Chapter Ten

 

Too impatient to wait until the marquess again came to dinner at Rosemont two days hence, Catherine determined to ride to her neighbor’s estate that very morning and speak to him there without any loss of time. Flora helped her into her new riding habit, and Catherine ordered Damask brought round that she might ride him to Ellsworth Hall. Once there she was shown to the drawing room, where she found Lady Ellsworth and Miss Louisa Ellsworth seated at their needlework while Miss Ellsworth practiced upon the spinet. Catherine made her curtsey, and, after enquiring after the Ellsworth’s health and the progress of Mr. Ellsworth’s nuptial plans with Miss Emily Stillington-Fyfe, she asked if Lord Edgecombe were within.

“Lord Edgecombe has ridden out to try Lord Ellsworth’s new foxhounds,” Lady Ellsworth informed Catherine politely, “but you are welcome to remain until his return.”

Accepting Lady Ellsworth’s offer, Catherine attempted to make polite conversation with Lady Ellsworth and Louisa while she waited. Since the announcement of her betrothal to Lord Edgecombe Catherine had seen little of Miss Louisa Ellsworth, and she knew the younger woman had not forgiven her for what she must view as the theft of her beau out from under her very nose. “If you only knew why I have come this morning, you might not frown so,” Catherine thought to herself as she watched Louisa pretend to be absorbed in her intricate needlework.

At last the gentleman returned, bringing the cool scents of autumn into the drawing room with them. “What ho! Miss Trevor,” Lord Ellsworth said with a wink at Lord Edgecombe. “Come to see your betrothed?

“She cannot do without you, you devil!” he said aside to Edgecombe in a carrying whisper. “A woman betrothed is like a bitch in heat, Edgecombe, a bitch in heat.”

Catherine’s cheeks flushed in embarrassment as she asked Lord Edgecombe if they might speak privately. Ever polite, the marquess agreed, suggesting a walk in the shrubbery, and they excused themselves from the drawing room to go outside. The autumn air had a slight nip to it, and they walked until they found a protected corner near the dense shrubbery of the boxwood maze. There was but one seat, and Lord Edgecombe courteously gave it to Catherine, himself leaning against a pedestal on which stood a tall urn.

“I must assume you had a purpose in calling at Ellsworth Hall this morning, Miss Trevor?” he asked, for Catherine, out of consideration for the feelings of Louisa, had rarely called at Ellsworth Hall since the announcement of their betrothal. “I trust we shall not be overheard here.”

Now that she had Lord Edgecombe’s attention and the time had come to speak, Catherine found it was not as easy to utter the words as she had thought it would be.

“I…” she began, and hesitated. “I have discovered we shall not suit,” she stated baldly, the words coming out in a rush, unsoftened. “I have come to ask to be released from our betrothal.”

The marquess looked up at the urn on the pedestal, contemplating its design with great interest as he took an enameled snuffbox from his pocket with his left hand and flipped the top up with his thumb. “No,” he answered briefly as he took a pinch of snuff and returned the box to his pocket.

“No?” Catherine repeated, surprised.

“No, I will not release you, Miss Trevor,” the marquess repeated, this time looking directly into her eyes.

“But…” Catherine began, and faltered to a stop.

“I believe, Miss Trevor,” the marquess said, still leaning casually against the pedestal, “That you entered into this engagement of your own free will?”

“Yes,” Catherine acknowledged.

“Need more be said?”

“But…” Catherine repeated, again faltering to a stop. Somehow she had convinced herself that the marquess would agree to release her with no difficulties, and was not prepared with arguments. Searching through her mind for a reason for him to release her she said, “But you do not love me.”

The marquess smiled. “I do not believe, Miss Trevor, that I ever claimed to. What has love to do with marriage in any event? Tell me,” he continued, “do you love me, Miss Trevor?”

“No,” truth compelled Catherine to reply.

“I thought not. You chose to accept my offer because I was of acceptable lineage and fortune. You see, we are eminently suited, Miss Trevor. You are of attractive and dignified appearance, you dance well, entertain company well, are a good conversationalist, play the harp with admirable skill, and appreciate those objects that are fine and rare. I trust you must find my person and capabilities equally satisfactory or you would not have accepted my hand. We need not love each other.”

“But our natures,” Catherine protested, “they are not compatible.”

“By that I take it you mean I am not given to indulging in my emotions as you have a tendency to do?”

“One might so express it.”

“That is not an insurmountable objection to our union. I can forgive a woman having more tender feelings than I would care to find in a gentleman. And if you truly seek to share that tender emotion with a man, well, Miss Trevor, after you have provided me with an heir or two I shall no doubt be willing to look the other way should you find a gentleman with whom you desire to indulge in the gentler passion. I am not an unreasonable man, Miss Trevor, and would not deny my lady wife pleasures I take myself.”

Catherine, dismayed by the marquess’ words, but impelled by honesty to admit she had entered into the betrothal of her own free will and brought this moment upon herself, searched frantically for words that would persuade him to release her.

“But Lord Edgecombe, would you not prefer a woman who has warmer feelings for you to share your bed?” she asked, her cheeks reddening at her boldness.

“Warmer feelings are not necessary to enjoy the pleasures of the marriage bed, for either sex, my dear. I think you will find me skilled in ways to persuade you to desire my presence in our bed.”

Catherine listened to Lord Edgecombe’s last words with incredulity. While she had to acknowledge that he had a right to be angry at her wish to be released from the engagement, should he not, as a gentleman, release her nonetheless? A surge of anger swept through her at Edgecombe’s refusal to accept her change of heart.

“You cannot force me to marry you!” she exclaimed.

“I force nothing,” the marquess said in even tones. “I believe you signed the settlement papers? We have a marriage contract, and witnesses to testify you signed of your own free will. The banns have begun to be read.

“I suggest, Madam,” the marquess said, looking meaningfully into Catherine’s eyes as he emphasized the honourific that might now be applied to her as a woman betrothed, “that you think carefully before you consider refusing to take the vows that only add the church’s blessing to what is already legitimized in law by signed contracts. Perhaps you are not aware that it is not uncommon for a gentleman to take his lady to the marriage bed the moment contacts are signed. A child on the way usually reconciles a woman to a marriage.”

“You dare not!” Catherine exclaimed, horrified.

“No, there is no need of such tactics,” the marquess said, relenting. “You are a woman of breeding and will keep your pledged word.

“Come Madam, enough of this childish behavior,” the marquess continued in a persuasive tone. “We shall deal well with each other as husband and wife, have no fear.”

“I was wrong to enter upon this engagement, and it is true I did so willingly,” Catherine said in a shaking voice. “I am at fault. I am sorry I did not realize earlier that we should not suit, but if you were a gentleman you would release me.

“You may be able to force me to marry you,” Catherine continued, becoming more impassioned at Lord Edgecombe’s silence and imperturbable expression, searching her mind for a way to strike back and finally thinking of one, “but you shall never have my rose, not if I must dig up every cane and sucker.”

“There is no need for such dramatic threats, Madam,” Lord Edgecombe replied in an expressionless voice. “I suggest you return to Rosemont and regain control of your emotions. After you have done so I am certain you will be able to think your situation through and come to behave in a civilized manner.

“I shall make your excuses to Lady Ellsworth and her daughters,” Lord Ellsworth added. “I do not believe you would wish to appear before them until you have composed yourself. Allow me to escort you to the stables and order your mount.”

 

Catherine returned home to Rosemont in a state between rage and despair. Why would the marquess not release her? Was it pride? Desire for the portion she would inherit? Desire for her rose? A refusal to be rejected? A combination of all those reasons?

And what could she do to persuade him to change his mind? It was true that, having signed the settlement papers, the only way to now be released was by mutual consent, which he was unwilling to give. But there had to be a way out. There must be something she could do short of refusing to take the vows in front of the vicar. For a moment she contemplated doing even that. It would be a terrible scandal, of course, given she had entered into the engagement willingly, as all knew. It would be a scandal that would affect her father, her aunt, and all her other relatives as well as herself. A delicious scandal all would savour. It would probably, she realized, even end up in the pages of the Gentlemen’s Magazine with pious cautions about how neither rank nor independence could ensure reputation or happiness.

And who would support her in such a desperate action? She could think of no one, for if one was foolish enough to do as she had done and chosen ill, it was one’s duty to accept the consequences, no matter how one’s heart shrank at the thought. And if one were patient, one might do as Lord Edgecombe himself had suggested, and find one’s happiness in the arms of lovers, after heirs had been provided. Catherine knew that such arrangements were common enough among her peers, yet her whole being rebelled at the idea of such a loveless union.

Knowing she could not long prevent the tears that threatened, and determined to avoid her sister-in-law’s scrutiny, Catherine retreated directly to the walled garden when she regained Rosemont.

“William,” she called softly, “William.”

A moment later William’s nose poked out of his wooden house, but he came no farther. Remembering how but two days ago come near and allowed her touch, Catherine mourned the loss of trust his new injury had caused. She gathered a few undamaged leaves from the trampled garden and placed them before the hare. Cautiously, he sniffed the leaves and with a last look around to be sure nothing threatened, he began munching on them. Relieved that William was eating despite his injury, Catherine searched for a few more undamaged leaves.

What would happen to William if she were forced to marry the Marquess of Edgecombe? This was a problem she had avoided facing heretofore, but now must. She doubted Lord Edgecombe would be willing for her to take William to Edgecombe Place, and who at Rosemont would be willing to give him the care he needed? It was not enough to see that he had food and shelter; William needed affection and care. Her family lacked the knowledge and interest. Sarah? She might be willing to take the hare, but it would require her having a special area prepared, and even that might not prove safe what with the squire’s hounds and Sarah’s young children. There was only Lord Woodforde. He was nearly as interested in William as she—surely he would be willing to take on the hare’s care if it became necessary. She must ask Woodforde if he would. It would remove one burden from her spirits if she knew she had a place for William to go when she married Lord Edgecombe, if it came to that. Yet, she determined, it must not come to that. Somehow she had to think of a way to persuade the marquess to release her from the betrothal.

Meanwhile, she would have to confess to her aunt that her request to be released from her betrothal had come to naught. Slowly Catherine stood up, brushing off her skirts and willing the tears away. Carefully locking the garden door behind her, she hurried upstairs to wash the tears from her face and then went in search of Lady Manning.

“There you are, sister,” Judith said accusingly as Catherine, her toilette repaired, entered the large drawing room in search of her aunt. “Where have you been? I had planned to accompany you to town today and assist you in selecting your wedding clothes. I had taken the time to dress to go out and then you were nowhere to be found.”

“I had an errand I needed to complete,” Catherine replied mildly. “I am sorry I did not return in time to accompany you to town.” It was interesting how unimportant her irritations with her sister-in-law suddenly seemed when placed next to her larger troubles, Catherine thought dispassionately as she took a chair by her aunt.

“I wish it were not necessary you be married here in Moreton,” Judith went on, apparently having decided to let the previous day’s contretemps drop after the marked attention Lord Edgecombe had paid her the previous afternoon. “You ought to be married in London. It need not be your home parish where the wedding takes place. Could you not persuade Edgecombe to delay the wedding until it could take place there?”

“London is not Lord Edgecombe’s home parish either,” Catherine reminded her sister-in-law.

“Lady Manning,” Catherine said, turning to her aunt, who sat working on a piece of intricate embroidery, “the errand on which I went was unsuccessful. I shall discuss it with you at another time when you have more leisure.”

Lady Manning looked up from her needlework, her sharp eyes peering closely at Catherine over the top of her spectacles. “Very well. I expect I shall have the leisure this evening. You may come to my dressing room after supper. Meanwhile I suggest you arrange a day to go with your sister to order wedding clothes.”

Reluctantly, knowing she had a duty to her sister-in-law but disliking the thought of even thinking of wedding clothes, much less selecting them, Catherine moved to a chair closer to Judith and prepared to endure the necessary discussion when Fate suddenly decided to have compassion on her. Judith’s youngest son, Henry, who had been helping himself to a box of sweets his mother had left sitting on the occasional table next to the sofa, suddenly vomited them up on his mother’s skirts.

“Roberts!” Judith called in revulsion as the mess began to seep through her skirts. “Roberts! Where has the woman gotten to now? She is never around when she is needed,” Judith complained, afraid to move to ring the bell for fear the mess would spread farther over her skirts or drip onto her slippers if she stood.

“I should change from my riding dress, and I shall find Roberts for you on my way,” Catherine offered. Taking the opportunity to escape, she rose and left the room swiftly lest her aunt order her return after she completed her stated errands.

As Catherine had expected, she found Roberts in the nursery trying to amuse Marie and John while at the same time imparting some knowledge of manners and decorum. Catherine explained to the nursemaid what was required, ignoring the fearful grimaces John directed her way, and while the nursemaid set her charges a task to complete while she left to aid her mistress’s current distress, Catherine continued upstairs to her bedchamber.

Once safe in her chamber, Catherine paced back and forth before the windows, reliving the conversation she had had with Lord Edgecombe that morning. How could she possibly stay and pretend through a family dinner that all was well? Perhaps she should ride to Moreton to see Sarah. She could confide the truth to Sarah. Was there time? Catherine glanced at the small ormolu bracket clock and realized she would arrive at Moreton Manor about dinner time should she go. Still, it would be better than remaining here. With sudden resolution Catherine slipped downstairs to the entrance hall and ordered her horse brought round again.

 

“Catherine, welcome, I am pleased to see you,” Sarah greeted her friend when Catherine arrived at Moreton Manor a half-hour later. “You must stay and take dinner with us.”

“I am sorry to arrive at dinner with no prior invitation and in riding dress,” Catherine apologized as she handed her hat to the footman, “but I am in distress, Sarah, and have need of your counsel. I did not take time to change and order the landau.”

Sarah searched her friend’s troubled countenance and reached for Catherine’s hand. “We shall speak after dinner,” she promised, pressing her friend’s hand with warmth. “You are always welcome here, Catherine, as well you know.”

Already feeling better for the promise of sharing her troubles, Catherine entered the dining room with Sarah and the squire. A servant was just finishing adding a setting to the table, and Catherine slipped gratefully into the chair before it. Dinner in company with the squire and Mrs. Turner was far preferable to dinner at Rosemont with her brother and his wife.

“I am glad to see you at our table again, Miss Trevor,” the squire commented as he helped himself to a large serving of roast pheasant. “You have been too rare a guest of late. You must try some of this pheasant, Miss Trevor, bagged it just this last week. I’ve shot six brace so far, and no sign of depleting the birds. The woods are well-stocked.”

“I am pleased to be here, Squire Turner,” Catherine replied as she accepted a slice of pheasant from the squire and then spooned a small portion of turnips onto her plate. “I have missed your company, and that of Mrs. Turner.”

“It is understandable that you have less time for old friends just now,” the bluff squire said with a wink. “Saw Edgecombe earlier today, riding toward vicar’s. Daresay we shall be hearing some banns read this Sunday.”

Catherine’s appetite vanished and although she managed a weak smile for the squire, she took little food, concentrating on pushing around what was already on her plate so that it appeared she had eaten some. Fortunately, although Sarah directed several questioning looks her direction, the squire appeared to notice nothing amiss and kept up a monologue of entertaining stories about his hunting exploits and various tenants and neighbors.

Finally the moment came when Sarah rose from the table. “We shall leave you to your port, Squire,” she said formally, “while Miss Trevor and I have a gossip.” So saying, Sarah preceded Catherine from the dining room and into the drawing room.

“Wait one moment while I instruct the nursemaid not to bring the children in until later that we may speak undisturbed,” Sarah ordered Catherine.

Catherine took one end of the rather battered settee while Sarah rang for the footman and gave her instructions. Sarah then joined Catherine on the settee, sitting close that they might speak softly.

“What is it, Catherine?” she asked, concern evident in her voice. “It is evident something has occurred to distress you greatly.”

“I asked the marquess of Edgecombe to release me from our betrothal this morning and he refused,” Catherine began, and went on to relate the day’s happenings. Sarah listened with attention until her friend finished her recital.

“I must confess I never thought the marquess quite the right choice of husband for you,” Sarah said after a moment of silence, “and I cannot understand why he will not release you from the betrothal. Perhaps he truly cares for you, Catherine, have you thought of that possibility?”

“I do not think that is the case,” Catherine replied. “I believe it to be more that he feels I will fit the position of his wife and that he does not like to be rejected. Or that he wishes to have me in the same way he wishes to have my rose—as an item of possession.”

“Then I can think of little you may do,” Sarah said sadly. “One must simply make the best of such circumstances. Perhaps it will not be as bad as you fear. Perhaps in time you will come to care for each other.”

“Indeed, I cannot,” Catherine protested. “I did not tell you the whole of it,” she confessed, and proceeded to relate what had happened to William, the failure of the marquess to understand her attachment to the animal, and even his threat to consummate their marriage beforehand, although in justice she reported he had backed away from the last threat.

“I know I brought this upon myself in my mad determination to bring the marquess to an offer,” Catherine finished, rising and starting to pace the drawing room floor, “for mad I must have been, but I cannot submit to being married to him.”

Sarah’s face became graver and graver as Catherine told the rest of her story. “This is distressing indeed, Catherine. I am sorry to hear of your hare’s injury and the marquess’ failure to comprehend your attachment, but you know as well as I that no one would consider that a reason for rejecting such an eligible suitor. As for his threat to take you to his bed before the actual marriage, he would be within his legal rights, although he should not have said such a thing to you. I am glad to hear that he retracted it.

“But although I sympathize with your predicament, I fear I cannot help you,” Sarah finished, “for what choice have you if Lord Edgecombe will not release you? To refuse to accept him at the altar? Such an act would cause a great scandal, the more as you are known to have sought his attentions.”

“Only too well do I know the truth of your words,” Catherine acknowledged as she ceased to pace, stopping before her friend. “Oh Sarah, what am I to do? I cannot marry him, indeed I cannot!”

“I suppose one might behave in such a manner as to give one’s betrothed a disgust of oneself,” Sarah suggested slowly. “In truth, I can think of no other solution.”

“Yes, I had not thought of that,” Catherine said, brightening. “It is certainly worth an attempt. Thank you, Sarah,” she said, embracing her friend.

“You must not be too obvious in your efforts to put him off,” Sarah warned as she returned her friend’s embrace. “The marquess is not unintelligent.”

“That is true,” Catherine acknowledged. “I grant the scheme has but a slim chance of success, but that it is better than none. Perhaps I may dress a bit less attractively, and I shall try and think of other things he admires about me and make subtle alterations.”

 

The hopes that had risen after her talk with Sarah enabled Catherine to eat supper with her family in equanimity after she returned to Rosemont, and she was even able to agree to accompany her sister-in-law to town two days hence to order wedding clothes. However, when Judith showed no signs of abandoning the topic of the coming nuptials Catherine excused herself from her sister-in-law’s presence and retreated to the large drawing room, where she practiced upon her harp. She remained there until the hour at which Lady Manning customarily retired, and then sought her aunt in her dressing room.

“You are excused for the evening, Molly,” Lady Manning instructed her maid when Catherine entered her aunt’s dressing room. “My niece will assist me should I require anything more this evening.”

“Yes, your ladyship. Thank you, your ladyship,” the maid said with a curtsey.

“I am afraid, aunt,” Catherine said when Molly quit the room, “that being released from the betrothal is not to be had for the asking. I asked Lord Edgecombe this morning and he refused.”

“I had surmised as much from your demeanor at supper,” Lady Manning said, settling herself into a comfortable chair. “Did he give you his reasons?”

“He informed me he feels we shall suit as husband and wife and reminded me that I entered into the betrothal of my own will.”

“The last is true enough.”

“Yes, it is true, but should he not, as a gentleman, release me? I begged his pardon for not realizing earlier that our natures are not compatible, but he still would not give me my freedom.”

“I suppose one might ask with equal justice whether you, as a lady, should not keep a commitment you entered into freely, Catherine,” Lady Manning said quietly. “He is not asking you to do something dishonourable. He is giving you his name and a fine estate as your home, not to mention that the settlements were very generous.”

Catherine sighed. “That is also true. But is not one allowed to make a mistake? May one not change one’s mind?”

“One may, but that does not remove one’s obligations should the other party involved choose not to release one from a promise or engagement freely entered into.”

Catherine sighed again, recognizing the truth of her aunt’s words.

“Mrs. Turner suggests I try to give Lord Edgecombe a disgust of me,” she essayed. “I know he is too intelligent to be taken in by obvious ruses, but it would appear to be my only hope.”

“I have long wished to see you wed, Catherine, but I have no wish to see you unhappily married. It is certainly worth the effort to attempt to give Lord Edgecombe a disgust of you,” Lady Manning agreed, “although I believe him unlikely to be taken in by any such ruse. We must continue to hope he will come to see for himself that the betrothal would be best ended. I am sorry I cannot give you any more hopeful counsel.”

“I understand, aunt,” Catherine said, kissing her aunt affectionately on her soft wrinkled cheek. “And I recall you did your best to prevent my coming to be in this position. Certainly had I done as you advised and accepted Lord Woodforde, he would have released me had I asked.

“But since I did not listen, I must now wait and hope to find a way out of this coil.”

 

The next afternoon was one of Lord Edgecombe usual alternate days to dine at Rosemont. Catherine had not seen him since she had asked to be freed to from the betrothal, and hoped he might not come, but promptly at three of the afternoon the Marquess of Edgecombe arrived for dinner as had become his custom. To Catherine’s amazement, he behaved as though their discussion had never occurred, and not a whit of his usual punctilious courtesy was missing as he greeted her father, aunt, brother, sister, and herself. She had to acknowledge that it made the situation easier for them both, and followed his lead, acting as though nothing untoward had ever occurred.

Catherine had, however, remembered Sarah’s advice. With it in mind she had dressed in one of her least attractive gowns, a jonquil-yellow silk that, with her light hair, gave her skin an unattractive pallor, and had Flora dress her hair in a more elaborate and less becoming style than her usual loose curls. She felt the marquess had noticed her less attractive appearance when his eyes stayed upon her a fraction too long upon his entry into the drawing room, but he made no comment. Shortly afterwards, dinner was announced and the women entered the dining room. Judith availed herself of the opportunity to speak to Catherine before the men came in.

“Sister, I do not believe that jonquil is the best colour for your complexion. With your fair hair you appear far too sallow. It would be more becoming on one with my complexion,” she finished with a satisfied look at her own reflection in the mirrors behind the sideboard.

“Thank you for your advice, sister” Catherine responded as the gentlemen entered the room, pleased to know her efforts were successful. However, her less attractive appearance had no apparent deterrent on Lord Edgecombe’s determination to forward their nuptials.

“Miss Trevor,” the marquess addressed Catherine as he helped himself to some poached salmon, “I suggest that now the settlements have been signed we take the needful documents to the parish and have the banns read. I spoke to the vicar early this afternoon. I cannot delay returning to Edgecombe Place past November, and we shall require one Saturday between the last reading of the banns and the first Sunday of advent in order to be married before I must return.”

“It shall be as you think best, Lord Edgecombe,” Catherine answered in a tranquil voice, despite the feeling of desperation that seized her heart. Less than six weeks! How was she to extricate herself in time?

The remainder of the dinner seemed interminable to Catherine, but finally Lady Manning led Catherine and Judith from the table while the men remained to drink their port.

“I am sorry you must marry here in Moreton,” Judith commented as she seated herself on the sofa, “for you shall be able to arrange but a paltry wedding here. But it must be flattering to you at your age, sister, that the marquess is in such haste to wed. You are fortunate in your betrothal.”

“Catherine, why do you not play upon the harp for us this evening,” Lady Manning suggested, sparing her niece the need for a reply.

Catherine acquiesced and seated herself before her harp, tipping it back onto her shoulder. Her fingers moved automatically over the strings as her thoughts ranged elsewhere, but when the men entered the room a few minutes later, she recalled that Lord Edgecombe admired her harp playing. To miss notes would be too obvious, so for the rest of the evening Catherine played accurately but without expression, choosing pieces she did not care for herself, hoping the marquess would find her performance less pleasing than before. As she concentrated on plucking each note with expressionless accuracy, Catherine recalled Lord Woodforde’s words about her playing at a masquerade trying to appear what Lord Edgecombe wished. Now she was masquerading to appear what Lord Edgecombe would not like.

 

Catherine kept her promise to Judith and Lady Manning and accompanied the former into Moreton to select the styles and materials for Catherine’s wedding clothes at the dressmaker’s and draper’s that Thursday morning. Judith talked incessantly of the wedding plans and what was and was not fashionable in London all the way to Moreton, while Catherine fixed a look of attentiveness on her sister-in-law and paid attention to nothing she said.

Once in Moreton, the coachman was instructed to wait outside of the draper’s while the women went into that shop and the dressmaker’s on their errands. As they left the dressmakers after selecting the styles they wished and walked toward the drapers to look at fabric samples, a woman passing in the street stopped and spoke to the two women.

“Mrs. Trevor, Miss Trevor, good afternoon. How fortunate to have met you,” Mrs. Stillington-Fyfe greeted them.

“Good afternoon Mrs. Stillington-Fyfe,” Catherine returned the greeting. “How do the wedding plans for Miss Stillington-Fyfe and Mr. Ellsworth progress? The third reading of the banns was last Sunday, was it not?” she enquired politely.

“Yes, and it partly that of which I wish to speak,” the older woman said. “I had wondered, Miss Trevor, if you might be willing to play your harp for the wedding supper. Emily has always had a preference for the instrument.”

“Yes, of course I shall,” Catherine promised.

“The other matter upon which I wished to touch is the meetings of the Society.”

“Has the architect you engaged to speak at the meeting had to cancel his plans?” Catherine asked, hoping that was not the case, for it would be difficult to find another speaker within a month.

“It was not this next meeting I wished to ask you about, but who will take your place when you are gone,” Mrs. Stillington-Fyfe confessed. “I wished to offer myself as the person to arrange the speakers and meetings once you move to Leicestershire, although I shall understand should you have promised Mrs. Turner.”

“I had not thought upon it, Mrs. Stillington-Fyfe,” Catherine answered truthfully. “Perhaps we might discuss the matter at the next meeting, and allow our members to decide.”

“That would no doubt be best,” Mrs. Stillington-Fyfe agreed. “Good afternoon Mrs. Trevor, Miss Trevor.”

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Stillington-Fyfe,” Catherine returned.

“I cannot imagine why anyone should desire to become involved with the Blue Stocking Society, unless of course, one is unmarried and has nothing else to do with one’s time,” Judith said as Mrs. Stillington-Fyfe went on her way down the street. “Now you are to be wed, sister, you may put an end to such spinsterish foolishness.”

Catherine made no reply, failing even to point out to her sister-in-law that both Mrs. Stillington-Fyfe and Mrs. Turner were married women who had found the society worth joining. She was shocked that it had never occurred to her she would no longer have her meetings to look forward to once she moved to Edgecombe Place. There might be a branch of the society in Leicestershire, or perhaps she could begin one there, but it would not be the same without the friends she had known for so long. Dismayed by her thoughts, Catherine entered the draper’s with a sober mien.

Judith, not noticing her companion’s lack of spirits, went directly to the newest samples and began feeling their quality. “I think this for the gown you are to be wed in,” she said, indicating an elaborate silk brocade, “and this for the new redingote,” pointing to a fine wool, “as it will be winter. Then you will require materials for your morning gowns and nightdresses,” Judith mused as she continued examining the cloths, selecting various India cottons and Chinese silks.

Catherine, unable to feel the least interest in her wedding clothes, allowed her sister-in-law to order whatever that lady felt was appropriate, thereby restoring herself to Lady Trevor’s good graces.