Page 14 of An Offer for a Spinster
“Are you enjoying yourself, Lady Katherine?” he asked quietly, as they queued to get into the room. It felt appropriate to say something. He didn’t want her to think she was sitting next to some foolish, dull old clodhopper.
You’re a writer. Can’t you summon any words?
“Oh yes, very much,” she said, not entirely convincingly. “My legs ache terribly. I haven’t danced so much in at least a year.”
“Ah, I see. You can rest tomorrow, can’t you?”
“Yes, I can, but that doesn’t do a great deal for my feet right now.”
“No, I suppose not.” He cleared his throat, racking his brain for another subject.
“I meant to thank you, by the way,” she said suddenly, almost giving him a start.
“Thank me? What for?”
“You declined to ask me to dance because my dance card was already full. You said I ought to rest, didn’t you? That was very considerate. Thank you, Mr. Rutherford.”
A lump formed in Timothy’s throat. “It’s no trouble at all, Lady Katherine. I think your brother would be upset to know that I made you dance without rest.”
She chuckled wryly, and there was an edge to her voice. “Oh, William has far too many things on his mind to worry about me being tired. Have you seen Henry, by the way? He trod on Mrs. Eversham’s gown during the last dance, and she’s most angry.”
Timothy winced. “I have not seen him, I’m sorry.”
And then they were in the dining room, a cavernous space with the soft murmur of muted conversation rising up to the ceiling, and it was time to concentrate on finding their places.
Timothy was a little surprised to find himself so near the head of the table. He caught William’s eye, who was just lowering himself into the host’s place. William looked pale, with dark circles under his eyes. Katherine did, too, their olive skin barely brushing the edge ofsallow. He spotted Alexander further down the table, sitting between a widow and her debutante daughter, chatting to them both. There was a notable gap opposite, with two bored-looking ladies on either side.
Timothy glanced down at Katherine, who was also staring at the empty space, a muscle jumping in her jaw.
“Henry has taken himself off,” she murmured. “I shall scold him later. For now, there’s not a great deal any of us can do. He’s a grown man and can’t be dragged by his ear to the dinner table. Not that I don’t wish I could.”
They all sat, and the first course was served. It was a thin soup, aconsommé, designed to whet the appetite without filling up a person. Then there would be course after course of lamb and fish, good roast beef, duck, bread and vegetables, fruit, both sugared and ordinary, delicate sweetmeats, marzipan, trifles, cakes, and so on. Far too much food for anyone to eat, even with the number of guests at the table. Genteel conversation drifted along, all very polite and uncontroversial.
Timothy spotted the exquisite Lord Barwood, looking a little petulant between a portly lord and a severe-looking reverend. Lord Barwood was looking at them – or rather, looking at Lady Katherine. Timothy didn’t have to glance down at her to know that she was looking back.
“So, Lady Katherine,” he said, dipping his spoon disinterestedly into theconsommé. “I feel as though we haven’t talked in an age. Longer, perhaps.”
She smiled wryly. “Not since our dear papas stopped being such good friends. The late Duke did not allow us to visit you, and vice versa. I recall William saying that he could only see you at the club.”
Timothy bit his lip. “Yes, I recall. Let’s be glad those days are over.”
“I agree. I hear that you have apartments of your own, now?”
“Yes, I do. Nothing very fine, but I enjoy my freedom.”
She nodded, and thankfully did not ask him how he made his living. Would that be a vulgar subject for the dinner table or not? Timothy couldn’t recall. The rules changed constantly, andthere were a host of taboo subjects there were appropriate or inappropriate in various settings. It was exhausting.
I miss my study,he thought miserably.I miss my Rosalie.
Immediately, another thought followed it, this one hitting his chest like a physical blow.
Your Rosalie is not real, fool.
“You read a great deal, don’t you, Lady Katherine?” Timothy managed.
“Yes, but nothing very improving. My unfortunate parents were nearly pulling their hair out in distress. I would barely even read poetry – it was all novels.”
“There is nothing wrong with novels,” Timothy said, laughing.
