Page 53 of A Game with the Rakish Duke
“Cathy!”
Catherine turned around. Beatrice was standing there, smiling at her, looking beautiful in a dark green silk gown with a net overlay. Tiny diamonds were woven through her hair, sparkling in the candlelight and the glow from the low-hanging chandelier overhead.
“Bea,” Catherine cried, taking her friend’s gloved hands in her own and kissing her on both cheeks. “It issogood to see you! Did you just arrive?”
Beatrice nodded. “Yes, we were running a bit late,” she said in a breathless voice. “Mama and I picked up Patrick and Edith on the way, and they were not quite ready…”
“Patrick is here?” Catherine craned her neck as she looked around the room. “And his wife? The elusive Lady Afferton?”
Beatrice laughed. “She is not elusive, Cathy! She just has not attended many of the same events as you. That is all.”
“Hmm,” Catherine said, not agreeing with her friend but knowing better than to argue the point. She had brought up the topic a few times now, and both Beatrice and Patrick vehemently denied that Lady Afferton didn’t like her or deliberately avoided her. “Well, I will have to make an effort to talk to both of them. And your dear mother, of course.”
Beatrice rolled her eyes. “Dear Mama is on the warpath, convinced she is going to find me a husband this evening.” She sighed. “It was all she could talk about in the carriage. She told me that I am turning into a sour-faced old maid.”
Catherine frowned. She wasn’t fond of the Dowager Countess of Afferton. The lady was a priggish, pretentious bore, only liking people if they could benefit her in some way. And she treated poor Beatrice like chattel. Catherine was convinced the lady didn’t care for her daughter at all——she wasalwaysputting Beatrice down in a thousand subtle, velvet-gloved ways.
A lot like her own late mother had been.
“You willneverturn into a sour-faced old maid,” Catherine asserted fiercely. “If it is your destiny to remain unmarried, dear Bea, then you will retain your sweet nature as you age. And I really dislike it when people refer to unmarried ladies in such a way. Why is there not an equivalent term for an unmarried gentleman?”
Beatrice laughed. “You are so clever, Cathy! So bright and spirited!” She gazed at her friend, her eyes widening as she looked at her gown. “Oh, you did it! You have really worn it! I was certain you would lose courage and put on an old gown instead.” She hesitated. “You look so beautiful, Cathy. I must admit I was skeptical, but it looks simply stunning on you. You remind me of a goddess.”
“Oh, stop it,” Catherine said, her cheeks turning pink with pleasure. “I am not nearly as beautiful as you, Bea. The green of your gown really becomes you.”
“She did it, all right.” Oliver laughed, shaking his head ruefully. “That is our Cathy to a tee. How are you, Bea?”
“I am very well, Oliver.” Beatrice smiled, snatching a glass of champagne from a passing tray. “I cannot complain.”
The talk continued about various people and events. Catherine sipped her champagne, tuning them out and gazing at the crowd. Abruptly, her heart stopped.
The Duke was talking with his constant companion, the Duke of Dunford, across the room. But they had also been joined by LadyIsabella Lyndon… once again. Catherine could barely breathe as she watched them.
Lady Isabella looked lovely this evening in a rose silk gown, her golden hair swept up into a chignon on the nape of her neck, interspersed with tiny roses. And she was laughing as she gazed up at Thomas in an almost adoring way. Catherine felt a jolt of sour, bitter displeasure.
Was it proper to look at another woman’s husband like that? And why didn’t the lovely Lady Isabella look at some unmarried man that way instead? Why wasn’t she focusing her attention on the Duke of Dunford, for instance? He was there as well.
“Cathy?” Beatrice’s voice penetrated her consciousness. “Are you quite well?”
“I am fine,” Catherine said, before downing her champagne. She gritted her teeth. “Just fine.”
She turned back to her friend and brother, trying to focus on what they were saying. But all she could see in her mind’s eye was her husband and the golden-haired lady laughing together, as if no one else existed.
Her heart skipped a beat. Why was it bothering her so much? Why had it always bothered her? She knew that her new husband was a rake. He was overly fond of beautiful ladies. It wasn’t as if he was going to abruptly change as soon as he slipped a wedding ring on her finger. And why would she want him to,anyway, considering she didn’t want to have any kind of intimate relationship with him?
Catherine picked up another glass of champagne. There were no easy answers to any of those questions. All she knew was that it was like physical torture watching him and that lady flirt with each other. Were they already having an affair? Or were they about to start one?
“There you are,” a deep, amused voice said at her elbow.
She spun around. Her heart lurched again. It was he, standing there, gazing at her, his eyes looking more blue than green tonight. As blue as the ocean on a clear day. And they were shining as they looked at her. His appreciation couldn’t be more obvious.
Beatrice curtseyed, and Oliver bowed. Then they both looked at them, clearly not knowing what to say.
“Lady Beatrice,” the Duke greeted in a pleasant voice, inclining his head. “Lord Whitley. A pleasure.” He turned back to Catherine. “We have been commanded to dance.”
“Commanded?” Catherine’s heart skipped another beat. “By whom?”
“By Grandmother, of course,” the Duke replied, rolling his eyes. “She says that it is imperative that we take to the floor together at least once to show off. Marital unity and all that business.”
