Page 91 of Return to Satterthwaite Court

“My mother is anxious to meet you,” he said, steering her toward the doors. “If you would do me the honor.”

“I would be pleased to,” Kate replied, “if you would but loosen your grasp.”

Mr. Catmull’s fingers eased, but he didn’t relinquish his grip. “I won’t risk you slipping away. A lady could easily become lost in such a crush.”

Kate wished it were so. She’d have rather disappeared in the crowd than suffer the indignity of being introduced to Mr. Catmull’s mother. From the looks of the woman, she was as adder-like as her son.

“Elias,” she said as he approached. “And none too soon.” She locked eyes with Kate. “Can this be the mysterious Lady Katherine I’ve been hearing so much about?”

“It is, Mother, at long last. May I present Lady Katherine Beresford, daughter of the Earl of Allendale. Lady Katherine, my mother, Mrs. Catmull.”

Mrs. Catmull bowed. “My son has done you a disservice.”

“Ma’am?” Kate inquired after returning the brief salute.

“He described you as a diamond of the first water, but I see you’re something more than that. In my day we would have called you an original.”

“I shall take that as a compliment,” Kate said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. My chaperone will be wondering where I am.” She moved to take her leave, but Mr. Catmull maintained his hold on her. There was no way to free herself without creating a scene.

A flutter of fear caught in Kate’s chest.

It wasn’t fear of him or of his equally encroaching mother. It was fear of causing a scandal. Which she most certainly would do if she stamped on his foot or delivered a hard knee to his nether regions (a trick her brother Jack had told her would reduce any impertinent fellow to a whimpering heap on the floor).

She cast about for Christine or Aunt Jane or anyone, really, who might come to her aid and extricate her from her predicament. But the ballroom was altogether too chaotic to find anyone easily. There were raised voices and laughter, instruments twanging, and people pressing past in preparation for the next dance. Kate wished she were taller so she might see over the crowd.

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Catmull said. “Lady Mattingly and her daughter are engaged for the polka. I see them by the terrace doors with their partners. They’ll not notice your absence.” She addressed her son. “The air isn’t fit to breathe in here, Elias. I find myself becoming quite ill.”

Mr. Catmull’s fingers tightened on Kate’s arm. “Do you indeed, Mother. Shall we step into the conservatory?”

“An excellent idea. Come, my dear.” Mrs. Catmull slid her bony hand through Kate’s opposite arm. She was quite strong for a reputed invalid. “You and I are due to become better acquainted.”

Kate made one last discreet attempt to drag her heels.

But in the end, there was nothing to be done but to accompany the pair of them.

Kate bided her time, privately seething. It was one of the many things she despised about fashionable society—the inability for a lady to exercise basic self-preservation. If a female screamed or made a fuss, it was she who was blamed for the outrage, just as much as she was blamed if she went along willingly to her own ruination.

There were no good choices. Not publicly anyway.

But woe betide Mr. Catmull when Kate got him alone.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The Cheshams’ conservatory lay at the back of the house, down the hall from the ballroom and past the closed doors to the library. It had been adorned with decorative Chinese lanterns for the occasion, their dim light illuminating the simple collection of plants within the conservatory’s three walls of paned glass.

“I must protest again, ma’am,” Kate said as the three of them entered. “Lady Mattingly would never forgive me if I didn’t inform her of my whereabouts.”

“You’re among friends,” Mrs. Catmull said. “And dare I suggest, soon to be more than friends? I comprehend that you and my son have a private understanding.”

Kate was at last successful in shrugging free of Mr. Catmull’s grasp. “We have no such thing. Whoever told you so—”

“I told her so,” Mr. Catmull said. His face was unrepentant. “It’s common knowledge amongst the fashionable set.”

Kate glared at him. “Is it, by God?”

Mrs. Catmull’s mouth pursed in disapproval. Now the three of them were alone, her façade of civility was rapidly slipping. So, too, was any pretense of illness. Rather than take advantage of one of the conservatory’s chairs, she remained by the doors as though blocking the exit.

“They’ve all noticed us together,” Mr. Catmull said. “At every event you’ve attended, I’ve been there, too. They’ve seen us dancing. They’ve observed us conversing in the park, at the shops, in the tearoom. Why else has my mother exerted herself to come to London after so many years retirement in Bath?”