Chapter 6 #3
"Do you think he will like it?" Anna asked, turning back to the mirror with a satisfied smile.
"Who?"
"Alexander Harrington, of course!" Anna laughed. "We sent the invitations today. I do hope he attends — I am curious to see him again now that we are adults rather than mischievous children."
Before Catherine could formulate a response, movement near the shop entrance caught her attention.
A young woman had entered — plainly dressed, perhaps twenty-eight years old, with the worn hands and tired eyes of someone who worked for her living.
She was speaking with one of Madame Rousseau's assistants about a delivery.
Their eyes met across the shop floor.
Recognition flared in the woman's expression — immediate, certain, followed by something that looked almost like relief. She took a step toward Catherine, her face opening into a tentative smile.
Catherine's heart stopped.
It was a woman from the soup kitchen in Aldgate. She was with her child, she had served them warm food.
The woman opened her mouth to speak.
"Hello Miss, I am glad to see you again. I have to admit that the food served by your hands seemed to taste better. "
"I am sorry," Catherine said, her voice carrying clearly across the shop, "but you are mistaken. We have not met."
The words landed like stones. The woman's expression shifted — confusion, then slow comprehension, then something that looked remarkably like hurt. She stood very still for a moment, her eyes searching Catherine's face as if trying to understand what had just occurred.
"My apologies, miss," she said finally, her voice quiet. "I thought... but no. You are right. We have not met."
She turned back to the assistant, completed whatever business had brought her there, and departed without looking at Catherine again.
But just before she reached the door, she glanced back once. Her eyes met Catherine's for a fraction of a second — not with anger, but with something worse. Disappointment. The particular disappointment of someone who had briefly believed in something and then had that belief quietly removed.
Then she was gone.
Catherine stood frozen beside Anna, who had noticed nothing, still examining her reflection with satisfied vanity. The shop continued its elegant business around them — silks and satins, laces and ribbons, the mechanisms of beauty available to those with sufficient money to purchase it.
Catherine's heart felt as though it had been replaced with something made of lead.
She had done the right thing. The necessary thing. She had protected herself, protected the organization, protected the work they were doing. Any exposure of her involvement could destroy everything they had built, could put every woman in that circle at risk.
She had done the right thing.
So why did it feel like she had just committed a small, specific betrayal of everything she claimed to believe in?
"Catherine?" Anna's voice broke through her thoughts. "You have gone quite pale. Are you well?"
"Yes," Catherine said, the lie coming easily, as lies did when one had practiced them sufficiently. "Perfectly well. The burgundy gown is ideal. You should absolutely purchase it."
But as Anna returned her attention to the mirror, Catherine found herself thinking about Alexander's words on the terrace: Seen. And done. She had believed she understood what he meant. She had believed she understood the compromises that justice required, the sacrifices that had to be made.
Now she wondered if understanding and living with those compromises were two entirely different things.
◆◆◆
The carriage wheels clattered rhythmically over the cobblestones as Alexander and Anthony made their way through the London streets toward Pemberton House. Inside the well-appointed vehicle, Alexander adjusted his white evening gloves while Anthony consulted his pocket watch.
"I should warn you," Anthony said, "this ball will be quite different from the one you hosted."
Alexander raised an eyebrow. "How so?"
"Well, for starters, it is not really Lord and Lady Pemberton's ball anymore. The last few years, Anna has taken over the planning entirely. She has made it her personal mission to transform it into something considerably more... spirited."
"Spirited in what way?"
Anthony grinned. "The young ladies call it the liveliest ball of the season — essentially a grand matchmaking event where only the younger set attends.
Less conversation about politics and trade, more dancing and flirtation and romantic scheming.
Anna has turned it into the premier venue for anyone hoping to make a match. "
Alexander could not help but laugh. "That explains Mother's knowing looks when she mentioned the invitation."
"Indeed. Aunt Margaret has been remarkably transparent in her hopes for your romantic future." Anthony paused, studying his cousin's profile with shrewd eyes. "Though I suspect you already know exactly who you will be looking for tonight."
Alexander felt the familiar tightness in his chest at the thought of seeing Catherine again — the same anticipation that had been building since their interrupted conversation. "If you mean Lady Catherine, you are quite right. I am eager to continue our discussion."
"Ah yes, the discussion," Anthony said with a wicked smirk. "How scholarly of you."
"Anthony."
"I merely observe that you have spent two weeks making remarkably detailed inquiries about Lady Catherine's family, her interests, her social connections, and her usual whereabouts. All in the name of intellectual discourse, naturally."
Alexander could not deny the accuracy. He had indeed made numerous inquiries, though he told himself it was strategic — understanding potential allies was crucial. The fact that he found himself genuinely curious about every aspect of her life was... incidental.
"She is an interesting woman with unconventional views," Alexander said carefully. "Such people are rare."
"Interesting is one word for it. Fascinating might be more accurate, based on your obvious preoccupation.
" Anthony leaned forward slightly. "Though I will say this — pursuing her specifically will make you appear less mysterious and more.
.. ordinary. Besotted, even. Is that the reputation you wish to cultivate? "
The question gave Alexander pause. His carefully constructed image of the enigmatic Duke depended partly on maintaining a certain distance, a certain unknowability.
Pursuing Catherine openly would mark him as simply another man interested in a beautiful woman — which was both true and entirely beside the point.
Before Alexander could formulate a response, the carriage began to slow. Music and laughter drifted through the windows. Pemberton House came into view, its windows blazing with light, its entrance bustling with elegantly dressed young people arriving in a steady stream.
"Well," Anthony said as their carriage joined the queue, "it appears we have arrived at Anna's romantic battlefield. Are you prepared?"
Alexander straightened his coat and checked his appearance one final time. "I am prepared for whatever may come."