Chapter 3 - On Matters of Courtesy
Catherine carefully wrapped the soft straps of fabric around her thighs and tied her stockings up.
When she rose, the linen shift gently bunched around her, flowing down to her knees.
She exchanged a glance with her maid and held on to the wooden bedpost while the girl laced her into the stay.
She inhaled deeply to help Anne with the task.
The familiar pressure forced her to stand very upright, and Catherine thoughtfully regarded herself in the mirror. ?
Anne brought the panniers and helped her mistress position them around her hips.
A rich, cream-coloured petticoat and a matching stomacher followed.
Catherine’s evening dress was finally completed by a chestnut-coloured mantua that matched the colour of her eyes.
She studied herself in the mirror, trying to look at herself through the eyes of a potential husband.
Her maid had already arranged her hair. The elaborate coiffure exposed the slender line of her neck and accentuated her face.
Catherine wore only light makeup. Her father did not approve of recent trends, and the Lady herself was not exactly saddened by it.
A hint of liner defined her eyes, her lashes darkened.
A soft touch of rouge lent her an appropriately innocent blush.
Anne finished fastening the mantua at her back and offered her mistress a shy smile.
“You look very presentable, M’Lady,” she assured her.
Catherine chuckled. “Indeed.” Unable to stop herself from teasing the poor girl, she added dryly, “Both of my sisters might see that as an insult, though.”
Anne flinched.
“No, please. Don’t,” Catherine quickly reassured her. “You outdid yourself. My hair is stunning.”
Anne beamed brightly and began to withdraw from the chamber. “Your father expressed the desire to meet you at the salon, M’Lady.”
Catherine’s brows rose slightly. “Thank you, Anne. I shall join him.”
When the door closed behind the girl, she exhaled.
Her father had not been pleased with the morning’s adventures, but he had calmed after Maisie, Master Henry, and young Squire James had assured him that Lady Catherine had not been hurt in any way. Thanks be to the Lord, Maisie had been wise enough not to mention the kiss.
Catherine’s eyes blazed at the mere thought of the bold highwayman.
How dare he?
She forced the memory down, together with the strange, faint tingle that lingered upon her lips whenever she thought back to the ambush.
Bracing herself, she left her chambers and slowly descended the stairs, the heels of her shoes clicking against the marble floor as she made her way into the salon, where her father already awaited her.
She curtseyed deeply, inclining her head with impeccable precision.
“M’Lord.”
“Catherine. I am pleased you grace me with your attendance.”
The Earl’s eyes narrowed briefly as he examined her from head to toe. He seemed to find no fault with her presentation, and Catherine allowed herself a silent exhale.
“My pleasure, Lord Father,” she replied. “You expressed a desire to meet me before the arrival of our guest.”
He nodded and reached for her elbow, guiding her toward the chaise lounge. Catherine sat gracefully at the edge, taking care that her dress did not crumple beneath her. Her eyes settled on her father.
The Earl sat down as well—a rare event. He usually preferred to stand. He reached out and took her hand.
The gesture was uncommon.
Catherine felt her pulse spike.
“I am aware we have had our differences, Catherine. But you must win over the Viscount. The old O’Donell has recently deceased. His son—your potential husband—is a radical nationalist, and the populace fiercely supports him. I never approved of your nosiness,
but this time it may prove beneficial that you are aware of the overall situation.”
The Earl paused.
Catherine inclined her head in understanding.
“This alliance is important,” he continued.
“The man needs us. His people are starving. I have promised my support if he agrees to the marriage. But you must be aware that he stands fiercely against everything we represent. I expect you to be charming and demure. I will not tolerate any outspokenness or opinionated behaviour this evening.
Do you understand?”
Catherine lowered her gaze gracefully.
“I fully understand, M’Lord,” she confirmed.
Resentment flared in her chest. She forced it down.
As the youngest of three daughters, she had always known her place.
Yet with her sisters successfully wed to influential husbands, she had once enjoyed certain freedoms.
Her tutors had delighted in her keen interest in political affairs and her quick grasp of scientific topics.
With no son to instruct, Catherine had been the second-best option for the scholars, and unlike her sisters, she had embraced her education.
Unfortunately, she had developed opinions of her own.
And to her father’s distress, she had voiced them on occasion—in private, between him and her.
Her voice was quiet when she asked, “I take it there were more incidents, Father?”
The Earl sighed, exasperation and faint amusement mingling in the sound.
“Catherine. That is precisely what I have been speaking of.”
A pause.
“Yes. A small riot at the docks. The incident is under control. Do not concern yourself with it.”
Before Catherine could reply, the butler announced the arrival of their guest.
The Earl rose and offered his arm.
“Please escort Master O’Donell to the dining room. Her Ladyship and I will join him.”