Katherine shrugged. “Well, of course,Percyis obtuse.”
Clarissa broke into a wide grin. “Percy?”
Katherine cut her a glance. “Percival William Henry, to be exact.”
“Does he like being called Percy?”
“Absolutely not,” Katherine replied.
Clarissa bounced, glanced to Katherine, and then hastily restored her dignified pose. “I look forward to Lord Markham’s return.” She whipped open her fan. “Hearts, indeed,” she added under her breath.
Katherine assessed her new friend and then decided not to inquire about the nature of any friendship she had developed with Markham. Instead, she adjusted the train on her dress. The impression she’d had at the modiste had been correct; her dress was magnificent, and it had caused a stir.
“I look absurd,” Katherine whispered.
“On the contrary,” Clarissa replied, “you’ve received more than one matronly glare.”
“I only noticed Lady Merriweather.” Katherine winced. “I—I knew her son.”
Clarissa made a dismissive noise. “I am well aware you were betrothed to Lord Cartwright. As is everyone else present. And everyone present is equally aware that Lord and Lady Merriweather haven’t an ounce of good humor between them. No one blames you, there.”
“No one but Brummell.”
Clarissa grimaced. “Brummell makes a thousand quips a day. No one can keep them straight anymore. He’s been challenged to duels countless times, and he only accepted once.”
“What happened?” Katherine asked.
“The other man never showed.” Clarissa resumed fluttering her fan. “No, my dear, the matrons are glaring at you because you look splendid, and you are making them mad with envy.”
Katherine arched a brow. She couldn’t imagine anyone being envious of her position—a bride without a husband.
Clarissa glanced over Katherine’s shoulder and snapped her fan closed. “Speaking of the devil…”
“Bromton?” Katherine asked.
“No, Brummell,” Clarissa replied. “Turn slowly, dear. And hold up your chin.”
Katherine had prepared to see him once again, practicing at least ten different responses, ranging from cold appraisal, to gracious condescension. None of them seemed adequate to the moment.
Brummell was older, of course. The years had served only to increase his allure. He was, quite simply, breathtaking. Although how he had managed to be still while his valet had arranged the frothing beneath his chin, Katherine had no idea. The tie in his cravat was frighteningly complex.
Lady Darlington tilted her head toward her, and his gaze moved slowly across the room until his eyes rested on Katherine. He turned back to Lady Darlington, touched his fingers to his heart, and said something that made her laugh. Then, he kissed the lady’s fingers, swiveled on his heel, and strode purposefully in Katherine’s direction.
“What should I do?” Katherine whispered.
“Whatever you wish to do,” Clarissa answered. “Only whatever you do, do with conviction.”
To cut him would only serve to remind others of her past. But to offer him her hand? Would that not be accepting what he did?
“What would the Marchioness of Bromton do?” Clarissa asked.
Katherine heard Bromton’s voice as if he stood by her side.The valet’s son will one day get his due.
She decided to be gracious, willfully stepping aside, allowing Brummell to make his own bed. Besides, there was only one man whose opinion mattered, even if he was, as Clarissa said, disappointingly obtuse.
“Lady Clarissa,” Brummell greeted.
“Mr. Brummell,” Clarissa replied. “Lady Bromton, would you permit me to introduce Mr. Brummell?”
