Catherine smiled at her and mouthed a thank you. The knots in her stomach untangled. Perhaps she could take a few bites of food. She took a few spoonfuls of her soup. The cream was luxurious, and the combination of rosemary and what she thought was thyme made for a complex flavor palate. The warmth and richness of the dish warmed her.
They finished the soup course without further incident. While servants were bringing in the second course, the footmen brought around a bowl of water for Catherine and the other guests to dip their fingers in. She’d never been to a dinner party quite like this, and the rituals were strange, but any time she got lost, Mrs. Rosewood gave her discreet guidance. A footman with dark hair and a large nose brought in the main course: a whole roasted goose surrounded by carrots and roasted potatoes. Everyone complimented the bird as Mr. Hobbs carved the breast and put it on plates.
“Edward, don’t keep us in suspense any longer. How did you and Lady Thornton meet?” Lydia cast a sly look at Edward as she cut into her dinner.
Lord Thornton glared back at her. They shared a silent exchange as if they were speaking some wordless language only they knew.
“We met by chance at a dinner party, at a friend of Aunt Isobel’s, Mrs. Wells. I was rather taken with Catherine upon her first meeting, and then I happened to run into her again the next day while I was out for my daily walk.”
“Quite the chance meeting, indeed.” Mrs. Oakheart glanced over toward Catherine with a raised brow.
Catherine lowered her gaze to her dinner plate and pushed around the roasted potato and carrot. How could she make Lydia like her? She had her pegged as a social ladder climber, and she wasn’t entirely wrong.
“We are very fortunate Edward met someone who makes him happy. Don’t you think this is cause for celebration?” Mrs. Rosewood asked.
Lydia pressed her lips together and sniffed.
Catherine’s face and neck burned. If she had the choice, she would run away or let the floor swallow her up.
Mr. Oakheart cleared his throat. Catherine had almost forgotten he was there. He’d said hardly a word all evening. “Mrs. Rosewood is right; we are here to celebrate the happy couple. Let’s have us a toast then.” Mr. Oakheart raised a glass.
“A splendid idea, to the happy couple!” Mrs. Rosewood raised her glass as well.
Catherine curled her fingers around her own glass. Lydia pursed her lips and grasped her goblet as they toasted.
Catherine swallowed her bittersweet wine in one gulp. It lodged in her throat as she set her glass down heavily. She clutched the stem of her glass harder to stop fidgeting.
“Speaking of celebrations. It’s been too long since we’ve had a ball at Thornwood Abbey. What if we have one to celebrate Lady Thornton’s arrival?” Edward said.
Lydia perked up, her eyes bright. “That is a splendid idea! We could invite the entire neighborhood. It’s been ages since we had a ball!” She clapped her hands together.
Any ill feelings were seemingly forgotten as Lydia chattered about plans for the ball, fondly recalling her own debut ball. No one noticed Catherine as she pushed her food around her plate. A crawling feel of anxiety swept over her. The dinner party had been hard enough to manage; a ball might be ten times worse. But she pressed her lips together, not willing to voice dissent when the decision had been made already without her input.
After dinner, the ladies went to the salon, while Edward and Mr. Oakheart hung back in the dining room to smoke cigars. When Mama hosted parties, Papa and the other men would smoke cigars and talk business. Catherine assumed Edward would do much the same, though she felt vulnerable being left alone with his aunt and sister and without him there to shield her.
Lydia had taken a seat by the fire, and the way she watched Catherine as she entered the room was reminiscent of a hawk prepared to swoop down onto its prey. Catherine steeled herself, ready for a confrontation, or at least veiled accusations as to Catherine’s character. She could do this, just get through the evening. All that mattered was Edward; he held the keys to her fate. Though she would have liked for his sister to like her.
“Lady Thornton, would you be so kind as to walk about the room with me? It helps my digestion,” Mrs. Rosewood asked.
The request could not have been better timed. She linked arms with her, and they strolled around the room while Lydia watched them with a narrowed gaze. Twice tonight, Mrs. Rosewood had come to her rescue.
“Don’t mind Lydia too much. She’s not accustomed to not getting what she wants. And she and Miss Ashton have been plotting the two of them becoming sisters since they were girls.”
“I didn’t want to cause any trouble...” Catherine whispered.
Mrs. Rosewood pulled her chin up. “There is nothing to apologize for. You are the Lady Thornton and the woman our Edward chose. You should be proud of that. Lydia will come around in time, don’t worry.”
Coming here, Catherine had been so uncertain, so afraid. And while she still had her doubts, there was something about Lady Rosewood’s words that gave her comfort. Perhaps here in Thornwood Abbey, she could find a sense of normalcy and a life she thought only existed in stories. They made another pass around the room, and Catherine was feeling better. Then she lifted her head. The woman in white watched her from the corner. The red stain on her gown stark and the hole in her chest made a grotesque unblinking eye that stared into Catherine’s soul. She lifted a pale hand and pointed it at Catherine.
“You’re next.”
3
Heavy footsteps roused Ray from his dozing. Not that he needed sleep, but there wasn’t much else to do at Thornwood. His visitor huffed and grumbled under his breath. Ray kept his eyes closed. The orchard had been the perfect nap spot. On the cusp between winter and spring, the humans rarely strolled here, and until the fall harvest, the gardeners rarely came this way either apart from the winter pruning. Now he would need to find a new hiding spot. How bothersome.
“Enjoying a little nap, I see?” Mr. Rockwell growled.
Or was it Mr. Gardner? No, wait. Mr. Berry? No, no. Mr. Berry had been the head gardener decades ago. After a century trapped in Thornwood, all the head gardeners started to blend together. He cracked open an eye. Beady black eyes shaded by a hooded brow glared down at Ray. This one was Mr. Rockwell. He remembered now because the man had a barrel chest and tree trunk-sized arms like a rock troll. The intelligence of one too.
