“Look at your father, Cathy. This is what your future may become if you do not find a good husband, or if you live alone.” Cathy reacted to that. Why would being alone result in this? “Find a wealthy husband as soon as possible. That Lord Eldridge seemed to be interested. He is a fine young man. You must marry as soon as you are still able. Our situation is most precarious.”
Cathy straightened her dress, still gasping from the effort of almost single-handedly hauling her father to bed. From the corner of her eye, she spied her grandfather’s cat, Napoleon, a large ginger tom who had seen better years. His tail twitched even though he wore his usual bored expression, perhaps because he had joined in to listen to the argument. His milky-eyed stare was somehow judgmental. After locking eyes with Cathy, he yawned, revealing slightly yellow teeth.
“Who would you have me wed, then, Grandmama? Lord Eldridge wanted to spend the evening conversing about hunting dogs. You know how I feel about hunting. Yet another believes a woman’s brain is merely there to assist with decorating ideas. Almost like a parasol or a purse.”
It was then that Napoleon darted away, perhaps bored with where the conversation was going.
“When you choose someone to wed, you are not expected to agree about everything. You are not entering a debating society, young lady!” her grandmama scolded.
“Be that as it may, Grandmama, I want a partner for life. Not a master,” Cathy replied, her voice rising in pitch. “Most men want someone who will obey them without question and without speaking her mind. Most of them are rakes and scoundrels.”
“Have you seen Napoleon?” Lord Marlow had stepped into the room, his ear trumpet at the ready. “I swear that furry beast had entered Harleigh’s room. Napoleon! Where are you, puss?”
“Norman, we are talking about Cathy’s future here. We have no time to look for your cat!” Lady Marlow yelled directly into her husband’s trumpet. “Your granddaughter is afraid that all the men of thetonare rakes, and I am afraid she will never marry.”
“The cakes?” Norman blinked, looking confused. He turned to Cathy and said, “I agree, my dear girl. The cakes tasted like sawdust. They should have hired a better baker.”
Lady Marlow let out an exasperated sigh and turned her attention back to her granddaughter.
“Cathy, have your expensive governesses taught you anything at all? Reformed rakes make the best husbands. I suppose the emphasis is on the wordreformed. They know when to settle, and when they do, they are truly settled. They also have the necessary... experience.”
Experience? Cathy felt the chill of genuine horror down her spine. She was startled at how her grandmother spoke of carnalmatters in front of her. It almost felt like a betrayal. What did she think would tempt her eldest granddaughter to marry? Certainly not that. To hear Lady Marlow even suggest that a man’s history with drink and women was a proper recommendation for marriage shook the foundations of her beliefs. However, a traitorous memory of the Duke’s anatomy in her hand could not help but make its way to the surface.
“Napoleon!” Norman shouted, hopping into the hallway. “Can you fetch him for me, Cathy? I think he just ran toward the library.”
“I told you to leave that blasted cat at home, Norman.” Lady Marlow regarded her granddaughter thoughtfully and said, “Help your grandfather find that dastardly feline. I am going to see what Madeline is doing.”
Cathy sighed heavily. She could feel the weight of her family’s expectations pressing down on her.
“Fine. I will look for Napoleon in the library.”
“Napoleon?”
The library was already dim and cool, the fire dying in the hearth. There was also something more that she could not figure out. The Longroves’ library felt like a cathedral of shadows. Cathy did not mind it. The smell of leather and books was already calming her down. She scanned the floor for a flash of ginger.
“Napoleon?” she whispered.
Nobody was there as far as she could tell, but she always whispered in libraries, or tried her best to.
“I am sorry to disappoint you, Miss Quinten, but I have not seen any emperors in the library as of late.”
Cathy jumped. One hand flew to her throat while the other extended to defend herself. The shadow that loomed behind the high-backed chair showed itself in the light. It was none other than the Duke, with his cravat loose and a glass of whiskey in his hand. The dim light highlighted the sharp angles of his face. In the semidarkness, his eyes glittered.
“Your Grace,” she breathed, managing it even though her heart was racing. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same,” Tristan replied, his head tilting to one side. That frustratingly charming smirk showed on his face. “Are you here to study for the next challenge, or have you been following me around?”
“I am looking for my grandpapa’s cat,” she snapped. “Since you are too busy thinking about yourself and your drink, I shall leave you here.”
Cathy turned on her heel, stomping her feet for good measure. When she reached the heavy oak door, she expected a little resistance, but not like this. No. She pulled again. It did not budge.
She frowned but pulled harder. The handle turned to one side, but the door was still stuck. She rattled it, sweating a little.
“I... it cannot be. The door is stuck!”
Tristan set his glass down on a table and walked toward her. He moved slowly and deliberately, as he always did.
“Move aside.”