Catherine wanted to say no. She wanted to say yes. She wanted to run away to Scotland and become a sheep farmer where she'd never have to deal with dukes or proposals or society gossip again.
"I... yes," she heard herself say.
He bowed, properly this time, and walked away. Catherine watched him go, aware that Lady Pemberton was watching her with sympathy.
"Well," the older woman said after a moment, "that was certainly dramatic."
Catherine laughed, though it came out slightly hysterical. "That's one word for it."
"My dear, you're shaking. Come, let's get you somewhere quiet."
Lady Pemberton led her to a small gazebo at the far end of the garden, away from the main party. Catherine sank onto a bench, her legs suddenly unable to support her.
"Marcus must hate me," she said quietly.
"Marcus is a grown man who knew he was taking a risk," Lady Pemberton said pragmatically. "He's hurt, certainly, but he'll recover. Hearts are remarkably resilient things."
"I never meant to hurt him."
"I know, dear. But you would have hurt him more by accepting his proposal when you're in love with someone else."
"Am I that obvious?"
"Only to those who know what to look for." Lady Pemberton sat beside her, arranging her skirts carefully. "The Duke's declaration was rather unexpected."
"That's putting it mildly."
"But not unwelcome?"
Catherine was quiet for a moment, trying to sort through the chaos of her emotions. "I don't know. For three months, he's acted as if I don't exist. And now suddenly..."
"Now suddenly another man was about to propose, and His Grace realized what he stood to lose."
"That's just it; he doesn't stand to lose anything. I'm nobody. A poor relation living on her aunt's charity."
"You're Lady Catherine Mayfer, daughter of the Earl of Westmont."
"A dead earl whose title and estates went to a Scottish cousin I've never met."
"Nevertheless, you have breeding, education, accomplishments. You're hardly nobody."
"I'm nobody compared to what a duke could have. Should have."
Lady Pemberton was quiet for a moment. "May I tell you something in confidence?"
Catherine nodded.
"Twenty years ago, I was nobody too. My father was a country squire with pretensions. My mother was the daughter of a merchant. When the Earl of Pemberton started courting me, everyone said it was impossible. That he was too far above me. That I'd embarrass him. That our children would suffer for my inferior bloodlines."
"But you married him anyway."
"We did. And yes, there were those who snubbed me at first. Who whispered behind their fans and made cutting remarks. But George didn't care. He loved me, and eventually, society accepted it because they had no choice. A determined man of sufficient rank can overcome almost any obstacle."
"The Duke of Ravensfield certainly has sufficient rank."
"The question is whether he has sufficient determination."
Catherine thought of the look in James's eyes when he'd faced down Miss Worthing, the way his voice had gone deadly quiet when he'd said anyone who harmed her would answer to him.
