Page 44 of An Offer for a Spinster
The Duchess pressed her lips together. “Lord Barwood is simply staking his claim.”
“Staking hisclaim? I am not something to be claimed, Mama.”
“Don’t be silly. I suppose we have all that novel-reading nonsense to thank for this attitude. Lord Barwood is an eminently suitable gentleman, and one you should be proud tomake a match with. Besides, I don’t need to remind you that he is the only gentleman who has expressed interest in you so far.”
Yes, because he’s scaring off everyone else,Katherine thought sourly. Even then, though, there was an element of doubt.
Timothy came to mind again, no matter how hard she tried not to. Their conversation the other day, in between the bookshelves of the circulating Library, had rung in her head over and over again. At first, she’d worried that she had seemed silly, or overly sentimental, talking aboutThomasinthe way she had. But then she had met Timothy’s eye and seen something there, something… something elusive eluded her grasp.
She swallowed hard.Stop it, Katherine. You know he only feels like a brother towards you. No point in thinking otherwise. You’ll only… only set yourself up for disappointment.
On cue, a gentleman in a red domino came lurching towards her, grinning. His uneven, yellowing teeth marked him out as one Mr. Burles, oldest son of a wealthy merchant.
“Lady Katherine!” he burbled, making a low and wobbly bow. “Can I tempt you to dance with me? I believe the dancing is just starting up.”
She swallowed hard. “I… I would love to, Mr. Burles.”
There was not, of course, any other answer she could make.
Within the first few minutes of the dance, it became embarrassingly clear that Mr. Burles was too drunk to be dancing. He stumbled, trod on her toes – which hurt, since she was only wearing sandals – and consistently missed steps, even going the wrong way in a promenade, which would have caused chaos if Katherine hadn’t yanked him back the right way.
“Oh, dear,” he said, giggling, clearly too drunk even to comprehend how much of a fool he was being. “Thank heavens you are here, eh?”
She smiled uncomfortably, trying to avoid supporting his weight. Of course, if one’s dance partner was a fool, one would end up looking a fool, too. It was terribly unfair. Ladies could not refuse an invitation to dance, but a poor dancer would reflect badly on them.
Thankfully, the first dance was not a lengthy one. The music ended, and Katherine curtsied to her partner with immeasurable relief. She turned, looking for some acquaintance to hail, but wasn’t quite quick enough.
“Let’s have a glass of champagne each, eh?” Mr. Burles muttered in her ear, his breath sour. “And we’ll find a quiet corner to talk. You know, I scarcely have had the opportunity to speak to you this Season, what with Lord Barwood keeping you all to himself. Is there an understanding between you, or what?”
“I hardly think this is a fit subject for a party, Mr. Burles,” Katherine said sharply, intending to nip the conversation in the bud, and hopefully shame him into leaving her alone.
It did not work. Mr. Burles only chuckled, mumbling something about ‘an admirable spirit’, and steered her roughly towards the refreshment table. Katherine was just thinking about the best way to escape when a masked gentleman stepped in front of them.
He didn’t speak. The gentleman was dressed as Apollo, Katherine realised after a pause. He wore loose robes that fell to mid-thigh, gathered in at the waist with a leather belt, and rough, tight breeches underneath for modesty. His hair hung in loose curls, and most of his face, from forehead almost to his lips, was covered by a plain mask. Mr. Burles moved to step around him, pulling Katherine behind him, but the man moved in front of him, hand out to stop him.
“What, what?” Mr. Burles snapped, annoyed. “What do you want? Move aside, we’re going for champagne. Why don’t you speak?”
Apollo shook his head dolefully and stretched out a hand towards Katherine. A warmth spread through her chest. He seemed familiar, but with the strange robes and mask, she could not tell who it was.
“I believe our Apollo is asking me to dance,” Katherine said, with a half-smile. She received a bow in response. “I accept.”
“But we were going to talk,” Mr. Burles said unhappily.
Katherine ignored him, taking Apollo’s hand. He led her off to the dance floor, where pairs of people were already lined up, in expectation of the dance.
It was a slow dance this time, a stately measure. Most of the other dancers had chosen courtesan outfits, fashionable dresses, things with colour and swathes of material, so the two masked Grecian deities earned a couple of strange stares.
Katherine found that for the first time, she did not care. She and her Apollo bowed to each other, and the dance began.
“You’re not speaking,” she said, thoughtfully.
A shake of the head.
“Ah. That must mean that I know you, and I would recognise your voice if you spoke. That also explains that larger mask.”
Apollo’s lips, the only part of him revealed by the mask, curved into a smile. The familiar feeling ofknowingshivered through Katherine again. She longed to step forward and yank off the mask.
That, of course, would not be appropriate in the slightest.
