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Sophia’s face lit as she pulled Catherine close, kissing each cheek. “Mia amica, how happy I am for this union. You have loved each other forsolong.” Her voice had risen again so that all in the vicinity could hear her.
She hooked her arm in Catherine’s, and they moved into the room, Sophia chattering frivolously and Catherine smiling, although she was not truly listening. She was too busy studying people’s faces to see if they sensed the truth. She and Sophia paused in front of the beautiful woman who had stood at her marriage.
“Lady Thornwood,” Catherine acknowledged, wanting to slip under the carpet in embarrassment.
“Lady Walford,” Lady Thornwood responded, reaching out and touching Catherine’s gloved fingers. “Do please call me Elizabeth.” She squeezed her hand. “I have few friends, and I would so like to count you among them.”
Sophia placed her hand on top of theirs. “Then it is done, bella, for I adore you both and cannot bear it if you do not feel for each other as I do for you.”
Another muscle eased in Catherine’s shoulders. Lady Thornwood—Elizabeth—had not judged her. Nor had she disclosed the horrible circumstances of her wedding to Sophia despite their obvious friendship. Catherine had allies.
“Ladies,” her father said, joining their little circle. “While you make a lovely bouquet, and no doubt have much to talk about, I fear my little kitten has made us wait long enough.” He pressed a kiss to her temple, softening his chastisement.
“Countess Tessaro, thank you for gracing me with your presence.” Her father held out his arm. “If I may?”
Sophia looked delighted as she winked at Catherine and tucked her arm in his. Catherine stared at them as they moved toward the door. Sophia was chatting away, leaning toward her father, no doubt colluding further, and Catherine felt her first genuine smile of the evening. She suspected her dear papa was responsible for Sophia’s presence. Catherine must remember to thank him later.
“You are mistress of this house. Our guests await your direction.” Nicholas smiled at her courteously, but his hissed whisper in her ear was anything but polite. Heat rose to her cheeks. Her father was breaking protocol by leading Sophia to the dining room. He was a mere baron. She glanced quickly around the room, assessing rank. Oh, she was no good at this. She had created the guest list through consultation with Fredericks and Nan and had thought pairings through meticulously, but her father had undone her plan. He never stood on ceremony. Now how was she to orchestrate the exit?
“Lord Woodfield will make a good pairing at dinner for the Dowager Duchess of Middleton, don’t you think, Lady Walford?”
Catherine turned to find Elizabeth smiling encouragingly.
“I would be delighted if your husband would care to escort me to the dining room, and mine will provide your escort.” Elizabeth named the rest of the pairings quickly. “Both your father and Sophia are known for their…eccentricities.” Her smile broadened, and she laughed, creating the illusion that they had been sharing an amusing moment. Then she nudged Catherine toward the waiting guests. “Everyone will see it as charming that the two of them left first.”
*
Nicholas settled LadyThornwood to his left, pleased Countess Tessaro sat to his right. It was clear she had more than a passing acquaintance with Catherine. Perhaps the countess could shed some light on the missing years. Fredericks’s troupes placed the soup, and Nicholas made polite conversation with Lady Thornwood in between sips, fighting the urge to lift the bowl and drink it down. He was anxious for the next course so he might speak with Countess Tessaro.
He glanced across the table at Catherine. She was engrossed in conversation with Thornwood. He scanned her attire, his blood boiling anew. When she had walked into the drawing room, he had struggled with the urge to drag her out. How dare she think of Daniel on this night! Nicholas pulled at his too-tight cravat, his anger simmering as a footman removed his bowl. When the man laid the next course, Nicholas focused on the countess.
“May I?” He lifted the platter of cutlets. She nodded politely, yet playfulness sparkled amber in her dark eyes.
He offered her several dishes. She tipped her head in acquiescence to each one but said not a word. He tore at the cutlet, shoving it in his mouth. She had chattered like a magpie with Catherine. He swallowed, and the meat lodged in his throat. Grabbing the wine, he gulped it down, and a footman promptly refilled his goblet.
He glanced at the countess. Her countenance had shifted. She now appeared concerned and, unexpectedly, sympathetic.
“It must be difficult after all these years to reacclimatize to civilian life. When one has lived through trying circumstances…” She let the statement hang, patting her lips as though she were the one fighting the rising bile.
Was that what she thought was going on? She was either not as close to Catherine as he assumed, or she had not yet had the chance for a tête-à-tête.
“They are certainly two opposing worlds,” he responded, reaching for the beans and spooning a small pile on her plate before adding to his. He speared a small stem before turning to her again. “It is quite difficult to reconcile the past four years with my long-held vision for the present.”
She tilted her head to one side and studied him. “Some things in life are simply too good to wait for, no? I, for one, was not surprised by your hasty nuptials. Over the few years I have known her, Catherine has talked of you—endlessly, I might add—with such a light of love in her eyes. It is no wonder you were swift to act upon this union when you arrived home.”
“And what of my brother? Did she speak of him as often?”
Countess Tessaro appeared genuinely baffled. Then her face lit with understanding, and her already rich coloring deepened with a blush. “I am sorry, Lord Walford, for your loss. It is insensitive of me not to consider the weight of such pain despite the joys of love. It is just that my heart is so happy for my friend. I did not mean to be crude.”
He focused on his plate, moving a bean around. It was as if the woman did not understand his insinuation. Surely she knew? There was no mistaking the relationship she had with Catherine. He swallowed the bean, its coarse sides ripping at his throat. He slammed down his fork.Damn. Was there not even to be pleasure in the food this evening? He reached for his wine as Stratton pushed abruptly from the table, drawing Nicholas’s attention. Although his father-in-law did not look his way, he felt his censure. Stratton was clearly trying to distract from Nicholas’s poor manners.
“My friends,” Stratton began, gesturing around the table. “Well, in truth, I know so few of you I should say ‘my acquaintances.’”
Laughter tinkled gaily; faces were jovial. Nicholas was certain his angry clattering of cutlery had gone unnoticed.
“Well, friends, old and new, my good neighbor, dear friend, and now family member”—he tipped his glass toward Nicholas’s father, and Nicholas wanted to roll his eyes—“has agreed I should do the honors of welcoming the new couple to the fold.”
Lord Woodfield’s face remained impassive, revealing neither pleasure nor disgust. Did the man feel emotion? The dowager leaned in, murmuring in his ear, covering his hand as she spoke. Nicholas had had no idea they were close.
