Chapter 10
Catherine had never enjoyed a social event more. Though she only danced half the dances, she was able to talk to Georgiana for hours. When Catherine was obliged to abandon her friend due to an invitation to dance, Mary was kind enough to take her place. The two of them seemed to get along quite well, with Mary’s serious nature not overpowering Georgiana’s tendency toward shyness.
The evening was beginning to wind down, with only two dances left, when Lord Hilldale invited both Mary and Catherine to dance.
Lord Hilldale was a confusing character to Catherine. His expression, when he was not speaking, hinted at some amount of underlying anger, but when he spoke he was generally polite and seemed relatively cheerful. Additionally, it was very kind of him to recognize that Mary wished to dance and even more kind to invite her to do so.
Catherine had seen him dancing several times, and though he seemed to be happy to be dancing, he didn’t seem particularly interested in his partners. It was almost as if the activity was just something to pass the time rather than an opportunity to get to know someone better.
Given all that she had seen, she expected her dance with him to be unexceptional, possibly even boring, but she was determined to see it through with her best behavior. He wasGeorgiana’s cousin, after all, and she would not wish to offend him.
Once Lord Hilldale was gone, Catherine said, “I do not understand him. He seems nice and polite, but he always looks so angry.”
Georgiana shook her head. “I don’t understand him either, but I do know he has never said an unkind word to me, and I have never seen him lose his temper, despite the fact that he always looks angry.”
“Perhaps it is simply an illusion based on his natural face shape,” said Mary. “There are some ladies who, when their expression is not lightened by animation, appear to be grumpy even when they aren’t. Lord Hilldale may just have a slightly grumpy face.”
Catherine was almost certain that wasn’t the case. Her experience with drawing and painting gave her a good eye. She was nearly certain that the anger he exuded was due to the fact that his eyebrows were always lowered just a bit, and there was always just a bit of tension around his mouth. She did not wish to contradict her sister, however. “Perhaps you are correct,” she said.
“He used to be more cheerful when I was a child,” said Georgiana. “He used to laugh and joke much more. I even remember one time when he helped me sneak some shortbread from the larder. We hid behind some bushes devouring our pilfered sweets, all the while laughing over our triumph. I believe I was eight at the time.”
The conversation shifted to discussions of childhood adventures. It wasn’t too much later when Lord Hilldale came to claim his dance with Mary.
Without really thinking about it, Catherine watched him as he danced. His expression was the same with her as it had been with every other lady, polite interest with a slightly angry undertone. He was intimidating, though it was clear that he made every effort not to be.
He wasn’t particularly handsome, though he wasn’t unpleasant either. Having met both his parents, Catherine could say that he had his mother’s lean features whereas his brother, Colonel Fitzwilliam, had inherited their father’s broader face and craggier features.
When it was Catherine’s turn to dance with him, he seemed a bit more animated, possibly a bit less angry, than he had earlier. She could not fathom why that should be, but since it made him less intimidating, she would not question it.
“So, what should I call you?” he asked. “Miss Catherine? Miss Bennet? Or Miss Kitty?”
“I suppose you may call me whatever you like as long as it is not insulting,” said Catherine. “I would recommend, however, that you not call me Miss Bennet, at least not while you reside in the neighborhood. That could get rather confusing since there are five of us.”
“Five?” he asked. “I believe I have only seen four of you.”
“My youngest sister, Lydia, is dancing at the end of the line.” She gestured in that general direction.
He examined Lydia for a brief moment, but his expression gave nothing away. “So, I see,” was his enigmatic reply.
After a few moments of silence, he said, “Since I only know you as Miss Bennet, I would prefer to continue to use that moniker. You, however, recommend I do otherwise. I’m afraid that I am an old man, though, quite set in my ways and unable to make little changes to my habits.” He gave her a sardonicgrin, making it clear he was mocking himself. “Therefore, I must choose the option that feels the most comfortable to make it easier for me to remember.
“Miss Catherine feels far too formal, for it reminds me of my aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who is the most formal lady I know. Miss Kitty, on the other hand, feels silly. It almost sounds like the kind of name a duke’s daughter would give to her favorite pet cat.”
He placed his hand on his chin as if he was in deep thought, though the rest of him kept up with the dance perfectly as he did so. “Hmm,” he said. “I am terribly bad at coming up with nicknames. They always end up related to food somehow. So, unless you wish to be called Pork Chop or Ragout, I will have to at least use your name in some way.”
Catherine had been watching Lord Hilldale’s silliness with as much decorum as she could manage. She knew it was impolite to laugh too loudly at any time, and it was even considered indecorous to smile too much or too widely. Yet, the longer he continued, the harder it was to hold back her laughter.
When he mentioned the idea of calling her Pork Chop, she could hold back her laughter no longer. She laughed loud enough to startle the dancers on either side of her, both of whom gave her slightly curious, slightly reproachful looks.
Quickly calming her laugh, she apologized to her neighbors. Through it all, Lord Hilldale barely smiled. His serious expression was belied only by a strong twinkle of amusement in his eyes.
“Does your laughter indicate that you do, indeed, like the nickname Pork Chop after all?” he asked, once the disturbance of her laughter was settled.
Attempting to mirror his expression with seriousness of her own, Catherine said, “No, indeed. If you must name me after food, at least make it something sweet like Ginger Snap or Trifle.”
“That’s a wonderful idea!” he cried. “I shall call you Pudding.” He looked her over and said, “On second thought that seems a bit insulting, even for a joke. Perhaps, I should just call you Kitty, leaving off that ridiculous Miss at the beginning of your name.”
“I would not mind,” Kitty said, “though people might begin to think you and I are closer than we are if you leave off my title.”
