Chapter Two
Catherine
Catherine isn’t surprised to find she’d rather be home reading the final chapters of The Mysteries of Udolpho, but she’d been hoping the ball would be more interesting. She’s been talking to Mr. Jenkins for a solid fifteen minutes. She
likes his gray waistcoat, and supposes that his flop of dark blond hair is becoming. His voice isn’t as grating as Mr. Helm’s
was, at any rate. But he’s hardly keeping her attention.
Dear Cousin Louis has been dutifully bringing eligible young men into their circle for the last hour. Mother’s hovering at
her elbow, interjecting every so often to gently interrogate the gentlemen. The gold ribbons on the lace overlay of Mother’s
white muslin gown accent her light brown hair, and her warm brown eyes suit the colors wonderfully. She looks exquisite and
heads have been turning throughout the room to look at them all night.
For all of Mother’s anxiety about this evening, their first dress ball at the Upper Rooms seems to be going decently well.
Except that, somehow, just before each gentleman is about to ask Catherine to dance, they’re abruptly pulled away.
She can even see it coming this time, Mr. Rile approaching behind Mr. Jenkins, hand outstretched to tap him on the shoulder.
Mr. Rile, of course, has some urgent business they need to discuss, and whisks Mr. Jenkins swiftly away, the two of them lost
in a sea of tailcoats and white muslin.
Mother sighs gustily and Cousin Louis forces a smile, wiping at his shining forehead. “I’ll find some others, don’t you fret, Mrs. Pine,” he says, squeezing Mother’s arm before scurrying away.
Catherine withholds her own sigh and steps closer to Mother, offering her the final sip of her champagne. The thought of crossing
the room to get more is abhorrent, but it might be better than losing yet another dance whenever Cousin Louis returns with
his newest victim.
This is supposed to be Catherine’s entrance to society. She’s supposed to be impressing all the gentlemen, lining up outings,
generally making herself as desirable as possible. Which . . . is all kinds of horrible in its own right, but at least she
had a plan coming into tonight. Perhaps if Father had been feeling well enough to attend with them . . .
“I simply don’t understand,” Mother mutters.
Catherine stays quiet, watching Mr. Rile bring Mr. Jenkins around the floor to be handed off to the tall, auburn-haired young
lady in the green dress who’s been receiving half of Catherine’s prospective dances for the last hour. The other half have
gone to the full-figured young woman in yellow with the pretty brown hair studded with little yellow daisies.
None of her dances have gone to the mysterious petite woman loitering in the alcove behind them, but Catherine knows she’s
to blame. Her shiny dark brown hair, small upturned nose, and sharp cheekbones, coupled with her gorgeous light pink dress,
should give her an angelic presence. But Catherine’s seen her whispering in the ear of each man who’s come to steal Catherine’s
suitors. The devil on their shoulders, so to speak.
The woman happens to look up as Catherine glances at her, and Catherine feels her breath stall in her chest. She’s never seen eyes like that before—gray blue, penetrating and extremely intense, even from this distance.
Catherine wants to stalk across the floor and ask what the hell her problem is. At the same time, she’d like to just keep
looking into those icy gray eyes. Which is thoroughly confusing and infuriating.
The woman looks away, leaving Catherine alone with her excited stomach. Catherine does sigh then and Mother nudges her arm.
“It’s that girl,” Catherine whispers.
“Who?” Mother asks.
Catherine tips her empty champagne glass toward the woman in the alcove. “She’s been stealing my dances.”
Mother follows her gesture and goes perfectly still beside her. Catherine glances at her and finds her face pale, back ramrod
straight.
“Mother?”
Her head whips around, neck craning this way and that until she stiffens again. Catherine follows her look. That’s— No, it’s
not the same woman. But they’re very close. Wearing a cream gown with little pink flowers, the woman standing by the refreshment
table across the room looks almost like an exact replica of the girl in the alcove, just twenty-five years older. Mother and
daughter, and no surprise, the mother is surrounded by a throng of friends too.
“Do you know her?” Catherine wonders. Maybe Mother can introduce her to the daughter so Catherine can get to the bottom of
her meddling.
“That woman ruined my entire life twenty-five years ago,” Mother hisses.
Catherine’s jaw drops. “Beg pardon?”
“Lady Tisend,” Mother snarls quietly. “Ruined my reputation with a vicious lie. My parents could hardly go to the Pump Room. I couldn’t even leave the house. If it wasn’t for your father deciding to marry me and take me to Idless despite—” She breaks off, heaving in air.
Catherine reaches out, taking her hand, heart in her throat. She can barely hear the ball around them now. “How awful,” she
whispers. “I’m so sorry.”
“My parents left Bath right after the wedding, so I hadn’t heard— But of course I knew she’d be here. To have her daughter
stealing your dances even now is abhorrent.”
Catherine blinks. That seems an awfully damning conclusion to jump to. “Mama, I’m not sure—”
“She ruined me to protect her match then, and she’s trying to do it again,” Mother insists. “We have to—”
“I’ve a few more gents coming our way as soon as their card game has finished,” Cousin Louis says, appearing on Mother’s other
side, blocking their view of Lady Tisend. It doesn’t stop Mother from glaring, seemingly through his shoulder. “Everything
all right?” he asks.
“Mother’s just spotted an old . . . acquaintance,” Catherine hedges. “Lady Tisend?”
“Oh, yes,” Cousin Louis says, glancing over at her. “Just bumped into her daughter’s suitor, Mr. Dean. The viscount’s not
in attendance, as usual, but his son always attempts to make an appearance.”
“Lord Dean’s son?” Mother asks.
“Came back from Oxford about two years ago,” Cousin Louis says. “He and Lady Rosalie have been courting since last year.”
So that’s the petite woman with the blue-gray eyes—Lady Rosalie.
“Rumor has it he’ll propose before the season’s out, and she’d accompany him to London when he takes his father’s seat. Oh, there he is, by the entryway,” Cousin Louis says.
Catherine glances toward the doors, and Mother tugs on her hand, abruptly marching forward.
“Come with me,” she insists.
Cousin Louis yelps, dropping the lone profiterole he’d been intent on, as Mother grabs his wrist and hauls him along as well.
Catherine does her best to apologize to the myriad people they’re bumping into, but once Mother’s determined on something,
there’s rarely any stopping her.
Cousin Louis glances at Catherine, who shrugs, both of them trying to look like they’re not being dragged through the room.
When they reach the doorway to the ballroom, they come face-to-face with a tall, dashing young man. A strong jaw, beautiful
chestnut hair, and large dark eyes—he could be the romantic hero in one of her gothic novels.
“Cousin, I know you were eager to introduce us,” Mother says to a baffled Cousin Louis.
Cousin Louis glances from Mother to the gentleman and back. Mother’s giving him quite a look.
“Oh, well, yes. Right. Mr. Dean, a pleasure to see you again,” Cousin Louis says as he extricates his arm from Mother’s grasp.
Catherine would laugh at the way he’s subtly wringing out his hand if she couldn’t see Lady Tisend starting to push her way
through the crowd behind him.
“May I present my cousin and her daughter, Mrs. Pine and Miss Pine. They’re new to Bath.”
Mr. Dean looks at them, clearly caught off guard to be bombarded with an introduction without even stepping into the ballroom. Though, as the son of a viscount, Catherine figures he must suffer through introductions by the minute at these events.
Everything about him is as perfect as she imagines a suitor of Lady Rosalie’s should be. So perfect that it boggles the mind
to think he’d ever have an interest in Catherine, of all people.
“It is such a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Dean,” Mother says, her eyes twinkling. “I’ve heard such lovely things.
I’m told you’re an excellent dancer.”
Mr. Dean puffs up a little bit. Oh, that’s just too easy.
“I do rather like a turn about the dance floor, yes,” he says, smiling at Mother. It’s a ridiculously charming smile. “Is
Mr. Pine in this evening? I ought to make his acquaintance before asking your lovely daughter to dance.”
That was fast. A little too fast for a man who’s supposedly almost engaged to Lady Rosalie.
“He isn’t in attendance tonight, unfortunately,” Mother says quickly. “But he would be delighted to meet you later this week
at his club, or the Pump Room, if it pleases you.”
“We’ll find a time,” Mr. Dean agrees. “Please tell him I’m looking forward to it. And I suppose now I must be a bit gauche
and offer Miss Pine my first dance, if she has any room on her card.”
“She’ll make room,” Mother says.
Catherine winces; too pushy, too desperate, too everything—but Mr. Dean just grins and offers her his arm.
Is it that easy? She’s been putting in effort all night, making sparkling conversation (if she does say so herself), and then
losing her potential dances to Lady Rosalie’s machinations. Does this mean she could have just stood there all night and said
not a word?
Mother and Cousin Louis walk with them to the edge of the dance floor, almost bodily blocking anyone from approaching Mr. Dean. Catherine can see Lady Tisend fighting her way toward them through the throng of onlookers, but they reach the dance floor before she can manage.
Mr. Dean walks out with Catherine and they step apart to join the uppermost quadrille just as the band is warming up for the