Catherine had rolled her eyes at him and crossed her arms.
“I am Lady Catherine Stewart. And you are?”
Edward had sucked in a gasp and taken a step back, as if she might be dangerous, like a venomous snake.
“I am Lord Edward Melthorn, third son of Lord and Lady Bitterwood, and the reason we have not been introduced is that our mothers are sworn enemies. They would both surely die of shock and horror if they found the two of us, of all people, alone in the orangery together. Not only would it cause a scandal at large, it might very well cause our mothers to finally duel to the death on the spot.”
Catherine had barked out a laugh, full and throaty, and Edward had pressed his hand over her mouth to silence her. It had been a heady, dizzying moment of closeness, charged with electricity.
“As pleasant as the sound of your laughter is, I do not think it best that we be found alone together in the orangery, Lady Catherine. I do not approve of the long-standing feud between our mothers, but neither do I wish to cause either of them the sort of distress that the scandal of us being found together like this, without us ever having been introduced, would surely cause. So, I must suggest that I slip out and take up a post somewhere between here and the ballroom where I can watch out for your safety. After a minute or two, you should slip out, as well, and make your way back to the safety of the ballroom as quickly as possible. Do you agree?”
He had not removed his hand from over her mouth until Catherine had nodded her assent, and Edward had then slipped from the room, leaving her with a racing heart and a smile on her lips.
At every event thereafter, there had been stolen glances and whispered greetings as they passed one another, but only when they could be absolutely certain no one else could see or hear. No one wanted a scandal, of course.
Catherine rolled onto her back and stared up at the canopy over her four-poster bed, tears streaming from her eyes unchecked. Why did their families have to be enemies? Why did her mother have to have such an intractable, foul temper? It wasn’t fair.
And why did Miss Wingfield have to be so nice? Edward had obviously enjoyed her company at the Ball last night. They had talked and laughed, conversing easily and parting as friends, if not more. On her way out, Catherine had even heard Lady Rosebury tell Lord Rosebury that she had overheard Lord Edward Melthorn express an interest in seeing Miss Wingfield again when the Season resumed, which surely meant that he intended to court her.
Catherine pressed her pillow over her face and sobbed unreservedly into the soft, feather stuffed fabric. It was all so bitterly unfair. She’d avoided a betrothal to Lord D’Asti, but now she might have lost Edward before she’d ever even had the chance to fight for him against her mother’s prejudices.
A soft knock sounded at the door and Catherine’s lady’s maid, Maggie, entered, clearing her throat softly.
“It is almost time to return to Elkington Hall, Lady Catherine. I left you undisturbed for as long as I was able to, but I must get you dressed and ready to travel, now.”
Catherine pulled the pillow off her face and looked over at Maggie, not bothering to hide her abject misery.
“Good heavens, Lady Catherine! Whatever is the matter?”
“Mother has been utterly and completely unreasonable for the past month, and I do not wish to return to the country.”
“I understand, Lady Catherine, but you know that she and your brothers cannot, and will not, allow you to remain in London.”
Catherine groaned and sat up, acquiescing to Maggie’s demands, allowing the maid to dress her and prepare her for the carriage journey ahead, though she dreaded every moment of the coming summer, and she expected to hate every moment of her time at Elkington Hall, wondering whether she was losing Edward to Miss Wingfield or someone else while she was trapped in the country.
She made her way down to the carriage, not bothering to hide her displeasure. Raphe looked stone-faced and tired, and Gabriel was pale and wan with his bandaged head. Catherine suppressed a shudder, shaking her head and sighing.
What a ghastly sight we all make. Why couldn’t Edward and I be born to mothers who could be reasonable, or at least take their children’s wants and needs into account and put that before their own desire to hold grudges and carry out petty vendettas?
“Shall we go, then?” The Duchess asked her children with a forced, over-bright smile as she turned, and the footman helped her up into the carriage.
“Since we haven’t any choice, I suppose we shall,” Catherine’s mutinous mutter went unheard by all except Gabriel, who offered her a wobbly half-smile, but it must have pained him because he winced and pressed his hand to his head.
Catherine reached over and patted his arm gently.
“Are you going to be all right, Gabriel?”
“Right as rain in no time, I’m sure.”
All three of the Stewart children had now joined their mother in the carriage and Catherine stared out the window at their London townhouse with a forlorn sigh.
What am I to do? I will not see my dear, beloved Edward for months, and I cannot bear the thought of him marrying someone else, and certainly not Miss Wingfield, no matter how much I like her.
* * *
THISTLEWAYTE HOUSE, LONDON
Eliza sat beside Lady Matilda Calthorpe, both of them staring down at the riddle Matilda’s grandfather had left for her, reading it over again.
