Cathy looked at him. Her mouth gaped at the man who was revealing what he felt. It was not something he was known for, but perhaps it was the forced proximity that was causing it.
“I think I can sympathize with that,” she confessed. “My grandmama thinks that if I marry, it will solve all our problems. For me, marriage is a trap, but my family needs it. My sisters would benefit from it.”
“It looks like we are both trapped,” Tristan murmured.
“In more ways than one,” Cathy said. “But this does not justify this immoral behavior, Your Grace, we should not—”
Their eyes turned to the door, which suddenly burst open.
Brandon stumbled in. Like Tristan, his cravat was askew. He was completely flustered, his face red.
“Tristan? Miss Quinten? What are you two doing in here?”
“It appears that we have been locked inside by someone, and on purpose,” Tristan replied, his eyes squinting at his friend. “What about you? You look as if you have run through the whole estate.”
Cathy followed his gaze. She thought something was wrong with Lord Farstone, very much so.
“Me? I...” Brandon echoed, even as his eyes flitted back to the corridor. “Of course not. I... I was looking for you. Um, for dinner. I mean, for the parlor games.”
Cathy did not want to hear the rest of the exchange.
The air was too thick with tension. She slipped past Lord Farstone and quickly disappeared through the corridor, with her head down, hoping that nobody else would see her.
Chapter 6
“Cathy, stop,” Madeline complained. “You are doing it again.”
Her sister stood behind Cathy as they dressed in front of the mirror. The corset was tight, a natural cage, which she welcomed at that moment. The constriction was a physical manifestation of what seemed to be troubling her mind. Her dress was lavender silk. It seemed appropriate to what felt like a funeral for her peace of mind. At least, it was pretty.
“What am I doing exactly?” she asked, unblinking.
“You were in a trance,” Madeline replied, walking closer to her sister. “What is happening? You look like you have not even slept. Were you thinking too much about the Duke of Baxter, or perhaps discovering why exactly everyone calls him a rake?”
Cathy felt the heat of indignation and shame crawl all over her chest. “The Duke matters not to me, Maddy. He is just one of many rakes I despise.”
“Then, why are you staring into space and trembling?” Madeline asked, leaning in. Then, her voice dropped to the level of secrecy.“Weren’t you at the library last night? I thought I saw you leaving it. Were you alone with him?”
“Hush!” Cathy snapped. “You should stop making things out of nothing, Maddy. People may get the wrong idea. Miss Longrove is the perfect bride for a rake like him. She is well-behaved in public and wealthy. At the rate Papa is going, we are fortunate we still have a roof over our heads. If a scandal befalls us...”
“I see your point. But a rake should not be married to a porcelain doll,” Madeline muttered. “He is going to break her, or it could even be the other way around. He might die of boredom.”
“Or find mistresses just like everyone does,” Cathy retorted.
“I suppose,” Madeline agreed, with a shrug.
At that moment, the door flew open. A surprisingly strong Lady Marlow trudged in, holding her cane as one would swing a bayonet indoors.
“Enough of the chitchat. I could hear you from the other side of the door. The wedding party is waiting, and your father is currently teaching the stable boys how to gamble with pebbles and twigs. Maddy, go fetch him to the chapel. However, if he smells like a winery, we can probably just dunk him in the fountain. I doubt the Longroves would appreciate him falling headfirst into their flower arrangements.”
“Or between the bride and groom,” Madeline muttered.
The chapel resembled a place from Cathy’s nightmares. It felt suffocating to stand amid the heavy scent of lilies, incense,and various perfumes on this particularly hot day. Everything appeared blurry. She could barely see the Duke standing near the altar, waiting for the bride.
As they walked down the aisle toward their seats, Cathy kept her chin tucked in her futile effort to hide a few inches of her height. As usual, it was hard to disappear without looking like a hunchback. She towered over the Dowager Viscountess of Armitage, who snapped her fan shut as Cathy passed by.
“Well, I did not expect Miss Priggish to be in attendance after everything that happened the other night,” the Dowager whispered loudly to her friend.
“It is unbecoming, indeed. I heard the girl needed extra yards of silk to cover her ankles. She and her father are draining the coffers, he with his drink and she with being so tall!”