“But Thomas will be there regardless?” Celia had picked up her needlepoint again.
“Yes. He said he would speak to me there, and since both houses are invited it made sense. I cannot imagine he would not attend, even if his father turns his back on him there and then.”
“Well, awkward or not, at least it will be done with, and you can start to live again, my dear,” Charles said in an upbeat, jolly manner.
“Yes, Uncle Charles,” Catherine said and suddenly felt a great wave of nervousness overcome her.
She sipped her sherry determinedly as she wondered if she was really as confident of the circumstances as she was trying to appear. She had been thrilled and overcome to be proposed to by the man she loved, but it had not taken long for all her burning questions to come to the fore.
Catherine knew he loved her; there was no doubt in her mind. But could he really carry the whole thing through? She did not underestimate the effect that the last years would have had on him. Thomas had been moved into the position of heir years ago when his brother had died, and he had been subject to his father’s constant scrutiny and opinions ever since and in a way that he had never been used to.
Catherine hoped, rather than believed, that the Duke of Shawcross had no hold over his son at all.
Chapter 27
Catherine had spent the larger part of the day of the ball preparing herself. She felt nervous suddenly as if she were still a young woman with a need to impress a potential suitor. Even though she knew that suitor to have loved her for many years, and even though he had already proposed marriage to her, still she needed to make the very best of her appearance that night.
“Goodness, you look beautiful, Catherine,” Celia said when she quietly let herself into Catherine’s bedchamber. “Your hair alone is very well worth the effort you have gone to. It is gleaming, and such wonderful thick curls.”
“Thank you, Aunt Celia. But Evelyn, one of my brother’s maids, did my hair for me. She really is very clever, and it is a shame that she is not a lady’s maid. She is wasted on dusting and polishing, truly.”
“Perhaps Philip will find himself a wife soon.” Celia smiled indulgently. “For he is such a handsome young man. I cannot think he will be left in peace all night with hopeful fathers chasing him this way and that.”
“Yes, I agree. But I think he avoids hopeful fathers wherever possible.” Catherine laughed. “Philip has a romantic heart, and he does little to hide it. I should be very surprised if Philip married for anything other than the deepest love. He would sooner marry a farmer’s daughter than a titled woman as long as he loved her.”
“I think you have both come up in this world with the most tremendous hearts, given that it was my brother who raised you. Perhaps because you kept friends and helped to make each other such fine people.”
“You must not be so kind that you make me cry. I am almost ready and cannot be all tear-stained at the last minute.” Catherine beamed, despite feeling the tug of emotion she always felt when she was the recipient of such warmth and kindness.
“Well, we cannot have that.” Celia reached out to touch the tiny paper flowers that the maid had fixed into Catherine’s soft brown hair. “Just lovely,” she said under her breath.
Catherine took a last look at her reflection in the mirror. She was wearing her finest gown in a green so pale it was almost ivory. It had short sleeves which puffed neatly at the shoulders and a modest neckline which did not dip quite as deep as was currently the fashion.
The satin sash at the empire line beneath the bust was narrow and dainty and in a deeper green than the material of the gown.
Catherine had worn a thick petticoat which pushed out the hem of the gown and made it dance a little around her feet. With her glossy brown hair curled beautifully and piled softly upon her head, she was most pleased with her appearance. She knew she was not absolutely up to the minute in terms of fashion, but she was classically well dressed and felt comfortable and confident.
“I daresay it is time to make our way down to the carriage. Charles and Philip are waiting, and Henry is finally sleeping peacefully,” Celia said in an attempt to gently coax her into action.
“Yes, of course. I cannot stand vainly looking at my reflection all night.” Catherine laughed.
“Well, it is not a luxury you allow yourself very often, is it? And I should say on this occasion that it is long awaited and well deserved.” Celia took her arm. “Come along.”
By the time they arrived at the sprawling mansion that was Hargrave Hall, the gravelled area in front was full of carriages and people and stable hands.
“Let us wait a while before getting out,” Philip said as he peered out of the window. “I know we would sail to the front of the queue, but I would rather not have to work my way through all those people. I find it all a little bit unsettling for my liking.” He laughed.
“Quite so, Philip. I for one am content to watch it all going on from here for a while,” Catherine said and did just that.
The Earl and Countess of Hargrave were very popular figures in society. Amongst the wealthiest in the county, every event they laid on was a lavish affair and very well attended. Hargrave Hall was sprawling and always decorated in the mode of the moment. They were a fashionable young couple, and an invitation to their home was a most desirable thing.
As was the custom of society when attending such a stylish affair, everybody present was so clearly trying to outdo everybody else. As Catherine peered out of the window of the carriage, she felt a stab of homesickness for Derbyshire.
Not that there were not some fine houses in that county, it was just that Ivy Manor and its inhabitants were just outside that world. Just enough outside to be respectable without having to endure the constant demands and pressures of a society such as the one she was currently witnessing.
There were some very finely dressed young ladies being helped down from carriages only to be rearranged by their mothers the moment their dainty feet touched the ground. There was so much undisguised primping and preening that Catherine almost laughed, thinking to herself that she might as well be studying a field full of peacocks.
“Does it not occur to them that they can be seen from the house and therefore by their hosts as they straighten and twirl and puff themselves up?” Philip said, and Catherine laughed loudly.
“I was thinking the very same thing, Philip. Perhaps they think they are invisible until they are inside.”
“I do not think I have seen so many feathers in all my life,” Charles said, and all present laughed.
Catherine peered out again and could, indeed, see a great many fine hairstyles sporting thick bands and long feathers. She wondered how the ladies wearing the largest of them had managed to travel in their carriages with any sort of dignity. It struck her that they would have to be bent almost double so that their feathers did not collide with the roof.
She reached out and touched the paper flowers that Evelyn, the maid, had put into her hair and was glad of them. They were just enough and no more.
As she continued to watch the melee of people slowly making their way to the great stone steps of Hargrave Hall, her heart leaped when she caught sight of Thomas. He climbed down from his father’s carriage and straightened the long tails of his black coat. He was also simply dressed, but immaculate and well-groomed, and Catherine could see the red hue of his hair in the light of so many lanterns which burned along the front of Hargrave Hall.
He looked so tall and handsome standing there that she could hardly believe that they were finally to be together at last. It seemed like a dream, a fairytale almost. How many times over the last eight years she had longed to do no more than set eyes upon his face once again and now, beyond all her dreams, she was to marry him.
They were to be together forever just as they had always wanted.
Catherine continued to watch with interest as Thomas leaned into the carriage and helped out a young woman. Once the young woman was down,
another man climbed down, an older man. And then, finally, the Duke of Shawcross himself stepped out.
The occupants of her own carriage fell silent, and Catherine knew that they were all intent upon the same scene. She knew that they had all realized immediately, as she had, that the immaculate young blonde woman could only be Lady Eleanor Barchester, daughter of the Earl of Winsford.
Lady Eleanor, like many of the other young ladies present, immediately fell to rearranging her attire the moment she was down from the carriage. Her hair had been curled into immaculate ringlets, and there seemed to be not a strand out of place anywhere.
Over the top of her ringlets she wore not simply feathers, but an elaborate feather filled headdress which was already drawing glances from other young ladies that were a mixture of admiration and envy.
Her gown was very fine indeed and, as would be clear to everybody else, extraordinarily expensive. Although Catherine knew what it was to be the daughter of an earl, she could never have imagined having the confidence to carry off such an ostentatious and fashionable outfit.
The woman was some years younger at perhaps two and twenty, and she struck Catherine as being supremely confident. It was a different sort of confidence to the one that Catherine enjoyed, being more the confidence of appearances and contentment at having all eyes upon you.
That was a sort of confidence Catherine had never had and never wanted. Even at almost eight and twenty, Catherine still would not be comfortable to be the centre of attention.
As the party of four turned to make their way to the front of the queue that was building, it was clear that the Duke of Shawcross was going to use his superior title to greatest advantage.
Catherine’s mouth went dry as she watched Lady Eleanor lace her arm through Thomas’ as they walked up the stone steps. They made a very handsome couple, and Catherine felt her heart plummet at speed, landing hard in the pit of her stomach and making her feel as if she had no air left in her at all.
So, Thomas had not yet mentioned the fact that he had proposed to another woman altogether.
“Catherine, all it means is that he has not yet found the right moment to say it.” Celia, as perceptive as ever, had picked up on her feeling. “As we discussed ourselves, he has a good deal to think about. These things cannot happen overnight.”
“To be honest, Aunt Celia, I really do not know what I had been expecting. I mean, I had thought that he and his father would be here, possibly even separately and very much at odds with one another. But I can honestly say that I had not imagined for a moment that I would have been witness to any closeness between Thomas and Lady Eleanor. I had imagined that he would have told her already, if not his father, but it appears that he has not. I did not think for a moment that she would be here at all.”
“Just give him time, my dear,” Celia stated sensibly. “And in any case, he no doubt has things to tell you this evening and will find a way of doing so. You must not be downhearted at this first hurdle.”
“But this is not the first hurdle, is it? It is just another hurdle in a long line of hurdles, and I find myself very tired.” Catherine looked down at her dress and no longer felt comfortable and confident.
Rather, she felt old for her years, tired of life, dowdy, and outdated. More than anything, she wanted to beg her brother to have the driver turn the carriage around and speed them back to Barford Hall. She knew she could not do that; she knew she had to hold her head up for her family’s sake.
While she knew that they would run their lives entirely to suit hers, Catherine was not the sort of young woman who would be pleased with such power. No, they would go to the ball as invited, and they would spend a convivial evening in one another’s company.
And Catherine would do what she could to hide the fact that the feeling that was now welling within her was pure, unadulterated fury.
By the time they made their way inside Hargrave Hall, they were amongst the last to be greeted. Philip had kept them all in the carriage for an inordinate amount of time out of kindness to his sister. It was clear that he could see that she was upset, however much she tried to hide it, and he was doing what he could to lessen its effects.
As was custom, Philip took the lion’s share of the conversation when they came to be greeted by Lord and Lady Hargrave. Catherine simply smiled and nodded throughout the whole thing, grateful not to be asked any questions about her lengthy absence from Hertfordshire.
As they made their way into the lavish ballroom, Philip took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. She turned her head to look up at him, and he quickly winked, just as he had always done when they were younger.
Catherine winked back at him, careful not to be observed by anybody else in such an unladylike occupation. But her brother had gone out of his way to make her feel better, and she would acknowledge it, no matter what.
As much as she did not want to look in the direction of the Shawcross party, Catherine could not help herself. She surreptitiously watched as Lady Eleanor fussed about her fiancé like an elegant, fluttering little butterfly. And, as far as she could see, Thomas seemed content enough with the situation.
Still, he could hardly swat her away publicly, and Catherine knew that. But at that moment reason and sense were not making her feel any better.
She tried her best to make conversation with her family, and yet Catherine could not keep her attention on them for more than a minute. There was a part of her that wanted to look, wanted to see Thomas and Eleanor together as a means of hardening her heart finally.
At one point, Thomas looked over at her, and he began his secret smile, the one that he had used all those years ago, the one that they had both used to acknowledge one another privately. But before Catherine could make her mind up to smile back at him, Lady Eleanor Barchester reached for his hand to gain his complete attention.
And, having done so, the pristine young lady turned her head to stare at Catherine. It was clear in that one, long glance that Eleanor knew precisely who Catherine was. It was clear also that the almost imperceptible smirk on the young lady’s face was designed to convey her triumph.
What an overdone, spiteful little creature Lady Eleanor was and how Catherine at that moment wished Thomas joy of her! If he was to be so weak-willed that he could not stand up to his father enough to even acknowledge her openly at the ball, how on earth was he ever going to make the final break that he must surely make if the two of them were ever to be together?
As far as Catherine was concerned, it was all impossible. It was as impossible now as it had been back then, and she would waste no more of her time or her heart on Thomas Carlton.
Turning her back entirely on the Shawcross party, Catherine determined not to look Thomas’ way again, that night or ever. With the stoicism that had served her well for eight years, Catherine engaged her family in conversation and pushed everything else from her mind.
How glad she was now that she had not told Thomas anything about Henry. Perhaps it had been a mother’s instinct for protection, or perhaps it had been a woman’s insight into the vagaries of men.
Either way, Henry was safe, and that was the main thing. And as for Thomas Carlton, well, he had made his choice as far as she was concerned, and what became of him now was none of her business.
Chapter 28
Thomas had paced up and down the edge of Stromlyn Lake for almost two hours before he finally gave into the idea that Catherine had chosen not to come. He knew at the ball that there was something wrong; he had felt it in his very soul.
When he had tried to smile secretly to Catherine, she had simply stared back at him without any expression on her face whatsoever. Of course, he knew it had not helped that Eleanor had sought to interfere at that moment by continually straightening his necktie and reaching for his hand.
Love Stories of Enchanting Ladies: A Historical Regency Romance Collection Page 50
