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John swore an oath and walked out of the gallery door. The footman waited for Catherine.

Catherine had no choice but to do the same. As she swept over the threshold of the gallery, she blinked rapidly in quick succession, determined to stem her tears.

Chapter Nineteen

Catherine walked intothe breakfast room and found a young lady already seated at the table.

She studied the girl. Her light brown hair was arranged prettily around her small-featured, delicate face, and her yellow dress was fresh as the morning, giving an impression of innocence and tart mischief all at once. When she saw Catherine, her warm blue eyes lit up. She was a pretty girl, Catherine thought, and would shine in society, if she got the chance.

The surprise of encountering this girl pushed her tension with John from her mind, particularly when she heard an exasperated sigh escape from the man himself.

“Henrietta,” John barked. “What are you doing downstairs? You are supposed to be resting.”

“I feel fine, John,” she said, “and I wanted to meet Miss Aster.”

“This is absolutely inexcusable. You promised me you would rest. I insist that you go back upstairs.”

“I am alreadydressed, brother. I assure you I am well enough tobreakfast.”

“You look pale,” he countered. Catherine noticed that Henrietta did look a little peaked.

“After breakfast and perhaps a wee turn about the gardens, I’ll go back to bed! I promise!”

John looked absolutely exasperated. It was clear to Catherine that he knew that Henrietta wouldn’t move.

“Fine,” he ground out, “but if you are ill again, I don’t want to hear about it.”

Their dispute seemingly over, Catherine turned towards the girl and gave a little curtsey. “My lady, I am Miss Catherine Aster. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

The girl jumped up from her seat. “Oh, none of that formality! I hardly ever have visitors or fresh blood of any kind. I can’t bear if we are anything other than friends.”

Catherine smiled in return. She felt her hurt at John’s behavior melt a bit in the face of this sunny young lady. She looked over at John and saw that he was scowling. Obviously, his sister’s amiability ran counter to his plans to control the relationship between herself and Henrietta.

“I hope you soon feel strong enough to begin your lessons.” Catherine attempted to strike a balance between encouraging her familiarity and maintaining some degree of decorum.

“Absolutely,” Henrietta replied. “I am ecstatic with excitement. I have been looking forward to my season for as long as I can remember.”

“Sit,” John said to his sister. “Now.”

“He’s so dull, isn’t he?” she said to Catherine, nevertheless obeying her brother. “He acts so proper, but he clearly needs a shave. You’re not growing another beard, are you, John? Miss Aster, he had thishideouslittle beard when he was at Oxford. He came home and Mrs. Morrison tried to attack him with a razor.”

“Enough, Henrietta,” John said. Catherine was amused to see him blushing.

“No, Miss Aster, it was absolutely repulsive. Father and Mrs. Morrison and I were horrified to see him.”

“Retta,” he said, warningly.

“Oh, come now, brother. We can surely laugh aboutthe beardnow—I mean, certainly we did at the time, as well, but no reason we cannot laugh now, too.”

“Indeed, Your Grace,” Catherine said, still hurt by their exchange in the gallery, but unable to resist Henrietta’s playful tone. “I would like to hear about it.”

John leveled Catherine with a gaze of dissatisfaction.

“What was the occasion for this beard? Was it fashionable?” she asked Henrietta.

“Never,” the girl replied. “Impossible.”

“I’ll have you know, dear sister,” John said, clearly exasperated but amused despite himself, “that it was a very fashionable beard and that all of my friends had them. The ladies found them quite fetching.”