“Enough!” she snapped. If she worked herself into a frenzy, she would never survive the evening. Picking up a reticule, fan, and shawl, she descended to the drawing room.
* * * *
“Be very careful,” Louisa expostulated one last time as their carriage approached Lady Bristol’s town house. “You must always watch your tongue, but on your first outing, the tiniest
faux pas
can ruin you. Serious conversation will not do in public – at least until your credit is well established.”
“Of course,” agreed Catherine wearily.
“And mind your manners. There will be no dancing tonight – oh dear, we must call in a dancing master. You cannot know the latest steps.”
“Too true.”
“That continental style of waltzing has even been allowed at Almack’s despite being wholly scandalous. And the quadrille is but four years old. Have you mastered the cotillion?”
“Yes. And country dances, minuets, ländlers, reels, and several others."
“Minuets are rarely performed now, and new variations on country dances appear every year. How awful that your uncle did not keep you
au courant.”
Catherine suppressed a description of the Braxton household. Even being his daughter would have made no difference. Her cousins knew fewer steps than she.
They finally arrived at the door, joining the lengthy queue to greet their hostess. Catherine’s jitters abated, allowing her natural charm to surface. The rooms were crowded, but that proved to be a blessing, for she spoke with only a few people at a time. The same tales were bandied about that she had already heard, making it easy to hold up her end in conversation.
“Gracious Heaven!” exclaimed a purple-draped dowager, rapping a fan on Catherine’s arm to assure her attention. “Did you ever see two people more perfectly suited?” She nodded to a stiff, unsmiling gentleman in an impeccable blue velvet jacket, who was ponderously addressing a haughty young lady clad in white muslin.
“They will undoubtedly make a match of it,” agreed another dowager, whose primrose gown emphasized her sallow face. “This is the third time this week he has paid her particular attention, and his grace is much too proper to raise expectations without paying his addresses.”
“Just so.” The ladies moved off and Catherine raised her brow.
“The Duke of Norwood,” explained Louisa. “After ten years of seclusion, he is considering a second wife. It would appear he has settled on Lady Emily Sterne.”
“An appropriate name,” Catherine quipped, drawing a censorious glance for her unappreciated sense of humor. She bit her tongue and turned her mind to surviving the evening.
“Congratulations, my dear,” said a middle-aged matron swathed in a heavily embroidered pomona-green gown and matching turban. “I always claimed you two were made for each other. It has been far too long since I have seen you, for your uncle accepted none of my invitations.”
“He cut most of my parents’ friends, Lady Hawthorne,” admitted Catherine. The baroness lived on the other side of Taunton, but had always been close to her family. “I know little that has happened in recent years. How is Meredith?”
Lady Hawthorne immediately launched a detailed description of her daughter’s wedding, adding tales of her two sons, their wives, and her seven grandchildren.
She had been truly cut off, reflected Catherine with a pang. The world had moved on but she had not. It would take time to catch up.
“But this is not the place for a coze,” declared Lady Hawthorne at last. “You must call and tell me what you have been up to these past years.”
“I would be delighted.”
“Ah, Lord James!” she called to a dark-haired gentleman. “Have you met Lady Devlin?”
An odd look flashed across his face, but it disappeared before Catherine could identify it. He was a handsome man with wavy black hair impeccably arranged above startling silver-gray eyes. Equally startling was his dress. Catherine was accustomed to skin-tight knee-smalls – which were still
de rigueur
for Almack’s and Court. Both Sidney and Damon favored pantaloons – the long-legged garment made popular by Brummell that was likewise tight-fitting to show off a gentleman’s muscular physique. But Lord James was wearing Cossack trousers that ballooned from his waist to be gathered into a tie at his ankle. Above these he exhibited the close-cut coat, elegant waistcoat, and intricate cravat that confirmed him as a dandy.
“Catherine, this is Lord James Hutchinson, fourth son of the Marquess of Wythe, and a most amusing gentleman. James, may I present Lady Devlin, daughter of my dear friends, the late Lord and Lady Braxton.”
“Another beauty to grace Mayfair’s drawing rooms,” he murmured, bowing elegantly and smiling with great charm. “Are you a hothouse orchid or a hardy rose? I will soon know.”
“You flatter me, my lord,” she said as Lady Hawthorne slipped away. “I am but a transplanted country daisy, likely to wilt in this odd environment.”
He laughed. “I wager not. But tell me how you caught the eye of Lord Devlin. You cannot accuse me of prying, for you must know that it is the most astonishing
on-dit
today.”
“As long as it is only for today. There is really nothing to tell. We have known each other all our lives. His estate borders my father’s and he was my brother’s closest friend.”
“Was?”
“Peter died at Vimeiro.” She quickly erased the frown that had accompanied the words. She
must
learn to control her face.
“My apologies for raising a sad topic, my lady.”
“’Tis long in the past.”
“I am glad. But you should not let Mayfair intimidate you, for you can never be a daisy. Your eyes glow like dew-touched violets against a shimmering fall of black velvet. Most unusual, and very vivid. You will have every gentleman in London at your feet.”
“How absurd you are!” she blurted before she recalled where she was and blushed. “Forgive me. That was not at all mannerly.”
“Perhaps it pressed the bounds, but only barely. It was honest, and therefore refreshing.” His amused chuckle soothed her fears. “Will you be attending the Wharburton Masquerade tomorrow?”
“I believe so.”
“You will save me a set, then. Or perhaps two.” His beguiling smile sent shivers down her spine. Sparks danced like diamonds in his silvery eyes.
“If you like.”
Louisa rejoined her, and Lord James took his leave.
“A delightful gentleman, though I suspect he is a confirmed flirt,” Catherine murmured, enchanted in part because he had laughed with her. Most gentlemen made a point of appearing bored.
“But never beyond the bounds. His attentions can only increase your credit, for he singles out only those ladies who exhibit both beauty and charm,” replied Louisa.
“We meet again, my lady,” intruded a voice.
“Colonel Caldwell.”
“Do call me Jack,” he begged. “As your husband’s closest friend, such familiarity is unexceptionable, as Mrs. Collingsworth must confirm.” He smiled at Louisa and winked. “You are a delightful feast for the eyes tonight, madame.”
“And you are a rogue,” Louisa charged, rapping his arm. “But he is right, Catherine. You need not stand on formality.”
“Very well, Jack. And since we are casting off convention – at least in part – perhaps you can answer some questions for me. Damon refuses to discuss the war, but I would like to know more of Badajoz and Waterloo.”
“This is hardly the place for such a discussion,” he protested.
Catherine felt herself flush as Louisa’s admonitions returned to mind. She started to apologize, but he must have seen her disappointment for he overrode her words.
“All right, but only briefly.” He led her toward a less crowded alcove where they could talk without being overheard.
“Thank you. I suspect Damon has not yet put the memories behind him. I cannot help him do so unless I understand what he suffered.”
“I can appreciate your concern. I might have gone around the bend if my wife had not taken me in hand after Waterloo. That is one battle I will not discuss, but Badajoz was bad enough. Damon won a field promotion for his heroics that day, though it is not a memory any of us recall with pride. The slaughter was sickening. We had to send wave after wave of decent young men toward a breach in the wall, then helplessly watch them cut to shreds. The bodies were piled ten and twenty deep in the ditch below. Damon finally managed to lead his troops over the top, but it was a bloody business.”
Catherine suppressed a grimace. “Perhaps it is better that Peter died at Vimeiro. His reason might have snapped had he survived.”
“I doubt it. There was a core of steel beneath his flights of fancy that would have seen him through. In some ways he was stronger than any of us.”
“Because he so easily forgot unpleasantness?”
“Precisely. It is a useful attribute in wartime. As was his cheeriness.”
“Thank you. I would like to meet your wife.”
“You will one day, but she is not in town this Season. We anticipate an heir in July, so she remained at home with my mother.”
“Congratulations.”
The colonel switched to
on-dits
as another officer approached. Catherine acknowledged the introductions, then excused herself. He had given her much to ponder, though this was hardly the place for it. She joined a sarcastic dissection of Brummell’s gaming habits, then moved on to a conversation about the Duchess of Woburton. It wasn’t until she sought the retiring room half an hour later that the evening began to sour. Two young ladies were already talking when she entered. Both ignored her after a glance confirmed that they had not been introduced.
“It is scandalous, of course,” agreed one. “One wonders if he is truly a gentleman. Mama is still trying to decide whether to cut him when they next meet.”
“But it cannot be his fault,” claimed the other. “Papa is certain that he was trapped. Nothing else would account for his behavior. He is one of Wellington’s heroes, after all. But who can blame him if the girl deliberately compromised him? Honor would demand marriage.”
“Was there a compromise?” asked the first breathlessly.
“There must have been,” declared her friend. “What else would force him to wed an unknown when he was already betrothed to Lady Hermione?”
Catherine caught her breath.
“While it is true that he had been living in her pocket, there yet was no betrothal, though Mama heard that a meeting had been scheduled to work out settlements. Of course, his courtship was far enough advanced that he was committed. Even a deliberate compromise would not prompt a gentleman to act the jilt under such circumstances. The most grasping harpy must agree that he was unavailable. That is why Mama is in such a coil.”
“Your Mama is right – to a point. I have it on the best authority that Lord Devlin had already spoken to the marquess. But why would you expect the girl to behave with honor? Only a compromise could have turned him from Lady Hermione, and it must have been spectacular. Papa does not believe that anything short of an interesting condition would have done the trick.”
“Unless he discovered that Lady Hermione is not the sweet miss she pretends. We all know what a cat she can be.”
“True. Devlin has had a lucky escape. But enough. Mama will expect me to return. She is determined to introduce me to Lord Wilkington – not that I can abide so debauched a man. But he is wealthy.”
The girls left, leaving Catherine in a state of paralysis.
So Damon had been betrothed to the lovely Lady Hermione. It explained the girl’s antagonism and might also explain his neglect. What it did not explain was why he had married
her
. It was a decision he had made before traveling to Cumberland, for he had carried a special license issued in her name. What had Uncle Henry done?
She returned to Louisa. The last of her enjoyment fled when Lady Hermione joined a group less than ten feet away. The girl stared at her for a moment before deliberately turning her back. Catherine’s blood ran cold at the cut, though she could hardly blame her. Damon’s jilting was already having an effect. Lady Hermione was not the center of attention she had been that morning. Few were talking to the girl, and the only gentleman by her side was Lord Millhouse, a notorious libertine who Louisa claimed must be avoided at all costs.
Five minutes later Sidney drifted by, deliberately snubbing his cousin. Eyes sparkled as they had not done after Lady Hermione’s slight. Catherine had to fight to keep her face in order as her name echoed from all sides.
“Catherine!” Lady Ingleside bustled up, her enthusiasm blunting the speculation. “I was amazed to hear of your marriage until I remembered that Devlin was your brother’s closest friend,” she said once the greetings were over. “It was a shame Peter was killed. He was always such a carefree gentleman. I still remember the last time he called on you at Miss Grimsby’s. I never laughed so hard in my life. We all miss him.”
“Yes, but at least Damon survived. Did you ever set up that school for the tenant children that you were planning?” The question neatly diverted the conversation from Peter. She had sometimes suspected that Sarah Havenworth had harbored a
tendre
for her brother.
“Yes. My husband agreed. We started with only six students and are now up to forty.”
“I envy you. It is something sorely needed on my father’s estate. He would have approved the idea – in fact, we had discussed it that last summer – but his death left everything to my uncle who has no use for innovation.”
“There was nothing you could do?”
“No, though I try. Between higher prices and lower yields, times have been quite bad for our tenants. Even the weather has conspired against them.”
“Ah, yes,” sneered Sidney, coming up behind her. “Tenants. Does Devlin know about all the time you spent with Joshua Barton last winter?”
“Damon would never mind,” countered Catherine. She would have said more, but Sidney had already faded into the crowd. Lady Hermione had also moved on, she noted in relief. She turned back to Lady Ingleside. “Poor Josh. He had a terrible time of it. He is only eight and full of energy, so you can imagine his chagrin at being tied to his bed with a broken leg. I helped look after him for two weeks. But you can see what I’ve had to contend with. Sidney mimics his father, disapproving all contact with tenants – or anyone else he considers an inferior being.”