There were still many people dancing and carousing in the middle of the room, and even more still chatting on the sides of the hall. Gossip both new and old spread amongst the crowd, whispered between confidantes and casual acquaintance alike. Catherine hoped that her name was not on anyone’s lips tonight, and yet she supposed that she must have aroused some interest in her behavior.

Everyone’s eyes were on Lord Daventry and Lord Glenarvon, men of wealth and power though they were. Even Althea had said that Lord Glenarvon had not been to town for four years, despite the fact that he was the major landowner in these three counties. Most of the farmers and lesser people in the village worked upon his estate for their yearly income, and even more relied upon his lands for their vegetables and sundry foodstuffs. It was likely that even Catherine had eaten a carrot or two from Castle Fen and not even been aware of it.

Then, of course, Catherine was sure that there must be some sort of scandal surrounding Lord Glenarvon. A man as curt and demanding and… handsome as he could not live in such a small town without someone remarking on his character. She had not yet come out into society when he had left for London, so she did not know what the scandal might be. As she walked around the room, she mentioned his name to a few friends and acquaintances, but none seemed to have any shocking thing to say about the man–except, of course, that it was shocking that he had finally returned after so many years.

But, Catherine reminded herself, she didn’t care in the slightest about Lord Glenarvon, no matter how chiseled his jaw was. His past was of no mind to her, and his future was of even lesser interest.

Lord Daventry, on the other hand, might have been equally spoken of at the ball tonight, had he the mysterious past and great wealth of Lord Glenarvon. Instead, his past contained little to speak of, and although his wealth was great, it was not so great as to be a subject of interest outside of the wagging tongues of eager mothers and matchmakers.

Lord Daventry’s money alone meant that Catherine must be the topic of at least some gossip. Everyone had seen him pick her for his first dance of the night, and that was bound to cause some jealousy amongst genteel mothers searching for suitable sons-in-law.

Catherine felt a bit proud that he had chosen her, and was perhaps more excited still that he planned to call upon her. She hoped that might remain a secret for at least a short while, but it was likely that someone would see his carriage waiting outside the Edmonson’s house. So much the bother, Catherine supposed. It was impossible not to be the subject of some gossip in one’s lifetime.

Still, she was more than a bit worried that someone might have seen her in the alcove with Lord Glenarvon. The area had been secluded, but it was by no means private. It would be difficult to explain that he had accosted her–that he was holding her there almost against her will–when it most likely looked as if she was involved with him in some way. Their bodies had been so close, his fingers in her hair and his warm hand on her arm. It was a situation that she would not be able to justify.

It had been a busy night for Catherine, indeed, and she required a trustworthy confidante with whom to discuss these matters.

A cursory glance around the room did not reveal her tow-headed sister. Anne was not amongst the dancers, that was certain.

Catherine walked to the other end of the hall, searching the faces of the gossiping men and women who were watching the night unfold. Still, Anne was not amongst their ranks.

It was possible that she had gone outside for some air, hot inside though it was. Dodging the waltzing congregation, Catherine made her way to the front door, counting her blessings that she had been called upon to dance only once so far that night. A smile played around her lips at the idea of dancing with the brooding Lord Glenarvon. It seemed unlikely that he had ever so much as jigged in his life.

Finally, Catherine found the door and opened it, cool air greeting her rosy cheeks.

“Catherine!”

Althea and two friends stood just outside the assembly hall, crushed close together for warmth.

Catherine went to them, smiling. “What are you three doing out here in the cold?” she asked.

“Oh, Catherine, you know very well how many prying eyes and listening ears there are at a ball! We were merely seeking some asylum so that we might discuss our more private matters,” said Althea, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“Indeed,” said Catherine. “But pray may I ask where Anne might be? I thought perhaps she would be with you three and now I am at a loss.”

“I have not seen her for at least an hour, I believe,” replied Althea. “We had supposed you had stolen her away to talk about your dance with Lord Daventry. But now that you’re here, do tell us how that went. Will there be bells in your near future, or is it the life of a maiden aunt for you?”

Catherine pursed her lips. “Neither, I should say. Now, if you ladies will please excuse me, I am anxious to find Anne.”

“Oh, bother,” said Althea, pulling her face into a mock scowl. “Go have your fun elsewhere, then.”

Catherine turned heel and walked back into the hall. Although she had been outside for only a short while, the sheer volume of noise that met her ears inside astounded her. At least three violins and two cellos serenaded the bursting room, and lively chatter echoed continuously off the walls. Finding Anne seemed an almost Sisyphean task when confronted with such busy madness.

But then Catherine remembered the flash of blonde hair she had seen exiting the building through a side door just before Lord Glenarvon had so rudely accosted her. The girl had looked like Anne, and Catherine had little reason to doubt her senses now.

The little side door was situated at the far end of the hall. Catherine once again found herself working her way through the thick crowd, but her many sojourns tonight had taught her much in the ways of avoiding waltzers and meddling mothers. She reached the door and opened it, finding that it led into a narrow little hallway lined with doors. Perhaps Anne had felt faint and sought the comfort of solitude and silence here...

The first door opened into an empty storage room. Wooden crates lay in disuse and Catherine could hear the sound of little mice feet pattering on the stone floor. Not discouraged, she opened the second door, but was disappointed to find that room much the same as the first.

One after the other, she peeked into the chambers but found nothing inside except dank and moldering party supplies. Still, there was one more door situated right at the end of the hallway. Catherine unfastened the latch, cracking it slightly open. To her surprise, it led outside onto a little cobblestone path. In the near distance, she could see a quaint gazebo lit only by moonlight.

She could well imagine Anne being charmed by the little structure. It did seem just the sort of place that her sister might go to find some repose.

Certainly, Catherine thought, it was the perfect structure in which to hold a private conversation about the many events of the night. Anne would be tickled by all she had to share.

Spurred on anew, Catherine strode excitedly down the mossy path, bracing herself against the chilly air. She glanced around, but saw no other figures in sight. The gazebo was secluded indeed.

As she grew nearer the structure, Catherine heard a little noise. It was, perhaps, just the whispering of the wind blowing through the trees. She could not help but stop to listen.

There it was again. A soft sound coming from the gazebo. She could not yet see inside it, so she crept forward on quiet feet, taking care not to reveal herself to whoever was within.

Catherine crouched behind the little wall of the construction. The sounds were clearer now, although she was still unsure what they might be. A woman crying? Catherine did not want to chance upon a stranger and embarrass herself.

Extending her body to its full length, she peeked her eyes over the barrier, risking a quick peek into the gazebo.

She froze. The inhabitants–for there were two of them–were in no position to notice Catherine snooping on them. Their backs were to her, and they were entwined in such an embrace that Catherine had never imagined. The lady's dress hung around her hips, her skin exposed to the cold. She had ripped the man's shirt open in seeming haste and was beginning to unfasten his breeches even as their lips met again and again.

For moments, Catherine could not rip her eyes away from the lovers, so shocked was she. But then, as her mind drifted back to reality, she began to notice little details that she could not deny. The woman's hair was blonde, and her skin was white and clear. Her voice, whispering in her lover's ear, was familiar. That dress... Catherine had seen it hundreds of times, sitting in her shared wardrobe at home. The lady was Anne.

Her sister was ruined.

Catherine racked her brain, thinking of a time when Anne might have referenced a man in her life. Her sister was not outspoken, but certainly she would have shared such happy news to Catherine.

She examined the man, hoping to divine his nature. Surely, she had met him before at balls such as the one tonight. His face came into view for a brief moment, but Catherine was at a loss. She had never seen him before in her life.

But then, he must have some other features by which she might glean some information. His skin was rather tan for a gentleman’s, but that might be the result of many days out hunting. The hands caressing her sister's back were calloused and almost rugged. Catherine's brow furrowed. She looked to his clothes, which Anne had begun to strip away. They were hewn from rough cloth, so unlike that which even the Edmonson's might purchase.

Catherine bit her lip. She hated to admit it to herself, but this man was not a gentleman. He bore no markings of class. His hands had seen hard work, and his vestments were designed for practicality rather than beauty.

Anne had good reason not to tell Catherine about him. This was not a man that Anne could hope to marry. It would be an embarrassment to the family name, especially with all three daughters still unwed and living at home.

Even so, Catherine could hardly believe that Anne would stoop so low as to–to lie with him. To lie with any man. Was Anne so a slave to her passions that she could not see reason?

Anne was always the voice of logic, so reserved when the other sisters were not. Why would she act in such a matter?

Catherine slid behind the gazebo wall and began to pick her way down the cobblestone path back to the assembly hall.

She was still pondering the matter when she reentered the ball. The bright lights and happy people astonished her. It seemed impossible that they could be so worry-free at this moment. Surely, they must somehow realize what had been happening not fifty feet from their revelries.

Barely looking whither she was going, Catherine wandered through the crowd, considering what she might do to fix the mess that Anne had created.

Before she could think of a viable solution to the problem, she heard a merry voice calling out her name.

“Catherine! Oh, Catherine!” It was her mother, waving ostentatiously from across the room. The pink liquid in her glass sloshed as she gesticulated, and she giggled almost girlishly. So much for remaining discreet at public affairs, Catherine thought, trudging over to her mother.

“Yes, Mama?” she asked, surreptitiously taking the drink from her mother’s hand.

“It’s only–well, it’s only that I’ve just heard from the other ladies that you’ve received attention from a man tonight!”

Catherine blushed, thinking of her dance with Lord Daventry. It already seemed so long ago, and so insignificant compared to what she had just discovered.

“It was only one dance, Mama,” she said, hoping to quickly move her mother off the subject.

“Dance?” Lady Edmonson asked, confusion in her voice. “No, I refer to the attentions of Lord Glenarvon, who, I have heard, has not been able to take his eyes off you all this night! Has he made your acquaintance yet?”

Catherine shook her head. “No. I mean, yes, but it was but the briefest of moments,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant. She mustn't let what had actually passed between her and Lord Glenarvon get out, even to her mother. Although, knowing her mother, she would actually think his rude beratement was a good sign. Any male attention is attention, after all.

A cheerful voice came from over Catherine’s shoulder. “Oh, Mama, don’t question Catherine so. One would think she was a prize sow up for auction.”

Catherine whirled around, her heart in her throat. It was Anne standing behind her, face flushed, the ribbons in her hair slightly askew.

“You look like you have been asked to dance a fair amount of times tonight, Anne,” said Lady Edmonson. “Does this mean I can rejoice about your marriage prospects, as well?”

“Oh no, Mama. I was only dancing with Althea.” Anne brushed the question off with an almost practiced ease. Catherine wondered for the first time how long her sister’s affair with the commoner had been going on. Her shoulders sagged. She felt suddenly impotent and deflated.

“The ball is almost over,” she said. “Perhaps we had best leave now before everyone else rushes out to their carriages.”

Lady Edmonson frowned and opened her mouth to reply, but Catherine hastily added, “Leaving early would certainly make us seem mysterious and worldly. I have heard all the most fashionable ladies in London do it.”

Lady Edmonson could not argue with such sound logic, and so the girls gathered together their party and made their way home.