Chapter 6 #3
"I regret I cannot," he said smoothly. "I was just discussing some estate matters with Lady Catherine."
"Estate matters? How tedious." Miss Worthing's laugh tinkled like breaking glass. "Surely such things can wait? After all, Lady Catherine has Lord Pemberton to attend to such concerns. They're practically betrothed, aren't they?"
"We are not," Catherine said firmly, though she saw James's expression darken at the suggestion.
"Oh? How strange. Everyone says... well, never mind what everyone says." Miss Worthing smiled sweetly. "Though Lord Pemberton certainly acts like a man with expectations. Why, just yesterday at the park, he was telling everyone about your morning rides together. So devoted."
Catherine wanted to point out that riding in Hyde Park at the fashionable hour with a suitable escort was hardly scandalous, but before she could speak, Pemberton himself appeared, carrying three glasses of punch with the concentration of someone navigating a minefield.
"Success!" he announced proudly. "Though I nearly lost one to Lady Jersey's enthusiastic gesturing about someone's shocking behaviour at Vauxhall Gardens." He handed glasses to Catherine and James, then noticed Miss Worthing. "Oh, Miss Worthing. I didn't see you there."
"Lord Pemberton," she greeted coolly, clearly miffed at being overlooked. "I was just commenting on your devotion to Lady Catherine. Such constancy is admirable in a man."
Pemberton beamed as if he'd been given a medal. "Lady Catherine deserves nothing less than complete devotion."
Catherine wanted to sink through the floor. She could feel James's tension ratcheting higher with every word.
"How romantic," Miss Worthing cooed. "Don't you think so, Your Grace?"
"I think," James said carefully, "that devotion without reciprocation is merely obstinacy dressed in prettier clothes."
The words landed like a slap. Pemberton's face fell slightly, while Miss Worthing looked delighted at the drama.
"Reciprocation often takes time," Catherine said quietly, meeting James's gaze. "Some people are worth waiting for."
"And some people," James countered, his grey eyes boring into hers, "wait too long and lose their chance entirely."
The air between them crackled with tension. Even Miss Worthing seemed to sense that something was happening beyond the surface conversation.
"Well," Pemberton said awkwardly, clearly trying to salvage the situation, "shall we return to our seats? I believe Signora Catalani is about to begin again."
Indeed, the soprano was returning to the stage, her peacock feathers slightly ruffled but her enthusiasm undimmed.
"I think," Catherine said suddenly, "that I need some air. The room is rather close."
"I'll accompany you," Pemberton offered immediately.
"As will I," James said, his tone suggesting this wasn't negotiable.
"Oh, how delightful, a parade," Miss Worthing said brightly. "I shall come too."
And so Catherine found herself leading what amounted to a small procession through Mrs. Drummond-Burrell's townhouse toward the terrace doors.
Behind her, she could hear Miss Worthing attempting to engage James in conversation about the weather, the Season, her opinion on Swedish turnips (apparently negative), anything to capture his attention.
Pemberton walked beside Catherine, occasionally offering observations about the artwork they passed, and she appreciated that he was trying to act normal.
The terrace was mercifully empty, most guests having returned to their seats. The cool evening air was a relief after the stifling heat of the music room. Catherine moved to the balustrade, breathing deeply, trying to calm the riot of emotions in her chest.
"Better?" Pemberton asked, concern evident in his voice.
"Yes, thank you."
"The heat can be overwhelming," Miss Worthing said, though she didn't look overwhelmed in the slightest. She looked like a cat who'd spotted an unguarded dish of cream. "Your Grace, might I have a word? About the charity committee my mother is organizing?"
It was transparent, but social convention meant James could hardly refuse without being unconscionably rude. He glanced at Catherine, something unreadable in his expression, then allowed Miss Worthing to draw him slightly away.
Which left Catherine with Pemberton. Dear, sweet, oblivious Pemberton, who was looking at her with such genuine concern that she felt like an absolute villain.
"Catherine," he said softly, using her given name as he did only in private moments, "are you truly well? You've seemed distracted lately."
"I'm perfectly well," she lied.
"Is it the Duke?" he asked suddenly, surprising her. "I've noticed he seems to unsettle you."
Oh, if only he knew how much.
"The Duke is nothing to me," she said, the words tasting like ash.
"Good," Pemberton said, relief evident. "Because I must tell you, there are rumours about him. They say he was involved with a married woman before he left for the military. Some say he killed a man over her."
"Gossip," Catherine said dismissively, though her heart was racing.
"Perhaps. But a man who would pursue a married woman... well, it speaks to his character, doesn't it?"
Catherine wanted to laugh. Or cry. Possibly both. If only Pemberton knew that the Duke's character had been revealed to her in the most intimate way possible, and that... far from being shocked, she'd begged for more.
"People change," she said carefully.
"Do they? I'm not so certain. A rake remains a rake, whatever title he inherits."