A warning silver light flared briefly in the Marquis’s gray eyes. He would have thought Sir Eugene above such pandering. “You flatter me. It is my understanding, however, that my—ah—reputation encourages debutantes to stay out of my orb.”
“Hear me out a moment. I am not suggesting you should make her one of your flirts; however, if you could see your way clear to speaking with her a moment at some ball or other, it would raise her credit in the eyes of Society. It may help remove the stigma of her age. I tell you, Stefton, I would not ask if she were a blushing seventeen-year-old, and do not be afraid she would languish for your attention, for I don’t believe you’re in her style.”
A frown creased the Marquis’s brow, and his lips thinned. Not in her style! he thought, irritated. He studied Sir Eugene silently; finally, a wry smile lifted the corners of his finely-chiseled mouth. He had come close to taking himself too seriously, for he admitted a twinge of pique at the thought that some woman might be immune to his charms. He remembered Catherine’s animated expression when she talked to Dawes and the sweet curves displayed to advantage in her close-fitting breeches. It might be interesting. . .
“Shall I bring her into fashion?” he asked his host.
A horrified look captured Sir Eugene’s features. “No! I mean, I do not wish you to put yourself out in any way.”
Lord Stefton waved a hand to dismiss his concern, then that wry smile spread to his eyes, and he took another sip of ale. “I promise, she shall not be overlooked.”
“Aunt Dee,I can’t see what there is to laugh about!” Catherine exclaimed later that day as she paced the floor of Deirdre's sitting room. “Nor why everyone, particularly Uncle Gene, must needs run my life. I have no desire to put on airs and simper and coo as other empty-headed females jockeying for the supposed honor of some man’s name and then being virtually auctioned off like a horse at Tattersall’s!”
Deirdre watched Catherine in silence, allowing her to expend her nervous energy before talking to her. She dispassionately noted her niece’s cheeks were stained a deep rose from her agitated state and wondered if the child realized how beautiful she was when she was angry. Quietly, she drew an embroidery stand in front of her and began separating the bright strands of silk.
“I have no need to be wed, and I cannot like others meddling in my affairs,” Catherine finished.
“Are you so sure we make plans just for you?” Deirdre returned placidly.
Catherine stopped her pacing and looked over her shoulder at her aunt.
“Are you so sure of yourself? Mayhap you are acting a trifle selfish,” Deirdre continued, speaking softly to calm her as Catherine and Eugene would calm a high-strung colt.
“What do you mean?” Catherine sat down in the chair beside Deirdre’s.
Deirdre sighed and leaned back. She smiled fondly at her niece. Somehow she was feeling the elderly aunt, though only twelve years separated them.
“Squire Leftwich has wanted this year past to wed your mama, and she is not against the idea; however, she will not do so as long as you are not settled.”
“But I am.”
“Not in a mother’s eyes, my dear. Your grandmother thinks your mother is being too missish, but--well, honestly my dear, having you around is a constant reminder to her of her age. While you are not by, she is as giddy as a young girl in the throes of her first romance. Your grandmother believes, and I agree, if you were absent a few weeks, the little romance could come to fruition.”
Lady Deirdre bent her head a moment to thread her needle. “You must also consider your inheritance. Frankly, you need a bit of town bronze. Remember, your Uncle Gene took the Grand Tour before he took over Fifefield and came to learn about people, which has made him all the sharper in dealing with those who would purchase a Burke horse. You are spiting yourself by not taking advantage of the opportunities. Why, I am sure your aunt must move in the first circles, among just the people who would purchase our horses. Think of the connections!” She was silent for a moment as she regarded Catherine, her head tilted to one side and her hands for once still in her lap.
Making a decision, she picked up her needle and guided it through the fabric before her. “No one says you have to simper and coo. Play a part if you wish. Take the town by storm, or be exactly what the countess expects you to be. A nothing.” Deirdre shrugged slightly. “It is really of no matter. But do stop thinking we are trying to run your life. We are merely attempting to throwopportunities your way. We, however, cannot tell you what you should discover from this situation.”
Catherine frowned. “I still cannot like it, though there is much in what you say.”
She suddenly remembered the stranger by the stable yard and the way he had stared at her. A slight blush flared over her cheeks in memory of the strange sensations he’d aroused.
“But I will not be on display!” She rose and circled the room again before stopping before Deirdre. “I think I will be what Lady Harth expects: a plain, meek mouse.”
Deirdre giggled, though not for the reasons Catherine thought. For all Catherine’s vivacious nature, there was a streak of shyness in her that would allow her to be cruelly hurt unless she had some protection. Playing the mouse would make it her game and give her confidence as she came to know the people around her. Deirdre doubted her ability to maintain such a role indefinitely, for her spirits were too high.
“If that is your wish. We’ll let it be our secret. Your uncle, your grandmother, and your mother would be hurt if they knew, for they have so much pride in you.”
Catherine nodded, her mind busy forming, testing, and discarding ideas for the intended role. Deirdre giggled again and reached out to draw her niece to sit by her so they could begin planning the campaign.
CHAPTER 3
So abundant was the faith the family placed in Deirdre, no one questioned Catherine’s sudden complacence, and in the few weeks before Catherine was to leave for London, there was much coming and going between Fifefield and Linley House. While Gwen and Mary were planning morning dresses and ball gowns, Deirdre and Catherine were busily sewing plain gowns and discussing hairstyles and manners.
Deirdre was hard-pressed to contain her mirth throughout those fleeting weeks. Catherine never considered her looks one way or another and was confident she looked as dowdy as her dress. Deirdre knew differently. Nothing could hide or mask Catherine’s natural appeal, and those who looked beyond the gown to her face could not fail to see her charm. Those who did not see beyond outward appearances Deirdre dismissed as of no importance.
Sir Eugene made all the arrangements. Catherine would draw on his account while in London and would journey there in the company of Raymond Dawes and his wife, Maureen.
For an abigail, Deirdre offered the services of Bethie Callahan, the daughter of her housekeeper. She was thespirited, frizzy-haired strawberry blonde who served Catherine at Fifefield. She had been married to a young soldier who died in battle the year before, shortly before peace was announced. So, at twenty, Bethie was back at Fifefield. Deirdre saw her as young enough to enjoy Catherine’s plans but wise enough to keep her eyes and ears open in order to advise her mistress.
