Edward was like the hero of a novel, but she wasn’t a heroine. Her fingertips grazed the crook of his arm. If she didn’t want to go back to Elk Grove, then she had to play her part, even if she had to make it up as she went along. They descended the stairs together and paused before the bright parlor. All the sconces had been lit, and the fire crackled. Two women, one with brown wavy hair and one with ebony hair streaked with gray, sat side by side on a sofa, chatting. Opposite them, a dark-haired gentleman read the evening paper. Catherine’s heart thundered in her chest.
“Lady and Lord Thornton,” Mr. Hobbs announced.
The ladies looked up while the gentleman continued reading.
She felt the weight of their stares as the brunette looked her up and down and the older dark-haired woman beamed at her.
“At last, the mystery is solved. We can now feast our eyes upon the enigmatic Lady Thornton!” The brunette woman flounced over to them. Her glistening chestnut ringlets bounced, and the pearls at her throat flashed in the candlelight.
“Lydia—” Edward said in a warning tone.
“I told Mr. Oakheart that it must be a ruse. What brother would marry without so much as a post to inform his sister or invite her to the ceremony? How could you be so cold-hearted, Edward?” She playfully struck at his shoulder.
This must be the sister Edward had mentioned. He had been in such a rush to get married, Catherine hadn’t questioned how it would affect his family. Catherine shuffled her feet as she pulled her hand out of the crook of Edward’s arm.
“You wouldn’t have left the country for the ceremony even if he had,” said the older woman with dark hair. She was shorter than Lydia, but her smile brightened her heart-shaped face.
“At least he wrote and gave you the news beforehand. Can you imagine finding out your brother is getting married from your aunt!” Lydia crossed her arms over her chest as she jutted out her bottom lip.
“Shush. Lady Thornton is going to think we’re uncivilized,” said Lydia’s aunt. “Please, forgive my niece; she does not always think before she speaks. I am Isobel Rosewood, Edward’s aunt, and this is Lydia Oakheart, his elder sister.”
“Elder! You make it sound as if I am ancient,” Lydia protested.
“Forgive my sister’s rudeness. She is rather excitable.” Edward reached for Catherine’s hand and threaded their fingers together.
Lydia arched a brow as he did so. Then with a smile, she linked arms with Catherine. “Come sit; I’ve been dying to meet you.”
Lydia practically dragged Catherine across the room and sat her down on the sofa across from the gentleman who had not once looked up from his paper.
“That is my dear husband, Mr. Oakheart. Say hello, dear.” Lydia flapped a hand in his direction.
He rustled his paper. “Hello.”
“I must know everything about Edward and your torrid love affair. Where did you meet? What did you wear at the wedding? Who are your parents? Do you know the Johnsons? They’re dear friends of ours who moved to London. Or what about the Bells? Mr. Oakheart went to Cambridge with Mr. Bell, and I met his lovely wife last we visited.”
Catherine opened and closed her mouth to reply but couldn’t answer a question before another one was being asked. Edward stood at the arm of Mrs. Rosewood’s chair, shaking his head.
“Lydia, give the girl a moment to breathe,” Mrs. Rosewood chided.
“Can you blame me for being curious? Just last month, all Edward could talk about was Miss Ashton—”
“Shall we head to dinner then?” Edward clapped his hands together.
“That’s enough.” Mr. Oakheart set his paper down at last.
Lydia glared at Mr. Oakheart, andthey shared a silent exchange. Edward strode over to the pull chain on the wall. A hidden bell then rang to summon a servant. No one looked at Catherine, to her relief. It might be too much to hope she would get through the rest of the dinner unnoticed. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, smoothing out wrinkles in her gown. It was just one dinner, smile, play her part. Nothing more.
The fireplace crackled and popped. Who was Miss Ashton? A former lover, perhaps? Had Edward been rejected and sought to seek comfort in the arms of another? That’s how it happened in novels. It would explain why he had been so insistent on marrying quickly. Catherine squirmed in her seat as she tugged at the fingers of her glove.
Mr. Hobbs arrived and saved them all from the awkward silence. Edward collected her from the sofa, and together they led the way into the dining room. Dark wood panels lined the room. The dining table was draped in ivory linen. Bouquets of pink peonies, purple roses, and buttery daffodils were artfully arranged in crystal vases. Five footmen in black coats and pristine white gloves drew out their chairs for them as they entered. Edward sat at the head of the table and Catherine to his right. Lydia and her husband took the seats across from her, and Mrs. Rosewood to her right.
The savory scent of a creamy mushroom and herb soup proceeded the footmen who served it to the guests starting with Edward.
A footman with ginger hair ladled a thick spoonful into her bowl. Catherine stared at her steaming bowl of soup. Bits of green herbs floated amongst chunks of mushroom. On either side of her bowl were a multitude of gleaming forks and spoons glittering in the candlelight. Which utensil did she use? Dining at Elk Grove had been mostly with tarnished spoons and bowls of gruel. When she’d returned home, Mama had tried to teach her etiquette, but everything she had taught her flew out of her mind. She bunched her hands in her lap and twisted the fabric of her skirt in a fist.
Mrs. Oakheart watched her with a small curl of her lips. They’d just met, and it felt as if she already saw through Catherine’s facade. An insane woman and daughter of an impoverished gentleman wasn’t worthy of one of the gentry. Perhaps Mrs. Oakheart knew that Papa had been spared of debtor’s prison thanks to Edward’s intervention.
“Start from the outside and work your way in from that spoon,” Mrs. Rosewood leaned in to whisper in Catherine’s ear.
