Chapter Three

Lady Catherine refused to acknowledge all the scowls and looks of shocked surprise. She must leave before her uncle—

A firm hand gripped her upper arm with vicelike talons. “What do you mean, dancing with Salsbury? Have you lost your mind?” Her uncle’s voice raged in its whisper tone.

“I didn’t know it was him. Please. Let me go.” His overbearing attempts to control her behavior were growing more alarming of late.

He shook her. “What do you mean, you didn’t know?”

“Unhand me.” She stood taller, eyeing her arm with great disdain. “How dare you grasp at me as though I were one of your maids?” She tore her arm out of his hands, trying to ignore the sharp sting and lingering sensation of bruising.

He released her as if he had been scorched. Then he bowed. “My apologies.” Over his shoulder, he added. “Your father would be most displeased.”

Didn’t he think she knew that? Was she herself not already most displeased? How could such a thing have happened? Who could confuse her with that sickly creature, Lady Fenningway? And why had she allowed herself to be led onto the floor by a stranger?

She shuddered. Because she had thought him handsome. The most handsome man of her acquaintance. The feel of her hand in his had sent gooseflesh up her arm and, she admitted, she was curious. When had a ball started in such an intriguing manner? Swept out onto the floor by a tall and handsome gentleman. A man unknown to her. The thought of it thrilled her even now. With every curiosity they’d discussed, she became more intrigued.

She fisted her hands. Until she had learned he belonged to that most evil of all families, the Salsburys. Curse their wretched name. The hurt in her mother’s eyes whenever their names were mentioned sank a knife deeper into Catherine’s own pain. Your father would be most displeased. Her uncle used comments like that to control her. She could not know how displeased, for she would never see him again, only hope for a thought or two, a wisp of familiarity at his graveside.

Almost to the front door, she told the footman to summon her carriage. She couldn’t stay here another moment, not when she had allowed hands sullied in her family’s blood to cradle her gently, to entice and excite her as they had. Bile rose in her throat. Curse her wretched attraction. A part of her longed for him still.

She stepped up into her carriage, the maid’s pale face startling her.

“Hannah!” Catherine halted in her entrance. “What are you doing here?” She couldn’t fathom how her maid had come to be in the carriage so quickly.

“I summoned her.” Her uncle’s slippery voice slid over her like the icy wind on the moors. He stepped in to join them, sat in the opposite corner, and rapped on the ceiling for the carriage to start moving.

Catherine fell to her bench, nerves shaking and prodding, stealing her breath. “Uncle.”

His icy eyes narrowed. “You were wise to leave when you did.” His tone soothed.

She preferred the complimentary, colluding uncle to the harsh disciplinary one of moments ago.

He sat back, brushing off his jacket front. “Pity, though, that you couldn’t be introduced to His Grace.” He grimaced. “His other Grace.”

She nodded. “I know.” Her voice sounded small even to her own ears. The family sought an alliance with the Lennard family. The Duke of Halcor’s son had recently been widowed, leaving him with two children. She supposed him a decent enough man. He had treated his wife well. His father was ailing and would soon be passing his title on to his son. Her family wished the alignment of their two ducal houses to solidify their power in England. Her stomach tightened again in nervous energy. They told her of a great amount of debt, unpaid, and recklessness in her father. If she didn’t marry well soon, it might be too late for her to marry into a ducal house at all.

She bit back a groan. And now Salsbury sought Lady Fenningway, of the other ducal estate, with marriage potential. Such a combination of power would rival their own. She kept the new knowledge from her uncle.

* * *

One week after her fateful meeting with the Duke of Salsbury, she had seen him close on ten times. He passed by her at Vauxhall. He exited the tearoom as she entered. He even passed in front of the dressmaker yesterday after her fitting. She huffed out in frustration as she prepared for her day. And each time, he was more handsome than the last. He never acknowledged her again, but she saw it in his eyes: he wanted to. His gaze followed her where she went, and she drank in its delicious forbidden cloak as it shimmered over her skin. She shivered with the goose bumps that trailed up her arms. All night she couldn’t get thoughts of him out of her mind.

She had breakfast in her room, dressed early, and hurried out of the house. She didn’t admit it, but she knew where her walk in the park would take her. For decades her family had lived on one side of the park, directly opposite from the Salsburys’ London townhome across a large field of green and several copses of trees. A part of her feared running into him, and the other part longed for an encounter even if they didn’t speak. She wanted to see him again, to see if she was still affected by him.

As young children, they had come across each other at the park, their nursemaids giving the other a wide space. But she hadn’t seen him for many years and had learned since that he went to Cambridge and was rarely in town. His tall, commanding bearing, strong jawline, and thick, dark hair made him just the kind of man she hoped to know better. His eyes, the interest he had shown in her, his plans for the opera, and a hint at great wit intrigued her all the more. She had already left a note for her mother that she wanted to attend the opera this week. She cringed at her own duplicitous nature. How could she be so captivated by a man from that family? A Salsbury. For years she had heard the stories. The Duke of Salsbury, this man’s father, had cheated their family. The Salsburys wanted them ruined, poor and destitute, or so everyone said.

The butler opened up the door for her, the brisk air interrupting her thoughts. “Perhaps I shall grab a scarf.”

“I’ll ring for warmer attire, my lady.”

“Thank you, Moorsby.”

Soon she was bundled in woolens, and the air had less of an edge. She rushed out the door, a maid in tow. She wandered the paths and circled the area between their homes until her cheeks were a bright cherry red from the cold. And no Salsbury. How strange to spend the entirety of one’s life actively avoiding a family to then, after the course of one evening, seek them out.

No, she couldn’t be seeking them out. How could she betray her mother, her own deceased father, knowing Salsburys had been the cause of his death? And yet her heart betrayed her, betrayed them all, with this new beating rhythm spurred on by Salsbury’s memory, by the thoughts of dancing in his arms. She shivered, and not from the cold.

She was about to turn back, to return to a morning of callers and tedium, when laughter carried over from a small copse of trees. A girl perhaps a few years younger than Catherine jumped out from behind a tree. “Here I am!” Then she turned and ran to the next tree and hid behind it. Catherine smiled, the girl’s laughter contagious. Catherine stepped closer, her new intrigue making her forget the cold. Then she stopped just outside the thickest area of trees because the door to the Salsbury townhome slammed shut and Salsbury himself ran out, pulling on his jacket as he came. “Penelope!”

The girl giggled and fell back behind the nearest tree. She held a finger to her mouth. “Shhhhh.”

More intrigued than ever, Catherine stepped out of the trees so Salsbury could see her and waved him over. Her heart pounded at the sight of him approaching. She feared and welcomed his reaction to her.

His eyes widened, but he lengthened his stride in her direction. As he approached, the girl, Penelope, jumped out again, “Here I am!”

“Oh!” Salsbury hid behind the tree to his right, then jumped out as she had, “I see you!” He moved back behind it, peering out at her from the other side.

The girl erupted in a chorus of giggles.

And Catherine found the whole situation charming.

He jumped out again, sending Penelope squealing and running behind the next tree.

Catherine laughed before she could stop herself.

Penelope suddenly looked nervous. She looked to find Salsbury—but he was still behind a tree—then back to Catherine, who smiled the warmest expression she could muster with stiff and cold lips. “Hello.”

Penelope twisted her hands together and started rocking from foot to foot.

“No, it’s all right. I’m a friend.” She stepped closer, wanting nothing more than to hug away this girl’s worries.

She peeked up at Catherine and stilled her rocking. “Friend?”

Catherine nodded. “Yes. Friend.”

She seemed so much younger than she appeared. Catherine wondered if something wasn’t totally right in her head. But she felt drawn to her, drawn to her laughter and her delight in something so simple.

Salsbury jumped out from behind his tree, startling Catherine and making the girl jump up and down. “You caught me!”

She ran to him. “Look! Friend.” She pointed back at Catherine who smiled. “Yes, friend.” She nodded and waved at her.

Full of curiosity, Catherine waited. Her heart warmed to see the silly smile and hug Salsbury gave the girl. But when he turned to face Catherine, his stern face made her take a step back.

He nodded at her and put his arm around the girl’s shoulders. “Come, Penelope, it’s time to get back inside.”

“Wait! Friend!” She pointed at Catherine.

Unsure what to do, Catherine walked toward them. “It’s awfully cold. I think we should all get inside. Before you go, I’d love to meet you, though.” She approached slowly, more for Salsbury’s benefit than Penelope’s. He seemed skittish, like he was about to bolt. And his protective stance, partially shielding the girl gave Catherine the message: I don’t trust you.

But she felt drawn to this girl. And she couldn’t control her yearning for Salsbury. An hour wandering about the park was proof of that. Something about the situation felt important. Her feet crunched through leaves as she moved closer. Then flakes began to fall all around her. She held up her hands, a huge smile on her face. “Oh look! Snow.” She caught one on her glove and held it up. “Look, see how pretty?” She held it out.

The girl looked up at Salsbury, who had not taken his eyes off Catherine. Something in them softened, and he nodded.

Penelope approached and peered over the top of Catherine’s outstretched hand to examine the melting white prism. “Oh!” Penelope held up her own hand to catch one but did not have the patience for a flake to land. She waved her gloves around as if to scoop up the flakes all at once. Catherine reached out and placed a hand on her arm. “Wait. Be still.”

Penelope widened her eyes and nodded. They both watched with wonder as a flake swirled through the air and landed on the back of Penelope’s glove. She breathed in her excitement and held her glove still while whispering to Salsbury. “Look! Stephen, look.”

His face now gentle, his eyes kind, he smiled at Catherine, and she warmed down to her toes.

“Look! You’ve caught another!” Penelope pointed to her glove. Catherine looked away and compared flakes with Penelope. Every time she returned her gaze to Salsbury’s, he was watching her with a delicious intensity, and she wanted nothing more than to sit for hours basking in his interest. Their new flakes melted, so they reached for the heavens to catch another.

“I’ve got one!” Salsbury surprised her again. “And it is by far the prettiest.”

“What, no. Mine’s the prettiest.” Penelope stepped closer to him, and they compared the two until they melted.

When the flakes fell faster and the wind picked up, Catherine’s maid cleared her throat. Catherine knew she must get back. She curtsied to Penelope and Salsbury and said, “It was my pleasure spending time with you. I’m Lady Catherine Aster.”

Salsbury nodded. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, officially.” The corner of his lip twitched as if he might smile again. He turned to the girl at his side, then studied Catherine’s face for a moment. She held her breath, feeling as though something large weighed in the balance. He stepped closer, asking her to do the same. His voice was low, and its secretive rumble rolled through her in a thrilling wave. Then he said, “And this is Penelope. My sister.”

Catherine puffed out her breath. Sister. No one told her the Salsburys had a sister. She stepped forward and held the girl’s hand in her own. “I’m so pleased to meet you.”

She nodded. “Me too. You are a friend.”

Catherine thought her smile might break her face, so sweet and special it felt to be accepted by such a person. She nodded. “Yes. We are friends.” She curtsied again and then turned to leave.

“We come here in the mornings. Sometimes.” Salsbury’s voice held hope, a catch at the end that melted Catherine’s heart.

“Then so do I.” She smiled at Penelope. “I’ll see you soon.”

The girl jumped up and clapped, and Catherine laughed with her. Her eyes met Salsbury’s, and the intensity held her captive. Then he nodded, and she hurried after her maid, warmed from her toes to the top of her head. She loosened her scarf and tried to control her breathing. “That was wonderful!”

“Yes, my lady.” Hannah’s voice sounded less than enthused, but a small smile lifted the corner of her lip, and Catherine knew she was secretly pleased. Catherine didn’t care if she wasn’t. This maid was loyal to her over her uncle.

Catherine had never spent a more delightful morning. And Salsbury had invited her back. She squealed and skipped her next step. Already she counted the moments until she could see him again. She couldn’t tell if her heart pounded with the risk and secrecy of the meeting, knowing her uncle would strictly forbid her, if she was this affected by his shattering good looks, or if she was charmed by his sister. No matter the reason, no matter the risk, tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.