Chapter 18

"Isay, this is good sport," Oliver remarked, gazing around the gardens, taking in the marquee and guests mingling on the lawn. He turned to Catherine, his eyes shining. "Will you play a game of croquet with me? It will be like old times."

Catherine laughed, taking her brother's arm and gazing at him affectionately. "Oh, I have missed you, Oliver! It seems like months since we last saw each other." She gave him a dazzling smile. "Of course, I shall play a game of croquet with you."

"I have missed you too, Cathy," he said, smiling at her. "But I must say, you have landed on your feet." He gazed around the grounds again, staring at the house beyond. "This place is enormous! Thank you for inviting me to this garden party. It is good to be in the country again."

They kept walking towards the party. Oliver was one of the last guests to arrive, having been delayed with a wonky wheel. Beatrice and Patrick had arrived together and were already having a glass of champagne beneath the marquee.

Catherine pursed her lips. Patrick's wife, the elusive Lady Afferton, hadn't come. It was hardly surprising, considering the lady always seemed to avoid her. Why had Lady Afferton taken such a dislike to her? It was a mystery.

At least Patrick seems back to his normal self again. His nose was so out of joint when he heard I was marrying the Duke, but today, he is all charm.

As if to confirm her impression, Patrick turned to her, smiling widely and holding his glass of champagne in the air towards her. Catherine laughed, picking up the pace, dragging Oliver with her until they were almost running. She hadn't realized how strong the desire was to keep her old connections now that her life had changed so dramatically.

She hadn't organized this party, nor had she particularly wanted it. But now that it had eventuated, she felt a small stab of excitement at seeing the old crowd gathered.

Patrick whisked two glasses of champagne from a passing footman's tray, handing them to Catherine and Oliver, who smiled as they accepted them.

"What shall we drink to?" Beatrice asked, laughing.

"To old friends," Catherine said, feeling ridiculously happy. "Bottoms up!"

They all took a long sip of champagne, laughing. Catherine gazed around at the party. The Dowager Duchess was seated on cushions in the center of the marquee, looking very regal, surrounded by her dogs, who she was feeding small pieces of chopped-up liver from a special tray. Everyone was kowtowing to her, of course.

Catherine's heart almost stopped beating. There was her husband, looking extremely handsome in a long black jacket and white britches, a green cravat tied around his neck. It was the first time she had seen him today since breakfast. She had been too busy helping with the setup of the party, and she guessed he was off doing duties for it as well.

She took another long sip of champagne. He was in the middle of a small circle of people. There was the Duke of Dunford, looking a lot fresher than he had at dinner the other night. There was another tall gentleman she didn't recognize, but he was clearly an old friend, judging by the way the trio was roaring with laughter, clapping each other on the back.

"You are looking very pretty today, Cathy," Patrick said, smiling at her. He stared at her gown. "Is that new? I have not seen you wear it before."

"This?" Catherine laughed, gazing down at the white muslin gown with short, puffed sleeves. "No. I just got Jean to alter it a little. Just to freshen it up."

"Well, you look like a picture in it," Patrick said in a kind voice. "White has always suited you. It contrasts nicely with the green of your eyes."

Catherine laughed. "Since when have you noticed what suits my eyes, Patrick?"

He shrugged, looking self-conscious. "You do have beautiful eyes, Cathy. I have always thought so."

"And so have I," Beatrice chimed in, smiling at her. "Cathy will always be beautiful with the long, dark locks and flashing green eyes, madly dashing from one thing to the next, always restless."

Catherine rolled her eyes, but she was secretly pleased, of course. She liked hearing herself described as dashing and restless. The headstrong girl she had once been.

I am still that girl. Marriage will not change me. Especially once this infernal week is over and my husband and I return to London and start to live separate lives.

She glanced at her husband again. Her stomach tightened. His circle had widened. Two ladies had strolled over to him and his friends, joining the group. It was the two ladies he and the Duke of Dunford had spoken with on the village street the other day.

I knew it. Are they planning an assignation even now?

She tuned out the conversation around her as she kept watching the group covertly, sipping her champagne, her heart pounding uncomfortably. She was too far away to hear anything of what they were talking about, but she could see the way they interacted with each other. Body language often spoke so much louder than words.

The Duke of Dunford was looking much more animated since the ladies had joined them. He was focusing on the red-haired lady, his eyes alight, taking her arm and pulling her to the side so that they could talk more privately. The red-haired lady looked just as taken with him as he was with her. Catherine supposed that was hardly surprising—her husband's close friend was very handsome and dashing, even if he seemed a bit dissolute.

Birds of a feather flock together. Clearly, my husband and his friend are both rakes with an eye for a pretty face.

She focused on her husband. Her stomach tightened more. He and the fair-haired lady—he had retrieved her handkerchief for her the other day—were talking together. The lady seemed vibrant, tossing back her head as she laughed, batting her eyelashes at him, concentrating fiercely on what he was saying, as if he were imparting the very meaning of life to her.

Catherine drained her champagne before handing the empty glass to a passing footman.

"Please excuse me for a moment," she said in a tight voice to her friends and brother. "I just need to speak with my husband."

Before they could say anything, she was already marching over to the group, her head held high, loitering on the fringes until the Duke noticed her.

"Catherine," he said slowly, raising his eyebrows, his eyes roaming over her in an appreciative manner. "There you are."

"Here I am," she declared in a high-pitched voice. She stepped closer to him and the lady, fixing her eyes on her. "I do not think we have had the pleasure of being introduced."

The Duke coughed into his hand. "Catherine, this is Lady Isabella Lyndon. My wife, the Duchess."

"Your Grace," Lady Isabella said in a prim voice, bobbing a curtsey. "It is an honor."

"Indeed," Catherine replied in a haughty voice. "You live locally, Lady Isabella?"

She studied the fair-haired lady more carefully. Lady Isabella really was beautiful with a heart-shaped face, snub nose, and wide, disarming blue eyes. Her complexion was flawless.

"Yes, Your Grace," Lady Isabella replied, smiling prettily. "My family resides on the other side of the village."

"How perfectly charming," Catherine said, returning the smile. "Do you go to London often?"

"Oh no, Your Grace," Lady Isabella replied with a slightly condescending smile. "My father, the Earl of Farquar, likes to stay in the country. He believes that London Society shall surely ruin me." She laughed.

"Well, that is a bit unfortunate for you," Catherine said tightly. "How shall you manage to find a husband here? There is so much more scope in the city. That is, if you are trying to find a husband, of course. I should not assume."

Lady Isabella's cheeks turned pink. "Of course, I am trying to find a husband, Your Grace. That is the goal of every lady, is it not?"

"Not necessarily," Catherine replied airily. "Some ladies prefer to flirt with whatever gentleman they can and never commit until they are forced to do so." She let out a bark of laughter, fixing her with a hard stare. "I suppose they must hone their skills somewhere."

Lady Isabella's blush deepened. She looked a little shamefaced. Catherine felt a rush of triumph. So, she hadn't been imagining it— Lady Isabella had been flirting shamelessly with her husband.

Just because she is flirting with him doesn't mean that he is flirting with her as well. Or that anything is going on between them at all.

She ignored the small voice in the back of her head. Of course, he was flirting with Lady Isabella as well, if not more. What gentleman could resist a beautiful lady such as Lady Isabella, who was practically throwing herself at his feet? Especially a gentleman with a reputation for liking the ladies a little too well?

Why do you care? You are going to lead separate lives. What does it matter if he flirts or carries on with a dozen or more ladies?

Catherine took a deep breath. It didn't matter. She had proved her point to herself, and now, she needed to leave before she said anything more that she might live to regret.

"Well, it was perfectly lovely meeting you, Lady Isabella," she said, smiling politely. "I must continue circulating. I hope you have a lovely time."

Lady Isabella curtseyed again. Catherine could feel the Duke looking at her in an odd way. She flashed him a dazzling smile before walking away, her heart beating uncomfortably in her chest.

"Who is that talking to your husband?" Patrick asked when she joined her friends and brother again, staring at the Duke and Lady Isabella.

"Her name is Lady Isabella Lyndon," Catherine replied, trying to keep her voice neutral. "She lives locally. Her father is the Earl of Farquar."

Patrick raised his eyebrows. "Your husband and Lady Isabella seem… close. I noticed it immediately. Are they old friends?"

Catherine's heart flipped. "I really have no idea."

Patrick looked pained. "A leopard does not change its spots, does it? Even if the leopard has only been wed less than a week." He stared at her. "I did try to tell you, Cathy, but you refused to listen to me. The Duke of Newden is well known for such things."

Catherine's stomach tightened. "You do not know anything about my husband's acquaintance with Lady Isabella, Patrick. You are making assumptions, which is hardly fair."

"Am I?" Patrick looked unconvinced. "I guess we shall see, will we not?"

Catherine felt a flash of anger, and she turned away from him. She had no idea why she felt so furious with Patrick for pointing out something that she had been thinking herself after all. And yet, she did.

Against her will, her eyes drifted back to her husband's circle. Lady Isabella was chatting with his other friend now. The Duke of Dunford and the red-haired lady were still chatting animatedly, but her husband was standing to the side, sipping his champagne, a thoughtful expression on his face.

Suddenly, their eyes met across the marquee. Catherine felt a frisson snake down her spine. Hastily, she looked away.

"Let us play croquet, Cathy," Oliver suggested, interrupting her thoughts. "You promised me, remember?"

Catherine took a deep breath. "Yes, I did." She linked her arms with her brother. "Come on, then!"

They set off towards the lawn where the croquet was being held. Catherine could feel her husband's eyes on them as they walked away. She felt a flash of anger.

Let him talk with the beautiful Lady Isabella. It was no concern of hers what he did, was it?