Miss Fellingham's Rebellion (9 page)

As her mother stared at her teary-eyed, Catherine wondered what was the best way to deal with this wretched situation. She could not let her mother go on daydreaming in such a fanciful fashion, and yet how could she explain that Evelyn had been right, that Deverill had indeed been put up to it by her very dear friend Lady Courtland, that she herself was nothing but a project for a bored gentlewoman. She was too humiliated to admit the truth, even to her mother, but she knew she must lower her ladyship’s expectation of impossible future events.

“Really, Mama, you should not get so excited. It was just one dance.”

Much to Catherine’s surprise, her mother smiled understandingly. “You might not believe this, but I remember what it is like to be young. And despite your advanced years, you
are
still youngish. I know you are feeling uncertain now. You don’t want to get hurt. Yes, darling, it was just one dance, but oh, what a dance it was. The waltz! I know. I’ve never approved of it before and were Evelyn to start twirling around a dance floor held indecently in the arms of a man, I would box her ears, but you are more mature. And you dance so beautifully.”

“I do?” she whispered, unable to remember the last time her mother complimented her on anything but her good sense.

“Indeed,” she said before gobbling down a forkful of ham. “And that’s why you and I are going directly to Bond Street to buy you some new dresses. The one you wore last night was horribly out of fashion. We can’t have the Marquess of Deverill squiring you around in anything that isn’t of the first stare.” Lady Fellingham waved her fork in the air. “Upon consideration, Catherine, it occurs to me that I can’t remember the last time you and I went shopping together. What have you been wearing these last six years?”

“But I’m not—” she protested, trying to assure her mother that the Marquess of Deverill would
not
be squiring her around, but she did it with only half a heart, and when her mother interrupted, she didn’t really mind.

“I think we shall go to Madam Bonnard. She has made some excellent dresses of late for Evelyn. She has a very good sense of style, and simply everyone frequents her,” Lady Fellingham said. “She’s the height of fashion. You can’t wear white like Evelyn, but I think some nice pastels will look very well on you. I’ve always thought you looked best in pastels. But I’m sure I’ve told you that before.”

As Catherine sat there clutching her fork, she felt as though she were being seduced by some dark demon. It had been years and years since anyone cared if her dresses were the height of fashion—since her first season, in fact. When it had become clear that her eldest daughter wasn’t going to take, Lady Fellingham lost interest in her. The casual indifference with which her mother treated her hurt Catherine, of course, but it also gave her the freedom to do the things she enjoyed, like reading and going to museums and taking long strolls in the park.

Now it was all starting again, and Catherine could feel herself getting caught up in the excitement. She knew she should tread carefully, but she couldn’t help wondering if this time it could be different. She was older and, as her mother liked to remind her, more mature. Surely she could handle herself better and not be so overwhelmed and bewildered by the social whirl. Lady Courtland believed Deverill’s attentions alone would make her fashionable. What if it was true? How would the beau monde appear when she looked at it from the top, rather than from the bottom? Perhaps the very act of being popular would make her feel popular, which could have the beneficial effect of putting her at ease and letting some of her personality shine through. Under those circumstances, she might very well meet a man she could love.

Love was not an emotion she allowed herself to think about very often, for she knew it to be elusive and hard to sustain. Her own parents’ marriage was a mystery to her, and she could understand nothing of it except that it was a prime example of how spending a lifetime with the wrong person was worse than spending it alone. For this reason, she’d never really minded her unattached state.

Having thought the matter through, Catherine decided that a few new dresses would be just the thing. Only they reminded her of another plan she meant to implement. “I would like some new gowns. Thank you,” she said. Then after a moment of silence she plunged ahead. “Mama, it occurs to me that perhaps you would like some help with the books.”

Lady Fellingham, in the process of bringing a kipper to her lips, looked quite puzzled by this statement. She stared at her daughter blankly.

“Perhaps you would not be forced to come up with any more…um, excellent plans if you have help with the family finances,” she explained.

For a moment Catherine feared that she had angered her mother beyond repair, for her face turned such a deep shade of red. But then she said, “Aren’t you a good daughter? I appreciate the offer, of course, but I can manage tolerably well on my own.”

“I’m only thinking of you, dearest Mama,” she said tactfully. “It is a burden you carry alone and I would be glad in any way to help alleviate it.”

Lady Fellingham’s cheeks slowly returned to their normal shade, and she seemed to be considering the offer with real interest. “Perhaps you can help,” she admitted, laying down her fork. “It is an awful burden being the only one who knows how expensive candles are and how it tortures me to watch them burn down as if they were wood in the fireplace, which no one is giving away either.”

Catherine nodded. “Good, why don’t we look them over this afternoon after our shopping expedition?” And then, as soon as she said it, she realized she already had an appointment for the afternoon. “Or perhaps tomorrow morning. I am engaged to go riding in the park.”

“With Deverill?” her mother asked, eyes bright with pleasure.

“No, Gerard Pearson. He’s a friend of Freddy’s.”

“Pearson. Pearson,” she repeated under her breath. “Isn’t he the scoundrel who went running to Freddy with tales about his mama?”

“He was only trying to help us, I assure you,” Catherine said.

“Very well. But just see to it that Deverill doesn’t think you’ve lost interest. Although,” said her mama in her most scheming tone, “now that I consider it, it wouldn’t hurt for Deverill to imagine he has competition. A nonesuch like he has probably had everything handed to him on a silver platter. You would do well…”

Lady Fellingham prattled happily on, advising Catherine on all manner of stealth in courtship, as her daughter stared longingly at the newspaper on the sideboard.

Catherine returned flush from the excitement of shopping and ran upstairs to change into her carriage dress for her appointment with Pearson. The expedition had been a success in all ways save one: At the modiste, she had caught a glimpse of a stunning redheaded Cyprian who was rumored to be a recent cast-off of Deverill’s. Catherine hadn’t expected to see her nor had she anticipated being so unsettled by the sight of the beautiful woman. It was a very good thing, Catherine decided, that she knew Deverill’s real intentions and wasn’t affected by his interest, for she would have been devastated to know that was the level of perfection he sought in a mate.

Climbing the stairs, she was relieved that she didn’t see Evelyn. She wasn’t ready to be in the same room with her yet because she was still feeling the sting of her barbs.
He probably lost a bet and was forced to dance with you. Or it was a dare from one of his friends. You know what fashionable gentlemen are like. They have their jokes
. It was too close to the truth for her to think about forgiving her sister.

She did see Melissa, however.

“Cathy,” her sister called, coming into her room and throwing herself on the bed. “I’ve been waiting for hours for you to return. You must tell me all about it. Freddy said you waltzed.” Melissa closed her eyes and tried to picture it. “Was it wonderful? Will you teach me to waltz?” she asked, jumping off the bed. “Right now. Can we waltz?”

Catherine rang for Betsy’s help, laughing at her sister. “You know what Mother thinks of the waltz.”

“It’s unbred,” they said in unison.

“But she let you do it,” Melissa persisted.

“Because I am mature and as long as I have a beau, she doesn’t care what I do.”

“I know. I heard all about it from Freddy. How you stole one of Evelyn’s
partis
and how she’s being awfully mean about it. I don’t care,” Melissa insisted, “if her heart is in tatters as long as you are happy. Are you happy, Cathy?”

“Right now, puss, I am very happy. But you must be nicer about Evelyn,” she advised. “She’s younger than I and not so mature.”

“As am I, and I am nice to you,” Melissa pointed out pertly.

Catherine gave her sister a hug. “I know you are, dear.”

After a moment, Melissa danced away. “I have to return to my lessons now or Biddy will come looking for me. I got to sneak out for only a moment.” She walked to the door and stopped just short before turning around. “Do say we can go back to the museum soon? We were not there for nearly enough time and having seen a little of the marbles, I want to see more.”

“I’ll do what I can. Now back to your lessons.”

She waved and left the room just as Betsy arrived.

Catherine was pleasantly surprised to discover that Gerard Pearson was a tolerable whipster.

“I am very impressed,” she said as he competently evaded a carriage that seemed on an inevitable collision course with them.

Pearson blushed as he finished the maneuver. “I am not a four-in-the-hand like Deverill or Withering, but I muddle through well enough.”

“I don’t go riding often, you know, so this is a veritable treat for me,” she assured him.

He smiled and directed the curricle safely around a large hole in the road. “I like coming to Hyde Park. My family’s principal seat is in Kent, and when I am here, I miss the wide open spaces.”

“We are from Dorset, but I know exactly what you mean. You don’t feel quite so confined, do you? When you want to break out into a full gallop, you break out into a full gallop,” she said on a wistful sigh.

“Yes, that’s the very thing. Miss Fellingham, I should like to tell you— Oh, I say, is that woman in the blue hat waving at you?”

Catherine followed his gaze. “I do believe it is our hostess from last night, Lady Sefton. And she is with Lady Courtland.” Upon seeing her, her stomach pinched in quite a painful way. Was she prepared to face her mother’s friend yet? From the way the noblewoman was waving, the decision was clearly not hers to make.

“Catherine, dear,” Lady Courtland said as she pulled her gig up to Pearson’s. “What a lovely surprise. Lady Sefton,” she said to the woman sitting next to her, “you do remember Miss Catherine Fellingham? She was in attendance last night. And this is Mr. Gerard Pearson.”

After the introductions were completed, Catherine said, “Lady Sefton, I had a marvelous time at your ball last night.”

Lady Sefton smiled kindly. “Fellingham, you say? Aren’t you the chit who waltzed with Deverill?”

Catherine felt herself blushing. “I…uh…I,” she stammered, wondering what she meant to say and how she would say it.

Lady Courtland came to her rescue. “Yes, indeed this is the same girl. She has the town all aflutter wondering where she came from. I assure you, Lady Maria, that she is the daughter of my dear friend Eliza Fellingham.”

Lady Sefton nodded and addressed Catherine. “No need to blush, child, you dance charmingly.” She examined her carefully. “I don’t think I’ve seen you at Almack’s.”

“No, ma’am,” said Catherine softly.

“I don’t believe her mother has applied yet for vouchers for her and her younger daughter,” Arabella said, clearly angling for the much-coveted entrée.

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Lady Sefton assured her before addressing a newcomer. “Ah, looks who’s here.”

Catherine turned around and cringed when she saw Lord Deverill approaching on a beautiful chestnut mare. He was dressed in snug leather riding breaches and a sloping tailcoat. When he noticed her, he smiled, seemingly delighted to see her. She smiled back, but it was a thin smile, and she didn’t really mean it. She hadn’t wanted to encounter him again so soon. The image of the beautiful courtesan she had seen at the modiste was still too fresh in her mind. She looked down at her worn afternoon dress and suddenly felt inadequate. For the first time in six years, she found herself longing to be beautiful so that a gentleman would pay her some attention. Catherine knew that if she had Evelyn’s clear blue eyes, her heart-shaped lips and porcelain skin, Deverill would flirt shamelessly with her. After indulging these thoughts for several moments, she began to feel ashamed of herself. A woman was more than her appearance, Catherine thought.
She
was more than her appearance.

“Lord Deverill,” continued the patroness, “I was just telling Miss Fellingham how much we look forward to seeing her at Almack’s. Perhaps you would like to waltz with her there.”

Catherine could have sworn that for a second Deverill looked much taken aback by the bold suggestion, but then he reined in his mount and the moment passed. Most likely, she decided, he was surprised that Lady Sefton would trap him so brazenly into yet another dance with her. He could not be pleased.

As Deverill answered Lady Sefton’s query, he kept his eyes fixed on Catherine, making her feel warm with embarrassment. “I would be delighted to have another waltz with Miss Fellingham. Assuming,” he added, a smile dancing across his handsome face, “of course, that Miss Fellingham would like to waltz with me.”