Chapter Twenty-Six
Catherine
The tearoom looks exquisite. Mother has gone with a silver, lilac, and blue theme, with tall vases of beautiful flowers at
the center of every circular table, laid with white tablecloths with blue serviettes. The silverware is embossed with roses,
and small violets have been strung around the room with vines along the backs of the chairs.
“Do you think the centerpieces should be shorter?” Mother asks her, toying with the fingers of her delicate lace gloves.
“Everything is perfect,” Catherine assures her, taking her hands.
“You are both perfect,” Father says, coming up behind Mother and placing his hand on her waist.
She leans into him gratefully. “You have to say that.”
“I don’t,” he insists. “You will absolutely be the most stunning vision anyone has ever seen.”
Their dresses, both a pale blue overlaid with white lace threaded with bits of silver, are truly gorgeous. Madame Florent
outdid herself. And Miss Teit did wonders with both of their hair, studding little jewels into their elegant braided buns,
leaving delicate curls to frame their faces. Father looks great in his new black suit as well.
For a moment, Catherine wishes she could freeze time right here.
Stay in the anticipation of everything changing without having to live to see it through.
Before she and Rosalie discover whether her mother can really forgive Lady Tisend.
And after that, whether she can forgive Catherine for wanting a life so different from the one she’s tried to give her.
It makes her stomach tight. But horribly, and thankfully, they can hear the first guests ascending the grand staircase in
the hallway.
“Come, come,” Mother says, grabbing Catherine’s and Father’s hands, leading them to the doors to receive their guests.
“Here we go,” Father whispers.
Mother gestures to the porters, who open the doors to the tearoom, revealing a line of guests moving up the staircase, led
by Mr. Dean and his father.
Rosalie and her mother are, of course, nowhere to be seen. They’re either further back, or haven’t arrived at all. Catherine’s
on her own, at least for now.
She pastes on her best smile, trying to look welcoming. One glance at Mother proves she’s no more excited to see Lord Dean
than Catherine is. But true to form, her gracious “Lord Dean, Mr. Dean, welcome, we are so grateful to have you here with
us” sounds positively radiant.
“Thank you for the invitation,” Mr. Dean says, taking Mother’s hand to kiss it before taking Catherine’s. “Miss Pine, you
look wonderful,” he says.
“Thank you,” Catherine says. She knows.
“Have we met?” Lord Dean asks, looking between them.
Catherine stares at Lord Dean, feeling Mother stiffen in surprise. Does he not—
“And Mr. Pine, I am delighted to introduce you to my father,” Mr. Dean says quickly. “Father, I believe you knew Mr. Pine’s
father rather well.”
“Pine, Pine. Yes,” Lord Dean agrees, shaking Father’s hand. “I recall visiting a lake once that was well stocked.”
“Our fish are always plentiful,” Father says, glancing at Catherine and her mother in surprise before smiling at Lord Dean.
“May I escort you in?”
And off they go, leaving Catherine, Mother, and Mr. Dean at the door. They stand for a moment in an awkward silence. Mr. Dean
opens his mouth, as if he might offer some excuse, but then shuts it, moving instead to Catherine’s side.
She feels his hand at her elbow, a clear request to take her arm—to stand with her as they greet the rising tide of guests. Without so much as a word, an apology, an explanation for his father’s behavior.
She wants to push him away, but she can’t, not yet. She can’t publicly snub him. Not until Mother and Lady Tisend have had
it out.
So she pushes down her anger and moves her elbow, allowing Mr. Dean to slip his hand through its crook, linking their arms
together. She glances up at Mother, but she looks perfectly composed and unaffected. She’s even smiling.
How can she be— Catherine turns to the line of mothers waiting for entry. They’re all tittering. Mr. Dean is standing beside
her, with her, to greet the guests. Damn. It’s almost as big a statement as a proposal would be.
God willing, this will be the worst of it.
They greet what seems like a never-ending slew of guests, curtsying and smiling. All of them give Catherine significant looks
that make her blood slowly fizz.
“Did you buy that lovely dress at Madame Florent’s shop?”
Catherine turns, surprised, and looks up at Mr. Dean. “I did.”
“It’s quite fetching. The lace is very intricate.” He almost looks . . . animated.
Like nothing even happened.
“Thank you,” she says. She turns back to greet the next guest, unsettled.
“I heard there’s to be a shipment of books in to Mr. Weston’s shop next week. Thought you ought to know.”
Catherine turns to Mr. Dean again, finding him smiling down at her. “Oh, that’s lovely,” she says. She can’t wait to tell
Rosalie and Amalie and Henrietta. Assuming they’ll still be able to spend time together after tonight.
“What are you reading right now?”
Catherine blinks, working hard to hide her complete bemusement. He’s choosing now to take an interest? To care, even a little?
“I’ve been busy with planning for this tea,” she says, hoping it dissuades him.
“Entirely fair. What are you hoping to read next?”
It’s somehow even less surprising that he can’t take a hint.
“I’ve three or four titles. I’m not sure I could pick just one,” she says, glancing at Mother, but she’s entirely engrossed
in greeting guests and not any help at all.
As she looks back at Mr. Dean, she finally spots Amalie and Henrietta on the stairs. They wave and Catherine nearly wilts
with relief. Reinforcements are coming. She just needs to stand her ground and—
“Shall we head inside to get some refreshment?”
She could scowl. “Oh, I shouldn’t leave Mother to—”
“Go, go,” Mother says easily. “We shouldn’t keep Mr. Dean from mingling.”
And so she finds herself back in the tearoom, Mr. Dean squiring her around, and decidedly not heading toward the refreshments along the back wall. She could use a glass of champagne.
“Ah, Mr. Duncan,” Mr. Dean says, bringing Catherine over to a circle of young men.
She recognizes Mr. Fortes and Mr. Rile, of course, but the rest are a mystery. She curtsies and then stands there while they
talk of hunting and fishing and cards. She could chime in. She’s an excellent whist player, especially if she and Father are
on a team. But she doesn’t want to draw any attention to herself.
As long as she’s over here with the men, she’s safe from any spontaneous proposals. Though it could just be a matter of time.
Father’s talking to a younger couple across the room, distracted, and Lord Dean keeps glancing at them, as if he’s waiting
for something.
She can’t imagine he thinks Mr. Dean should propose here, today. He can’t seriously think she’d accept without even a brief
apology to her mother. But then again, perhaps Mr. Dean will simply pretend it never happened. Pretend he too doesn’t remember.
Thankfully, finally, Rosalie, Christopher, Amalie, Henrietta, and Lady Tisend enter the room. Rosalie spots her right away,
and she watches with some amusement as a chain of jerking elbows alerts the rest of the group. Amalie and Christopher are
arm in arm.
Henrietta waves at her, and then at Mr. Rile behind her.
Which should, hopefully, give her some salvation.
And sure enough, Henrietta grabs Amalie’s hand, tugging her away from Christopher, who pouts.
Lady Tisend’s too busy looking at the rest of the room with a sour face to notice, but Rosalie’s laughing. And that’s something, at least.
“Miss Pine, what a delightful room you and your mother have put together,” Henrietta announces, stepping right into their
circle and forcing all of the gentlemen to make way for her.
“Thank you,” Catherine says, watching as Amalie scooches in beside her, ignoring Mr. Fortes’ intrigued look. “You both look
lovely.”
“You certainly do, my dear,” Mr. Rile says, beckoning Henrietta to join him across the circle.
Henrietta grins, leaving Amalie beside Catherine. She crosses the circle and slips in flush with Mr. Rile. “You look exceedingly
handsome,” she says.
The circle chuckles and Mr. Rile blushes. Catherine glances at Mr. Dean to find him frowning, clearly disgruntled at the interruption.
Heaven forfend some of the men might want to talk to the ladies.
“We’ve been discussing their upcoming hunting trips,” Catherine tells the girls.
“Going north or west, gentlemen?” Amalie asks.
Raised eyebrows all around.
“North,” Mr. Fortes says. “To my father’s property as usual.”
“How lovely,” Amalie says without looking at him.
Mr. Fortes looks a little crestfallen. Mr. Rile snickers into his handkerchief and exchanges a look with Henrietta.
“And Mr. Dean, where will you be going?” Amalie asks.
“I’ll be heading north as well, starting on the expansive Dean estate, and then working my way eastward again toward Wales.
Father has a few cousins with grand lands there as well, and we’ll follow the game for the season.”
“I imagine that will take you from Bath for most of the summer,” Amalie says.
“It will. Though I hope to make frequent trips back to visit.”
Catherine can feel him looking down at her and forces herself not to react.
“Excuse me for a moment,” Amalie says, ducking out of the circle.
“My father’s lands are rich in grouse and deer,” Henrietta says. “Mr. Rile will of course be coming to shoot.”
“I am most excited to see the Raught lands,” Mr. Rile jumps in.
Catherine ignores the way Mr. Dean is holding even more tightly to her elbow, almost as though he’s goading her into meeting
his eyes. Instead, she glances over her shoulder, trying to spot her mother. The last of the guests have trickled in now,
and everyone is merely milling about, waiting to start the tea.
Catherine can’t see Rosalie anywhere. They’re running out of time.