“Father’s won many of our local tournaments,” Mr.Dean says. “As a young man, he once brought down a twelve-stone buck.”
“How impressive,” Catherine says, working very hard not to frown at Mr.Dean. She can’t spend the rest of her life with this man, she just can’t.
“I’d hoped as well, MissPine, that you might accompany your father to our estate if we arrange a hunting trip. Lady Rosalie mentioned often how fond you are of your gothic novels. I think you’d enjoy the Dean manor.”
Catherine blinks, startled. “I do love gothic novels. Is it very gothic in design?”
“Exceedingly. Many dark corners and turrets and creepy old attics to explore.”
She is absurdly pleased to think maybe Rosalie had been thinking about her just as long as Catherine was obsessed with Rosalie before they owned up to it.
Mother squeezes her elbow and Catherine looks up to find Mr.Dean smiling at her, looking eager. She must look too happy, thinking about Rosalie. She schools her face, giving him a much-smaller smile.
“I know the Dean library is said to be expansive. I’m sure my daughter would enjoy an afternoon lost amongst its shelves,” Mother says.
Discomfort twists through her at Mr.Dean’s enthusiastic smile.
“Of course. The library looks out on the grounds where we often set up archery. She might enjoy looking out the window every few pages to see us shoot.”
She very much would not. Unless it was Rosalie shooting an arrow. Oh, how she’d love to seethat.
“I’m sure she would. Wouldn’t you, darling?” Mother asks.
“I do remember your face,” Lord Dean cuts in, suddenly animated. They all turn to look at him, startled. “There were rumors you and that naval fellow—the baron’s son—were involved, and then you were caught with him in the bushes and he made a tactical retreat to save his own skin. The Pine boy took pity on you and secreted you away. Never saw your parents again after that, heard they moved away.”
His voice booms around the room, stopping all conversationin its tracks. Every head in the room turns their way, gaping. A horrible, visceral silence hangs around them.
Mother goes stiff beside her, maybe not even breathing. Catherine glances at Mr.Dean, who’s staring wide-eyed at his father.
“We—” Catherine starts. “Um, we must—”
“Go,” Mr.Dean manages. “My father and I, that is. We must leave for an appointment. A pleasure to see you, and we so look forward to the tea next week. Good day, Mrs.Pine, MissPine,” he says, his voice high.
Catherine dips into a curtsy, pulling Mother with her. Lord Dean looks quizzically at his son but doesn’t fight him. Mr.Dean beats a hasty retreat from the room, frog-marching his father out.
Catherine and Mother stand for a moment, fully exposed, the whole Pump Room staring at them without any effort to pretend otherwise. Mother’s pale as a ghost and Catherine isn’t feeling much better.
Slowly, and without looking like they’re trying to flee the room, Catherine gently guides Mother toward the doors.
Lord Dean being too scandalized by her mother’s past to allow his son to propose could be the solution to everything. This could provide exactly the out she and Rosalie have been looking for.
Trying not to smile, Catherine leads Mother out of the Pump Room and around the corner, hiding them in a small alcove until she can be sure Mr.Dean and his father will be gone from the street. She can see the anguish on her mother’s face, and her hope curdles in her chest. It’s one thing to be the source of her unhappiness. It’s another entirely to stand there simply watching the carriage crash happen with no way to help.
“Everything’s fine,” Catherine hears herself say.
Mother shakes her head, her eyes starting to drip, lips trembling. “It’s not.”
Catherine takes her shaking hands. “It is,” she insists. “You’ve made so many friends this season. Impressed everyone. Who cares what some bumbling old man thinks he remembers.”
“He remembers it exactly,” Mother whispers.
“So what?” Catherine says, trying to keep her voice light. “It was twenty-five years ago. You’re respectably married now.”
“Clearly I can’t outrun the idea of being ravished in the bushes.”
Catherine squeezes her hands reflexively. “I thought the rumor was only that you kissed.”
Mother raises a shoulder. “Rumors always keep growing. By the time your father and I were leaving after our ignominious marriage, I heard that I’d been caught doing... well, something no lady should ever do.”
