Chapter Twenty #2
Catherine stands there, hands curling into fists below the water, the bowl of nuts bobbing on the surface in front of her.
Mr. Sholle shakes her smiling father’s hand and looks back at her once before wading away. Didn’t even bother to say goodbye
to her, after pursuing her for two months.
Is she worth so little to everyone but Rosalie?
She tries to take a deep breath, tries to remind herself that Rosalie is fighting for her—for a chance to be with her and figure out what would come next. And Christopher is helping. There are still
people on her side. People who see her as more than a prize to be given from parents to husband.
“Oh, is that the lovely young Miss Pine?”
Catherine turns to find Mrs. Raught coming out of the steam, dragging Henrietta behind her. Thank Christ, a friendly face. Maybe she can escape this and sit with Henrietta until she no longer wants to use her fists to push everyone away.
“Hello,” Catherine says, her voice high and rough. “Mrs. Raught, Miss Raught,” she adds, dipping in a little curtsy that sets
the copper bowl rocking again.
“Would you mind if I stole Miss Pine for a moment?” Henrietta asks Mother.
“Of course, of course,” Mother says, obviously distracted by the three other mothers vying for her attention.
Henrietta takes her hand and Catherine gratefully follows Henrietta through the water, excited to find herself in a far corner
where Amalie is already waiting. They’re both in the same brown soaking dresses, but Amalie’s bonnet is rimmed with green
ribbon, Henrietta’s with her signature yellow.
“So, is it true?” Henrietta asks, ushering Catherine to sit on the vee created by the ledge.
Henrietta and Amalie sit on either side of her, close and tight. She’s so grateful to see them, even as she’s disappointed
Rosalie isn’t hiding back here too. She doesn’t feel squished or trapped at all now.
“Is what true?”
“It’s all over town that Mr. Dean will be proposing within a few weeks.”
Catherine gapes at Henrietta. “What?”
“Our mothers both heard that he’d sent an enormous bouquet with a letter of intentions for your father,” Amalie says.
Catherine looks askance between them. “How do you know that already?”
“So it’s true?” Henrietta asks, her voice squeaky.
“He sent a bouquet, but not a letter of intention,” Catherine corrects.
“But he did send a card with the flowers,” Amalie presses.
Catherine sighs, tipping her head back to look up at the ceiling. She’s getting a headache, whether from the close, damp air
or the stress of the morning. “He sent a card thanking me for saving his life, that’s all. He didn’t ask my father anything,
and my father and Lord Dean haven’t had any conversations of which I’m aware.”
“That’s good,” Amalie says.
Catherine raises her head to meet her eyes. “Is it?”
“Rosalie would be devastated,” Henrietta puts in.
Catherine blinks. Do they—oh. Right. Yes. She and Rosalie are fighting over Mr. Dean. Amalie and Henrietta—Rosalie’s closest
friends—don’t know anything about anything . . . else.
“I’m sure she’s not, seeing as nothing has actually happened,” Catherine says, trying to sound casual.
“Well, her mother certainly will be,” Henrietta says.
“You’re probably right about that. But I’m sure Lady Rosalie won’t be upset.”
“I’m sure she won’t either,” Amalie says. “As least she won’t if you haven’t said yes to him.”
“I haven’t,” Catherine insists. “There’s nothing to say yes to. There won’t be,” slips out unbidden.
“You’re sure?” Amalie asks, her green eyes sharp, gaze somehow too knowing.
Does Amalie know? Christopher wouldn’t tell her, not unless Rosalie gave him permission. Would he?
Catherine and Rosalie have been spending all their page space being gushy. She hasn’t thought to ask about Rosalie’s friends.
Her own friends.
“I’m sure,” Catherine tells Amalie.
“Well, you might want to tell Mr. Dean that,” Amalie says simply.
“And Rosalie,” Henrietta adds from her other side.
“Lady Rosalie already knows,” Catherine says.
“Discussed it on the trip to Blaise Castle I’ve heard nothing about, did you?” Amalie asks.
Catherine meets her eyes and wonders if perhaps she and Rosalie haven’t been as subtle as they thought. But she can’t be the
one to tell them. They are her friends, but Rosalie should tell them. If she hasn’t already told them. God, she and Rosalie need to meet.
“Enough about Mr. Dean choking on a sandwich. Tell me about Mr. Rile,” Catherine says, turning away from Amalie’s knowing
gaze to look at Henrietta. Who is blushing already.
“Well, Mr. Dean may not have made his intentions clear, but Mr. Rile has. He spoke with my father yesterday, and I think he
might propose on the weekend,” Henrietta says, her pretty, round face breaking into an enormous grin.
“And you let me go on about Mr. Dean?” Catherine scolds, reaching out to take her hands in genuine excitement. “How wonderful.
I’m so happy for you!”
“Thank you,” Henrietta says brightly. “My parents are elated.”
“And you?” Catherine asks immediately.
“Yes, are you happy?” Amalie asks, shifting closer on Catherine’s other side.
“I am,” Henrietta says, almost dreamily. “So happy.”
“Good,” Catherine says.
“If he hurts you, I will lance him with Mr. Tisend’s saber,” Amalie says.
“Have some real access to that saber, do you?” Catherine can’t help but ask.
Amalie chuckles. “I have more access than you know.”
“Amalie!” Henrietta shrieks, sending them all into giggles.
Catherine lets herself get lost in their gentle teasing. She pretends for one blissful hour that people aren’t watching her.
That Mr. Dean isn’t intent on proposing like Mr. Rile is. Pretends for just an hour that her precarious plans with Rosalie
aren’t going wildly, spectacularly off track.