The warm, pleasant feeling in Rosalie’s chest disappears in an instant. More men? She’s finally dispatched of Mr.Dean and they’re going to findmore?
“And we really ought to find someone better for poor MissPine,” Aunt Genevieve adds. “That could be your penance for what you put Mrs.Pine through.”
Mother scoffs. “She’d never allow it. That girl will be the next viscountess. Eleanor always got what she wanted.”
“Except when you got what you wanted. Can’t we put your stubborn heads together, find these girls something better?”
Mother’s laughing, but there’s something in Aunt Genevieve’s gaze. It’s the same little spark she had at the painting tea, when she captured Rosalie and Catherine staring at each other.
“The Hamlen brothers aren’t bad to look at,” Mother says.
“Oh, goodness, yes, the tall one in particular,” Aunt Genevieve agrees, looking back at Mother.
“Well, he’ll have to be for Rosalie, then.”
“Why must you try to pair the poor thing up with the tallest men? She’ll have a permanent neck condition,” Aunt Genevieve chides.
Rosalie forces a smile, her stomach clenching with unease. She’s gotten Mother to give up on Mr.Dean, which is no small feat. But Mother could have leagues of other men to suggest. Rosalie could be going on courting outings for the rest of her life.
And Catherine will be left either to marry Mr.Dean, or else go on to court yet more men herself.
How long can they knock down suitors? Long enough for their families to give up? Long enough for her and Catherine to figure out a way to convince both their mothers into letting them be spinsters?
They need more time.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Catherine
Catherine bounces on her toes, twisting her hands together as she waits on Amalie’s back stoop. Her gray pelisse is getting damp in the light mist, and MissTeit looks rather miserable waiting behind her in the cramped alley. But she has to try.
Amalie’s sly, knowing look from the baths has stuck with her all week as she’s followed Mother to event after event, all suspiciously without the Tisends in attendance. She only managed to glimpse Henrietta once in Sydney Gardens. It’s like Mother’s found a whole other social circle. One that only includes Mr.Dean.
A very tired kitchen maid opens the back door and peers out at her.
“Good morning, is MissLinet available?” Catherine asks brightly. “MissPine calling for a walk,” she adds when the short woman just keeps staring at her.
Catherine extends her calling card and the woman takes it, her face entirely blank, before slamming the door in Catherine’s face.
In fairness, it is obscenely early. Mother’s still asleep; otherwise, Catherine’s sure she’d be on her way to a crack-of-dawn knitting circle or something equally ridiculous.
But she just has to know. Has to try. It’s been days since she and Rosalie exchanged letters. She’s going through withdrawal.
Worse, they’re dangerously running out of time.
Amalie opens the door with a frown. She’s still in a morning robe over her dress, hair lightly mussed. “It’s not even nine yet.”
“Want to take a walk in Sydney Gardens?” Catherine asks, eyes big, smile imploring. “On this... gorgeous day?”
Amalie squints at her, then looks up at the gloomy, gray sky. “This better be good,” she says, shutting the door on her again.
Catherine rocks on her heels, sucking on her cheek. She hopes it is. Hopes she hasn’t been reading absolutely everything wrong. Hopes Amalie has come to trust her. Like her. Count her as a true enough ally to bare a soul to.
“Not a lot of morning people in your world,” MissTeit observes after a quiet minute.
Catherine laughs, surprised, and glances over her shoulder to find MissTeit grinning back at her beneath her short brown bonnet. “I owe you,” Catherine says.
“You really do,” MissTeit agrees. But the door opens before MissTeit can name her price.
