Chapter 27

"Isimply could not believe my eyes when I saw you across the room, Cathy," Patrick said, gaping at Catherine. "Whatever possessed you to wear such a gown?"

Catherine laughed. "Oh, do not be such a prude, Patrick," she scoffed, gazing at her old friend and taking a sip of champagne. "You are in danger of becoming an old stick in the mud. Where is your sense of fun?"

Patrick looked affronted.

Catherine edged away a little. She had just noticed that her friend was standing a tad too close and was holding her elbow tightly. He was probably doing it absent-mindedly, but still, it wasn't proper, especially since she was a married woman now.

"I heard that your wife accompanied you this evening, Patrick," she continued, taking another small step away from him. "We should find her. I am dying to talk with her. Where is she?"

Patrick started. "Oh, I think she is some place or other," he replied vaguely. "I am sure we will see her, eventually." He paused, looking at Catherine closely. "How is your husband treating you, Cathy? I noticed him talking with that same lady he was talking with at the garden party."

"Oh, yes," Catherine said, trying to smile. "Lady Isabella. He is just being polite. She lives on a neighboring estate in the country, and they have known each other for years."

Patrick raised his eyebrows. "Polite?" He let out a derisive bark of laughter. "I suppose that is one way of putting it."

Catherine felt a flash of irritation. It was one thing for her to notice that Lady Isabella seemed to be popping up everywhere, commandeering her husband, but it was quite another for Patrick to constantly be remarking on it. For all intents and purposes, her husband and Lady Isabella were just talking. Patrick didn't know any different.

Suddenly, she spotted Lady Afferton, Patrick's wife, walking through the ballroom, fanning herself vigorously. Catherine watched her for a moment. The Countess of Afferton was a short, plump woman with bright red hair. Catherine had always thought her a pretty woman with a charming smile although she was certainly no great beauty.

"There is your wife now," she cried, turning towards the Countess. "Let us go and speak with her."

Did Patrick grimace? If so, he disguised it quickly. He nodded.

"If you insist," he said in a stiff voice.

Catherine flashed him a mystified smile before taking off through the crowd, seeking his wife.

"Lady Afferton," she greeted when she reached her. "It is so lovely to see you!"

Lady Afferton turned, her eyes widening when she saw Catherine, and she swept into a low curtsey.

"Your Grace," she returned in an odd voice. "It was very kind of the Dowager Duchess to invite us."

There was an awkward pause. Lady Afferton tapped one foot, staring into the crowd as if she were seeking someone. Or as if she were already bored with the conversation and seeking an escape.

Catherine stared at her. She really wasn't imagining it. Lady Afferton always acted this way around her. It was the strangest thing.

"I am having a tea party next week," Catherine said abruptly. "I would very much like you to come, Lady Afferton. It is about time that we spent more time getting to know one another. Oh, please, say that you will."

Lady Afferton looked surprised. Catherine was a little surprised as well. She hadn't been planning a tea party at all, but she needed an excuse to bridge the gap between them, and a tea party seemed the ideal way. It was still formal, but it was intimate. Lady Afferton would have no choice but to talk with her. Catherine gave her a dazzling smile.

"Oh, I am so busy next week, Your Grace," Lady Afferton replied, stony-faced. "I am afraid it will probably not be possible."

Catherine's smile faded a little. "But you do not even know which day yet, Lady Afferton. Surely, you are not elsewhere engaged every single day?"

"I am afraid I am," Lady Afferton insisted in a tight voice. "I am terribly sorry. I do apologize."

"I see," Catherine murmured, her heart flipping. She knew when she was being dismissed. "Well, I will send you the invitation anyway in case you have a cancellation. Or in case you change your mind."

"Your Grace is very kind," Lady Afferton said, inclining her head, her eyes darting around the room. "I am sure I do not deserve such thoughtfulness."

Catherine smiled uncertainly, glancing sideways at Patrick, who had followed her. Her friend looked uncomfortable, his gaze flicking between her and his wife. Beatrice had also joined them, smiling brightly, seemingly oblivious to the icy atmosphere between the two ladies.

At that moment, Beatrice and the Dowager Countess of Afferton appeared on the sidelines. Catherine turned towards the old lady.

The Dowager Countess curtseyed in a perfunctory way, her eyes cold. She had never particularly liked Catherine and had never been afraid of showing it.

Beatrice had told Catherine that her mother thought her far too spirited and independent for a lady, and perhaps a bad influence on her daughter. Catherine, for her part, had never particularly cared. She didn't like the old lady much either.

"Lady Afferton," she greeted, raising her chin. "How good of you to attend."

"Your Grace." Old Lady Afferton inclined her head in a frosty way, her eyes flickering over Catherine, making no secret of her disdain for her.

Her eyes lingered on Catherine's gown a little longer than was necessary.

"What an… interesting gown, Your Grace," she commented, her lip curling, and she fanned herself. "Are you not a trifle cold in it?"

"Not at all," Catherine replied, raising her chin higher and meeting the lady's eyes. "In fact, it is very comfortable, My Lady."

The Dowager Countess frowned, looking a bit disgusted, then turned her attention to her daughter, ignoring Catherine entirely. "You must come with me now, Beatrice," she commanded in an impatient voice. "I wish to introduce you to someone important."

"Who is it, Mama?" Beatrice looked cornered. "I am talking…"

"You have been talking long enough," her mother said, looking even more disgusted. "The time for frivolity is over. There is serious business to attend to. I wish you to make the acquaintance of Lord Carruthers."

Beatrice's eyes widened. "Lord Carruthers? But… why? Is he not the gentleman that served alongside Papa in the army?"

Her mother nodded, looking even more impatient. "Yes, he is. He is a widower now and looking for a new wife. Come along."

"Mama." Beatrice's voice was faint. "He is old enough to be my own father."

Old Lady Afferton rolled her eyes. "You are too sensitive, Beatrice! Such things are of little importance. What is more important is your social standing when you marry. Have I taught you nothing?"

Beatrice sighed heavily, looking miserable.

Catherine's heart went out to her friend. The Dowager Countess was always trying to play matchmaker, lining up old, wealthy, titled gentlemen for her daughter, not caring in the slightest that Beatrice had no desire to marry for fortune or title.

Beatrice was an impossible romantic. But old Lady Afferton didn't seem to care for her daughter's feelings in the slightest.

"Come along," old Lady Afferton ordered imperiously, firmly gripping Beatrice's arm this time. "I will not ask you again."

Beatrice sagged, letting herself be led away like a lamb to the slaughter. She looked back at Catherine imploringly. Catherine tried to give her a reassuring smile.

"We should get some refreshments, Edith," Patrick said in a clipped tone. "Come along."

His wife looked resigned, taking his proffered arm and inclining her head towards Catherine as they sailed away through the crowd.

Catherine watched them intently. Patrick was whispering in his wife's ear quite frantically, his face a dull red. Edith was stony-faced, looking straight ahead and not reacting at all to whatever he was saying to her. It was as if she wasn't hearing it at all.

Catherine frowned, feeling a sense of disquiet. She wasn't sure why, exactly, only that she didn't like the way Patrick was treating his wife. She couldn't put her finger on it, but there was something just not quite right about it. It was an utter mystery. She had always thought that the woman who married her friend would be a lucky lady, indeed, and that Patrick would treat his wife like gold.

Catherine sighed heavily, taking a long sip of her champagne. She had tried and failed miserably to become better acquainted with Edith. It was patently obvious the lady had no interest in getting to know her better or becoming friends with her. She would not try again.

She spotted Beatrice and her mother with a white-haired gentleman near the refreshments table. He looked like he was nearing sixty and was eying Bea as if she were a new filly he was thinking about purchasing. Beatrice looked utterly miserable. Her mother had moved away to another group, clearly wanting to leave her daughter and the gentleman alone.

Catherine drained her glass before passing it to a footman, and then she marched over to her friend. The white-haired gentleman looked startled.

"There you are," she cried, taking Beatrice's arm firmly. "You simply must help me. It is an emergency!"

Beatrice looked appalled. "What is it?"

"Oh, I cannot say in front of a gentleman," Catherine insisted, her eyes darting towards the gentleman, trying to look embarrassed. "It would not be proper at all." She turned to him. "Would you excuse us, My Lord?"

"Of course," the gentleman replied, looking mystified.

Catherine smiled prettily before dragging Beatrice away, deep into the crowd, as far away from her mother and the gentleman as possible. She giggled.

Beatrice looked at her sideways before she started giggling. "There is no emergency, is there?" she whispered between giggles.

"No," Catherine confessed, shaking with hilarity. "I just could not bear to see you with him. It was dreadful. What is your mother thinking, trying to set you up with an old man?"

Beatrice sighed. "Mama does not care," she said in a flat voice. "As long as the gentleman is eligible, she does not care about my feelings on the matter at all."

Catherine squeezed her friend's arm. "Well, she will not succeed this evening. The audacity!"

"She will not like that you have done this," Beatrice mumbled, looking concerned. "There will be hell to pay tonight when we get home."

"You must stand up for yourself, Bea," Catherine insisted in a gentle voice. "Do not let her push you around so much. You must try to forge your own path and stick to it."

Beatrice sighed. "It is easier said than done, Cathy. You do not understand how relentless she is." She hesitated. "Sometimes I just feel like giving in to her pestering, once and for all. It is only marriage, after all. What does it matter who I marry?"

"Oh, Bea," Catherine murmured sadly. "It does matter. It matters to you. And you must hold on to your convictions. For what else do we have in this life?"

Bea sighed again, not replying.

Catherine felt her heart flip in her chest. That was what she was doing with her husband—holding on to her convictions. She was resisting him because she knew it was the best thing to do.

But she couldn't help feeling a sense of hollowness and a strange yearning which had intensified as they had danced together tonight. She was so tired of fighting it—of fighting him and the deep attraction she felt towards him which she simply could not seem to shake no matter how hard she tried.

Were her convictions enough? Or was something momentous happening between them that would make her throw them aside, once and for all?