Chapter 5

"You look different, Cathy," Lady Beatrice Wickes declared, tilting her head to the side as she gazed at her friend in a speculative way. "You have a glow about you."

Catherine smiled weakly as she sipped her tea, not knowing how to reply to her dearest friend in the world.

Beatrice and her older brother Patrick Wickes, the Earl of Afferton, had unexpectedly called for morning tea which was a delightful surprise. The Wickes family was like her own as they had grown up together on neighboring estates in Kent.

"I do not know about that," Catherine replied eventually, feeling her cheeks redden. "It is probably just the heat of the day. We have reached high summer, after all."

Beatrice didn't look convinced. She turned to her brother, who was sipping his tea in his usual absent-minded way as he gazed around the drawing room.

"Can you not see it, Patrick?" she asked. "Do you not think that Cathy has a glow about her today?"

Patrick smiled, gazing at Catherine in a friendly way.

Catherine couldn't help but smile back at him. Patrick was like another older brother to her, and he had always been so genial and kind to her.

"Cathy always looks like she is glowing," he said in a quiet voice as he studied her intently. "She possesses an aura that exudes brilliance. I have often thought so."

Catherine burst into laughter. "That is very poetic of you, Patrick! An aura, indeed! It is far more likely that it is a sheen of sweat from the heat of the day." She shook her head. "You are such a card!"

Patrick shrugged, laughing with her. "My aim is always to amuse."

"Tell me, where is your dear wife today?" she asked, gazing at him fondly. "Why does she never accompany you when you and Beatrice call?"

Patrick shrugged again. "I am not certain what Edith is doing this morning," he said in an offhand way. "Probably shopping for fripperies on Bond Street, as always." He took a sip of his tea. "She does not like socializing, Cathy. She prefers her own company. That is all."

Catherine frowned slightly. She didn't think that Patrick was telling her the entire truth—Lady Afferton never called, always remaining oddly aloof, even though Catherine had tried to make friends with her. She wanted to be friends with the wife of one of her oldest acquaintances, but it seemed that it was not meant to be.

She bit her lip. Patrick was not telling the entire truth—she knew that Lady Afferton had a few friends and seemed to enjoy socializing as much as anyone. She was hardly a timid mouse.

"Does your wife not like me overly much, Patrick?" she asked, deciding to address the issue once and for all.

It was getting awkward now—they had been married for over six months after all.

Patrick burst into laughter. "It is not like you to be so fanciful, Cathy!"

"Well, she never calls, and she avoids me when we are in company," Catherine pointed out. "I think it is a valid question."

"I am sure Edith likes you very much," Beatrice said, smiling warmly. "How could she not like you? You are one of a kind, dearest."

"I am certain she does as well," Patrick agreed. "I am sure there is no particular reason why she does not accompany me when I call and why you do not speak much at events. It is just the way of it."

Catherine sighed but dropped the subject. If Lady Afferton didn't like her, there wasn't really much she could do about it after all. It was just a shame. But then again, she didn't think that Patrick and Edith were a love match, joined at the hip. The Dowager Countess of Afferton had arranged it all with her usual dour efficiency. She was the very antithesis of a mother who desired that her children wed for love.

Catherine's eyes slid to Beatrice. Poor Bea. She was quite browbeaten by her mother, who was such a strong, astringent personality, intent on finding her only daughter the wealthiest, most prestigious husband she could… without giving a deuce for Beatrice's feelings on the matter.

Just like my late mother would have been. If she had lived to see me debut and join the marriage market.

Catherine pushed that thought aside. She didn't like thinking about her late mother, who had been colder than ice. They had never been close.

The door opened, and Oliver walked into the room, smiling brightly. Catherine smiled instinctively. There was a carefree air about her brother today, and she knew the reason why—a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. They weren't spiraling down to ruin any longer.

Catherine bit her lip. The Duke of Newden hadn't called yet to ask for her hand in marriage. She knew it was foolish, but she had been straining her ears the entire morning, listening for the sound of a carriage that might herald his arrival. But the only callers thus far were Beatrice and Patrick.

Oh, well. It seems that he merely wished to steal a kiss from me. I shall just have to find another way to get the money to pay off the debt. At least he let me keep my winnings.

She tried to ignore that it was about anything more than that.

After greeting their guests, Oliver sat next to his sister, helping himself to a huge slice of chocolate cake which he demolished quickly and washed down with two cups of sugary tea. Catherine gazed at him fondly. He had always had a voracious sweet tooth.

"How are you, old chap?" Oliver gazed at Patrick, smiling slightly. "Is life treating you well as a married man?"

"Oh, I cannot complain," Patrick replied in a somewhat awkward voice. His eyes flicked to Catherine. "I suppose I am still getting used to being an old married man now." He laughed ruefully. "My bachelor days are over."

"Poor you," Catherine said wryly. "You should be glad of it, Patrick. You were never a rake with an eye on every pretty lady."

Not like the Duke of Newden—Do not think of him!

Patrick shrugged, looking uncomfortable.

An awkward silence fell over them. Oliver slurped his tea, looking bored. Catherine sighed. Her brother and Patrick had never been close and didn't have a lot to say to one another. Not like herself and Beatrice. They had always been closer than two peas in a pod. Bea was the sister she had never had.

Suddenly, the need to confide in her sweet friend about the strange events of last night overwhelmed her. She cleared her throat.

"Would you like to take a turn around the garden, Beatrice?" she asked, gazing at her friend. "I am sure that Patrick and Oliver have so much to catch up on. Men's talk and all that."

Patrick and Oliver looked astounded by her comment but didn't contradict her.

Catherine stood up, motioning for Beatrice to follow her. She was simply going to burst if she didn't tell someone soon—and she was quite certain that neither Patrick nor her brother would be pleased if she blurted out that she had been kissed by a rake last night… who had also shockingly proposed marriage.

Her heart sank. He wasn't coming. She should never have believed he would. They would never share another kiss. But oh… what a kiss it had been.

"You did what?" Beatrice's voice was filled with shock and horror. "You went where?"

Catherine's cheeks turned pink. Beatrice was used to her escapades, so Catherine had assumed that her dear friend would hardly bat an eyelid when she started telling her about the events of last night. But it seemed that her friend still had the capacity to be shocked by her wayward, unladylike actions.

Catherine took a deep breath. "I went to a gambling hell, Beatrice. It was not so very bad!" She bit her lip. "Well, it was fairly bad. Lots of dissolute-looking men in their cups, bleary-eyed, wagering their weekly wages without impunity…"

"Shocking," Beatrice murmured, shaking her head incredulously. "A den of iniquity! It is a wonder you were not accosted and set upon by a group of black-teethed ruffians!"

Catherine shrugged. "I was dressed as a boy, you see, so they hardly looked at me…"

Beatrice stopped walking abruptly, staring at her with such a look of appalled horror that Catherine's face reddened further. Beatrice was such a sweet, soft-spoken, innocent young lady who would never, ever contemplate doing such a daring thing. The thought would never even cross her mind.

"A low-class boy at that," Catherine continued, her lips twitching. "I got Jean to borrow some of her brother's clothing for me."

Beatrice put a hand to her forehead. "You got your maid to procure her brother's clothing, so you could play cards with ruffians at a gambling hell? Dear Lord!"

"Yes, but that is not what I need to tell you," Catherine replied, feeling a bit frustrated.

If her friend was going to react this way to every little bit of the story, then she would never get to the crux of it. They would be strolling down the garden path for the entire afternoon.

"A duke kissed me, Beatrice," she whispered, getting straight to the main point. "He saw through my disguise." She lowered her voice, gripping her friend's arm tightly. "He offered to marry me!"

Beatrice's jaw dropped. "Who is this duke?"

Catherine took a deep breath, steeling herself for her friend's reaction. "The Duke of Newden."

Beatrice looked like she was about to suffer an apoplexy. "The Duke of Newden? I am not surprised he was in a gambling hell, nor that he dared steal a kiss from you!" She shook her head sorrowfully. "The gentleman is a notorious rake, Cathy. Oh, please do be careful!"

"Do not worry," Catherine said, taking another deep breath. "I do not believe he was serious." Her heart clenched. "As you said, he is a notorious rake, and that kiss was probably the extent of it. I doubt I shall see him again." She paused. "And if I do, I shall handle him. He is just a man like any other."

"What was it like?" Beatrice's voice was breathless, and her eyes were shining with curiosity. "The kiss?"

Catherine's heart clenched again. Her stomach fluttered. Even thinking about the kiss was making her feel warm all over, as if she had just been dipped in a pot of syrupy honey, or she was melting, her bones turning to liquid…

"Pardon me, Miss."

Catherine and Beatrice jumped guiltily, hastily turning around. Grimes, the butler, was standing there, gazing at them with his usual impassive face.

"What is it?" Catherine asked.

"Your brother requests that you return to the drawing room, Miss," the butler replied in a grave voice. "He requires your immediate company."

Catherine arched her eyebrows. "Why?"

"You have a caller, Miss," the butler replied. "The Duke of Newden has just arrived."