Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

" W e should invite St. George over for dinner."

Catherine nearly jumped in surprise upon hearing her mother mention the Duke's title. Considering the man had been living continuously in her head in recent weeks, it was kind of startling to hear his name said out loud.

"Why would you want to do that, Mother?" she asked, confused.

"To congratulate him, of course, on becoming a duke, and we'll also get to see Emmeline. I have missed the sweet girl."

Catherine nearly snorted in disbelief because she was quite sure the bit about Emmy was just an afterthought. Even though her parents could be sweet people, they were not above using manipulative strategies to elevate their standing in polite society. She was sure forging a relationship with a newly minted duke was a step in the right direction for them.

Considering how hard she had worked to maintain a distance between the Duke and herself following that kiss in the ballroom of his townhouse, she didn't think it was a particularly good idea to invite him to dinner or any other events that would force them to be in close proximity.

It wasn't him she didn't trust. It was herself and the tendency of her body to betray her deepest desires. The man just seemed to have the uncanny ability to expose the most wanton part of her, and she was resolved to avoid him at all costs.

"We can always send a letter conveying our condolences and congratulations," she suggested hopefully.

There was an awkward silence while every member of her family gawked at her as if she had grown a second head.

"Cathy," Lily started. "Even I know that is quite rude, seeing as the Duke lives a few blocks away from us," she said, imitating their mother's admonishing tone while shaking her head in disapproval.

Catherine had forgotten how annoying little siblings could be. Lily was barely thirteen, but she already had a smart mouth and could be strongly opinionated. But that was the prerogative of the youngest child, in her experience.

Before she could reply, her mother interjected.

"Lily is quite right. You do not send paltry letters to a duke. Besides, he is like a family friend, seeing as you are friends with his younger sister. Emmeline is a sweet girl, would you deny us the chance to meet her older brother?" she asked, affecting a disappointed tone.

Trust her parents to descend to the level of guilt-tripping to get what they wanted. On cue, all her siblings fixed their hopeful eyes on her. Of course, they had to make her feel like an evil tyrant for not agreeing to the dinner.

"Alright, we could have the Duke come over for dinner this week. I will deliver the invitation myself," she said, defeated.

She didn't miss the triumphant look on her mother's face and the conspiratorial look she shared with her father.

It seemed they were thick as thieves again after having their latest row just a few hours before they broke their fast. She wondered if they could behave cordially in front of the Duke.

"But I'll agree to this only on one condition." She watched as the bright smile on her mother's face dimmed a little. "Mother, Father, you must promise to behave."

At that, her mother gasped dramatically. "We are always well-behaved. Why would you?—"

"You know what I mean," Catherine cut her off, giving them a pointed look. "No squabbling and no raised voices. At least while the Duke is here."

"Alright, we promise," her father answered, a chastized look on his face.

Catherine felt the familiar exhaustion creep over her. It was draining to have to play the role of parent while her parents were alive and well. Her parents were the sweetest people on earth, but they were so absorbed in their own love story that they barely had the parental skills and energy to train the children that resulted from that love.

Dropping her napkin, she rose from her seat. "Thank you for the meal, Mother, Father, but there is much to do if we are to host the Duke. I need to meet with Cook to decide the menu for that dinner."

At least she hoped the extra work might keep her mind off the kiss that seemed to haunt both her sleeping and waking hours. A voice in the back of her head whispered that she might as well be deceiving herself.

Considering her need to avoid the Duke, it was probably ill-advised of her to offer to deliver the invitation herself.

When she arrived at the Duke's house, she was welcomed warmly by Emmy.

"I hope you have not come to force me to dance because I have had enough dancing to last me a lifetime," Emmy warned.

At that, Catherine laughed. "Do not fear, my friend. I am sure you are quite safe, at least for now. You know, you really need to perfect your dancing skills, regardless."

"Yes, I know, but I'd rather defer that for now—it is too tasking," Emmy complained, scowling.

Catherine laughed even harder. "Someone might think we are forcing you to cut your toes off."

"Maybe if I did cut them off, I would not be stepping on yours so much when we're practicing."

"You will get better. I was worse when I began learning, trust me," Catherine said in reassurance.

Emmy just gave her a dubious look.

Catherine opened her mouth to further reassure her, but it seemed her friend was done with the subject.

"If you are not here to teach me to dance, what did you come for? I have a suspicion this is no simple visit."

"I am actually here to see your brother," Catherine admitted, sighing.

"Is this about whatever happened between you two in the ballroom last time? Tell me, did he hurt you? I would give him hell if he did," Emmy said, with concern on her face.

"Calm down, Tigress." Catherine patted her arm affectionately, giggling. "No need to raise hell on my behalf."

"You really looked distressed when you hurried out that day. Are you sure nothing happened?" Emmy pressed.

Something did happen, but Catherine doubted sweet, innocent Emmy wanted to know exactly what had transpired between her brother and her best friend.

Catherine cleared her throat. "I am fine, trust me. Your brother did not harm me."

Just my sanity, she added silently.

Emmy looked at her suspiciously like she suspected she was hiding something, and knowing her, if they continued this conversation, she would find out exactly what happened. So Catherine rushed to distract her.

"I came to give him an invitation to dinner in our house. You are invited too."

She watched as Emmy's face lit up with joy.

"A dinner party? I love that! Your cook makes the best tarts. Please say she will make those," Emmy begged, clinging to Catherine's arm.

"I will make sure she does. Besides, you know you are welcome to our home anytime. My mother has really missed you. She asked that I ensure you are present for the dinner."

Well, that was a little lie. But if it made Emmy this happy, Catherine felt no remorse.

"So, is your brother at home?" she asked, trying to mask the hope in her voice.

"No, I am afraid not. He just left with Simon. I think they said they were going to the club or something of that sort," Emmy answered.

Catherine felt a disappointment that was quite odd, considering the fact that she had been studiously avoiding the man.

"I could give him the invitation," Emmy offered. "I solemnly promise to make him come," she added, holding up her hand, her palm facing outwards in a mock vow.

Considering how much the Duke doted on Emmy, Catherine was sure that her friend would easily persuade him to go. So she gave her the invitation reluctantly, said her goodbyes, and declined all invitations to stay a little longer.

She had to get away from Emmy because she was quite sure if she stayed longer, she might end up confessing everything to her oldest friend, and no matter how sweet Emmy was, Catherine didn't think she would be able to forgive her the sin of lusting after her older brother. Some things were better left hidden, and this was one of them.

When she arrived home, she handed her coat to the butler, who greeted her at the door, and then she made for the kitchen to discuss with the cook.

Mistress Jamie was a strong Scottish woman with red hair, and the sight of her stocky figure standing in the midst of the chaos that was the kitchen, making sure it ran smoothly, filled her with warmth. The woman had been a second mother to her in more ways than one.

"Lass…" Mistress Jamie smiled when Catherine entered, then turned to one of the kitchen maids. "Make sure ye turn the soup. If it burns, I will have yer ear, ye hear?"

She wiped her hands on her apron and then herded Catherine towards the kitchen garden.

"What brings you to the kitchen today?" she asked, concern on her face.

While Catherine loved the older woman, she did not particularly share her love for the kitchen. Something about inhaling smoke all day long did not agree with her. Hence she understood the woman's surprise to see her.

"We'll be having the Duke of St. George over for dinner by the end of the week."

"St. George. He had not been among fancy folk for nigh on a decade. Besides, I heard he kicked the bucket recently."

Mistress Jamie's speech had improved over the years partly because of Catherine's influence, but whenever she was passionate about something, her Scottish accent broke through.

"Not that duke, Nana Jamie. This is for his son."

At that, Mistress Jamie laughed. "Pay me no mind, Miss Burlow. I swear me mind is a little slower these days, but I am no spring chicken. So it should be expected, no?" She let out a self-deprecating laugh.

"You are not that old, Nana," Catherine said, rolling her eyes in exasperation.

"Don't ye roll yer eyes at me, young lady. I am not above using a ladle to redden yer bottom, nevermind ye are a big lady now," Mistress Jamie threatened, but the amused look on her face showed that she was just joking.

Catherine rolled her eyes again for good measure, and the cook laughed.

"Alright, what would ye like on the menu?" Mistress Jamie asked when she got her mirth under control.

Together they put together a menu that promised a sumptuous feast.

"What about dessert?" Mistress Jamie asked when Catherine got up to leave.

"I will leave that in your capable hands. But please make sure that your delicious apple tarts remain available."

Mistress Jamie flushed with pleasure at the praise. "Sure thing, lass. I will make sure that I make a batch of it. We wouldn't want to disappoint Lady Emmeline now, would we?"

Catherine wasn't surprised that the cook had taken note of Emmy's addiction to her apple tarts. It was hard to miss, considering the speed at which Emmy polished off the treats whenever she visited.

She never stopped singing the cook's praises, complaining that her brother had hired some bad-tempered Frenchman to man his kitchen. Unfortunately, the man seemed to think that plain meals were the best diet for health. So every day, she had to endure the bland, tasteless meals because her brother dined outside most times, so he never understood when she complained.

Catherine acknowledged that Mistress Jamie was a treasure, and with the way she flattered her, she was sure if she wanted apple tarts to last her the whole year, the cook would endeavor to make her just that.

Days passed, and the day of the dinner arrived. The aromas of several delicacies filled the entire hall, indicating that the cook had prepared a sumptuous feast worthy of a king.

By sunset, Catherine spotted a carriage bearing the Duke's crest, a warhorse rearing on its hind legs in mid-flight. She would recognize that crest anywhere. It was that unique, and the sight of it marked the beginning of what she believed would be an evening of pure torture, confined to a small space with the Duke.

She could only pray that this night ended without her embarrassing herself. But then, even if she achieved that feat, her family might just embarrass her.

She loved her family, but they were not exactly popular for their self-control and proper behavior.

By the time she descended the stairs, she found her mother already ushering the Duke and Emmy inside, playing the gracious hostess—something she could excel at when she was not having emotionally charged spats with her husband.

When the Duke walked in, Catherine had to make a conscious effort to take a deep breath. She wanted to believe that her obsession with the man was some figment of her imagination.

The man in front of her was attractive in ways that her mind could not even comprehend. His dark suit and his slightly tousled hair were effortlessly seductive. She lowered her head while she curtseyed to him to try as much as possible to hide the blush she was sure was gradually turning her face the color of a tomato.

"Welcome to our home, Your Grace," she greeted in a voice that was surprisingly steady, considering her inner turmoil.

She went on to greet Emmy with the brightest smile she could muster. If her friend noticed anything, she did not show it.

When they walked into the dining room, Catherine realized with dismay that she had been placed directly across from the Duke. When she looked at him as he pulled out his chair, he must have read the shock on her face because his lips curled into that infuriating smirk.

It didn't have to be so difficult to ignore a duke, did it? She soon found the answer to that question to be in the negative because this Duke had long legs that he insisted on stretching fully underneath the dinner table, causing their legs to inadvertently brush against each other whenever they reached for their dishes. Each brush of his legs against hers sent a shiver down her spine and made warmth pool in her belly. The Duke was not immune either if the hot glint in his eyes was any indication.

Catherine was convinced that she would go mad before the dinner ended if it continued this way. So she was grateful when her mother initiated a conversation.

"So, how does it feel to be a duke now, Your Grace?" the Viscountess asked.

At that, Richard smiled innocently, as if he was not stoking her daughter's desire with every touch under the dinner table.

"It is quite humbling, I must say. I have more responsibility now, so it seems I might have to spend most of the year in the countryside to keep an eye on the estate and make sure the people there do not suffer because of my absence."

"That is wonderful, Your Grace," the Viscountess replied, and the Duke inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment.

Catherine had hoped that the conversation would remain civil, but her father's next question quickly dashed that hope.

"Do you miss your father, St. George?" he asked.

The Viscountess shot him a scathing glare and slapped his arm. Catherine saw her father's expression turn into that dark scowl that usually heralded the beginning of a spat. She braced herself for one, but it seemed that they had decided to leave it for now. She inwardly sighed in relief.

The Duke's charming smile had dimmed significantly. Everyone knew that his parents' absence was a sore spot with him.

But then he turned on that easy charm once again.

"My father was a great man with high acuity for mathematics. I just hope that I am able to preserve the estate accounts the way he did," he replied, his smile brittle at the edges.

Emmy, the sensitive soul that she was, recognized the tension in the room and decided to dispel it.

"This lamb is quite tender. You should try it, Brother," she suggested, sharing a look with her brother.

In that one look, Catherine recognized a lot of unspoken things.

Turning to her, Emmy continued. "Please extend my gratitude to Nana Jamie for the wonderful meal."

"I will," Catherine replied.

The conversation slowed down after that as everyone focused on their meal until Hugh, who had spent most of the dinner staring out the window, asked, "Your Grace, could I ride your carriage sometime? It seems quite grand."

"Hugh, we don't ask our guests for favors. Mind your manners," Catherine scolded lightly.

Surprisingly, Richard smiled indulgently at Hugh. "I would be honored to take you on a carriage ride, Mr. Burlow," he replied.

"Thank you, Your Grace," Hugh said excitedly, almost upsetting the table trying to execute a full bow while seated.

Lily, spying that she was about to miss the fun, interjected. "Me too, I would love to go."

Richard turned to her, laughing. "I would be honored to take you with us, Miss Lily."

The dinner went smoothly from then on. By the time everyone was busy eating their desserts, Catherine excused herself. Her job there was done, she had managed to host a dinner without her parents squabbling. She deserved a quiet moment away from the turmoil that the Duke inspired merely by being present.

She made her way to the library, the one place in the entire house where she could have peace. Once she got there, she took off her shoes and stockings, proceeding to curl her feet under her to continue reading Shakespeare's Julius Caesar.

In a few moments, she was engrossed in the betrayal, friendship, and love that were woven within those pages.

Her concentration was broken by the sound of a man clearing his voice. She raised her head, a scowl already forming on her face because of the distraction. And she was shocked to find Richard standing in the doorway.

He walked in now that he had her attention.

"Julius Caesar is one of my favorites. I see you have good taste in books. I never thought you one to read, at least not these types of books," he amended, seeing the deepening scowl on her face.

"I wonder why you would have thought that way," she drawled.

Instead of arguing, he sat at the other end of the sofa. Facing her, he asked, "Are you quite alright? You seemed tensed throughout the dinner."

Catherine could not tell if it was the concern in his voice or the intimacy of the library that made her open up to him.

"I was scared that the dinner would be ruined. I am only relieved it ended with no squabbles."

"Why would you be scared about that?" he asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. "The fare was delicious, and your family was delightful. I didn't see anything that could have gone wrong."

"They are not always that way."

"How so?"

"As I am sure you know, my parents are a love match. They love each other so much, but their passion seems to spill over into their arguments. I grew up listening to their volatile quarrels. They eventually settled, but it was scarring being caught in the middle. They are so wrapped up in each other, it is almost like they have no room for anyone else—not even their children."

She flashed him a rueful smile. "This is why I would never marry for love. I can't stand bringing any child to this earth and abandoning it because I cannot be bothered to tear myself away from my husband. I'd rather have peace in my marriage if I have anything to say about it."