“Why?” Berronburg asked, his own gaze fixated on the countess, just as Robert’s was.
“Because the lady is mine. I guarantee it,” Robert said with a grin.
Katherine could hardly breathe as she and her aunt stepped away from their hostess. The hostess who had almost sneered at her the moment the crowd turned. And here Katherine had been friends with Lady Vinesmith since they were girls, when Francine had been far less exalted than she was now. And yetshesneered.
But then, so did the rest of the room, so there it was. Her ruin, begun years ago by a foolish mistake—twofoolish mistakes—was now complete. Her life was over.
“You’re doing fine.”
She jolted, for she’d all but forgotten the presence of her aunt. She reached back and found Aunt Bethany’s hand, and squeezed for comfort. That was one of the few things she could praise had come from her marriage. Once free of her father’s influence, she had been able to reconnect with her mother’s family. She and Bethany had become close, and now she could scarce recall not having her aunt in her life.
“I don’t feel fine,” she whispered as they took their place along the wall. “They are whispering and staring, andthatwas the cut direct, right there.”
“Be strong,” her aunt assured her.
Katherine would have laughed if she didn’t want to cry. “I do not feel strong.”
“Then pretend,” Bethany said softly, gently.
Now Katherine did dip her head and laugh a little, though she felt no humor in the circumstances. Pretend. Yes, she was good at that. Her whole life was a farce, after all. A play.Pretendto be satisfied as a countess.Pretendto mourn his death.Pretendto be unmoved as they looked at her, sniffed at her.
She pushed the thoughts away and lifted her chin. Pride. She had to have some pride or they would tread all over her and there would be nothing left.
She scanned the crowd. There were a few of her old friends here and there. Ladies who had not come to call since her husband’s death, but still. They had been close once. She stepped forward, and there was a tiny hiss from one corner of the room that sent her back to the wall in one long step.
Her aunt’s hand tightened on her arm, a motion of solidarity, but not one that would fix this untenable situation she found herself in. She was about to suggest they run together, run away from this horrible night, when a lady stepped from the crowd toward her. She did not know the woman, though she certainly knew of her. It was the Duchess of Northfield, one of the most powerful women in Society.
She was very pretty, with honey hair spun up elaborately on the crown of her head and bright, friendly eyes. Katherine knew that meant nothing. Vipers often disguised themselves as sweet little bunnies. She stiffened her spine, waiting for whatever attack was to come.
“Mrs. Sambrook,” the duchess said, extending an elegant hand. “How lovely to see you.”
Some of Katherine’s starch softened as she watched her aunt’s face light up. Bethany was a good judge of character, and it was clear she liked this woman.
“Your Grace,” Aunt Bethany said. “You look beautiful, as always.”
“Adelaide,” the duchess said with a laugh. “There are too many duchesses in my circle to have such formality with friends.”
“Have you met my companion?” Aunt Bethany said, turning the focus toward Katherine.
“I think, perhaps, long ago,” Adelaide said. “Before I married Northfield.”
“Katherine, the Countess of Gainsworth,” Aunt Bethany said. “Her Grace, the Duchess of Northfield.”
“Adelaide,” the duchess said again, and extended the same hand she had with Bethany.
Katherine couldn’t help but hesitate still, and yet the duchess took her hand without reluctance. Her blue eyes were bright, unclouded by ulterior motives, at least none she showed outwardly.
“I was hoping you two would come join our group,” she said, motioning over to the small circle of women beside the dancefloor.
Katherine caught her breath. These were the famous Duchesses of the 1797 Club. Wives of the dukes who were one particular man’s friends. A man she did not want to see or interact with.
But she was given no chance to refuse, for her aunt nodded enthusiastically and practically dragged Katherine across the room, with all its eyes focused on her, to the ladies who stood there.
“The Duchesses of Tyndale, Abernathe and Willowby,” Adelaide said, motioning to the ladies. “Isabel, Emma and Diana. There are a few others floating about, but they all seem to be dancing with their husbands at present.”
Katherine nodded, though she had no intention of calling any of these ladies by their given names. She had enough impropriety haunting her. There was no need to create more scandal.
They began to talk, just about silly things, conversation that was of no import. To her surprise, Katherine felt at ease with the ladies. And when she looked around the crowd, she no longer felt the heavy, accusatory gaze of others on her. She glanced back and found the Duchess of Northfield smiling at her.
