soaked through the dress itself. Under that heavy cape it must have been like a Roman bath. It’s no wonder you looked like, well like a….”
“Like a Haymarket d-doxy, is what R-Richard said. He hates me, Catheryn. He will never forgive m-me!”
“Oh, piffle, as you like to say,” Catheryn retorted. “He should not have said that, but he will recover and so will you.” She fell silent when two maidservants entered with breakfast trays, but once they had gone she offered a suggestion. “What you need is fresh air. Why do we not have Psyche and Angel out for a ride in the park?”
“I can’t.” The tone was bitter. “Richard ordered me to keep to my bedchamber, lest I inadvertently meet some caller and give the lie to that story he told about my being taken ill. Not,” she added gruffly, “that anyone will believe it. We met Maggie and Lady Stanthorpe just before we reached the carnage. They could see how angry he was!”
“I don’t know about that,” Catheryn said thoughtfully. “It seems to me it would annoy a gentleman to discover his sister was hiding an illness just to go to a dance. Especially if she were overcome just as they arrived and he had to turn right around and take her home again. And I daresay it’s not unusual for a girl in her first season to do just that sort of thing.”
Tiffany seemed much struck by this line of reasoning. “Catheryn, that’s very true. They might believe that.”
“I think they might,” Catheryn agreed, “however, as to staying inside, I’m afraid he’s right. It would never do to be seen when you are supposed to be ill. Besides,” she added in her blunt way, “you look wretched.”
She was rewarded with a sardonic smile. “Thank you, Cousin. I really don’t mind staying here. I just wish I had something to do.”
“Easy enough! I’ll fetch Mrs. Radcliffe and we’ll finish the tale together. I’m feeling rather lazy myself.” So, when they finished breakfast, Catheryn whisked down to the drawing room to fetch the novel. She had just turned back upstairs when Michael, the youngest footman, hurried toward her with the information that his lordship wanted to see her in the library at once. She handed him the book, asking that he take it along with her apologies to the Lady Tiffany. Entering the library a few moments later, she stopped short in astonishment.
“Good afternoon, Cousin,” said Edmund Caston.
VII
C ATHERYN RETURNED MR. CASTON’S cool greeting and seated herself in a small oval-backed chair, carefully ignoring Dambroke’s look of lazy amusement. “What brings you to town, Edmund?” she inquired.
Caston sat near the fireplace. He seemed surprised by her question. “Why, I’ve come to fetch you home, of course. I’ve been explaining to his lordship.” He nodded toward Dambroke, who was now leaning back in his desk chair, hands folded across his waistcoat. “Mother is much distressed by your hoydenish behavior, and Father absolutely refuses to frank this outrageous start of yours.”
Dambroke flicked at a letter on the desk. “Your uncle’s answer, Catheryn. It’s rather brief but essentially it’s just as Mr. Caston has told you. Sir Horace adds only that he would consider himself derelict in his duty as your trustee if he allowed you to squander your inheritance on frivolities.”
“I see.” Catheryn was still for a moment, stunned by the news. She had been nearly certain that, rather than have her financially beholden to the countess, Sir Horace would make her an adequate allowance. Instead, he seemed to have dug in his heels, expecting no doubt that by refusing his support he would compel her return to Somerset. She realized her hands were gripped in her lap so tightly that her knuckles were white, and forced herself to relax. Taking a deep breath, she spoke directly to Mr. Caston. “I’m sorry Aunt Agatha has been distressed, for I am fond of her, but she agreed that I might stay, and I shall not return with
“Like a Haymarket d-doxy, is what R-Richard said. He hates me, Catheryn. He will never forgive m-me!”
“Oh, piffle, as you like to say,” Catheryn retorted. “He should not have said that, but he will recover and so will you.” She fell silent when two maidservants entered with breakfast trays, but once they had gone she offered a suggestion. “What you need is fresh air. Why do we not have Psyche and Angel out for a ride in the park?”
“I can’t.” The tone was bitter. “Richard ordered me to keep to my bedchamber, lest I inadvertently meet some caller and give the lie to that story he told about my being taken ill. Not,” she added gruffly, “that anyone will believe it. We met Maggie and Lady Stanthorpe just before we reached the carnage. They could see how angry he was!”
“I don’t know about that,” Catheryn said thoughtfully. “It seems to me it would annoy a gentleman to discover his sister was hiding an illness just to go to a dance. Especially if she were overcome just as they arrived and he had to turn right around and take her home again. And I daresay it’s not unusual for a girl in her first season to do just that sort of thing.”
Tiffany seemed much struck by this line of reasoning. “Catheryn, that’s very true. They might believe that.”
“I think they might,” Catheryn agreed, “however, as to staying inside, I’m afraid he’s right. It would never do to be seen when you are supposed to be ill. Besides,” she added in her blunt way, “you look wretched.”
She was rewarded with a sardonic smile. “Thank you, Cousin. I really don’t mind staying here. I just wish I had something to do.”
“Easy enough! I’ll fetch Mrs. Radcliffe and we’ll finish the tale together. I’m feeling rather lazy myself.” So, when they finished breakfast, Catheryn whisked down to the drawing room to fetch the novel. She had just turned back upstairs when Michael, the youngest footman, hurried toward her with the information that his lordship wanted to see her in the library at once. She handed him the book, asking that he take it along with her apologies to the Lady Tiffany. Entering the library a few moments later, she stopped short in astonishment.
“Good afternoon, Cousin,” said Edmund Caston.
VII
C ATHERYN RETURNED MR. CASTON’S cool greeting and seated herself in a small oval-backed chair, carefully ignoring Dambroke’s look of lazy amusement. “What brings you to town, Edmund?” she inquired.
Caston sat near the fireplace. He seemed surprised by her question. “Why, I’ve come to fetch you home, of course. I’ve been explaining to his lordship.” He nodded toward Dambroke, who was now leaning back in his desk chair, hands folded across his waistcoat. “Mother is much distressed by your hoydenish behavior, and Father absolutely refuses to frank this outrageous start of yours.”
Dambroke flicked at a letter on the desk. “Your uncle’s answer, Catheryn. It’s rather brief but essentially it’s just as Mr. Caston has told you. Sir Horace adds only that he would consider himself derelict in his duty as your trustee if he allowed you to squander your inheritance on frivolities.”
“I see.” Catheryn was still for a moment, stunned by the news. She had been nearly certain that, rather than have her financially beholden to the countess, Sir Horace would make her an adequate allowance. Instead, he seemed to have dug in his heels, expecting no doubt that by refusing his support he would compel her return to Somerset. She realized her hands were gripped in her lap so tightly that her knuckles were white, and forced herself to relax. Taking a deep breath, she spoke directly to Mr. Caston. “I’m sorry Aunt Agatha has been distressed, for I am fond of her, but she agreed that I might stay, and I shall not return with
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