Chapter 2
“Just what happened last night?” Cathy whispered to herself.
Cathy had never been in such a situation before. After all, the whole ton was calling her Miss Priggish behind her back. Being in the same room as a half-naked man without a chaperone, where her hand ended up holding a duke’s... Oh, it was unthinkable!
Her silver-backed hairbrush hit the vanity with a crack, metal on wood, but it sounded more like a pistol firing in her quiet room.
She stared at her reflection as she tried to breathe more evenly.
There was no lady’s maid to twist her hair into the latest fashions, nobody to give her water to soothe her nerves.
The Quintens had long since been forced to forego such luxuries.
While she and her sisters would sometimes complain about the lack of a maid, that morning, it felt like a blessing. Had someone come to wake her, the scandal would have been difficult to contain. Wrestling with her own heavy hair at least left her alone with her shame.
“Stop,” Cathy scolded herself as she watched her pale face in the mirror. “Control yourself, Cathy. The Duke of Baxter is no longer here. He is back to whatever depravity he usually indulges in, doing everything before his wedding to his poor bride-to-be.”
Cathy did not like what her reflection was showing her. She was not yet calm, with her chest heaving and her pupils dilated. Her whole body was still vibrating, and her palm could still feel him. His velvet heat. His rigid length. A lingering heat betrayed her feeling of indignation.
She rose from her seat and began to pace on the rug that ran from the bed to the window. Every time she glanced at her bed, her stomach did a little flip. The linens were still a tangled mess, and both she and the Duke were responsible. She had never shared a bed with anyone other than her sisters.
“Indecent,” she gasped, clutching her chest. Then, she strode toward her bed and yanked the duvet off. “Wretched rake!”
Yet she was not truly mad at him. She was angrier at herself. How could she let the man get under her skin? Worse, what made her take such leave of her senses that she would wake up next to a well-known rake? A man about to be married at that?
Tristan Radcliffe had always been a menace.
Cathy had known him for years, although they had never been within the same circle of acquaintances.
It was said that the Duke could charm even the most sensible women, leaving a trail of broken hearts and near scandals.
It was a surprise that he had decided to settle down, but she supposed men like him would play with many women, choosing one they deemed had the best reputation to be their obedient little wife.
“That man is… everything I have sworn to avoid,” she whispered, the words sounding hollow and forced. It was merely a desperate attempt to straighten her moral compass after it had been shaken.
Still, she knew that it would look worse to everyone at the party if she did not come out of her room at all. Therefore, it was best if she dressed with her usual grim efficiency, and that was what she did.
As if punishing herself, Cathy chose to wear her most restrictive corset.
She used a bedpost to help tighten the back, then reached behind her to knot the laces.
She wore gray, as if she were just emerging from a year of mourning rather than seeking suitors.
Because, in truth, who would have a spinster like her for a wife?
Perhaps a vicar—at least one who could endure a combative wife.
Or perhaps a widower seeking someone who could manage a household.
Cathy sighed.
Truth be told, her dress was more like armor.
She dreaded leaving her room, wondering if anyone had heard her scream earlier.
Did anyone see the disheveled duke come out of the room?
She shuddered at the possibility. When she did get the courage to step into the hallway, she felt like the very walls were listening for her approach. For what she planned to do next.
Walking to the breakfast room felt like a struggle. Her heart pounded in her chest, reaching its peak when the aroma of coffee drifted to her nose, along with the cacophony of voices.
A footman opened the door for Cathy, and when she stepped inside, the sound rose even higher.
Suddenly, the noise stopped abruptly as she approached the tables. Her heart plummeted into her stomach. Her legs felt like lead as she took the walk toward the refreshment table. Was everyone watching her, or was it just her imagination?
No. Why would they be watching me?
Yet, Lady Cooper gaped at her with a fork almost inside her mouth, while Lord Victor lowered the newspaper he was often engrossed in. The clattering of utensils seemed to have ceased in unison.
“Thank heavens you are here, Cathy!” her younger sister, Madeline, exclaimed.
Before Cathy could try to duck from everyone and plan an escape route, Madeline intercepted her.
“Please lower your voice, Maddy,” Cathy whispered. The last thing she wanted was for people to turn her way. “I... it feels like the whole room is watching me.”
Her younger sister, at twenty, looked vibrant in pinks and yellows, reflecting her cheerful attitude.
“That is because they are watching you,” Madeline insisted, although she lowered her voice and pulled Cathy to a corner slightly obscured by leafy plants.
“They have been talking about you and His Grace since sunrise! The whole house party is in disarray about the game you two were playing last night.”
“What game?”
It was strange not to remember anything at all about whatever terrible mistakes she had made the night before.
She normally kept up appearances. The thought of embarrassing herself so blatantly made her shudder.
She might not agree with everything society had to offer, but she would rather linger in the shadows.
“Yes! The Great Competition, as some people have been calling it. Lord Althorp seemed particularly impressed that a woman was able to write poetry and handle mathematics and turn it into a competition against a man!” Madeline reported excitedly.
What have you done, Cathy!
“The... the what?” Cathy knew the day was not going to go well, but this was worse than she expected. The blood rushed out of her face.
“How could you have forgotten?” her sister asked. “You were magnificent! You wrote such compelling poetry in less than ten minutes. He did, as well, but yours was infinitely better.”
“Of course, you would say that,” Cathy muttered.
“Well, you are brilliant in just about anything you have set your mind to, just like the quick mathematics that had everyone reeling.”
Cathy thought that if her mind was sharp enough to come up with such rare insights in a game, it should also be able to recall the details. She knew she had not drunk any alcoholic beverages the night before. She had been drinking lemonade the entire night!
“I truly have no memory of all this,” she protested, feeling a hollow dread spreading all over her chest. “I remember drinking lemonade, but I cannot recall anything about this particular series of preposterous competitions.”
“Mm. Indeed, I remember you drinking so much lemonade. I wondered why you were so thirsty. Then, you started playing the game, and I thought you were merely eager to prove you were better than the Duke of Baxter.”
“But why would I want that? Why would I want to make a spectacle of myself? You know I never attract attention to myself if I can help it!”
“I know, but you were engrossed in the competition! I believe it began with a debate. The Duke of Baxter made some comment about women’s supposed delicate brains.
Instead of debating with him, you decided to prove him wrong through an actual duel of the minds.
Everyone was thrilled to participate, too, bringing parchment and ink for the two of you. ”
Nothing seemed to dim Madeline’s enthusiasm, even as Cathy’s horror grew and grew.
“Oh no.”
“Well, it was quite entertaining. You won most of the games, Cathy! Can you believe that? Well, of course you can! What I could not believe was the Duke looking positively delighted. I could even say he was happy for you. He was laughing so much!”
“Maddy, he was inebriated,” grumbled Cathy.
“Oh, that makes sense. Still, Miss Anne Longrove looked like she had swallowed a lime soaked in vinegar. She and her mother thought that you were a menace to the sanctity of the guest list. They believe your actions to be quite unladylike and improper.”
“The sanctity of the guest list!” Cathy protested. “Oh, what are we to do, Maddy? I have ruined our family!”
She had tried her best to keep up appearances, always aware of how she presented herself to the ton. Her Papa’s failures were humiliating enough, but it seemed she had won the game of the worst by causing ruin in just one night.
“Well... There is more,” Madeline mused, looking less than enthused now.
Cathy narrowed her eyes at her sister. “You did not stop at mathematics and poetry, Cathy. You dared the Duke of Baxter to a race. You were planning to race across the south lawn, even in the darkness. You were already on your way, your skirts lifted up, when Grandmama and Lord Longrove ran after you to restrain you. The Viscount of Farstone went to retrieve His Grace as well.”
“Oh, dear me. That is even worse than I thought!” Cathy groaned. How could she have done all that and not remember a thing?
Madeline was quiet, and when Cathy heard the approaching footsteps, she knew just why. Their grandmother, the Baroness of Marlow, had just found them in their little hidden corner.
“How are you feeling, Cathy dearest? Are we to understand that you are turning into your father?” she demanded in her discreet but firm voice.
“No, Grandmama!” Cathy replied quickly.
“Good,” the older woman, still intimidating at five-and-seventy, said. “Because at the moment, he is using your mother’s silver tea service to gamble some more. People are already talking about our family enough, and I would not want a repeat of last night’s events any time soon.”
Lady Marlow glided toward them, the hem of her silk dress rustling. Their grandfather, Lord Marlow, followed, clutching an ear trumpet. He looked confused while his wife looked furious.
“Perhaps Papa is... merely overwhelmed by the ton,” Cathy protested weakly, knowing full well her grandmother was right. “He will join us for the ceremony, I am certain.”
The Baroness huffed loudly, striking the floor hard with her cane. There was no one she hated more in the world than her son-in-law.
“Do not defend him, Cathy. Your father has spent every single night in the card room,” the baroness declared, even as her eyes narrowed at Cathy’s gray gown, her nose wrinkling.
“We are invited to a ducal wedding! Instead of socializing to fix his reputation, he behaves like a commoner by hiding with other drunks. He is a disgrace to his own family!”
“A race?” Lord Marlow yelled, leaning toward his wife. “Will there be a race as well? I wish to wager, but where is the bookmaker?”
“There is no race, Norman!” Lady Marlow yelled back right into his trumpet.
Then, she refocused on her eldest granddaughter, smoothing a stray lock of hair from the latter’s forehead.
“Cathy, you are the eldest and the pillar upon which your sisters lean. You should be setting a good example. Therefore, it pains me to hear you being incautious. What will become of us? A family on the brink of all sorts of scandal, including debtor’s prison? ”
“Grandmama, I cannot... I cannot remember, nor can I explain, what happened last night. Yet, I can reassure you that—”
“There is no reassuring me now. I had warned your mother when she was your age. I told her what kind of man Harleigh Quinten was and still is. He would give her nothing but grief. He drinks to the point of oblivion. He has gambled the dowries of all four of his daughters. I would not be surprised if he sold one of you one day.”
Cathy wanted to protest, but her mouth felt dry. Her father had continued to disappoint them. It seemed that only Madeline was willing to believe in him at this point. Even though she was familiar with her grandmother’s rants, she still flinched at the fiery hiss from her grandmother’s mouth.
“He would not sell his children, Grandmama,” Cathy muttered.
“Promise me to stay away from men like your father. They are nothing but well-dressed cads. Do not let your father’s blood affect your superior intellect. Do not let such men deter you from choosing the right man. Now, let us rejoin the rest of the guests and keep the dignity of the Marlow side.”
Cathy followed the group to the breakfast room, keeping her head high as well as she could muster.
However, she could not help noticing that her skin prickled.
The whole picture looked pretty, with everyone dressed in their finery, eating delicious food, but there were undercurrents.
She knew that their position in society hinged on her grandmother’s and grandfather’s titles, and they might not be enough to keep them steady.
Three sisters depended on her to keep their reputations: Madeline, Portia, and Selina.
Oh, how I miss you, Mama, she thought as she settled into a seat in front of a dish of hot rolls, fruit, and lamb.
Her belly would be full, but her heart remained empty.