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L ady Orrick sighed and folded her hands in her lap as she considered her niece’s wan complexion. “I must admit, you don’t look at all well. Your skin appears to have a sallow cast, except for those two bright feverish spots on your cheeks. Have you taken a chill?”

“No, I don’t believe so,” Catherine listlessly reassured her, absently twitching a rug over her legs.

Lady Orrick got up and helped lay it in place, tucking the ends around Catherine as she lounged back on the daybed in her room.

She touched the back of her hand against Catherine’s forehead briefly before resuming her seat.

“What you need is a good bracing cup of tea. And, I think, a sympathetic ear into which you can pour out your troubles.”

Catherine laughed slightly. “What troubles I have are of my creation. I fear I’m merely being punished for my folly.”

“In what way?” Lady Orrick asked, pouring out the tea and handing a cup to her niece.

“Aunt Penelope, please do not patronize me. I’ve had enough of that from Aunt Alicia.”

“Good. I’m glad to see you can get angry. Maybe it will shake you out of that pit of doldrums you’ve fallen into."

"It isn’t the first time I’ve fallen into that pit. Only this time I don’t think a beautiful gown is going to be able to pull me out of it.”

“What gown?”

Catherine laughed. “The gown Madame Vaussard made for me that I did not order. She made it because she thought there would come a time when I wished to end the masquerade.”

“She knew about it?”

“Oh, yes.” Catherine smiled ruefully. “Perhaps I’d best start at the beginning and tell you everything. It all started, as you may have guessed when Mother received the invitation from Aunt Alicia to bring me out.”

It took Catherine almost an hour to tell her aunt the whole tale, punctuated as it was by little questions of clarification, laughter, and tears from Lady Orrick. When she was finished, her aunt sat on the edge of the daybed and clasped Catherine’s hands.

“You love him, don’t you?” she said softly.

Catherine went very still. “Who?”

“The Marquis of Stefton,” Lady Orrick said kindly.

Catherine blanched. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she tossed out shrilly. She tried to pull her hands out of her aunt’s grasp, but her aunt held them fast.

“That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I’m not ashamed,” she denied hotly, then capitulated.

“It’s just that—just that he doesn’t love me.

To him, I’m just Sir Eugene Burke’s troublesome niece.

And I refuse to be like the other young ladies who fawn over him, attempting all stratagems to gain at least his attention, if not his regard.

I didn’t mean to fall in love with him at all.

For the longest time I found him to be the most arrogant, disagreeable man of my acquaintance. ”

‘‘But you did.”

“Yes,” Catherine said softly, bowing her head to hide the sparkle of unshed tears in her eyes.

“And it hurts,” she whispered. “I wish I’d never come to London, or at least never instigated this awful masquerade.

If I hadn’t, he wouldn’t have felt compelled to bring me to Society’s notice and therefore spend time in my company.

What a fool I’ve been. I see now why my family thought I should come to London. I’ve been so naive.”

“Now don’t you start feeling sorry for yourself and falling back into those doldrums,” Penelope advised in a motherly scold. She squeezed Catherine’s hands, then released them. “How do you think I came to learn of this little masquerade of yours?”

“From Aunt Alicia, I suppose.”

“No. I learned it from your uncle and Stefton.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Mrs. Dawes wrote to your relatives in Yorkshire about your hoydenish behavior --that’s her description, not mine.”

Catherine grimaced. “I didn’t even consider that possibility."

"It greatly upset Sir Eugene, for he is very proud of you. Anyway, he had to go to Nottingham to attend a horse fair and told Mr. Dawes he would come to London afterward. Dawes told the Marquis of Sir Eugene’s plans.

Stefton, bless him, said that would be disastrous for you, so he went to Nottingham to meet your uncle and stop him from taking any rash action.

Now, why do you suppose he did that? I’ve never known Stefton to do anything for anyone.

” Lady Orrick looked pointedly at her niece.

Catherine shrugged. “I don’t pretend to understand the man. Evidently, his obligation to my uncle is immense.”

Her aunt clucked her tongue and shook her head. “You are a very obstinate young woman.”

“The Marquis says it is a Burke trait, evidenced by my square chin,” Catherine informed her aunt, faintly smiling at the memory. “Still, you haven’t yet explained how you became involved.”

“As luck would have it when Stefton found your uncle, he was with Seaverness. Your uncle Seaverness is hunting-mad, you know. He went to Nottingham to meet Burke and see about getting a new hunter. After he heard what was going on, all of which he could believe, knowing his wife, Seaverness convinced them to come and see me, for he reasoned that I would be the best person to, uh, educate Alicia.”

Catherine laughed again. “Something I had already done in a rather brash manner that Stefton would say was bad ton.”

Lady Orrick nodded. “Very true. You seem to know him well.”

Laughter died on Catherine’s lips. She sighed. “That’s how I also know he has no interest in me.”

“I think you’re wrong, Catherine.”

“Aunt Penelope, you don’t know how I wish I were. But you didn’t see him yesterday. He was so cold and formal. He made me feel like a little girl caught in some prank who deserved a thunderous scold.”

Her aunt shook her head but smiled kindly. “Then we shall have to agree to disagree. But I propose a wager."

A wager?”

“Yes. I bet Stefton will make you an offer before the Season is out. If I am correct, you will give me a pair of Burke carriage horses. If I am wrong," she shrugged, “you set the terms.”

“If you are wrong . . .” Catherine said slowly, trying to think of a suitable stake. Unfortunately, she found herself trying to choose a suitable pair for her aunt. She wanted her to be right. “If you are wrong, you must have Aunt Alicia over to your home at least twice a week for a month.”

Her aunt closed her eyes and shuddered, visualizing the havoc Alicia could create in her home among all her china heirlooms. “You drive a hard bargain. You should one day do very well running Burke’s, of that I have no doubt.

All right, done! I agree to your terms, but only because I know I won’t lose. ”

“Aunt Penelope, you are a romantic.”

“I know, I know! Isn’t it wonderful?”

But in the week before the ball, it did seem as though Lady Orrick would lose.

On his return, the Marquis of Stefton resumed the habits he’d established before his trip to Nottingham.

He continued the afternoon rides with Catherine, though now, at his invitation, their parties also included Soothcoor, the twins, and several of their suitors.

There was never the opportunity for private conversation in such a large group, nor did the Marquis appear to desire private discourse.

Never again did he and Catherine exchange amused glances at the idiosyncrasies of people.

At balls, routs, and other social events, he could be counted upon for one dance or a short conversation of social inanity dealing with such subjects as Catherine’s health and the health of her cousins, the weather, Byron’s poetry, or Brummell’s flight from his creditors.

In the face of Stefton’s formality, Catherine retreated to like behavior, saving her smiles and laughs for others.

And there were plenty of others flocking around her, for all Society soon learned of Catherine’s wealth.

At first, there was displeasure among the ton, and some people cut her acquaintance.

But they were in the minority, for the combination of money and birth were the immediate tickets to the beau monde.

To assuage the old guard sticklers who took offense at her dishonesty, Lady Orrick and Lord Harth set it about that Catherine’s play-acting stemmed from a desire to avoid fortune hunters.

They also said, to Catherine’s chagrin, that their niece was a great romantic who desired to be loved for herself and had felt the way to do so was to pretend she didn’t have money.

Lady Harth was painted as the innocent victim of Catherine’s machinations.

Their diplomatic explanations soon caused even the strictest Society matron to unbend toward Catherine.

Many felt it behooved them to deliver a lecture on the impropriety of her actions, but afterward, they all forgave her, calling her a clever little puss, and then chucked her under the chin or pinched her cheeks.

Catherine suffered it all with good grace, deeming it her penance.

It was not the worst of her trials. Seeing the Marquis every day was the worst. Her love for Stefton sat like a cold, oppressive lump in her chest. Sometimes the weight would get so heavy she felt out of breath and suffocating.

These feelings angered her, and she railed against them; sometimes, she railed enough to even banish them for brief moments.

But through it all, she smiled and laughed, seeming to enjoy her newfound popularity.