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“Aunt Alicia, no!” Catherine cried, grabbing for her aunt.

Too late. Lady Harth’s foot slipped on the spot of spilled lemonade, her flailing arms providing momentum and carrying her backward. Catherine watched in stunned horror as her aunt fell on the refreshment table, crushing cakes and upsetting pitchers of lemonade.

Cries of dismay echoed around the room and the musicians missed notes, coming to a discordant halt.

“Are you all right?” Catherine asked, trying to help her aunt to her feet.

Lady Harth pulled her hand free, refusing Catherine’s assistance.

“I was until you descended upon my household.” She shook crumbs from her dress and brushed at the large wet spots on her skirt.

She glared at the murmuring crowd growing around them.

She straightened her shoulders and threw back her head. “We are leaving. Inform your cousins.”

The crowd parted before her like the Red Sea.

Lady Harth, two high spots of color flying on her cheeks, disdained to recognize anyone who spoke to her as she made her way across the room.

The gathering was buzzing with whispered exchanges, shock turning rapidly to amusement at the sight of Lady Harth dripping lemonade and trailing cake crumbs.

A few went so far as to suggest it was timely, for typically, Lady Harth’s clumsiness resulted in disaster for others, never for herself.

Others shook their heads and clucked their tongues, for they were certain Lady Harth would blame her niece Catherine for the mishap, refusing, as she always did, to admit to her clumsiness.

The same thought occurred to Catherine. And she wasn’t wrong.

Barely had the carriage steps been put up before Lady Harth launched into her tirade, punctuated by pitiful sobs emanating from the twins.

The cacophony made Catherine want to clamp her hands over her ears.

She clenched her teeth instead, endeavoring to allow the sound to wash over her.

Susannah glanced at her once in sympathy but had no power to halt the vituperative outpouring, so she sat in silent misery.

Aunt Alicia’s harangue continued throughout the carriage ride and showed no signs of abating as the carriage pulled up before Harth House. She cataloged a library of Catherine’s failings, elucidating in no uncertain terms her disappointment to the Shreveton family.

Catherine bore it all in long-suffering silence. Her head docilely bowed in penitence.

“I shall not burden you with my presence for much longer. I will instruct Bethie to pack my trunks in the morning and then enquire as to posting charges to Yorkshire,” she said softly when her aunt finally paused to draw a breath.

“Do not be ridiculous,” contradicted Lady Harth, leading her nieces into the drawing room.

“To leave now would create more scandal.” She paced the floor.

“I had my reservations about including you this Season. I should have followed my inclinations. I knew when I met your mother that she was not worthy of being a Shreveton, and it’s obvious you inherited more from her than from my dear brother.

She was an insipid twit, most likely still is, who married Ralph for his family connections. ”

A haze of red anger blurred Catherine’s vision. “You may say what you like about me, but you will not talk about my mother in that fashion!”

“How dare you talk back to me,” Lady Harth said in awful accents.

“I dare because you are wrong. Wrong in everything you think you know about my family.”

Lady Harth snorted. “I doubt that,” she said with calm certainty.

“Have you ever hear of Burke horses, Aunt Alicia?"

"Of course I have you impertinent chit. What has that to do with your family?”

“I shall be heir to the Burke fortune.”

“Do not be ridiculous.”

“My mother, whom you so delight in degrading, is the twin sister of Sir Eugene Burke. When my parents married, it was your brother who could be called the fortune hunter, for his competence did not come near to meeting what my mother had, and still has, to command.”

“I don’t believe you. Why would my brother lead me to believe his bride was penniless?”

“He never led you to believe anything. You made it up out of whole cloth and never bothered to ask.”

“Well, how do you explain your attire?” blurted out one of the twins.

“Yes,” contributed the other haughtily. “You certainly have not appeared the heiress.”

Catherine had the grace to blush.

Lady Harth, her eyes narrow slits and her lips pursed in consideration, stared at her niece. “Iris and Dahlia are quite right. Well, what have you got to say for yourself?”

Catherine’s shoulders sagged, and she turned partially away from her relatives, staring unseeing at the gray-threaded marble fireplace.

“At home, I was courted primarily for the money and property. When I came to London, I had some half-formed notion of being courted for myself rather than for my dowry and expectancies.” She smiled wanly and turned her head to look over her shoulder at her aunt.

“I was also piqued at the letter you sent my mother. You assumed, without meeting me, that I would be without looks, accomplishments, or fortune. I decided to fulfill your expectations.”

A muscle in Lady Harth’s jaw twitched as she stared at her niece.

She dabbed at her forehead with a lace-edged handkerchief and closed her eyes.

“To think that I have nursed a viper to my breast these long weeks. I feel quite faint,” she said, though her voice lacked any fainting quality.

“Go to your room. We shall discuss this in the morning.”

She dramatically flung herself back into one of the damask-covered chairs. The delicate piece rocked precariously under her momentum, tottering on its slender back legs before tipping completely backward, dumping the Countess of Seaverness on the floor.