Page 3 of The Duke's Last Dance
“Do you have a story to tell me, Mother?” Catherine wondered what kind of a story could possibly have scarred her mother so badly that she would not tell it to her, but then again, she did not know every detail of her mother’s life before marrying her father.
“I do, but it is not a story I feel appropriate for the first Season you are eligible for marriage. Perhaps after you have been married, Catherine,” her mother replied. “Now, sit up straight. You’ve allowed your shoulders to slouch, and no proper woman would be caught dead like that in Town.”
“Yes, Mother.” Catherine sat up straighter.
She wanted to have good prospects for marriage. If following her mother’s sometimes arbitrary advice would help her accomplish that, then she was all for doing so.
The rest of the carriage ride to Camberton Manor was silent. Catherine returned to looking out the window, watching the white snow pass by.
Town in the winter was always a mix of picture perfect snow on the rooftops – especially right after a fresh snow, before all the soot had a chance to settle in – and an utter mess on the ground as everyone and their horses walked through the snow. Catherine much preferred the fresh, uninterrupted blanket of snow that was often created in the countryside after a snowstorm came through. With the houses being so much more spread out, it took longer for everyone to get out and about after a snowstorm.
She would much prefer to see meters and meters of freshly fallen snow to the slushy mess that London became, but she had no way to do anything about that. They were officially in Town, and with Camberton Manor coming into view from the carriage window, she was too excited about the Season’s beginning to do anything but think about the dress fittings her mother wanted to get started tomorrow.
“Ah, Camberton Manor…” Her mother interrupted her thoughts again. “We have arrived. Your father ought to be here already; after all, he left two full days before us.”
“Yes, I suppose he did.” Catherine smiled. “I have missed Father. Do you think he will have time to eat dinner with us tonight?”
“I hope so. If you have missed him dearly, then imagine how I have missed him, Catherine,” her mother sulked. “He is my husband, after all.”
“Yes, of course, Mother.” She was not one to argue with things that made sense to her.
The carriage came to a stop in front of Camberton Manor. The house was a large one, with a large bay window by the front door. Catherine had fond memories of sitting in front of that bay window as a child, watching for the carriages when her parents were watching her instead of the nannies that had been hired. When one would come up, she would be expected to be quiet and obedient in front of the visitors, but as soon as they had left, she could continue her window watching or playing with her dolls or whatever she had been doing before they pulled up to the house.
The outside had been recently cleaned. The bricks sparkled in the sunlight, more dazzling than the snow that did the same. Each window seemed to have a small gleam to it, as if it was happy to see that its occupants had returned for another Season.
“I have so missed Camberton, Catherine. What about you?” Her mother looked over to her as the carriage moved underneath them. Someone outside was getting off to help them out and unload all the trunks.
“I have indeed missed Camberton, and Town in general.” She could not help but agree with her mother. Whether that was because of the fatigue of the journey or because she genuinely missed Camberton, Catherine wasn’t sure. However, she knew that it did not matter in the end. When it came time to go back to the countryside, she would also have begun to miss their residence out there.
Having two houses to split her time between was rough sometimes. She supposed it was an upper-class problem, but she would not know for certain.
She took in a deep breath; the cold air woke her lungs up and energized her for all of the things she would now have to work around or with. She had to make sure all her trunks made it up to her room, that Amelia was ready to start helping her unpack… there was a lot involved in getting ready for the Town Season, least of all was getting all settled into the house for the Season.
As Catherine left the carriage, she watched her mother start to oversee the footmen getting the trunks off the carriage.
“You may go inside, Catherine. ‘Tis too cold out here for you to stay while they unload the trunks.” Her mother waved her hand, a clear sign that she was dismissed from whatever duties she may have had to help with in the snow.
“Thank you, Mother.” Catherine smiled.
Then, she turned and walked up the long walkway towards the house. She did not understand why every manor had such long walkways, but she appreciated them in the summertime. In the wintertime, when they were crowded with slushy snow and full of mud as the snow melted, it was a hassle to walk through.
It was even more of a hassle to drive the horses all the way up to the houses in this weather. Catherine did not know which was better; walking through the slush or watching the horses struggle through the slush while she sat pretty in the carriage.
For the horses’ sake, she would rather walk. For her own sake, she’d rather sit in the carriage as the horses struggled.
Whatever the reasons for stopping where it had, the carriage was now well behind her. She walked up the snow-covered steps and waited. A butler soon opened the door, and Catherine walked in.
The house was warm and full of the smells of wintertime foods: cinnamon, nutmeg, butter, sugar, and pumpkin. She knew that Amelia was fond of pumpkins, when they were viable, but she knew that her handmaid would also make sure they had pumpkin when it was in season.
Pumpkin preserves were not Catherine’s favorite, but she indulged her handmaid from time to time.
The front hall was a grand place, and Catherine stopped to take it all in for a minute. Every time she came back to Camberton, there was always a feel of grandeur and wonder. It was as if the house was never the same, even though the moldings, the furniture, the papered walls never changed.
It was just as she had left it in the summertime. The walls were covered in a light white wallpaper with faint flowers. She was never sure what color the flowers were supposed to be, but she believed they were meant to be a kind of cream or ivory color – standing off the white, but not different enough to cause them to be the focal point of the wallpaper.
The dark wooden railings of the staircases stood out in stark contrast to the white wallpaper, and it made Catherine feel as though she was being welcomed by an old friend.
She took her cloak off and handed it to the waiting butler.
