She settles them both on the padded pink benches across from the dais where MissLinet will model her gown. Her fingers leave Catherine’s slowly, and Catherine looks down to meet her eyes.
“Mr.Sholle is a wonderful match. He’s charming, monied, in line for a title, and good enough to look at.”
“That doesn’t answer my question,” Catherine presses.
“My father—”
“Could likely get on with anyone, and given Mr. Sholle was atyour concert, I’m assuming they’re aligned politically,” Catherine says. Lady Rosalie purses her lips. “You’re pushing him on me; I at least deserve to know why he wasn’t good enough foryou.”
Lady Rosalie takes a breath and glances at the fitting room curtain. “We didn’t agree on books, music, or art. And Mama thought I could do better.”
Catherine considers the slightly haughty look on Lady Rosalie’s face. Considers how hard she wants to prod her, how many cards to show.
“What makes you think he and I will agree on anything, then?” Catherine asks.
Lady Rosalie opens her mouth, but MissLinet and MissRaught bustle out of the fitting room.
Catherine and Lady Rosalie turn, eyes ripping slowly from each other, to watch MissLinet step onto the dais in a mustard-yellow dress overlaid with brown floral lace.
It’s hideous. Catherine didn’t think Madame Florent could make anything hideous.
“Mama insisted on the colors,” MissLinet says balefully, turning to face them.
Madame Florent slips out of the fitting room and looks MissLinet over in the light coming in from the back windows. Her round face is drawn, considering the dress, hands on her ample hips. “The craftsmanship is some of my best, but I don’t know, dears, what do we think?”
MissRaught has a hand pressed to her mouth to keep from laughing. Catherine glances at Lady Rosalie, who looks back at her, equally horrified.
Miss Linet’s green eyes are round and wet. Even her auburn curls look like they’re sagging.
“No,” they say together.
MissLinet nods and looks to Madame Florent. “I’m so sorry, madame, but I just—I just—”
“Maybe with some green?” Catherine suggests quickly. Everything about the dress is gorgeous, save for the colors. It must be salvageable.
“And dusty orange flowers?” Lady Rosalie agrees quickly.
“And green gloves to match,” MissRaught puts in.
Madame Florent’s concern melts into a smile. “I think that would help immensely,” she agrees. “MissLinet?”
“Please, oh, lord, please,” she says, her voice choked.
Madame Florent takes her hand, disappearing back into the changing room with her. MissRaught follows them, mouthingOh my Godbefore slipping behind the curtain.
Which leaves Catherine and Lady Rosalie sitting alone again, aghast. The moment their eyes meet, they burst into quiet laughter. Catherine tries to calm herself down. She doesn’t want to embarrass MissLinet, but good lord, that dress was terrible.
After a minute, they slowly stop giggling.
Catherine meets Lady Rosalie’s eyes, deciding to push, just a little more. “It seems we have much in common in terms of taste.”
Lady Rosalie’s eyes narrow. “I suppose so. Does that mean, then, that you plan to pursue my tastes?”
Catherine blinks. Does she plan to—
“In gentlemen suitors,” Lady Rosalie continues quickly, her cheeks lightly pink.
Her words ignite something in Catherine’s chest—their tête-à-tête catching fire against her skin, tingling and bright. “What would you do if I did?” Catherine asks, her voice rougher than she means it to be.
