Chapter 14
“Did you sleep at all, Cathy?” Lady Marlow asked, as she swept into Baxter Hall, mostly uninvited.
“Of course, I did, Grandmama. Why would I not?” Cathy asked, wondering where this particular drama would go.
She tried to keep her voice level, even though her heart was beating fast as her mind drifted back to the night before.
Tristan had rejoined her at the ball, his face indifferent and unreadable.
He had not even offered a word of comfort, nor did he acknowledge having seen or heard the scene Anne had caused.
Instead, he had formally offered her his arm.
Because of this, their ride back to Baxter Hall had been heavy and stifling, marked by silence. Cathy had to listen to the clopping of horses’ hooves and her own heartbeat. She anticipated him to say something, but nothing came.
By the time they reached Baxter Hall, he had merely given her a clipped, “Good night.” Then, he quickly disappeared into his own wing.
Cathy did not know that she would take the silence to heart. It was what she had wanted. Had it not?
“I imagined you would be counting dust motes and recalling all the times you had been a stubborn wife, and hopefully have learned from it!”
The baroness had already swept into the morning room, with her chin up and her posture straight. Cathy knew that her arrival was a lesson in itself. Mrs. Collins, the baroness’ maid, followed with a large valise in her hand.
What is all that about?
As soon as both were seated, Cathy replied, “Well, my dreams were plagued by visions of marble statues, ledgers, and annulment papers. I am pretty certain Papa was in the dream somewhere.”
“Probably vomiting in the bushes,” Lady Marlow muttered. “A real nightmare to dream of Harleigh, but I am glad that your dreams are finally showing you the right path.”
“The right path to nightmares?” Cathy asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, a little fear is a good motivator. It will continue to enhance your intellect,” the baroness said. Then, she turned to her maid, “Collins, set the kit on the table. Cathy, let me see your dress. Are you still dressed in those gaudy gowns? Remember what you wore to the ball? It was splendid.”
Cathy sighed but obeyed. “I cannot possibly wear something this extravagant every day!”
“But why not? Imagine what Miss Longrove was planning to do. She would probably be wearing a silk nightgown every night, with jewels!”
“That is ridiculous!” Cathy exclaimed, even as she turned around for her grandmother to inspect her long-sleeved gray gown, which, as usual for her, was buttoned firmly up to her chin, in true Miss Priggish fashion.
“It is worse than I imagined,” the baroness mumbled, as she stood up to inspect her granddaughter. “You look like a tall governess, or a tall nun, who managed to lose her way to the convent. Collins, what do you think?”
Mrs. Collins was often quiet, but when she spoke, she was usually firm with her opinions.
“I see a beautiful woman hiding behind layers of clothes, my lady,” the servant replied. “I believe she can still be modest without being so stern.”
“Precisely,” the baroness said. “Cathy, we have little time. The Duke has a lot of energy and is known for his appetite. If he cannot find anything to use his energy on in this house, he will find it elsewhere. There will be many women willing to warm his bed. Therefore, we must work on keeping his attention within this house. It should be on you alone.”
“This is preposterous, Grandmama!” Cathy protested. “I am a duchess. My role is to manage this estate. I am used to being respected for my mind, and not for my appearance. Not for my body.”
“You are a duchess because you married the Duke. Without him, you would be a discarded spinster without a title, and not even a father,” her grandmother corrected.
“And as for appearances, being attractive does not equate to being a fool. You can be both beautiful and intelligent. Now, Collins, please.”
The lady’s maid was quick to assist. Cathy was gently returned to her seating position. Before she could protest, Mrs. Collins unpinned her hair.
“Before you learn ways in which to seduce your own husband, you must work on your appearance first. You are by no means a plain girl, but you always insist on pulling your hair into a severe bun. It is time to let go of this puritanical style. Mrs. Collins will provide your hair with curls, neat ones, but with a few strands fighting to be released!”
Cathy gasped at the passion in her grandmother’s voice. She was almost persuaded, but she thought of the practicalities of having dangling curls.
“I fear they will get in the way of my writing, Grandmama.”
“Then stop writing!” Lady Marlow barked. “You are not meant to be writing in ledgers all your life. You can hire someone to do that for you. From now on, you are a seductress in training. You can play with a lock of hair while speaking with the Duke.”
“Like this?” Cathy took a lock of hair and twisted it around her finger.
“Do not do it like a petulant child, and do not make the movement frantic, either. You do it slowly and deliberately. Wrap a strand around a finger while you look at him. Like this. It suggests things that you are still refusing to say. You have to get his attention on you. Stop being so prudish.”
“It suggests my scalp is itchy,” Cathy grumbled, even as Mrs. Collins’ nimble fingers recreated the hairstyle that Lady Marlow wanted on her granddaughter.
“It suggests that he distracts you,” Lady Marlow insisted.
“Stop watching the Duke as if you are prepared to correct his grammar. You must smile at him, but not too much like Madeline would. It should be slow and knowing, as if the two of you have a secret between yourselves. Use that long, elegant neck of yours. Tilt it to show the expanse of your throat.”
At the moment, Mrs. Collins was already dabbing a damp cloth against Cathy’s face. She inhaled the scents of elderflower and rosewater.
“Then, we must do something about your face,” the baroness continued.
“What is wrong with my face?” Cathy recalled Lord Farstone’s words about her face, and she scowled at her reflection.
“You are a pretty girl, Cathy, but you are often pale. You spend too much time inside your study. It is making you look sick or tired. Mrs. Collins will give you a touch of rouge. Remember how to apply it. I want your dear husband to see you always on the verge of a blush. We may also—”
“The rouge is enough, I think,” Cathy interrupted.
“All right, then. We can forego the kohl and just put a little tinge on your lips, too.”
“Yes, but the Duke will notice. He will take one look at me and know what is happening. I do not think he is a fool.”
“But that is the point, Cathy!” the baroness cried, as she threw her hands up in surrender. “He must notice you. He will see that his wife has finally decided to end whatever enmity it was between you and him.”
“Enmity sounds too serious for this, Grandmama.”
“Well, what would you call this? Stubbornness? We need the Duke to see that you are making an effort to catch his attention. It will do you good if he thinks you are doing it all for him, which, let me remind you, you are.”
“It looks like I am doing it for you,” Cathy argued, even though she could feel something change. She could not help but wonder what he would think about her new appearance.
Mrs. Collins provided her with a hand mirror to see the changes.
Her hair felt strangely lighter, bouncier.
Her grandmother’s maid did a wonderful job of making the strands look shinier and lighter.
The curls seemed natural if the Duke did not know her well enough.
Her skin looked dewy, and her lips were red and lush.
“I... I do not look like me,” she whispered in awe.
“You look like you, but with the knowledge of your feminine power and wiles,” the baroness explained. “But there is a lot of work to do.”
“There is?” Cathy asked, her eyes widening.
Mrs. Collins had let her see her reflection one more time, but the lady’s maid was off to take something out of the baroness’ trunk. Cathy told herself it was the novelty that had struck her with curiosity.
“Now, for your gowns,” the baroness said, as Mrs. Collins revealed gowns of silk, lace, and satin. Some were velvet, too. They were in colors that were meant to be noticed: emerald like the Duke’s eyes, blue like hers, gold like the jewels he wanted her to wear, and rose like the flower.
“I have gowns of my own,” she said.
“I do not know why I ever let you wear those drab things. They are shrouds and sacks in black and gray. We must also consider the cut, the neckline, and the way the fabrics should hug your silhouette.”
Cathy looked at some of the gowns her grandmother brought. The necklines were much too steep. They would not only reveal her collarbones but also the tops of her breasts.
“I cannot wear those,” she protested, her voice rising in panic. “It is... They are much too indecent!”
“Whatever you say, they are the latest in fashion. It will make your husband pause and wonder why he had not tried anything with you before. Mrs. Collins, help her dress in one of these. I do not want a collar in sight. Wear the gown as it is meant to be worn.”
“Grandmama!”
“You are a smart young woman. We do not have to talk in circles about this. It is not about vanity. It is about thinking of your future security. You have wasted your youth on being a symbol of protest. You can live your life more freely without having to worry about your father’s behavior.
An annulment is a real threat, and many families and their daughters would readily intercept a man like him.
If you are with child, you will be untouchable. ”
“Am I to be a mere vessel, then?” she asked.
“No, my dear,” her grandmother corrected. “You will be a wife in the true sense of the word. He will bring wealth and power. You, on the other hand, can provide support, comfort, and family. He does not have much of a family, does he? You may not love him, but we cannot afford another scandal.”
Cathy gaped at her grandmother, who had just delivered a passionate speech. She then looked at the lavender silk in Mrs. Collins’ hands, and it seemed that her life flashed before her.
Her family. Their faces clouded her mind.
“I understand my duty,” she said, steeling herself.
“Your duty is your salvation, and ours. Now, Collins, make sure you tighten her stays. Make her waist look tiny.”
“It is not big,” Cathy grumbled despite herself.
An hour later, Cathy was finally ready. She stood in the center of the morning room, feeling self-conscious in her lavender gown. It felt strange to wear something so light and revealing. She felt almost naked, although she knew that was a ridiculous thought.
“Now, walk,” Lady Marlow commanded softly. “Let me see you walk like a proper lady. You should not walk like you are about to sprint. Use smaller steps. Focus on your movements enough to hear your skirts rustle.”
Cathy tried her best. Adjusting her gait presented a challenge. Her legs were long, and she usually used that fact to her advantage, reaching her destination more quickly than other women.
But she tried and tried and tried.
“Better,” her grandmother finally conceded. “Remember how you will handle your hair. Tuck a curl behind your ear when you have his attention. Tilt your neck to the side to reveal more of your skin.”
“It feels like a performance, and I dare say I never thought I would end up in the theater.”
“Ah. But the ton is all about performance, is it not? Do you think all those women smiling at each other and exchanging gossip together truly like each other? Perhaps some of them, but most of it is a performance. And you, my dear, have been playing the wrong role all along.”
“I was not!”
“There is no time to argue. I believe I hear his footsteps. Collins, we must go as quickly as possible. Do not forget all that we have taught you, my dear.”
Before Cathy could protest, her two fairy godmothers vanished through the back door. She was left standing, still wondering what had happened to her.
Then, her grandmother’s words registered. Her husband was coming her way. Her heart began to race at the mere thought. Her hands were shaking. She wondered how she could go through the performance like this. She had practiced enough, she supposed, but that still did not comfort her.
Finally, the heavy oak door opened.
Lord, help me.