreveton family and its lineage.
The butler slowly made the rounds of the room, offering refreshments first to the twins, then to Catherine and Susannah. At Lady Harth’s side he deftly sidestepped a recklessly gesturing arm that threatened to sweep the dishes off the tray. At his success, a faint smile threatened to crack his impassive visage.
