Page 2 of The Virgin in the Rake's Bed
“Not yet, no, but… you do have a reputation, Catherine. There is so much to commend you, and yet you insist on never putting yourself forward, and you scare away any suitor who might take an interest,” Rebecca replied.
There seemed to be a concerted effort on the part of her two closest friends to persuade her, as though marriage was the supreme goal to which any woman must aspire – even if it meant marrying a man in whom she had no interest at all. But Catherine was happy with her current state and the freedoms which it gave her. She had no desire to marry. Quite the opposite, in fact, and would gladly live out her life as a spinster – the thought of marrying the Earl of Westwood making her blood run cold.
“Then I am pleased to have a reputation, because I have no desire to end up like them,” Catherine said, glancing across at the cackle of women still tittering behind their fans.
The grandfather clock had just struck nine o’clock, and another waltz had been announced. Catherine knew that the hour of the announcement was coming close and, in that moment, she despised her father for what he was about to force on her. He intended to take advantage of the gathering, a gathering at which the whole ton was present and would hear it told that she, Catherine Ferguson, was to marry a man whom she already detested merely for his intentions.
“But Catherine, think about it, you would have no worries in life, your future would be secure, and you would have everything your heart could desire,” Rebecca began, but Catherine had heard enough.
“Everything except love, which is more important than fine clothes and wealth. I have thought about it, Rebecca. There was a time when I could have counted on my two closest friends to do whatever was necessary to help me. But now, it seems that you have become just like them, taken in by the fantasy of marriage as the only means to happiness,” she said, folding her arms and sighing.
“And we will, Catherine. We shall stand by you, whatever you decide. It is not our place to persuade you either way. We only want what is best for you, Catherine. We really do,” Samantha said, trying to sound reassuring.
“Well, it does not matter now. I have made my mind up,” Catherine replied, and Rebecca and Samantha glanced nervously at one another.
“What does that mean?” Rebecca asked, and Catherine smiled.
The thought had occurred to her only the day before, at the same time as her father had announced his intentions to make the announcement of her betrothal that very night. There had been nothing she could do to dissuade him from his intentions, nothing which would change his mind, and nothing which would prevent her and the Earl of Westwood from being married. Which was why Catherine had decided to present a reason, one which would ensure that there could be no hope of the marriage ever taking place.
“I am going to cause a scandal, Rebecca, just you watch,” Catherine replied, and her two friends looked at one another in horror.
Chapter Two
“Look at that one. She is quite the card; do you not think?” Rickard Ferguson said, pointing to a young lady in a peacock blue dress with a large, feathered hairpiece protruding from her French bun.
“She has some attraction to her,” Ian Bennet replied, sighing and glancing around the room.
He was growing bored with the evening’s festivities and had only come to the ball at the persuasion of his friend, Rickard, who had spent much of the time passing comment on any woman who passed them by, as the two of them sat drinking punch. They had positioned themselves close to the punch bowl, a position which afforded them a view of the entire room and a place from which they could easily observe those women in need of a dancing partner.
“And that one there is the daughter of the Duke of Clarence. Twenty thousand a year, he has, which could almost make up for her rather plain looks,” Rickard continued, pointing to another woman in an ivory-colored dress, her cheeks heavily powdered and her dance card clutched firmly in hand.
“Be wary, Rickard, for the ways of women are strange and mysterious,” Ian replied, and his friend laughed.
“What is this? You giving me advice?” he asked, and Ian shrugged.
“I am older than you, and I have known what it is like to be on the receiving end of a woman’s devious ways,” he said, shaking his head.
“Not all women are like that, Ian, you are so very cynical,” Rickard replied, but Ian shook his head and folded his arms.
“I know what women are like, Rickard, and that is that,” Ian said, trying to push away the unpleasant memories now rising in his mind.
But it was to no avail, and his anger, pain, and bitterness came flooding back. Ian had once been betrothed to a woman named Cassandra Leybourne, an actress, whose exotic charms had claimed his for her own. Ian had become besotted, and the proposal of marriage had been swift. But Cassandra was a woman of wily ways and there had been a scandal and a betrayal, one which had broken Ian’s heart.
“Nonsense, you have simply not yet found the right one, Ian,” Rickard replied, pointing to another woman who was just passing by.
“I suppose you will eventually select one to dance with?” Ian asked, and his friend laughed.
“I have narrowed my list down to half a dozen possibilities. Most of the women here are plain or without enough additional temptation to make it worth my while. A woman of good fortune and title might be looked on favorably even if she is plain of face, and a beautiful woman without two pennies to rub together might have her attractions in the short term – a man has his desires, you understand. But that perfect combination of beauty and fortune is so hard to come by,” Rickard replied, craning his neck so as to see over the throng of dancers.
“And I suppose wit and intelligence are not part of your consideration?” Ian replied, astonished by his friend’s base assessment of the fairer sex.
“It is not a consideration I take into account, no. A woman might well be intelligent, but what does it matter?” he asked, and Ian sighed.
“There are certain rules you must adhere to when dealing with womankind,” he said – for Ian had thought long and hard about his own failings with regard to women and had devised for himself a set of rules by which he might avoid the attachment of the past and never again fall under the spell of an alluring woman.
“Rules? Oh, nonsense, did those rules help prevent your own tragedy?” Rickard retorted, and Ian shook his head, taking a sip of punch and sighing.
“No, but they have helped me since and it is because of that tragedy I have found them useful. Rules prevent me from becoming entangled in the affairs of women before the time is right. Let them show their interest, rather than leaping forward with gusto,” he said, as Rickard rolled his eyes.
