Page 35 of The Virgin in the Rake's Bed
The two friends sat a while longer in the drawing room, discussing the sad outcome of Catherine’s runaway feelings. She had allowed herself to be caught up in the possibility of what might have been, prepared to ignore Ian’s reputation and considering herself to be the one exception to the rule. But it was clear that Ian Bennet was not ready to change – perhaps he never would – and Catherine knew she must resign herself to the inevitability that her heart, though not entirely broken, had been bruised.
“I was too eager to see him as my true savior,” she said, shaking her head.
“You were caught up in the romance of it all. There is no shame in it. But there remains the matter of the Earl of Westwood. Your father will only believe the deception for so long, and if he remains as intent on destroying the betrothal as you say, then it will not be long before the time you have bought for yourself is gone,” Rebecca said.
It was an unpleasant reminder of the precarious nature of her situation. But Catherine knew Rebecca was right. Her father and brother could only be held at bay for so long. The Earl of Westwood was waiting, and soon, Catherine would have no choice but to give into his demands.
“But what am I to do?” she asked.
“Find another man,” Rebecca replied, and Catherine raised her eyebrows.
The solution seemed simple enough. To avoid the inevitability of marriage to the Earl of Westwood, a new play must enter the fray. To find a man who genuinely wished to marry her was the only solution, though doing so would be far harder than mere words made it sound. She had hardly any time to do so, and despite the lessons in seduction she had received from Ian, she really had little experience in the practical art of securing the attentions of the opposite sex.
“If only it were that easy,” she remarked, and Rebecca smiled.
“It would do you good to come to our next soiree,” she said, and Catherine groaned.
Once a month, the Duchess of Sinclair – Rebecca’s mother-in-law – hosted an evening she referred to as her “soiree” – an evening in which a number of women gathered to talk in privacy without the ears of men to listen in.
“But those evenings are always populated by the most awful women. I do not know how you put up with them,” Catherine replied.
“They are not so bad, really. It would do you good. I shall be there, as will Samantha. You may hear tell of a bachelor with whom to make acquaintance, or an eligible widower,” she said.
Catherine smiled. She could not fault her friend on her efforts, and she agreed she would attend the Duchess of Sinclair’s soiree three days later. It would be a welcome change from the company of her father and brother, neither of whom could possibly object to her attending a gathering consisting entirely of women.
“And I will not have to speak if I do not wish to?” she asked, and Rebecca shook her head.
“No, but perhaps you shall want to. They can be rather lively affairs,” Rebecca replied, blushing.
“Then I shall come, but I do not think I shall enjoy it,” Catherine replied, though secretly she thought it might be rather fun, the thought of other women talking freely about men an intriguing notion.
Chapter Nineteen
“Did you see that fool, Lord Darnley? “Charlie” as they call him, he made a complete spectacle of himself at the Cutler ball. His breeches were around his ankles, and he was so drunk that the footmen had to carry him away,” one of the women said, and there was a chorus of laughter from the gathered assembly.
It was the evening of the soiree, and Catherine had dutifully made her way to the Somerset residence, joined in her carriage by Samantha, the two women now sitting with Rebecca and half a dozen other women in the drawing room. The evening was presided over by the Duchess of Sinclair and had so far consisted of an almost continuous diatribe against most every man in the ton, their reputations tarnished by spiteful words and scandalous stories.
Catherine had not attended such an evening before. She did not care for such idle gossip, nor did she particularly enjoy the systematic dismantling of the men under discussion, most of whom she knew to be half-decent, if somewhat rakish. There were few men she actively disliked, though unfortunately chief amongst them was the Earl of Westwood, whom she would gladly have heard made the object of vitriol, if only to give her fresh reason against marriage.
“The foolish boy,” the Duchess of Sinclair said, “he will never find a suitable match, of that, I am certain.”
“He tried his best,” one of the women said, “but his best was lacking,” and further laughter erupted around the room.
The company was composed of those, like Rebecca and Samantha, who were already happily married, and those like the woman who had just spoken, who had as of yet no attachment. On Catherine’s arrival, the Duchess of Sinclair had stated that the evenings served as a chance for those with experience of men to impart their wisdom to those lacking in such skill, the implication being that Catherine was amongst them.
“Though you are betrothed, I suppose,” the Duchess of Sinclair had told her, instructing her to listen at first and then join in when she felt she had something meaningful to say.
“I find that men grow swiftly tired of the same woman,” one of the others said, and there was a murmur of agreement.
“I danced with a gentleman three times at a ball last week. He was ever so charming, and complimentary, but when I returned from the refreshment table, I found he was already dancing with another woman. I could find no difference in her, for we were both surely as pretty as one another, save that she was a different woman, and I have no doubt he danced with her but twice before moving to his next conquest,” one said.
“Men are fickle,” the Duchess of Sinclair declared, banging her clenched fist down on the arm of her chair.
She was the matriarch presiding, and Catherine could not help but smile at the sight of her holding court over a collection of frivolous women, for that was surely what all these others were. It surprised Catherine that Rebecca and Samantha had anything to do with such a gathering, though they too joined in with the criticism of men they had observed.
“I remember a man who followed me about,” Samantha was saying, “he would appear at balls, dinners, and so forth, and he was charming, a perfect gentleman. That is, until I discovered he was also doing the same to two other women, too. He would ensure that we would not be at the same balls or parties. He had no intention of marrying any of us. He was merely a rake and out for what he could get.”
Catherine did not like to admit that the words of the other women resonated with her. The behavior of these men was no different from that of Ian. He was a rake, albeit one who had done much to help her. It pained her to admit it, but she wondered if she had been merely the victim of a game, her brother’s words about Ian’s rule foremost in her mind. He had no intention of marrying. He had been clear about that, but she wondered if perhaps there might have been something more between them, a chance for her to prove that not every woman was like Cassandra.
