“Your work is stupendous.”
Catherine’s whole body goes warm. “Thank you. Yours is too.”
Lady Rosalie’s lips quirk upward. “Thank you.”
Catherine opens her mouth to say more, but Mr.Dean, Mr.Sholle, and the rest of the gentlemen are heading toward them. MissRaught and MissLinet stand up straighter, smiling for their suitors coming behind Mr.Dean.
“I thought the way you captured Mr. Sholle’s likeness rather striking. You made his playfulness really come to life. It’s very charming,” Lady Rosalie says loudly, almost straight toward theapproaching Mr. Sholle, whose admittedly handsome face splits in a delighted grin.
Lady Rosalie turns and smirks at Catherine before grabbing Mr.Dean’s arm, swinging him away from their group to go look at Lady Rosalie’s portrait. That sneaky, devious—
“I caught your eye?” Mr.Sholle asks Catherine, looking so absurdly pleased.
“You were the star of the show, I can’t lie,” Catherine replies without thinking. His grin doubles in size and she feels her chest clench. She’s not sure she wants to please him. “However, I do think MissLinet captured you best, though MissRaught really got your twinkling eyes. You clearly caught their attention more than anyone else.”
MissRaught and MissLinet turn to look at her, their eyes wide, while Mr.Rile’s and Mr.Fortes’ smiles simultaneously dim.
Oh, oh no. She didn’t mean—she was just trying to get out from under Lady Rosalie’s—
“You did a splendid job,” Lady Jones proclaims, taking Catherine’s arm. “Excuse us for a moment,” she adds to Mr.Sholle, pulling Catherine away from the mess she’s just made.
Catherine glances over her shoulder while Lady Jones drags her toward her canvas, watching as MissLinet and MissRaught hurry to assuage their suitors’ hurt feelings. Mr.Sholle just stands there, staring moonily after Catherine.
“It’s absolutely perfect,” Mother says as Catherine and Lady Jones stop in front of Catherine’s painting. “He looks wonderful.”
“All of them do,” Lady Jones says, squeezing Catherine’s arm.
Catherine gives them both a weak smile.
“I think this puts to shame the competition both of us were a part of, Lady Jones,” Mother says.
“Who won that one?” Lady Jones asks.
“That horrid girl. Miss... Lysa?” Mother asks.
“I don’t remember—oh, do you mean MissLystra?”
“Yes!” Mother says.
“Shewashorrid, wasn’t she?” Lady Jones says.
“Truly terrible. Do you remember when she insisted on that awful game of charades? Lady Tisend nearly took an eye out...”
Catherine really should be listening. It’s the first time Mother has spoken about the past with anything other than anger or terror. And to Lady Tisend’s sister-in-law of all people.
But Catherine can’t pull her eyes away from Mr.Dean and Lady Rosalie as they wander closer and closer to Catherine’s easel. Unlike previous outings, Mr.Dean is prattling on today, presumably commenting on each woman’s painting skills, while Lady Rosalie nods and smiles at all the right places. It looks like a well-rehearsed activity—him talking, her listening.
Which seems absurd, because she always has such things to say.
Like her well-timed comment about Mr. Sholle. Did she mean to get Catherine to insult her friends’ suitors? Would she actually root to hurt her friends to get one up on Catherine?
Then again, look what her mother did to Catherine’s all those years ago. It might run in her blood.
“MissPine,” Mr.Dean says, slowly dropping Lady Rosalie’s arm to step in front of Catherine’s painting. “Look at the detail you achieved in only two hours. It’s exquisite, isn’t it, Lady Rosalie? She’s captured each and every likeness.”
“And so she has,” Lady Rosalie says through gritted teeth.
Catherine watches her stare darkly at Mr.Dean, until he turns her way. Her face clears instantly, replaced by a complacent smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
