Page 11 of A Game with the Rakish Duke
“I am certain she does as well,” Patrick agreed. “I am sure there is no particular reason why she does not accompany me when I call and why you do not speak much at events. It is just the way of it.”
Catherine sighed but dropped the subject. If Lady Afferton didn’t like her, there wasn’t really much she could do about it after all. It was just a shame. But then again, she didn’t think that Patrick and Edith were a love match, joined at the hip. The Dowager Countess of Afferton had arranged it all with her usual dour efficiency. She was the very antithesis of a mother who desired that her children wed for love.
Catherine’s eyes slid to Beatrice. Poor Bea. She was quite browbeaten by her mother, who was such a strong, astringent personality, intent on finding her only daughter the wealthiest, most prestigious husband she could… without giving a deuce for Beatrice’s feelings on the matter.
Just like my late mother would have been. If she had lived to see me debut and join the marriage market.
Catherine pushed that thought aside. She didn’t like thinking about her late mother, who had been colder than ice. They had never been close.
The door opened, and Oliver walked into the room, smiling brightly. Catherine smiled instinctively. There was a carefree air about her brother today, and she knew the reason why—a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. They weren’t spiraling down to ruin any longer.
Catherine bit her lip. The Duke of Newden hadn’t called yet to ask for her hand in marriage. She knew it was foolish, but she had been straining her ears the entire morning, listening for the sound of a carriage that might herald his arrival. But the only callers thus far were Beatrice and Patrick.
Oh, well. It seems that he merely wished to steal a kiss from me. I shall just have to find another way to get the money to pay off the debt. At least he let me keep my winnings.
She tried to ignore that it was about anything more than that.
After greeting their guests, Oliver sat next to his sister, helping himself to a huge slice of chocolate cake which he demolished quickly and washed down with two cups of sugary tea. Catherine gazed at him fondly. He had always had a voracious sweet tooth.
“How are you, old chap?” Oliver gazed at Patrick, smiling slightly. “Is life treating you well as a married man?”
“Oh, I cannot complain,” Patrick replied in a somewhat awkward voice. His eyes flicked to Catherine. “I suppose I am still getting used to being an old married man now.” He laughed ruefully. “My bachelor days are over.”
“Poor you,” Catherine said wryly. “You should be glad of it, Patrick. You were never a rake with an eye on every pretty lady.”
Not like the Duke of Newden—Do not think of him!
Patrick shrugged, looking uncomfortable.
An awkward silence fell over them. Oliver slurped his tea, looking bored. Catherine sighed. Her brother and Patrick had never been close and didn’t have a lot to say to one another. Not like herself and Beatrice. They had always been closer than two peas in a pod. Bea was the sister she had never had.
Suddenly, the need to confide in her sweet friend about the strange events of last night overwhelmed her. She cleared her throat.
“Would you like to take a turn around the garden, Beatrice?” she asked, gazing at her friend. “I am sure that Patrick and Oliver havesomuch to catch up on. Men’s talk and all that.”
Patrick and Oliver looked astounded by her comment but didn’t contradict her.
Catherine stood up, motioning for Beatrice to follow her. She was simply going to burst if she didn’t tell someone soon—and she was quite certain that neither Patrick nor her brother would be pleased if she blurted out that she had been kissed by a rake last night… who had also shockingly proposed marriage.
Her heart sank. He wasn’t coming. She should never have believed he would. They would never share another kiss. But oh… what a kiss it had been.
“You didwhat?” Beatrice’s voice was filled with shock and horror. “You wentwhere?”
Catherine’s cheeks turned pink. Beatrice was used to her escapades, so Catherine had assumed that her dear friend would hardly bat an eyelid when she started telling her about the events of last night. But it seemed that her friend still had the capacity to be shocked by her wayward, unladylike actions.
Catherine took a deep breath. “I went to a gambling hell, Beatrice. It was not so very bad!” She bit her lip. “Well, it wasfairlybad. Lots of dissolute-looking men in their cups, bleary-eyed, wagering their weekly wages without impunity…”
“Shocking,” Beatrice murmured, shaking her head incredulously. “A den of iniquity! It is a wonder you were not accosted and set upon by a group of black-teethed ruffians!”
Catherine shrugged. “I was dressed as a boy, you see, so they hardly looked at me…”
Beatrice stopped walking abruptly, staring at her with such a look of appalled horror that Catherine’s face reddened further. Beatrice was such a sweet, soft-spoken, innocent young lady whowould never,evercontemplate doing such a daring thing. The thought would never even cross her mind.
“A low-class boy at that,” Catherine continued, her lips twitching. “I got Jean to borrow some of her brother’s clothing for me.”
Beatrice put a hand to her forehead. “You got your maid to procure her brother’s clothing, so you could play cards with ruffians at a gambling hell? Dear Lord!”
“Yes, but that is not what I need to tell you,” Catherine replied, feeling a bit frustrated.
