You’ll find her there marked by a feather.
Scandal etched in sharp relief
To hide its gains just like a thief,
And when you lift the lady’s skirt
You’ll find far more than just a flirt.
With deepest affection,
Grandfather
CHAPTER3
A CARRIAGE, IN TRANSIT FROM ELKINGTON HALL TO ELKINGTON HOUSE IN LONDON
The Duchess of Elkington stared at each of her three children in turn, her gaze traveling from eldest to youngest. One or more of them knew more than they were telling, and she would not hesitate to pry the facts out of her children if she had to.
“Would anyone care to explain to me why Lord D’Asti did not propose to Catherine last night as I expected him to?”
Catherine squirmed beside her and looked pointedly out the window.
“I’ve told you many times, mother, that as pleasant as Lord D’Asti is, I have absolutely no interest in marrying him, despite your wishes to the contrary.”
The Duchess narrowed her eyes at her daughter.
“I suspected that you were artfully avoiding my attempts to get the two of you in the same room at the same time last night. Then there was that nasty business with Lady Camilla mocking poor Miss Wingfield. Still, I would like to know what, exactly, you believe to be wrong with Lord D’Asti?”
“He’s boring, for a start.”
“The majority of the ton would disagree with you, and there are far worse things a husband can be than boring, dearest. He would be kind and honourable, which is more than could be said of many who would seek your hand in marriage.”
“I would not allow any dishonourable or unkind man to pursue Catherine, Mother, I promise.”
“Nor any man born to Lady Bitterwood, either. No son of hers is good enough for my daughter.”
“I will make no such promise, Mother. You know very well that I was at Eton with the Earl of Bitterwood’s eldest son, the Viscount of Eglinton, and he was nothing if not a good and amiable fellow. I know and respect that you have a long-standing feud with Lady Bitterwood — and rightfully so — but it is truly unfair to extend the feud to judge her sons for the sins of their mother.”
The Duchess clicked her tongue disapprovingly and regarded Raphe with a sceptical glare.
“That they are Lady Bitterwood’s children does very little to recommend them, and I would never consent to give them my blessing if one of them sought to marry Catherine, and I would never forgive you if you gave them yours, either.”
Catherine cleared her throat loudly.
“Can we bring this discussion back to the subject at hand? I do not wish to marry a man with whom I share no interests, mother. I tried to converse with Lord D’Asti the last time you insisted that we dance together, and all he did was drone on about this artist whose work he’s obsessed with, because the man painted some lovely portraits of his mother when she was still living. I was very nearly bored to tears.”
“You are impossible, Catherine.” The Duchess pressed her fingers against her temples, as if her daughter was giving her a terrible headache. “Lord D’Asti is a good match for you, and I quite like him.”
Catherine crossed her arms, looking just as she had when she was a petulant child, which was not so long ago.
“Shouldn’t the point be whether I quite like him or not, as I am the one who will have to marry him, bear his children, and spend the rest of my life locked into holy matrimony with him?”
“Why do you insist on being purposely difficult, Catherine? Marriage is about more than whether or not you’re capable of tolerating your spouse, you know.”
“What could possibly be more important than the ability to tolerate your spouse’s company, mother?”
Catherine’s voice was shrill and incredulous.
