Chapter Four #2
She turns, noticing the pallor of her mother’s face, while her father simply looks around, impressed. She tries to find words
of comfort, despite the unease skittering up and down her own spine—
“You’re finally here.”
Catherine spins around and reflexively stands up taller as Lady Rosalie and Lady Tisend appear from behind the dais. Lady
Tisend is dragging a short, dapper man with salt-and-pepper hair by the hand. Must be Lord Tisend. He has Lady Rosalie’s small,
upturned nose.
Behind him, a slightly taller woman follows with an older gentleman, the two of them walking more sedately. The second woman
has a soft smile and looks far more relaxed than either Lady Rosalie or Lady Tisend.
“Come, come, I’ve got our pianist set up on the smaller pianoforte at the back,” Lady Rosalie says, dipping in a curtsy to
Catherine’s parents before grabbing Catherine by the hand.
“It’s nice to see you, Lady Tis—” Catherine manages, trying to curtsy while Lady Rosalie pulls her away.
Everyone laughs, even Mother, which is something. But she can’t focus on them, not when she’s trying not to trip over her
own feet.
“Is there a fire?” she asks Lady Rosalie. She’s decidedly not focusing on the feeling of Lady Rosalie’s smaller hand in hers.
“We’ve only thirty minutes to learn this dance,” Lady Rosalie says simply, tugging Catherine around behind the dais, where,
just as she said, there’s a small pianoforte and a pianist patiently waiting for them.
The man nods to her, wearing a powdered wig and dressed in a cream patterned silk waistcoat that looks like something out
of a drawing of Versailles.
“That’s Monsieur Claude,” Lady Rosalie says, dropping Catherine’s hand to gesture to the musician. “He’s my father’s favorite
pianist.”
“A pleasure to meet you,” Catherine manages.
How many concerts do the Tisends throw a year?
“And you, mademoiselle,” he says. “Shall we begin half tempo?”
“I’ll show Miss Pine the steps and then we’ll begin, Monsieur Claude,” Lady Rosalie says.
Monsieur Claude sits back, happy to relax.
It’s only then that Catherine gets a chance to admire Lady Rosalie’s stunning outfit. Her gown is a soft pink that lays over
her petite figure perfectly, with beautiful flowers embroidered along her hem and up to her knees, matching the flowers on
the dais. Her shiny dark hair falls softly around her face in slightly relaxed curls, the rest gathered elegantly at the back
of her head. Her short gloves, in a light pink lace, accentuate her dainty hands.
She’s utterly breathtaking, which is a problem, because she’s been explaining steps for a full minute and Catherine hasn’t
caught a word of it. No wonder people are dazzled by Lady Rosalie. Between her beauty, her intimidating countenance, and her
obscene wealth, how could anyone not be?
Lady Rosalie stops talking and stares at Catherine expectantly.
Catherine shrugs guiltily. “I’m so sorry, could you . . . say all of that again?” Lady Rosalie raises an eyebrow. “It’s a
lot to take in!”
“It is a dazzling room, Lady Rosalie, you must admit. I nearly forgot my entire solo the first time I performed here,” Monsieur
Claude says merrily.
Catherine’s more than willing to let Lady Rosalie think it’s all the room.
“I will give you a tour another time. But we’ve limited remaining minutes to learn this, so will you focus?” Lady Rosalie
asks, looking back at Catherine.
The quirk of her lips suggests she noticed Catherine staring at her décolletage. It’s only that the lace along her bosom draws
the eye, and her dress suits her exceedingly well, and it’s meant to attract attention. She appreciates a good shelf. Bosoms are pleasing to look at.
Usually, she doesn’t get caught.
“Ready?”
“Yes,” Catherine says quickly, hoping her cheeks aren’t bright red.
“It’s four counts forward, touch hands, then four back, a cross to the right, then back to middle, then back to the left.
Got it?”
Catherine nods and they step to face each other. Lady Rosalie counts off and Catherine stumbles through the easy steps. Lady
Rosalie doesn’t look impressed.
Catherine forces herself to focus. She’s not a bad dancer. She’s just usually not this distracted. The men she danced with
back home were beautiful in their own right, and Mr. Dean is certainly handsome, but none of them were as captivating as Lady
Rosalie. None of them had so many minute expressions.
No one has commanded her attention like this so far.
“No, do it again, you’re missing the second turn,” Lady Rosalie says imperiously, tugging on Catherine’s hand as they stand
close together, halfway through the sequence.
Catherine manages a nod and lets Lady Rosalie walk her through the turn sequence again, their hands coming together, then
apart, and back.
“Better. You’re not terrible at this, you just lack focus,” Lady Rosalie decides, looking Catherine up and down when they
finish the last step. “Think you can manage the whole thing?”
Catherine swallows against a new flutter of nerves. “No mistakes,” she promises.
Lady Rosalie chuckles. “We’ll see.”
Lady Rosalie nods to Monsieur Claude. He begins to play and Lady Rosalie counts them off softly.
Forward, hands touch, back, turn right, center, turn left, center. Take Lady Rosalie’s hand without focusing on the way it
makes her arm tingle. Hop step twice, spin, take her other hand. Don’t focus on the way she squeezes gently, as if in encouragement.
Then she has to circle Lady Rosalie, careful not to step on her toes in her pink ballet flats. Catherine tries hard not to
notice her floral-and-citrus perfume—something different from what she wore on their walk. It’s sharper, like lemon.
Lady Rosalie’s countenance cracks and she smiles as they go into the last sequence, spinning around each other and hop-stepping,
hands linked. Catherine finds herself breathless, laughing as they spin around. Lady Rosalie joins her and they come together
one last time, a little too close, before spinning away in a final flourish.
Monsieur Claude concludes the accompaniment with two triumphant beats and laughs along with them. Catherine smiles over at him and then looks to Lady Rosalie. Her curls are a little disarrayed, and her cheeks are pink.
Catherine’s breathing hard, her own face hot, mouth still split in a smile.
“You’re a quick study,” Lady Rosalie says.
“You’re a good teacher,” Catherine admits. “Mean, but good.”
Lady Rosalie cackles, her laughter ringing around the room so pleasantly. “That is exactly what I’m going for.”
“You should teach children. They’d learn in days,” Catherine suggests, delighted at the way Lady Rosalie snickers.
“I should not. I made a girl cry once trying to teach her arpeggios.
“It was my daughter. She still won’t touch a pianoforte,” Monsieur Claude says.
There’s the sound of a commotion suddenly on the other side of the dais. Catherine can hear chatter beginning to echo about
the room.
Lady Rosalie laughs and takes Catherine’s arm. “Do give her my best, would you? Bonne performance, Monsieur Claude. Thank
you for your time.”
“Of course, my lady,” he says, standing to give them both a bow.
Lady Rosalie tugs gently on Catherine’s arm, leading her back out into the main room and toward the waiting phalanx of guests
queueing at the entrance.
Lady Rosalie’s parents approach the crowd, all smiles.
Catherine looks for her parents and spots them standing near the entrance to a side room, chatting with the couple they saw when they first arrived.
Mother doesn’t look too strained, though Catherine can tell she’s still gripping Father’s arm rather hard. But at least she’s smiling.
“My aunt and uncle will take good care of your parents, don’t fret,” Lady Rosalie says.
“Of course not,” Catherine says quickly, not wanting to let on that anything might be amiss. She got to practice dance moves
while her mother faced her greatest betrayer.
“Now, stay close to me. I’ll be sure to introduce you to all the right people. Present you to society properly.”
Catherine bites back a retort. There was nothing improper about her own cousin’s introductions at the Assembly Room, nor her
parents’ ability to introduce her to the right people.
But she shouldn’t let on. She and Lady Rosalie have just spent a surprisingly fun few minutes together, and allowing her to
think she retains the upper hand is the whole point, isn’t it? Catherine will lie in wait to prove her wrong, slowly, steadily,
stealthily.
Though as they join the receiving line and Catherine curtsies time and time again, she begins to wonder if it might truly
be easier to just let Lady Rosalie have at it and simply give over to her power.
“And how is your cousin—Miss Getling? Has her rheumatism improved on the Continent?” Lady Rosalie asks a tall broad gentleman.
Catherine thinks his name might be Mr. Darton.
“It has,” he says, surprised. “I’ll tell her you asked after her. It’ll make her whole week.”
Lady Rosalie smiles, and it’s a crafted expression—nothing like the amused delight from their dance earlier—but no less dazzling.
“Please do remind her about my father’s friend in Lorraine. She should call and see the orchards.”
“I will,” the man says, bowing to them before heading off.
“Have you ever been to the Continent, Miss Pine?” Lady Rosalie asks.
There’s a momentary lull in the procession of guests and Catherine allows her shoulders to come down. If she remembers one-eighth
of these names, it will be a triumph.
“I haven’t. Have you?”
“Twice,” Lady Rosalie says, gesturing toward the chairs.
Catherine lets her lead, the two of them smiling as guests mill around them, slowly heading toward their seats.
“Was it wonderful?”
“Parts of it, yes,” Lady Rosalie says with a shrug. “Sometimes it’s just as boring as Bath.”
There’s a crack in the facade, a dimming in her eyes. It’s momentary, before that practiced smile snaps back into place. But
it makes Catherine wonder. Can she tease out the woman she was dancing with earlier?