anyone from that house to attend.”
Estelle poked Catherine’s arm. “I should think Lord Tristram would come. The two of you look rather friendly when you meet.”
“And he and Georgette looked rather cozy at Mrs. Vanderleyden’s soiree.” Catherine chose to blame the unpleasant squeezing of her middle that she felt at this memory on her regret that she and Georgette hadn’t so much as made eye contact at the event.
Five years ago, they would have dragged one another off to discuss their plans for the evening before facing the crowd—the young men—together. Now Catherine found herself thanking the Lord that Georgette’s grandmother hadn’t come along to create a scene when the poet Mrs. Vanderleyden had invited to entertain her guests had failed to arrive on the train. She’d substituted dancing with music provided by some of her servants.
“He’s obligated to play the gallant to the sister of his host,” Mama pointed out. “But if he comes to the tea, you may reacquaint yourselves.”
“Not that Catherine wants another Englishman for a husband.”
Catherine scowled at her sister. “Not that Catherine wants another husband. I am making myself quite content helping Mama plan this tea. And Mrs. Rutlidge has asked me to help her plan her annual Christmas charity ball in the city. She hasn’t been well and thinks, because I lived in Europe for five years, I should know about all that is fashionable and refined.” She laughed.
Mama’s face lit. “Catherine, that is wonderful. What an honor.”
“Even if she is quite mistaken about your life overseas.” Estelle executed a pirouette and ended up at the door to the music room. “I must see what music will be suitable for the tea. Something proper for the month of Christmas, yes? May I send a note around to Fl— Mr. Baston-Ward and Mr. Wolfe?”
“I shall do so on your behalf.” Mama rose from the sofa where she worked at a bit of embroidery. “Catherine, may I use the desk?”
“I’ll go into the library.” Catherine gathered up her lists and moved next door to the library.
Scents of leather from the hundreds of books lining the shelves and the heavy, masculine furniture contrasted with the sweet orange aroma from the oil rubbed into the desk. It gleamed beneath sunlight streaming through the windows that provided warmth, despite the frigid outside temperature.
The sun wouldn’t last for long. Clouds piling up in the north predicted sleet or snow before evening. Catherine hoped it would arrive late enough that Papa and Paul didn’t get stranded in the city, but early enough that night’s entertainment would be canceled.
It was a dance strictly for young people and she had been designated to be Estelle’s chaperone. She wanted something to do with her life, but acting as if she was forty-four rather than twenty-four was unacceptable. Whether she wanted to or not, Estelle would marry within a year or two, and then what would Catherine do? Her parents were too young to need her to stay with them. And she was too used to running her own household to be happy living with Mama’s management.
For now, she was happy to plan the two charity events. The invitations to the tea needed to go out within the next day or two and decisions needed to be made. Should she send Lord Tristram a separate invitation, so he could attend even if the Selkirks refused? Other than brief conversations around Tuxedo Park, Tristram hadn’t tried to contact her, from which she concluded he had been unable to persuade Georgette to call on Catherine. Her heart heavy, she bent to the task of addressing envelopes for the tea.
Mrs. Paul VanDorn II and Lady Catherine Bisterne invite you...
A discreet notation in the bottom corner of the return card indicated the minimum donation the attendee was to include in the Répondez, s’il vous plaît envelope.
As she wrote, the muted strains of Estelle’s banjo penetrated the wall of books, but it was not the smooth,
Estelle poked Catherine’s arm. “I should think Lord Tristram would come. The two of you look rather friendly when you meet.”
“And he and Georgette looked rather cozy at Mrs. Vanderleyden’s soiree.” Catherine chose to blame the unpleasant squeezing of her middle that she felt at this memory on her regret that she and Georgette hadn’t so much as made eye contact at the event.
Five years ago, they would have dragged one another off to discuss their plans for the evening before facing the crowd—the young men—together. Now Catherine found herself thanking the Lord that Georgette’s grandmother hadn’t come along to create a scene when the poet Mrs. Vanderleyden had invited to entertain her guests had failed to arrive on the train. She’d substituted dancing with music provided by some of her servants.
“He’s obligated to play the gallant to the sister of his host,” Mama pointed out. “But if he comes to the tea, you may reacquaint yourselves.”
“Not that Catherine wants another Englishman for a husband.”
Catherine scowled at her sister. “Not that Catherine wants another husband. I am making myself quite content helping Mama plan this tea. And Mrs. Rutlidge has asked me to help her plan her annual Christmas charity ball in the city. She hasn’t been well and thinks, because I lived in Europe for five years, I should know about all that is fashionable and refined.” She laughed.
Mama’s face lit. “Catherine, that is wonderful. What an honor.”
“Even if she is quite mistaken about your life overseas.” Estelle executed a pirouette and ended up at the door to the music room. “I must see what music will be suitable for the tea. Something proper for the month of Christmas, yes? May I send a note around to Fl— Mr. Baston-Ward and Mr. Wolfe?”
“I shall do so on your behalf.” Mama rose from the sofa where she worked at a bit of embroidery. “Catherine, may I use the desk?”
“I’ll go into the library.” Catherine gathered up her lists and moved next door to the library.
Scents of leather from the hundreds of books lining the shelves and the heavy, masculine furniture contrasted with the sweet orange aroma from the oil rubbed into the desk. It gleamed beneath sunlight streaming through the windows that provided warmth, despite the frigid outside temperature.
The sun wouldn’t last for long. Clouds piling up in the north predicted sleet or snow before evening. Catherine hoped it would arrive late enough that Papa and Paul didn’t get stranded in the city, but early enough that night’s entertainment would be canceled.
It was a dance strictly for young people and she had been designated to be Estelle’s chaperone. She wanted something to do with her life, but acting as if she was forty-four rather than twenty-four was unacceptable. Whether she wanted to or not, Estelle would marry within a year or two, and then what would Catherine do? Her parents were too young to need her to stay with them. And she was too used to running her own household to be happy living with Mama’s management.
For now, she was happy to plan the two charity events. The invitations to the tea needed to go out within the next day or two and decisions needed to be made. Should she send Lord Tristram a separate invitation, so he could attend even if the Selkirks refused? Other than brief conversations around Tuxedo Park, Tristram hadn’t tried to contact her, from which she concluded he had been unable to persuade Georgette to call on Catherine. Her heart heavy, she bent to the task of addressing envelopes for the tea.
Mrs. Paul VanDorn II and Lady Catherine Bisterne invite you...
A discreet notation in the bottom corner of the return card indicated the minimum donation the attendee was to include in the Répondez, s’il vous plaît envelope.
As she wrote, the muted strains of Estelle’s banjo penetrated the wall of books, but it was not the smooth,
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