Page 58

Theodore scanned the ballroom from his spot near the entrance.

Lavish decorations and candles seemed to be everywhere.

Colorful dresses swirled around the room, almost as if they were dancing to the sound of the gossip that seemed louder than the music.

His brother was further in the room, studiously avoiding Lady Lavinia's mother.

A smile tugged at the corners of Theodore's mouth at his brother’s predicament.

With his substantial wealth and noble title, many families vied for Cedric's attention, and the wives of his cohorts from parliament were eager to introduce him to their daughters.

Theodore suspected his brother longed for a woman who appreciated him for who he was, rather than his title and wealth.

Theodore hoped Cedric would find that unique woman who would do that for him.

Elizabeth and her sisters had proven it was possible.

Turning his gaze back to the ballroom, he looked for Darcy and all the ladies he was trying to shepherd.

His cousin would need help in the nest of vipers that was the London season.

Eventually, he spotted Darcy seated at a table across the room with Elizabeth next to him, her arm linked with his.

He could see several people staring at Darcy’s grin, clearly stunned by the shift in his demeanor.

If people were being polite, they would say that Darcy was brisk and reserved at social gatherings.

If they were being rude, they described him as proud and severe, always hovering on the edges and frowning, making no effort to interact with others.

Some people present had probably never seen his smile or the dimples that his young wife seemed to delight in provoking.

Making his way over to them, he greeted and chatted with many people.

The latest on-dits were oft repeated, and he wondered at the inanity of the social season.

No one seemed to have an original thought in their head.

He knew it was the social norm, but he could not brush it away as he usually did.

Who enjoyed such surface-level conversations repeated over and over?

At the sound of a joyous laugh behind him, he paused to find the source. Several young debutantes were chatting and hiding their blushes behind their fans. Noting that Mary and Catherine were in the group, he smiled. At least there was someone enjoying tonight's event.

Planting a practiced smile on her face, Catherine hoped no one could decipher her distaste with the event.

Being judged at every turn and forced to laugh, or at least smile when people spoke of others’ faux pas, was not something she could enjoy.

She was certain if something did not change soon, she would say something she truly meant.

Telling the lady across from her that she thought her hat an insult to the birds that had worn the feathers first would never do.

So she held her tongue with ever-increasing frustration.

These balls were interminable, and the season had just started.

Whoever thought up this method of finding a mate clearly had different criteria for a husband than she did.

It was frowned upon to talk about serious subjects.

How did one find out anything besides the fact that a gentleman had learned how to dance and could dress with style?

No one thus far had been willing to talk of anything of note, and she had failed to uncover anything about anyone's true character.

For no reason that she could determine, people constantly judged one another. Perhaps it was utter boredom? Or spite?

She turned to Mary, who had been out longer and seemed more accustomed to the critical stares.

Her sister kept glancing around the room, probably searching for Mr. Goulding who had promised to be there this evening.

Catherine was happy that he had come to London for the season.

Mr. Goulding valued her sister's opinion enough to engage in deep conversations beyond the superficial topics of gossip and decor.

Catherine could not say the same thing about her own dance partners.

Most were preening puppies who expected her to have nothing between her ears but lace and idle nonsense.

Elizabeth had gotten William to sign her dance card, so that was something, at least. Looking further afield, she hoped to spot either Theodore or Cedric.

Not only were they willing to dance with her, but they were also gentlemen who would treat her with respect on the dance floor.

“Miss Catherine, that is a lovely dress. Just who is your modiste?”

Dragging her attention back to the conversation at hand with a faint blush, Catherine focused on the speaker.

Miss Eliss was a somewhat pretty girl that Catherine could not quite pin down.

She said all the right things, but Catherine had never felt any warmth from her, no matter how much she claimed to be her friend.

“My sisters and I use a modiste named Mrs. Barclay. We all find her designs lovely.”

Miss Eliss smiled, though it did not reach her eyes. “Really? I would have assumed Mr. Darcy would want the best for his sisters. Mrs. Bell is all the rage right now, but I understand it is hard to get in to see her.”

“We did not find Mrs. Bell to our taste. My sisters and I found a modiste who is more deserving of our patronage.” Edging closer to Catherine’s side, Mary’s voice cut through the gathered debutantes like a blade.

“While others might not be as discerning as my family, we found the poor treatment of her staff prevented us from supporting Mrs. Bell's establishment.” It was a good idea to remind others of the unbreakable bond between sisters.

Trying to belittle one of the Bennet sisters was never wise, as it would invite the others to close ranks.

“It has been lovely chatting with you, Miss Eliss, but we really must be getting back to our sister, Mrs. Darcy, before the dancing starts.”

While Miss Eliss never lost her smile, her eyes went flat as she glanced at Mary.

They stared at one another for a moment, both with bland smiles on their faces, neither seeming to give in to whatever the battle of wills represented.

After half a beat, Mary and Catherine curtsied and Miss Eliss was forced to reciprocate.

Turning, Mary and Catherine left the group, with Catherine feeling as though she had accidentally survived an ambush.

Waiting until they were out of earshot, Catherine finally spoke. “I know she says she is our friend, but I cannot see it. I'll have to find new friends elsewhere if this is the kind of company society can offer.”

“You must not pay her petty words any mind, Kitty,” Mary spoke softly as they walked away. “I have faith that as time passes, you will find good friends. Even though these settings often encourage superficiality, some people manage to stay genuine.”

Taking Mary's arm in her own, Catherine squeezed it. “Well, I will just have to rely on you for company until that day.”

Walking arm in arm, Catherine and Mary approached Elizabeth and William and she felt her previous frustrations dissipate.

Not only was Catherine delighted to be free of the shallow conversation, but watching Lizzie and William together always brought a smile to her face.

They were such a happy couple, so in tune with one another.

Her sister's laughter and the twinkle in her eye were evidence of her true happiness with her husband.

Colonel Theodore Fitzwilliam had found them and was chatting enthusiastically with them both, though as she looked him over, she noticed that his usual vigor was somewhat diminished.

She was uncertain of what had changed in him, but something had—he appeared tired and worn.

He had been of much help to her, and she only wished he would allow her to return the favor.

But would he allow a younger woman such as herself into his world to help him with his struggles?

He played a crucial role in helping her and the women of her family escape from her father's narcissistic grip when she was seventeen.

She had idolized him for a time after that.

The colonel had been there to share the news of her father's demise.

He had been there to celebrate both of her sisters' weddings, and oddly enough, her mother's marriage to Mr. Hawkins.

Lizzie even paid tribute to the close relationship with the brave man by naming her son Arthur Theodore.

It did something to Catherine to notice that he was somehow less than himself. She would simply have to try to do something to help him. Reaching the group, Catherine turned to him and spoke up with a sly smile. “Colonel Fitzwilliam, I beg your assistance, kind sir.”

Bowing with a flair that was more like himself, he responded to her comment in kind. “Oh, magnificent Artemis, how may a humble soldier such as me assist a goddess such as yourself?”

Catherine was glad to see the improvement in his countenance, even if she knew it was only temporary.

It had been some time since he had called her Artemis and she enjoyed hearing him refer to her as such.

When she had brought down the weasel Wickham all that time ago with a well-placed arrow, he had called her Artemis for months.

It was the greatest endearment she knew.

To hear it again made her smile widen. “I implore you, sir, to join me in a dance. Only then can you save me from the posturing puppies that are so eager for my time. Though it may only be one set, I will be forever grateful for the respite you will provide.”