Miss Fellingham's Rebellion (6 page)

Catherine examined the marbles, which were riddled with cracks and missing fragments. “I don’t know,” she said. “I might hope to look this good when I am two thousand three hundred years old.”

Melissa giggled.

“A valid point,” he conceded, “but, I assure you, they’re much better off here. The Greek government does not have the resources to preserve them. Here they will remain in the best possible condition.”

“Yes,” Catherine agreed, warming to the topic. “They will remain in the best possible condition until some classical scholar decides that the marbles’ gray hue should be snowy white like other Greek statues and uses some potion that damages them irrevocably.”

Julian laughed. “If that is your greatest concern, rest easy, m’dear. I can assure you that will never happen.”

Catherine smiled and thought that she would rather stand there for fifteen minutes talking to this man whom she just met in the dusty confines of the British Museum than attend a hundred balls. If they had been at a ball, this man wouldn’t have noticed her and she would not have had the presence of mind to talk to him, much less tease him and take him to task for his opinions. She wanted to stay there forever, it felt so good to have a normal conversation with a handsome man, but she knew her mother would be angry enough and that she should not provoke her further.

“I am very much afraid, sir, that Melissa and I have to be going,” she said with genuine regret.

“Why must we?” whined her sister. “We just got here.”

“Under no circumstances can an hour be considered just getting here,” Catherine assured her before turning to face Julian. “It was very nice talking with you. And while I don’t approve of the fact that the marbles are here, I very much enjoyed seeing them.”

He smiled. “Please, let me walk you to your carriage.”

“Oh…ah, you don’t have to,” she said, falling back into a slight stammer.

“But I want to,” he insisted, looking steadily into her eyes. “It would be my pleasure.”

She found something disconcerting about his penetrating gaze. “Oh. That’s all right, then. Melissa?” She broke her eyes free from his and realized that her sister had wandered over to the statue of Athena. “Are you ready to go?”

Melissa said yes but so despondently that Catherine rashly promised to bring her back sometime soon.

Outside, Julian asked after their carriage. “Oh, we came in a hack. If you could hail one, I’d greatly appreciate it.”

He did just as she instructed, and while he was helping her into the carriage, he asked Catherine her direction.

“Belgravia, please.”

Catherine waited until he had supplied the driver with the necessary information before saying one final goodbye. “It has been a pleasure,” she said with the utmost sincerity.

“The pleasure was all mine,” he insisted.

“Adieu, then.”

“Au revoir.”

The hack pulled away, and Melissa waved at Julian through the window. Catherine watched, saddened by the thought that she would never see him again. She had been very tempted to ask his surname but restrained herself with effort. She’d had to remind herself that this had been an interlude, merely another unexpected moment in a day that had turned out to be full of unexpected moments. Tomorrow, life would return to normal. Tomorrow, a handsome, funny, smart gentleman like Julian wouldn’t notice a tall, awkward woman who hid in the corner rather than stammer nonsensically.

But, oh, it was nice to have today.

CHAPTER THREE

The party was
late getting off to the ball because Lady Fellingham’s relentless chastisement of her daughter left her ladyship little time to prepare.

“I don’t know what has come over you today,” her mother said as Betsy placed jewels in her hair at evenly spaced intervals. She couldn’t talk without bobbing her head left and right, and the poor maid was trying to get as many pins in place as she could between nods. “As far as I can remember, you were fine yesterday. What did you do with yourself yesterday?” She made a show of trying to remember. “La, I have no idea. See?”

Catherine was seated in her mother’s dressing room in her ball grown, a drab confection of pink satin that ill-fitted her age. “No, Mama, I don’t see.”

“What I mean, Catherine, is that what you do with your day is your business. I have never bothered you to be more like other ladies of the
ton.
You spend hours in your father’s study, and I don’t say a thing. What does she do in there, I think to myself. How can she spend so many hours in there, I ask your father. Why doesn’t she have beaux like Evelyn, I question the good Lord. But I never bother you. No, I leave you be. But now you’ve come out of the study to chastise me, embarrass my friend Arabella and corrupt your sister. It is unacceptable, Catherine.” She nodded her head fiercely, thwarting Betsy’s endeavors.

“The Elgin Marbles are not corruptive,” she said with a deep sigh. They’d had this argument several times before. “They’re engrossing antiquities.”

Lady Fellingham snorted, an undignified sound that made her maid giggle. “It is so like a man without a nose to have brought back so-called engrossing antiquities.”

“They are also educational, Mama.”

“One gets an education in a schoolroom, not traipsing around museums with indecent slabs of marble scattered about.”

“But—”

“No more, Catherine,” her mother ordered, turning her head around entirely and thoroughly undoing her maid’s most recent efforts. Hair came tumbling over her left shoulder. “I have made my position clear, and I don’t want to discuss this again.” She faced the mirror and contemplated her appearance. She fingered the fallen strands. “What’s this?” she asked. “Betsy, I thought I told you to put my hair up. Really, woman, what have you been doing this whole time? Now we are likely to be late.”

The family arrived at the Sefton ball a little before eleven. They were without Sir Vincent, of course. He would most likely follow after losing a handsome sum at the gaming tables.

“Oh, isn’t this lovely?” cried Evelyn upon entering the ornate room, which was lavishly decorated with hundreds of vases of delicate roses. “Do say we can have a ball, Mama. You know I would enjoy it so.”

“Can’t have a ball without a ballroom, brat,” reminded Freddy, who was busily surveying the room for cronies. “Ah, there’s Pearson. Excuse me.” Freddy bowed.

“Selfish boy,” cried his mother. “To walk away without offering to get us punch.” She patted delicately at her brow and looked at all the people. “My, this is quite a crush.”

Evelyn was also examining the room’s inhabitants. “I don’t see Deverill.”

At the mention of Deverill, Catherine cringed. Of late, her sister could do little but rhapsodize over the many accomplishments of the peerless Lord Deverill. He was more handsome than any other lord, he danced more beautifully than any other lord, he conversed more interestingly than any other lord, he dressed more elegantly than any other lord, he had a better seat on a horse than any other lord, he opened doors with more grace than any other lord. The list of encomiums heaped on his head grew daily, with Freddy, that ignorant puppy, tossing in the odd compliment. If Catherine hadn’t known better, she’d think that Freddy was smitten with him, too, so full of admiration was he for the gentleman’s skill at boxing.

She had never met the indomitable Lord Deverill, but the more she heard about him the less she wanted to. He sounded absolutely appalling in his perfection, and she didn’t doubt that he was too stuffed with his own consequence to exert himself on anyone’s behalf.

“Don’t worry, dear. It is a little early yet for the gentlemen of fashion to have arrived. Give it some time,” her mother advised.

“Oh, I know. But he said he would be here. You recall he stood up with me last week at the Huffington fête. Ah, I see Vickering coming this way,” she said not unenthusiastically. “He is a poor substitute for Lord Deverill, but I suppose he will do as well as anyone.”

“How you talk,” said her mother. “Why, I have it on good authority that he has a generous income. Though I’ve not heard the exact figure bandied about, I can assure you, my dear, that he is not a
poor
substitute.”

“Good evening, ladies,” Vickering said, bowing over Lady Fellingham’s hand while taking in Evelyn’s flowing white dress and her à la Greek hairdo. “Miss Fellingham, you look enchanting,” he said to the younger daughter. “I would be forever in your debt, dear Lady Fellingham, if you would allow me the honor of dancing this set with your beautiful daughter.”

Eliza Fellingham nodded her ascent and twittered happily as the couple walked onto the dance floor just as the orchestra started up a minuet. “Doesn’t she look beautiful, Catherine?”

Catherine agreed readily with her mother, although she wasn’t quite sure what the question had been. She was too engrossed in observing Freddy and his companion, a tall boy whose face was half hidden by a lavishly tied cravat. His clothes, though tailored well, didn’t seem to fit him quite right. He appeared gawky and fairly uncomfortable in his finery. Catherine knew exactly how he felt and found this sense of empathy endeared him to her. “Mama, that fellow Freddy is talking to. Is that the friend of Freddy’s who told us about your excellent plan? Preston?”

Fearing another long discussion on the distasteful matter, Lady Fellingham glanced fleetingly in her son’s direction. “Yes, that is he. Preston. Pearson. Something like that,” she answered distractedly. Where was her dear friend Arabella? “Ah, there we are.” She had finally found a familiar face. “Come along, Catherine. I see Lady Lawson by the punch bowl. We shall say hello and get ourselves a nice refreshment.”

Catherine didn’t want to chat with Lady Lawson by the punch bowl. She had spent too many hours listening to Lady Fellingham and her friend gossip about the marriage mart to blindly follow. There were both mean and spiteful when it came to the success of any daughter who was not their own. The horrible things they said made Catherine cringe, and rather than going where her mother led, she walked across the room to the other side, where Freddy was talking with his friend.

“Ah, Catherine,” he said when he saw her approaching. “I would like you to meet my good friend Gerard Pearson.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Pearson,” she said with a smile as he bowed over her hand. “Freddy introduces us to so few of his friends.”

“That’s cause I don’t want them mooning over Evelyn,” Freddy explained. “But you’re all right.”

Catherine knew that Freddy didn’t realize how discourteous this sounded, and she laughed. She was used to such shabby treatment from her family. Gerard Pearson, however, was not. “I am sure that this Miss Fellingham is as much a danger to the hearts of your friends as the other Miss Fellingham.”

“You haven’t seen the other Miss Fellingham,” Freddy said.

His friend began to blush and stammer. “Still, your sister here is quite…um—”

“Please, Mr. Pearson, don’t let Freddy’s teasing discomfort you. He has no appreciation for the gallantry you have demonstrated.”

“Gallantry?” echoed Freddy, seemingly bewildered by the idea.

Catherine sent him a withering look. “Yes, gallantry.”

“Miss Fellingham,” Pearson said, still faintly red from his blush, “would you do me the honor of this dance?”

Catherine didn’t know who was more surprised—she or Freddy.

“Gerard, you don’t have to do the pretty just because she’s my sister and all,” the insensitive boy said without thinking.

The blush returned in full force. “But I would like to dance with her.”

Freddy didn’t say anything more, but he continued to look confused by this unprecedented and seemingly inexplicable development.

Catherine decided there was nothing for her to do but ignore her brother’s impolite outburst. Poor Pearson looked as though he was going to explode any second from the sheer embarrassment of it all. Often on the brink herself, Catherine easily understood. “I would be delighted,” she said, taking his arm.

Once out on the dance floor, Catherine concentrated on the proper steps, ever mindful of her partner’s feet.

“You are a lovely dancer,” he said.

She wanted to beg him to leave off on the unnecessary compliments, but instead she thanked him and smiled. When she felt that she had the steps down, she looked up at her partner. “Mr. Pearson, I am fully aware of the service you’ve done my family.”

For a moment he looked confused, but his expression quickly cleared. “Freddy’s my friend, you know. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to his family.”

“Still, we are all in your debt,” she insisted.

“Don’t be absurd. I just did what anyone would have done.”

Catherine thought of all the commissions her mother managed to sell before she finally put an end to her excellent scheme. “I am not so sure about that, Mr. Pearson.”

“So then it has been taken care of?” he asked obliquely.

She nodded abruptly. “To the best of my ability, yes.”

“Good.”

“And you, sir, have plans to enter the army then?”

“Yes. I am waiting for my colors.” Then, as if to assure her that nothing was amiss, he added. “Really waiting, the proper way. I would never accept such a bargain. For one thing, my older brother, Morgan, would thrash me for behaving so disrespectfully.”