“Not at all,” Catherine says, hoping she sounds demure instead of desperate.
She slides her arm out from Mr.Dean’s, forcing herself not to knead at the sore crook of her elbow. Christopher gestures across the room. Mr.Dean nods to Catherine and follows Christopher’s lead. Which leaves Catherine, Amalie, and Henrietta standing alone in the cluster of men.
Go, Henrietta mouths at them. “Yes, I think my father’s planning to stock the lake,” she adds, louder, for Mr.Rile.
“Come on,” Amalie whispers, taking Catherine’s hand.
And then they’re walking the perimeter of the room while Amalie sips her drink, trying not to look like they’re searching out Catherine’s mother. Catherine notices Rosalie in the far back corner, trapped with her mother and the gossiping Mrs.Plory.
Rosalie catches her eye, giving her a disheartened shrug. Catherine frowns back, but she can’t focus on Rosalie’s side of the equation, not when the band is striking up in the hallway. If they don’t find her mother before Mr.Dean hears the band, she’ll find herself seated for tea service and they’ll be ruined.
“There,” Amalie says urgently, tipping her glass toward where Mother’s standing by the doors again.
“Thank Christ,” Catherine says, heading across the room, Amalie’s hand still clutched in hers.
Now she just needs to work into a good panic and draw Mother back into the cloakroom. Shouldn’t be hard; she’s been halfway into panic since before they arrived.
“Incoming,” Amalie hisses.
Catherine glances to the left and sees Mr.Dean heading for them, slipping something out of his pocket. Oh, God, it’s a box. A small box.
“That’s a ring box,” Amalie whispers.
Catherine keeps moving—what else can she do?—dragging Amalie up to her mother.
“Darling, turn around and smile,” Mother says, her eyes alight. “This could be your moment.”
Catherine looks to Amalie, horrified. They turn together to see Mr.Dean not ten feet away. Across the room, she can see Rosalie watching, her eyes wide, mouth open in distress.
Did their fathers already talk? Does she turn him down, right here, right now, in front of all of these people? Oh God. She might be sick.
“I’m sorry,” Amalie whispers.
Catherine glances at her, opening her mouth to say she is too, before Amalie stumbles. And throws her glass of wine down the front of Catherine’s dress.
They stare at each other for a silent moment. Amalie raises an eyebrow. Mr.Dean is still coming toward her. There’s wine all over the front of her beautiful dress. There’s...
Oh.
She lets out a piercing shriek and starts slapping at her dress. “Oh my goodness!” she wails.
Amalie holds her hands up, eyes wide in faux horror.Go bigger.
“Why would youdothat?” Catherine shouts. “Look at what you’ve done to my dress!”
“I’m so sorry, so very sorry,” Amalie says loudly, soundingproperly devastated. “I’ll replace it. Mrs. Pine, I am soooo sorry,” she adds as Mother steps forward, taking Catherine’s shoulders.
“It’sruined,” Catherine whines loudly. She screws up her face, sniffling. She’s not sure she can quite work up real tears, but she can look the part. “Mother, looook.”
“I see, darling,” Mother says tightly, squeezing her shoulder hard. “It will wash out.”
“No it won’t!” Catherine cries. “It’s ruined. Ruined!”
Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Mr.Dean stop in his tracks, staring at her, before turning on his heel and stalking away, slipping whatever it was back into his pocket.
Score one for female hysterics.
“I’m so embarrassed,” Catherine continues, covering her face with her hands.
