But Catherine had turned to look at the woman. Her dark hair tumbled around a narrow, elfin face, and her eyes were limpid and blue. She wasn’t beautiful, she was breathtakingly stunning. “Who is she?”
“No one. No one at all. Look at this silk. Isn’t it exquisite?” Elizabeth thrust a bolt of yellow silk under her nose.
The woman caught sight of them and ran her gaze down Catherine, sizing her up. Sneering slightly, she turned to the shopkeeper and said, “So this is who he’s married. A little green girl, none too pretty.”
Catherine froze, shocked at the stranger’s rudeness. No one had ever dared speak about her like that in her hearing.
“Don’t listen,” Elizabeth whispered, placing her hands over Catherine’s ears. “Don’t look. She’ll be gone soon.”
The woman had cast one last sly smile at Catherine before sweeping out of the shop.
“Did you see her? Isn’t she utterly gorgeous?” another customer, a buxom lady in a purple walking dress, said in a loud, strident voice to her companion. “Violetta Allan. The famous opera dancer. She’s the Duke of Aldingbourne’s mistress. He is said to be madly in love with her…”
The blood drained from Catherine’s face. “It’s not true, is it?” she whispered to Elizabeth, who was shaking her head vehemently.
“Lies, lies, all lies.”
But the strained expression on her face told Catherine that it was true.
Later, as they rode back to Aldingbourne Hall, Catherine stared out of the window, unseeing, the raindrops pattering on the glass. “Does everyone know?” she’d asked in a flat, monotone voice.
“No, of course not.” Elizabeth did not meet her eyes.
“Please, Elizabeth.Youknew.”
Elizabeth winced.
“Since when?”
Elizabeth dropped her head. “It is well known that Miss Allan is his mistress,” she finally admitted. “She has been for quite some time.”
Catherine’s gloved fingers toyed with the strings of her reticule, tying them tightly around her finger until it hurt.
“I see.”
Elizabeth hesitated before speaking again. “It is, of course, perfectly normal for men like the Duke to have mistresses.” She made a helpless gesture. “Horrible as it is. We are expected to look the other way and pretend not to know.”
“Yes,” Catherine replied, her voice wooden. “I know.”
Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably before taking Catherine’s hand. “I am so sorry,” she whispered.
There was nothing to say to that.
The carriage turned into a wide alley and Aldingbourne Hall came into view—tall, stately, and cold.
“But if my husband were ever to have a mistress, I wouldn’t stand for it,” Elizabeth suddenly burst out.
“No, you wouldn’t,” Catherine echoed. Then she looked sadly at Elizabeth. “But what if he loved her more than you? What then?”
Elizabeth’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t know. I don’t think I could bear it.”
Catherine nodded slowly.
Neither could she.
Chapter Twenty-Five
It was most confounding.
