All the ladies looked at him in surprise. It was out of character for him to take a stance against Catherine. He had, however, been suffering a twinge of guilt since his mother had brought Catherine’s situation to his attention. He knew he frequently disregarded Catherine’s feminine nature. He had desperately wanted a son to share his plans for the future; Catherine, with her tomboyish ways, had filled that role, and he had continued to allow her to do so, partially because she shared his love of horses, and partially if truth be told, because he received an odd satisfaction from encouraging her to go against the established role for women. He would not have wanted his Deirdre to be any other than the warm, profoundly feminine woman she was. He came to the conclusion he had to right his wrong immediately for Catherine’s good. He stopped his pacing and glared down at her.
“You will listen to Mother, Mary, and Deirdre, and you will do as they say and go to London.” With that parting shot, he strode out of the room.
Deirdre shook her head in dismay, slightly smiling as she watched her beloved husband leave. She exchanged slight glances with Mary and Gwen before turning once more to Catherine.
Catherine, for her part, sat dumbfounded. Never before had she seen her uncle exhibit such a closed mind. His attitude sparked a flame of resentment. She compressed her lips tightly.
Mary, bereft of a handkerchief, wrung her hands in agitation and looked pained. Gwen sat very upright in her chair, carefully schooling her face not to show any sympathy to Catherine for Sir Eugene’s treatment of the situation. She did not know whether she was distressed by his bluntness or relieved to have the situation set forward so explicitly.
After watching for some moments the ebb and flow of emotions across Catherine’s face, Deirdre deemed it time to settle the emotionally charged atmosphere.
“Tea should be ready,” she said as she pulled the bell-rope next to her. “I believe Cook baked some spice cakes today which I dearly would like, for I am famished.”
Sir Eugene’smind churned as he descended the stairs and crossed the hall to the library. His mind was still caught up on the problem of his niece when he entered, and it was with a start he remembered his guest.
“Stefton, my apologies. I have been shamefully remiss. A slight domestic problem.” He smiled. “When female relatives surround one, it is not an uncommon occurrence,” he said humorously.
The Marquis inclined his head in acknowledgment of the apology then sipped his Fifefield brewed ale. “We haveknown each other many years, Burke. No need to stand on ceremony, I assure you. Dawes and your staff have been most accommodating.”
Sir Eugene poured himself a mug, paced the room a moment, and then sat down across from his guest.
“You saw my niece. Now I must ask that you forget you ever did, particularly her unusual attire.”
The Marquis raised an eyebrow in polite inquiry, then shrugged. “I have a lamentable memory. Consider it forgotten.”
Sir Eugene frowned down at the mug he held. “Catherine is my heir.”
“She is a fortunate young woman,” Lord Stefton murmured.
“I don’t know.” He rubbed his hand along the back of his neck to ease tight muscles. “I am sending her to London this spring to be presented, probably at least three years too late. Her aunt, the Countess of Seaverness, is taking her."
"Lady Harth?”
“Yes. You look surprised.”
“Surprised? Yes, though perhaps amused would be a better word. I didn’t know you were related to Lady Harth."
“My sister married Ralph Shreveton.”
“Ah, one of the younger brothers of Aldric Shreveton, our illustrious Earl of Whelan,” Lord Stefton drawled meaningfully, for it was well known that since his second marriage, this one to his solicitor’s daughter, the Earl had become staid and vulgarly middle-class.
Sir Eugene barked a short, harsh laugh. “Precisely.”
“I account Lady Harth’s son, Viscount St. Ryne, a particular friend of mine. I understand his current absence from the country is a direct result of his mother’s matchmaking propensities. He holds she is attempting to make up for his uncle’s disastrous liaison.”
Sir Eugene shrugged. “I care not for Lady Harth’s reasons. My concern is for Catherine. She is old to be presented. I would be distressed to learn she was considered an ape-leader.”
“May I inquire her age?”
“She will be two-and-twenty this spring.”
“Definitely an ape-leader,” Lord Stefton said callously.
Sir Eugene opened his mouth to issue a scathing retort, then shut it, his lips compressed against ill-considered words.
“A wise decision,” Stefton said, amused.
Sir Eugene’s face cleared, and he leaned earnestly toward Lord Stefton. “You are an influential figure in Society. Perhaps if you...”
