Chapter Three

Catherine cracked open an eye and scowled at the light that invaded her eyelids. She groaned. Getting up at a normal time in the morning was far from what her body was used to. She’d far rather stay up all night and sleep through until the afternoon. Apparently other people had ideas.

Or other creatures.

At least it was not her mother, she supposed. “Shoo, Mr. B.” She tried to push the black and white cat from her pillow. He was currently rotating, trying to find that elusive comfy spot.

“Shoo,” she tried again with another push to his rotund belly. Their housekeeper Mrs. Holmes had brought the cat in only a few weeks ago, declaring they had mice in the kitchen but Mr. B. had turned out to be a terrible mouser and preferred lounging around and stealing scraps whenever he could. In the few weeks that they had owned him, he had already grown fatter.

Catherine batted his bushy tail away from her face and turned over. The cat purred loudly in her ear and decided to rest his chin on the back of her head.

“You are an uncouth beast,” she muttered.

His purr grew louder.

“Oh fine.” She rolled back to face him and gave his chin a good scratch. “What an ugly beast you are,” she cooed.

He really was. Mr. B—so named after an odious man who had tried to pursue her sister Emma even after she was married—was a great fluffy thing. He constantly needed grooming as he was always dragging in leaves and dirt from outside and his markings were irregular.

“I suppose your paws are quite cute,” she conceded once he started kneading at her arm with them. “Ouch.” She eased his paws off her. “When your claws are away,” she added.

Twisting onto her back, she stared up at the ceiling and continued to fuss the cat until he settled by her head. “I met a man more odious than you yesterday, Mr. B.”

Why she was telling this to a cat, she did not know. Perhaps she was truly going to turn into the eccentric spinster aunt. Without her sisters to confide in daily, all she had was the cat. Maybe she would get a dozen more cats and truly seal her identity as absolutely batty.

“Well, really I met him the night before. But I did not know it was him. Honestly, though, what was he thinking, grabbing a woman like that? I mean, what was he even doing there?” She sighed. “Very well, he was on his land, but still...why would a marquis be tramping around in the rain in the middle of the night?”

She glanced at the cat, who eyed her expressionlessly. “I suppose you probably like to do the same, but you, Mr. B. are a cat.”

She thought back to the previous day and her surprise at seeing him. In the daylight, he was different but no less intimidating. He was the same height as her brother-in-law Guy—and that was saying something. His nose was long and aristocratic, and his eyes were a startling ice blue. They made her want to shiver as soon as he’d looked at her.

He was, she supposed, handsome to some. “But not to me,” she declared. “He’s an odious man, and I am glad I kicked him. I’d do it again too, if I had to.”

Peering at the clock by her bedside, she sighed. She supposed she might as well get up. Damn the man. That marquis had robbed her of plenty of sleep and now she was not even able to stay in bed until lunchtime. Why she should be so concerned with him, she did not know. After all, it was not the first time someone had disapproved of her and it would not be the last.

She sat and pushed unruly hair from her eyes. Mr. B. took exception to the disturbance and jumped from her bed to the windowsill where he proceeded to groom himself in places Catherine would rather he would not do in front of her.

“I lied,” she told the cat. “You’re more odious than him. At least he had some manners.”

Even if they were a little rigid. His sister had seemed pleasant, though, and a little more relaxed. She would fit nicely into their small social set in Hampshire. The marquis was another matter. Thorne was not nearly as charming or funny or interesting as her brothers-in-law.

Dressing quickly, Catherine braided her hair—not bothering to call for Flora who frequently did her hair in the afternoons for her. She had no plans to visit anyone today and fully intended to spend the afternoon reading in the drawing room. Her oldest sister Amelia had recently written a new book and Catherine was keen to start it.

She peeked her head into the breakfast room. Luckington Grange was no grand house but was sizeable. Her father’s work as a lawyer combined with their mother’s inheritance had kept them in good stead and they wanted for little. Catherine touched a finger to the grooves in the doorway where she and her sisters had marked their growth until they’d finally stopped growing. Her marks were the lowest. She had never quite caught up with them all for some reason.

“Catherine!” her mother said from her seat at the breakfast table. “Are you unwell?”

Catherine smiled and shook her head. She understood her mother’s surprise. Even if she was up early, she rarely joined her mother for the morning meal. Mama’s gossip was not easily tolerated when one was not a morning person she found.

“I’m well. Mr. B. woke me.”

Her mother shook her head and lowered her fork. “You should not call him that.”

“Why ever not?” Catherine took a seat opposite her mother and reached for the pot of coffee. She yawned. Coffee was very much needed right now.

Her mother glanced around as though the walls might have spies hidden in them. “Mr. Bartholomew was just a little misguided.”

“He wanted an affair with Emma, Mama. I would have thought that would be enough to gain your disapproval.”

Her mother gave a little shrug. “Emma is the prettiest of you, apart from Lavinia of course. Who can blame him?”

Catherine ignored the remark. For years her mother had been complaining that they were all red and freckled unlike Mama whose fair hair was now flecked with streaks of white at the temples. If she had ever thought Emma prettier than their sister Lavinia, she doubted Emma had been told it.

“He could be another Mr. B,” Catherine pointed out, spearing a sausage on the end of her fork and placing it on her place. “There’s Mr. Bennett. Mr. Bradley. Oh, do not forget Mr. Bishop. He could be named for any of them.”

“I know full well which Mr. B. you named it after and I do not approve.”

“Well you can call him something else, Mama, but I think he’s only answering to Mr. B. now.”

“Are my ladies arguing already?” her father asked when he entered the room, preventing her mother from scolding her.

Catherine smiled at her father. Hopefully having him around would at least prevent her mother from nagging and reprimanding her so much.

Her papa sat at the head of the table and loaded up his plate with food. Catherine glanced around the table. It was hard to remember the last time they had broken their fast together. Probably when Emma had married, and her father had rushed back for a hasty wedding before vanishing off to somewhere else in the country where his work was demanded. But the rest of her sisters had still been around, so it was quite a different ambiance to before.

“Goodness, it is quiet without your sisters,” her father declared.

Catherine grinned. “Well, I can make more noise if you wish, Papa.”

He chuckled. “I think your mother will have something to say about that.”

“Indeed.” Mama sniffed. “It is not ladylike to make a noise.”

“A single noise, Mama? That seems nearly impossible.”

Her father gave a cough. “It seems you are in want of company, Catherine,” he said, cutting off her mother’s responding rebuke once more.

“Nearly all married, is it not wonderful?” Mama near beamed at this idea.

He nodded. “All my rubies have been plucked up it seems. Though I cannot say I approve of how the last match came about but at least it is settled.”

“At least she is a countess!” her mother reminded him.

“At least she is happy,” Catherine corrected.

Mama waved a dismissive hand. “All daughters married to gentlemen, can you believe it?”

“Indeed, I cannot. All apart from little Catherine here of course.”

“I am not so little,” Catherine protested. “I’m nearly three and twenty now. Practically a spinster.”

“Oh hush,” Mama said. “It is not ladylike to talk of one’s age.”

Catherine debated reminding her mother that she was rarely ladylike anyway but decided it was pointless. If she was to obey her mother’s rules for what was ladylike and not, she would not be able to do a thing apart from sit upon a chair and remain mute. Even that might be considered unladylike if her mother had anything to do with it.

“Well, never fear, Catherine. I am sure with such prestigious new brothers, you shall not remain alone for long.” He gave her a wink.

Catherine tried to send her father a withering look and failed. He knew not to encourage her mother but apparently, she was still in trouble for being out the other night and he was determined she should indulge her mother a little.

“It might happen sooner rather than later.” Mama gave a smug grin. “The new Marquis of Thornefield is in residence.” She leaned in. “And what happens every single time a new gentleman comes to the area?”

“Emma met Morgan in London,” Catherine pointed out, fully aware where this was leading.

“What happens, my dear?” her father asked with a grin.

Mama gave an exasperated huff. “Why, they fall for our girls of course!”

“Of course they do.” Papa took a long sip of coffee. “And I suppose you think this marquis will fall for our Catherine?”

“Papa!” Catherine was tempted to throw down her napkin and storm from the room. Why was he insisting on encouraging her mother’s ludicrous ideas?

“It’s only a matter of time,” her mother said confidently. “I heard that you have already met him.”

A tiny trickle of a chill ran into her stomach. If her mother had heard of their accidental meeting—if a kick to the shins and a struggle could be considered as such—then she’d have her married off to the man within a week.

“You did not,” Catherine countered coolly.

Her mother “I did indeed. Mrs. Stafford’s daughter—whose serving maid is the cousin of Mary Bramble who is married to Big Tom who has been working at the stables at Guy’s estate since he took it over said as much.”

“Of course she did,” Catherine muttered, propping her cheek on a hand.

“He was visiting with Julia, was he not? And his sister was there. Was she pretty? And pleasant? Mrs. Stafford said Tom could not comment on the marquis’s appearance as he would not know what appeals to young women but that the sister was a little homely. It has been a long time since any of them were in Hampshire. I only remember them as children.”

Catherine shook her head. Lilith had spectacles and was a little on the plump side, but her features were extremely pretty and her black hair glossy. More importantly, there was that little spark in her eyes that told Catherine she could be quite fun when she was not in polite company. Not that she had ever considered Julia that polite, but she had been in what Catherine liked to call ‘duchess guise’.

Catherine realized her mother was staring at her intently. “I thought she was pretty.”

“Well, I do not suppose it matters. She will be snapped up soon enough. Mrs. Stafford said she was going to enter into society soon. I suspect she will be married within a season.”

“Mrs. Stafford seems to know everything that happened yesterday,” Catherine mused. “She must have had her ear pressed to the door.”

Mama lowered her cup and glared at Catherine. “Mrs. Stafford is a good woman and would never do such things. It is the servants that do the gossiping. Who am I to be rude and ignore what a friend has to say?”

“Yes, of course. It is only the servants who gossip.” Catherine shared a look with her father.

“Was the marquis handsome?” her mother asked. “Though, I suppose it does not matter if he is. He is a marquis after all.”

“I did not really notice.” Catherine dropped her gaze and stared at the half-eaten sausage on her plate. All this talk of that man had ruined any appetite.

“Surely you looked at the man? You are not blind, Catherine. Did he have a good chin? I cannot stand men with no chin. And nice eyes? What of his eyes?”

“He had eyes and a chin,” Catherine replied blithely.

Mama shook her head. “You are the most stubborn girl.  Whatever did I do to deserve such a stubborn child?”

“You will meet him soon enough I’m sure, Mama,” Catherine assured her. “Then you can assess his chin and eyes for yourself.”

“I shall have to pay my respects soon enough, my dear.” Papa patted the back of his wife’s hand. “Your curiosity will be satisfied then.”

“You should do so presently. You are an important man in this community. It would not do to leave it too long.” Mama dabbed her upper lip with a napkin and eyed Catherine. “And you should visit with his sister. I am sure she could do with a friend in the area.”

Catherine opened her mouth to protest. It was not that she did not wish to be friends with Lilith—she had seemed fun and friendly, unlike her brother—but she loathed being forced into things. However, her father’s raised brow made her clamp her mouth shut and nod meekly.

“Hopefully the marquis will be there,” her mother said gleefully.

Catherine could not hold back a groan and a roll of her eyes. Her mother’s hopes of her being matched with any man were futile, particularly this marquis. She’d rather marry Mr. B—the cat version or the human version.