Chapter 14
“Did you sleep at all, Cathy?” Lady Marlow asked, as she swept into Baxter Hall, mostly uninvited.
“Of course, I did, Grandmama. Why would I not?” Cathy asked, wondering where this particular drama would go.
She tried to keep her voice level, even though her heart was beating fast as her mind drifted back to the night before. Tristan had rejoined her at the ball, his face indifferent and unreadable. He had not even offered a word of comfort, nor did he acknowledge having seen or heard the scene Anne had caused. Instead, he had formally offered her his arm.
Because of this, their ride back to Baxter Hall had been heavy and stifling, marked by silence. Cathy had to listen to the clopping of horses’ hooves and her own heartbeat. She anticipated him to say something, but nothing came.
By the time they reached Baxter Hall, he had merely given her a clipped, “Good night.” Then, he quickly disappeared into his own wing.
Cathy did not know that she would take the silence to heart. It was what she had wanted. Had it not?
“I imagined you would be counting dust motes and recalling all the times you had been a stubborn wife, and hopefully have learned from it!”
The baroness had already swept into the morning room, with her chin up and her posture straight. Cathy knew that her arrival was a lesson in itself. Mrs. Collins, the baroness’ maid, followed with a large valise in her hand.
What is all that about?
As soon as both were seated, Cathy replied, “Well, my dreams were plagued by visions of marble statues, ledgers, and annulment papers. I am pretty certain Papa was in the dream somewhere.”
“Probably vomiting in the bushes,” Lady Marlow muttered. “A real nightmare to dream of Harleigh, but I am glad that your dreams are finally showing you the right path.”
“The right path to nightmares?” Cathy asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, a little fear is a good motivator. It will continue to enhance your intellect,” the baroness said. Then, she turned to her maid, “Collins, set the kit on the table. Cathy, let me see your dress. Are you still dressed in those gaudy gowns? Remember what you wore to the ball? It was splendid.”
Cathy sighed but obeyed. “I cannot possibly wear something this extravagant every day!”
“But why not? Imagine what Miss Longrove was planning to do. She would probably be wearing a silk nightgown every night,with jewels!”
“That is ridiculous!” Cathy exclaimed, even as she turned around for her grandmother to inspect her long-sleeved gray gown, which, as usual for her, was buttoned firmly up to her chin, in true Miss Priggish fashion.
“It is worse than I imagined,” the baroness mumbled, as she stood up to inspect her granddaughter. “You look like a tall governess, or a tall nun, who managed to lose her way to the convent. Collins, what do you think?”
Mrs. Collins was often quiet, but when she spoke, she was usually firm with her opinions.
“I see a beautiful woman hiding behind layers of clothes, my lady,” the servant replied. “I believe she can still be modest without being so stern.”
“Precisely,” the baroness said. “Cathy, we have little time. The Duke has a lot of energy and is known for his appetite. If he cannot find anything to use his energy on in this house, he will find it elsewhere. There will be many women willing to warm his bed. Therefore, we must work on keeping his attention within this house. It should be on you alone.”
“This is preposterous, Grandmama!” Cathy protested. “I am a duchess. My role is to manage this estate. I am used to being respected for my mind, and not for my appearance. Not for my body.”
“You are a duchess because you married the Duke. Without him, you would be a discarded spinster without a title, and not even a father,” her grandmother corrected. “And as for appearances, being attractive does not equate to being a fool. You can be both beautiful and intelligent. Now, Collins, please.”
The lady’s maid was quick to assist. Cathy was gently returned to her seating position. Before she could protest, Mrs. Collins unpinned her hair.
“Before you learn ways in which to seduce your own husband, you must work on your appearance first. You are by no means a plain girl, but you always insist on pulling your hair into a severe bun. It is time to let go of this puritanical style. Mrs. Collins will provide your hair with curls, neat ones, but with a few strands fighting to be released!”
Cathy gasped at the passion in her grandmother’s voice. She was almost persuaded, but she thought of the practicalities of having dangling curls.
“I fear they will get in the way of my writing, Grandmama.”
“Then stop writing!” Lady Marlow barked. “You are not meant to be writing in ledgers all your life. You can hire someone to do that for you. From now on, you are a seductress in training. You can play with a lock of hair while speaking with the Duke.”
“Like this?” Cathy took a lock of hair and twisted it around her finger.
“Do not do it like a petulant child, and do not make the movement frantic, either. You do it slowly and deliberately. Wrap a strand around a finger while you look at him. Like this. It suggests things that you are still refusing to say. You have to get his attention on you. Stop being so prudish.”