Chapter 25

"My Lord, Cathy," Oliver said, gazing at her, his eyes amused. "What on earth possessed you to wear a gown like that?"

Catherine laughed, sipping her champagne. Now that she was here and the Dowager Duchess had given her seal of approval, she was starting to feel much more relaxed.

She shrugged nonchalantly. "I do not know. I just felt like it, Oliver. Why did you decide to wear those particular britches and jacket?"

Oliver laughed. "Because I felt like it," he replied before taking a sip of his own champagne. "But do you not feel a trifle… exposed? Everyone is looking at you."

Catherine turned around, gazing at the crowd milling around the ballroom. She had felt their eyes on her the whole time she had been talking with her brother, almost boring into her back. Now, as she faced them, they hastily looked away, sipping their drinks or pretending to talk.

But one group of young ladies near the doorway were whispering and giggling behind their fans, still blatantly staring at her. Catherine smiled at them sweetly, raising her glass in the air towards them in a mock salute. They looked panicked, turning away.

She looked in the other direction. Her husband was watching her across the room, an amused look on his face. He had seen what she had just done to the young ladies. Catherine ducked her head, smiling, before turning back to her brother.

"You are causing a sensation," Oliver mused, gazing around the room. "Everyone is talking about the new Duchess of Newden and her scandalous gown. They say it looks more fitting for a courtesan rather than a duchess."

Catherine let out a bark of derisive laughter. "Let them talk. They have nothing better to do with their time." She shrugged again. "I do not seek their good opinion."

"What a firebrand you are, Cathy," her brother said, shaking his head in amazement. "I swear you grow fiercer by the day." He took a quick sip of his drink, glancing towards the Duke. "How goes it with your new husband?"

Catherine felt her cheeks turn pink. "It is fine," she replied quickly. "There is nothing to talk about."

"I hope he is treating you well?" Oliver gazed at her steadily. "He promised me that he would, but I was skeptical, of course. He has such a reputation with the ladies."

"He treats me well enough," Catherine replied, trying to keep her voice steady. She hesitated. "I trust that your debts are all settled now?"

Oliver nodded, looking shamefaced. "Yes, they are, Cathy. Thanks to you." He shook his head. "I would still be mired in debt and at risk of losing both houses if you hadn't won enough to cover it all that night at the gambling hell. I still cannot believe you won just enough to pay it all off."

Catherine smiled at him, her heart thudding hard. She was very glad to hear that her husband had been true to his word and had paid off the entirety of her brother's remaining debts. Oliver was entirely ignorant of that fact, of course. And that was the way it was going to stay.

"Wonders will never cease," Catherine agreed, her smile widening. She lowered her voice. "And I trust you are staying away from the gambling hells? You are not racking up any further debts?"

Oliver flushed. "I told you I was turning over a new leaf, and I have, Sister. I have not stepped into a gambling hell in over a month now." He grimaced. "I even avoid the cards at balls like this—and in my club. It is hard, but I know it is something I must do. The lure to gamble is like an illness, sweeping over me. It is best to just stay away entirely."

Catherine reached out, squeezing her brother's arm. "I am so proud of you," she whispered fiercely. "And I know our father would be proud of you, as well. You have really grown into your position, Oliver."

Her brother looked touched. "Thank you, Cathy. That means the world to me." He hesitated. "I will admit it is not easy. The desire to gamble is constantly with me. But I will never put myself in such a position again. My duty and the estate mean so much more to me. I will never endanger either again."

Catherine squeezed his arm again. She knew how hard it was for him. Oliver had clung to gambling like a lifeboat. It had helped him cope with everything. But she could clearly see that the experience of almost losing everything had changed him. He really had turned over a new leaf. She knew there would be no more danger that he would gamble their inheritance away.

"Cathy!"

Catherine turned around. Beatrice was standing there, smiling at her, looking beautiful in a dark green silk gown with a net overlay. Tiny diamonds were woven through her hair, sparkling in the candlelight and the glow from the low-hanging chandelier overhead.

"Bea," Catherine cried, taking her friend's gloved hands in her own and kissing her on both cheeks. "It is so good to see you! Did you just arrive?"

Beatrice nodded. "Yes, we were running a bit late," she said in a breathless voice. "Mama and I picked up Patrick and Edith on the way, and they were not quite ready…"

"Patrick is here?" Catherine craned her neck as she looked around the room. "And his wife? The elusive Lady Afferton?"

Beatrice laughed. "She is not elusive, Cathy! She just has not attended many of the same events as you. That is all."

"Hmm," Catherine said, not agreeing with her friend but knowing better than to argue the point. She had brought up the topic a few times now, and both Beatrice and Patrick vehemently denied that Lady Afferton didn't like her or deliberately avoided her. "Well, I will have to make an effort to talk to both of them. And your dear mother, of course."

Beatrice rolled her eyes. "Dear Mama is on the warpath, convinced she is going to find me a husband this evening." She sighed. "It was all she could talk about in the carriage. She told me that I am turning into a sour-faced old maid."

Catherine frowned. She wasn't fond of the Dowager Countess of Afferton. The lady was a priggish, pretentious bore, only liking people if they could benefit her in some way. And she treated poor Beatrice like chattel. Catherine was convinced the lady didn't care for her daughter at all——she was always putting Beatrice down in a thousand subtle, velvet-gloved ways.

A lot like her own late mother had been.

"You will never turn into a sour-faced old maid," Catherine asserted fiercely. "If it is your destiny to remain unmarried, dear Bea, then you will retain your sweet nature as you age. And I really dislike it when people refer to unmarried ladies in such a way. Why is there not an equivalent term for an unmarried gentleman?"

Beatrice laughed. "You are so clever, Cathy! So bright and spirited!" She gazed at her friend, her eyes widening as she looked at her gown. "Oh, you did it! You have really worn it! I was certain you would lose courage and put on an old gown instead." She hesitated. "You look so beautiful, Cathy. I must admit I was skeptical, but it looks simply stunning on you. You remind me of a goddess."

"Oh, stop it," Catherine said, her cheeks turning pink with pleasure. "I am not nearly as beautiful as you, Bea. The green of your gown really becomes you."

"She did it, all right." Oliver laughed, shaking his head ruefully. "That is our Cathy to a tee. How are you, Bea?"

"I am very well, Oliver." Beatrice smiled, snatching a glass of champagne from a passing tray. "I cannot complain."

The talk continued about various people and events. Catherine sipped her champagne, tuning them out and gazing at the crowd. Abruptly, her heart stopped.

The Duke was talking with his constant companion, the Duke of Dunford, across the room. But they had also been joined by Lady Isabella Lyndon… once again. Catherine could barely breathe as she watched them.

Lady Isabella looked lovely this evening in a rose silk gown, her golden hair swept up into a chignon on the nape of her neck, interspersed with tiny roses. And she was laughing as she gazed up at Thomas in an almost adoring way. Catherine felt a jolt of sour, bitter displeasure.

Was it proper to look at another woman's husband like that? And why didn't the lovely Lady Isabella look at some unmarried man that way instead? Why wasn't she focusing her attention on the Duke of Dunford, for instance? He was there as well.

"Cathy?" Beatrice's voice penetrated her consciousness. "Are you quite well?"

"I am fine," Catherine said, before downing her champagne. She gritted her teeth. "Just fine."

She turned back to her friend and brother, trying to focus on what they were saying. But all she could see in her mind's eye was her husband and the golden-haired lady laughing together, as if no one else existed.

Her heart skipped a beat. Why was it bothering her so much? Why had it always bothered her? She knew that her new husband was a rake. He was overly fond of beautiful ladies. It wasn't as if he was going to abruptly change as soon as he slipped a wedding ring on her finger. And why would she want him to, anyway, considering she didn't want to have any kind of intimate relationship with him?

Catherine picked up another glass of champagne. There were no easy answers to any of those questions. All she knew was that it was like physical torture watching him and that lady flirt with each other. Were they already having an affair? Or were they about to start one?

"There you are," a deep, amused voice said at her elbow.

She spun around. Her heart lurched again. It was he, standing there, gazing at her, his eyes looking more blue than green tonight. As blue as the ocean on a clear day. And they were shining as they looked at her. His appreciation couldn't be more obvious.

Beatrice curtseyed, and Oliver bowed. Then they both looked at them, clearly not knowing what to say.

"Lady Beatrice," the Duke greeted in a pleasant voice, inclining his head. "Lord Whitley. A pleasure." He turned back to Catherine. "We have been commanded to dance."

"Commanded?" Catherine's heart skipped another beat. "By whom?"

"By Grandmother, of course," the Duke replied, rolling his eyes. "She says that it is imperative that we take to the floor together at least once to show off. Marital unity and all that business."

He raised his glass of champagne to his grandmother, who was seated at the front of the room, surrounded by her retinue, observing everything with an eagle eye. Catherine thought she rather looked like a queen surveying her kingdom.

The Dowager Duchess inclined her head, watching them carefully.

Catherine turned back to her husband. "But I do not wish to dance," she hissed. "My gown…"

"Your gown will look amazing on the dance floor," he assured her quickly, raising an eyebrow. "In fact, I think you are the belle of the ball, Duchess."

They were standing close to one another, only inches apart. She could smell his cologne. It was an intoxicating scent, drawing her in.

"Perhaps you should dance with Lady Isabella instead," she snapped, her heart thumping. "You are always talking with her after all."

He raised the other eyebrow. "You are my wife… and I choose to dance with you."

Then he took her hand and led her towards the dance floor. Catherine briefly closed her eyes. This was going to be slow torture. How was she going to endure it?