A woman in her late forties sat on a neat but modest sofa, with a piece of work. She looked up expectantly at her visitors in the doorway, clearly unsure of their identity. At first, John thought that they had the wrong woman. This woman looked so plain and docile, her hair not the dramatic silver-blond that he had remembered, but more yellow and ordinary.
But then he noticed her eyes. That blackberry color was only a shade or two different from Catherine’s. It was her.
She rose to greet them. He realized, as he watched her do it, that she still didn’t know who they were.
Then he saw her look at Catherine. She stopped moving.
“Aunt Mary,” Catherine said, moving forward to take her hand, but the woman moved back, towards the sofa, rejecting the overture. Despite this recoil, Catherine continued, “It is so good to see you after all of this time.”
The woman looked at Catherine, not saying anything. She merely stood there and stared at her. Her expression was inscrutable. She looked almost frightened.
Up close, he was shocked to see that he could trace very little of Catherine in Mary Forster’s face. Now, the similarity between the two women appeared superficial to him: they had similar coloring, it was true—their hair and eyes created a similarly unusual contrast. Together, however, he saw that their similarities had been greatly exaggerated. Salacious gossip and his child’s mind, which had painted Mary Forster in broad strokes, had imagined the two women as identical, when the truth was much more complicated.
To start, their features were very different. Mary Forster’s face was delicate, almost too small and unremarkable for beauty, if it hadn’t been for that strange coloring, whereas Catherine had an expressive, fine brow and much more pronounced features that looked as if they had been carved by a sculptor. Mary Forster was a small woman, thin, with petite limbs, whereas Catherine was tall and voluptuous, his bountiful goddess. His stomach lurched as he realized his mistake. He had once been ready to cast off their relationship for a similarity that now appeared hardly worth noting.
“Please, Aunt Mary,” Catherine continued uncertainly, “don’t be afraid. We don’t want to cause you any trouble.”
The woman’s throat worked for a moment and then, finally, she spat out, “Afraid?”
Mary shook her head and strode across the room. He thought she might take Catherine’s hand in greeting, but instead she went to the door and beckoned her maid. John heard her tell the maid that she was not to be disturbed with any other visitors for the rest of the afternoon. Then she shut the door to the drawing room.
Mary walked back to the sofa and gestured for them to sit in the two armchairs that sat opposite. Then, she took up her piece of work and said, in a low, hard voice, “What are you doing here, Cathy?”
His fiancée looked rattled by this cold reception. Still, she sat down in one of the chairs opposite her aunt. Before Catherine could answer her question, however, she tendered another one.
“And why would you bringhiminto my house?”
“You’re married now,” Catherine said, not answering either query. “I was unaware.”
“I assume Julia told you,” Mary responded. “I shouldn’t have trusted her, but I have a terrible history of being weak-hearted where my old companions are concerned.”
With these words, she shot John a look of pure venom. He didn’t say anything. They had agreed that Catherine would do the talking until it came to the crucial point.
“Lady Trilling did tell me where to find you,” Catherine said evenly. “I have been looking for you.Wehave been looking for you.”
For the first time, he saw surprise light up the woman’s eyes. Then, quickly, another emotion clouded their peculiar color, turning them dark and angry.
“What could either of you ever want with me, Cathy? And how could it ever involvehim?” Despite the vehemence of her tone, her hands didn’t stop moving over her work.
“We were once quite close, aunt. For years, you were like a mother to me. I have missed you terribly.” John had to admire Catherine’s careful work trying to coax out another reception from this hostile woman. “I am surprised you would say that.”
“Your mother died when you were a baby,” Mary retorted. “I am not your mother.”
The cruelty behind these words made John’s hands tighten on the arms of his chair. Mary Forster didn’t have to be glad to see him, but he had no right to speak to Catherine this way.
“Mrs. Ryerson, you may speak to me as you wish, but I cannot let you speak to your niece in such a manner. She is only trying to help you.”
“Help me?How dareyouaddressme. They say your father is dead and you are now the duke. From the way you burst into my house, I can see you will continue his legacy of selfish entitlement.”
She turned to Catherine. “I am ashamed you would associate with this man.”
John was ready to lay into her, but Catherine leveled him with a gaze. He knew he had to stick to their plan. For her sake, he didn’t offer any rebuke to this woman, who seemed just as vindicative and cruel as he had always imagined.
“Lady Trilling says that your husband, Mr. Ryerson, is a good man,” Catherine said lightly.
A little smile crept onto the woman’s face. Quickly, however, she vanquished it.
“Julia was very sly to have you come when he was out. She knows that, during my usual visiting hours, he goes to market.”
