“We should make our way over,” the oldest woman says.
The group scoffs and Rosalie hides a laugh. Getting four matrons around the dance floor could take the rest of the evening.
Rosalie battles her way back toward Amalie and Henrietta’s alcove. She glances at the Pines as she gratefully slips back into her spot, most of her drink already gone. Mrs.Pine is laughing at something Mr.Finch has said. Mr.Jenkins is still speaking with MissPine, but she’s clearly not listening. Instead, MissPine is watching the dancers, like she’s studying the steps.
And then her eyes flick upward and find Rosalie’s. They stare at each other for a moment. Miss Pine glances at the dancers,and Rosalie can see her spot Henrietta and Mr. Rile. She looks back at Rosalie, those large brown eyes narrowed, and then she turns to Mr. Jenkins, like nothing at all has happened.
This one might really be more than just a pretty face. Rosalie’s going to have to keep a close eye on her. Make sure she doesn’t cause her friends any problems.
And if she should keep shooting Rosalie those frustrated, heated looks, well, that will just be a side benefit, won’t it?
Chapter Two
Catherine
Catherine isn’t surprised to find she’d rather be home reading the final chapters ofThe Mysteries of Udolpho,but she’d been hoping the ball would be more interesting. She’s been talking to Mr.Jenkins for a solid fifteen minutes. She likes his gray waistcoat, and supposes that his flop of dark blond hair is becoming. His voice isn’t as grating as Mr.Helm’s was, at any rate. But he’s hardly keeping her attention.
Dear Cousin Louis has been dutifully bringing eligible young men into their circle for the last hour. Mother’s hovering at her elbow, interjecting every so often to gently interrogate the gentlemen. The gold ribbons on the lace overlay of Mother’s white muslin gown accent her light brown hair, and her warm brown eyes suit the colors wonderfully. She looks exquisite and heads have been turning throughout the room to look at them all night.
For all of Mother’s anxiety about this evening, their first dress ball at the Upper Rooms seems to be going decently well. Except that, somehow, just before each gentleman is about to ask Catherine to dance, they’re abruptly pulled away.
She can even see it coming this time, Mr.Rile approaching behind Mr.Jenkins, hand outstretched to tap him on the shoulder. Mr.Rile, of course, has some urgent business they need to discuss, and whisks Mr.Jenkins swiftly away, the two of them lost in a sea of tailcoats and white muslin.
Mother sighs gustily and Cousin Louis forces a smile, wiping at his shining forehead. “I’ll find some others, don’t you fret, Mrs. Pine,” he says, squeezing Mother’s arm before scurrying away.
Catherine withholds her own sigh and steps closer to Mother, offering her the final sip of her champagne. The thought of crossing the room to get more is abhorrent, but it might be better than losing yet another dance whenever Cousin Louis returns with his newest victim.
This is supposed to be Catherine’s entrance to society. She’s supposed to be impressing all the gentlemen, lining up outings, generally making herself as desirable as possible. Which... is all kinds of horrible in its own right, but at least she had a plan coming into tonight. Perhaps if Father had been feeling well enough to attend with them...
“I simply don’t understand,” Mother mutters.
Catherine stays quiet, watching Mr.Rile bring Mr.Jenkins around the floor to be handed off to the tall, auburn-haired young lady in the green dress who’s been receiving half of Catherine’s prospective dances for the last hour. The other half have gone to the full-figured young woman in yellow with the pretty brown hair studded with little yellow daisies.
None of her dances have gone to the mysterious petite woman loitering in the alcove behind them, but Catherine knows she’s to blame. Her shiny dark brown hair, small upturned nose, and sharp cheekbones, coupled with her gorgeous light pink dress, should give her an angelic presence. But Catherine’s seen her whispering in the ear of each man who’s come to steal Catherine’s suitors. The devil on their shoulders, so to speak.
The woman happens to look up as Catherine glances at her, and Catherine feels her breath stall in her chest. She’s neverseen eyes like that before—gray blue, penetrating and extremely intense, even from this distance.
Catherine wants to stalk across the floor and ask what the hell her problem is. At the same time, she’d like to just keep looking into those icy gray eyes. Which is thoroughly confusing and infuriating.
The woman looks away, leaving Catherine alone with her excited stomach. Catherine does sigh then and Mother nudges her arm.
“It’s that girl,” Catherine whispers.
“Who?” Mother asks.
Catherine tips her empty champagne glass toward the woman in the alcove. “She’s been stealing my dances.”
Mother follows her gesture and goes perfectly still beside her. Catherine glances at her and finds her face pale, back ramrod straight.
“Mother?”
Her head whips around, neck craning this way and that until she stiffens again. Catherine follows her look. That’s— No, it’s not the same woman. But they’re very close. Wearing a cream gown with little pink flowers, the woman standing by the refreshment table across the room looks almost like an exact replica of the girl in the alcove, just twenty-five years older. Mother and daughter, and no surprise, the mother is surrounded by a throng of friends too.
“Do you know her?” Catherine wonders. Maybe Mother can introduce her to the daughter so Catherine can get to the bottom of her meddling.
“That woman ruined my entire life twenty-five years ago,” Mother hisses.
Catherine’s jaw drops. “Beg pardon?”
