Page 79 of Return to Satterthwaite Court

“The ball still promises to be a momentous affair,” Mr. Catmull continued, “despite Her Majesty’s absence.”

“I didn’t know you were acquainted with Lady Chesham,” Christine remarked.

“It’s my mother who boasts the connection,” Mr. Catmull said. “I’ll be accompanying her to the ball.”

Kate hadn’t been aware Mr. Catmull had any near relations to speak of. None, that is, excepting his much-boasted-of uncle the viscount.

Christine seemed to read her mind. “I don’t recall meeting your mother during the season.”

“You wouldn’t have,” he said.

“Does she never come to town?” Christine asked.

“Mother doesn’t move in society any longer,” Mr. Catmull said. “She’s been an invalid these many years, content to keep to her rooms. But I’ve persuaded her to bestir herself on this occasion.”

Kate’s felt a glimmer of apprehension. “I can’t think why.”

Mr. Catmull’s mouth curled in a calculating smile. “Can you not my lady?”

“Good gracious, what next?” Kate stripped off her gloves and removed her bonnet. “Before we know it, Mr. Catmull will be calling the banns.”

Christine divested herself of her own wet things, handing them off to the footman who had opened the front door of the Mattinglys’ townhouse for them. “You mustn’t make sport of it. He’s clearly on the brink of making you an offer.”

Kate preceded her friend up the stairs to the drawing room. “That’s no concern of mine.”

Christine flashed her a stern look. “It will be if he proposes. You must discourage him, Kate. Truly.”

“I thought I had,” Kate said.

It was after three o’clock. The Mattinglys’ drawing room was newly empty, a dwindling fire crackling in the hearth and the lingering aroma of expensive perfume the only evidence of the guests who had gathered there an hour before. Aunt Jane hosted an informal salon every Thursday, where well-to-do society matrons discussed art and music. Kate and Christine must have narrowly missed their departure.

Sinking down on the drawing room sofa, Kate flopped back against the plump cushions with a sigh.

Christine joined her there. “You shall simply have to be firmer. Either that or unwittingly end up married to the wretched man, cursed to live out your days under the watchful eye of his mysterious invalid mother.”

“His mother is indeed mysterious—as is that country house of his.” Kate dropped her head onto Christine’s shoulder. “I’m quite curious about it actually.”

Outside the sky had darkened with storm clouds. A roll of distant thunder shook the windowpanes, announcing another surge of rain.

Christine rested her cheek against Kate’s head. “The odd things that interest you, my dear. I shall never understand the whole of them.”

“My interests aren’t that diverse. In some respects, they’ve remained remarkably unchanged over the years.”

“Oh yes. Horses, dogs, cats—”

“Beautiful gowns,” Kate added.

“Reckless wagers,” Christine countered. “Even more reckless adventures.”

“I follow my star,” Kate said. “It hasn’t steered me wrong yet.”

A few moments later, as she and Christine lazed amid the sofa cushions, talking together, the Mattinglys’ butler, Pruitt, appeared at the door of the drawing room.

“There’s a gentleman downstairs, Miss Mattingly,” he said. “A Lieutenant Heywood, inquiring after Lady Katherine. Are you at home to him?”

Kate jolted up straight in her seat. Her heart leapt with elation—and no little relief.

Charles was here!