“I understand my duty,” she said, steeling herself.
“Your duty is your salvation, and ours. Now, Collins, make sure you tighten her stays. Make her waist look tiny.”
“It is not big,” Cathy grumbled despite herself.
An hour later, Cathy was finally ready. She stood in the center of the morning room, feeling self-conscious in her lavender gown. It felt strange to wear something so light and revealing. She felt almost naked, although she knew that was a ridiculous thought.
“Now, walk,” Lady Marlow commanded softly. “Let me see you walk like a proper lady. You should not walk like you are about to sprint. Use smaller steps. Focus on your movements enough to hear your skirts rustle.”
Cathy tried her best. Adjusting her gait presented a challenge. Her legs were long, and she usually used that fact to her advantage, reaching her destination more quickly than other women.
But she tried and tried and tried.
“Better,” her grandmother finally conceded. “Remember how you will handle your hair. Tuck a curl behind your ear when you have his attention. Tilt your neck to the side to reveal more of your skin.”
“It feels like a performance, and I dare say I never thought I would end up in the theater.”
“Ah. But thetonis all about performance, is it not? Do you think all those women smiling at each other and exchanging gossip together truly like each other? Perhaps some of them, but most of it is a performance. And you, my dear, have been playing the wrong role all along.”
“I was not!”
“There is no time to argue. I believe I hear his footsteps. Collins, we must go as quickly as possible. Do not forget all that we have taught you, my dear.”
Before Cathy could protest, her two fairy godmothers vanished through the back door. She was left standing, still wondering what had happened to her.
Then, her grandmother’s words registered. Her husband was coming her way. Her heart began to race at the mere thought. Her hands were shaking. She wondered how she could go through the performance like this. She had practiced enough, she supposed, but that still did not comfort her.
Finally, the heavy oak door opened.
Lord, help me.
Chapter 15
Tristan stepped inside, his dark coat fitting him well, as always. As he walked toward her, his focus was on a piece of paper.
A letter? A broadsheet? His brows furrowed.
“Cathy, I believe you might be interested in—”
He stopped midsentence. His eyes were on her. She knew what he was seeing and what he expected. He had thought he would see his gray-clad wife, the one who looked like a stern governess. Instead, he found some strange woman in place of her, wearing revealing lavender silk and donning curls.
Uncomfortable silence followed as Tristan’s eyes moved from the top of her head to her face and to the swells of her breasts heaving over the neckline of her dress. His mouth was still gaping open, but he did not speak. He stared, his nostrils flaring. The paper in his hand was crumpled in his hand. On her end, Cathy focused on her grandmother’s instructions.
Smile, but not too widely.
Tilt your head to reveal more of your neck.
Twirl the strands of your hair in your fingers.
Pace your walk.
Cathy tried to look at Tristan through her lashes. Then, she tilted her head to one side, exposing more of her throat. With each ridiculous movement, a real blush deepened on her cheeks.
“You were telling me something, Your Grace?” she asked, her voice coming out soft and breathy. It was probably too breathy. “Something I should find interesting?”
Tristan did not reply immediately. Instead, he took a step toward her, his eyes never leaving hers. She could feel the tension in his muscles and remembered that his pent-up energy must be contained within this home rather than released elsewhere. Her cheeks burned at her humiliating display.
“I... It can wait,” he said, his own voice low and gravelly. It sent shivers down Cathy’s spine.