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“Now, where was I? Ah, yes, the drollest thing has occurred, though I must admit, neither Gwen nor Mary see it quite in the same light as I do, but no matter. Anyway, the Countess of Seaverness says four Shreveton girls have not been presented, and she would like to make a grand gesture and present all four to Society at once in a single Season. I dare swear the woman has no idea what she will be letting herself in for, to have four young women in her home with all the problems of shopping for four, the entertaining, the suitors. Why I do think it would be vastly fatiguing. But I must confess, my dear, what positively has me in whoops is that it’s obvious by her invitation she thinks you have never been to London because you are too poor and very plain!

I believe that is what has put Gwen and Mary in queer stirrups, but I see how she came to have such a mistaken idea. ”

Catherine’s mind was in a whirl, but she knew she could not make any more untoward comments. She was somewhat piqued at the cavalier manner of her aunt, of all people, and gasped slightly when she read the letter Deirdre placed in her hand.

“Is it not plain from this she thinks of me in a different light than my cousins? I am sure she would not care if I did not take her invitation. It seems only a gesture. Besides, she would be sadly disappointed in me. I have no desire to be wed, and I think I have reached the age where a woman must realize her situation in life and take it with good grace,” she said, trying to assume a mien of quiet dignity.

“I—” Catherine broke off abruptly when she caught sight of her uncle’s flushed countenance.

“Enough! We will have no more discussion,” Sir Eugene said angrily as he paced the floor. “You will go to London because I say you will go!”

All the ladies looked at him in surprise.

It was out of character for him to take a stance against Catherine.

He had, however, been suffering a twinge of guilt since his mother had brought Catherine’s situation to his attention.

He knew he frequently disregarded Catherine’s feminine nature.

He had desperately wanted a son to share his plans for the future; Catherine, with her tomboyish ways, had filled that role, and he had continued to allow her to do so, partially because she shared his love of horses, and partially if truth be told, because he received an odd satisfaction from encouraging her to go against the established role for women.

He would not have wanted his Deirdre to be any other than the warm, profoundly feminine woman she was.

He came to the conclusion he had to right his wrong immediately for Catherine’s good.

He stopped his pacing and glared down at her.

“You will listen to Mother, Mary, and Deirdre, and you will do as they say and go to London.” With that parting shot, he strode out of the room.

Deirdre shook her head in dismay, slightly smiling as she watched her beloved husband leave. She exchanged slight glances with Mary and Gwen before turning once more to Catherine.

Catherine, for her part, sat dumbfounded. Never before had she seen her uncle exhibit such a closed mind. His attitude sparked a flame of resentment. She compressed her lips tightly.

Mary, bereft of a handkerchief, wrung her hands in agitation and looked pained.

Gwen sat very upright in her chair, carefully schooling her face not to show any sympathy to Catherine for Sir Eugene’s treatment of the situation.

She did not know whether she was distressed by his bluntness or relieved to have the situation set forward so explicitly.

After watching for some moments the ebb and flow of emotions across Catherine’s face, Deirdre deemed it time to settle the emotionally charged atmosphere.

“Tea should be ready,” she said as she pulled the bell-rope next to her. “I believe Cook baked some spice cakes today which I dearly would like, for I am famished.”

Sir Eugene’s mind churned as he descended the stairs and crossed the hall to the library. His mind was still caught up on the problem of his niece when he entered, and it was with a start he remembered his guest.

“Stefton, my apologies. I have been shamefully remiss. A slight domestic problem.” He smiled. “When female relatives surround one, it is not an uncommon occurrence,” he said humorously.

The Marquis inclined his head in acknowledgment of the apology then sipped his Fifefield brewed ale. “We have known each other many years, Burke. No need to stand on ceremony, I assure you. Dawes and your staff have been most accommodating.”

Sir Eugene poured himself a mug, paced the room a moment, and then sat down across from his guest.

“You saw my niece. Now I must ask that you forget you ever did, particularly her unusual attire.”

The Marquis raised an eyebrow in polite inquiry, then shrugged. “I have a lamentable memory. Consider it forgotten.”

Sir Eugene frowned down at the mug he held. “Catherine is my heir.”

“She is a fortunate young woman,” Lord Stefton murmured.

“I don’t know.” He rubbed his hand along the back of his neck to ease tight muscles. “I am sending her to London this spring to be presented, probably at least three years too late. Her aunt, the Countess of Seaverness, is taking her."

"Lady Harth?”

“Yes. You look surprised.”

“Surprised? Yes, though perhaps amused would be a better word. I didn’t know you were related to Lady Harth."

“My sister married Ralph Shreveton.”

“Ah, one of the younger brothers of Aldric Shreveton, our illustrious Earl of Whelan,” Lord Stefton drawled meaningfully, for it was well known that since his second marriage, this one to his solicitor’s daughter, the Earl had become staid and vulgarly middle-class.

Sir Eugene barked a short, harsh laugh. “Precisely.”

“I account Lady Harth’s son, Viscount St. Ryne, a particular friend of mine. I understand his current absence from the country is a direct result of his mother’s matchmaking propensities. He holds she is attempting to make up for his uncle’s disastrous liaison.”

Sir Eugene shrugged. “I care not for Lady Harth’s reasons. My concern is for Catherine. She is old to be presented. I would be distressed to learn she was considered an ape-leader.”

“May I inquire her age?”

“She will be two-and-twenty this spring.”

“Definitely an ape-leader,” Lord Stefton said callously.

Sir Eugene opened his mouth to issue a scathing retort, then shut it, his lips compressed against ill-considered words.

“A wise decision,” Stefton said, amused.

Sir Eugene’s face cleared, and he leaned earnestly toward Lord Stefton. “You are an influential figure in Society. Perhaps if you...”

A warning silver light flared briefly in the Marquis’s gray eyes. He would have thought Sir Eugene above such pandering. “You flatter me. It is my understanding, however, that my—ah—reputation encourages debutantes to stay out of my orb.”

“Hear me out a moment. I am not suggesting you should make her one of your flirts; however, if you could see your way clear to speaking with her a moment at some ball or other, it would raise her credit in the eyes of Society. It may help remove the stigma of her age. I tell you, Stefton, I would not ask if she were a blushing seventeen-year-old, and do not be afraid she would languish for your attention, for I don’t believe you’re in her style. ”

A frown creased the Marquis’s brow, and his lips thinned.

Not in her style! he thought, irritated.

He studied Sir Eugene silently; finally, a wry smile lifted the corners of his finely-chiseled mouth.

He had come close to taking himself too seriously, for he admitted a twinge of pique at the thought that some woman might be immune to his charms. He remembered Catherine’s animated expression when she talked to Dawes and the sweet curves displayed to advantage in her close-fitting breeches. It might be interesting. . .

“Shall I bring her into fashion?” he asked his host.

A horrified look captured Sir Eugene’s features. “No! I mean, I do not wish you to put yourself out in any way.”

Lord Stefton waved a hand to dismiss his concern, then that wry smile spread to his eyes, and he took another sip of ale. “I promise, she shall not be overlooked.”

“Aunt Dee, I can’t see what there is to laugh about!

” Catherine exclaimed later that day as she paced the floor of Deirdre's sitting room. “Nor why everyone, particularly Uncle Gene, must needs run my life. I have no desire to put on airs and simper and coo as other empty-headed females jockeying for the supposed honor of some man’s name and then being virtually auctioned off like a horse at Tattersall’s! ”

Deirdre watched Catherine in silence, allowing her to expend her nervous energy before talking to her.

She dispassionately noted her niece’s cheeks were stained a deep rose from her agitated state and wondered if the child realized how beautiful she was when she was angry.

Quietly, she drew an embroidery stand in front of her and began separating the bright strands of silk.

“I have no need to be wed, and I cannot like others meddling in my affairs,” Catherine finished.

“Are you so sure we make plans just for you?” Deirdre returned placidly.

Catherine stopped her pacing and looked over her shoulder at her aunt.

“Are you so sure of yourself? Mayhap you are acting a trifle selfish,” Deirdre continued, speaking softly to calm her as Catherine and Eugene would calm a high-strung colt.

“What do you mean?” Catherine sat down in the chair beside Deirdre’s.

Deirdre sighed and leaned back. She smiled fondly at her niece. Somehow she was feeling the elderly aunt, though only twelve years separated them.

“Squire Leftwich has wanted this year past to wed your mama, and she is not against the idea; however, she will not do so as long as you are not settled.”

“But I am.”

“Not in a mother’s eyes, my dear. Your grandmother thinks your mother is being too missish, but--well, honestly my dear, having you around is a constant reminder to her of her age.

While you are not by, she is as giddy as a young girl in the throes of her first romance.

Your grandmother believes, and I agree, if you were absent a few weeks, the little romance could come to fruition. ”

Lady Deirdre bent her head a moment to thread her needle.

“You must also consider your inheritance. Frankly, you need a bit of town bronze. Remember, your Uncle Gene took the Grand Tour before he took over Fifefield and came to learn about people, which has made him all the sharper in dealing with those who would purchase a Burke horse. You are spiting yourself by not taking advantage of the opportunities. Why, I am sure your aunt must move in the first circles, among just the people who would purchase our horses. Think of the connections!” She was silent for a moment as she regarded Catherine, her head tilted to one side and her hands for once still in her lap.

Making a decision, she picked up her needle and guided it through the fabric before her.

“No one says you have to simper and coo. Play a part if you wish. Take the town by storm, or be exactly what the countess expects you to be. A nothing.” Deirdre shrugged slightly.

“It is really of no matter. But do stop thinking we are trying to run your life. We are merely attempting to throw opportunities your way. We, however, cannot tell you what you should discover from this situation.”

Catherine frowned. “I still cannot like it, though there is much in what you say.”

She suddenly remembered the stranger by the stable yard and the way he had stared at her. A slight blush flared over her cheeks in memory of the strange sensations he’d aroused.

“But I will not be on display!” She rose and circled the room again before stopping before Deirdre. “I think I will be what Lady Harth expects: a plain, meek mouse.”

Deirdre giggled, though not for the reasons Catherine thought.

For all Catherine’s vivacious nature, there was a streak of shyness in her that would allow her to be cruelly hurt unless she had some protection.

Playing the mouse would make it her game and give her confidence as she came to know the people around her.

Deirdre doubted her ability to maintain such a role indefinitely, for her spirits were too high.

“If that is your wish. We’ll let it be our secret. Your uncle, your grandmother, and your mother would be hurt if they knew, for they have so much pride in you.”

Catherine nodded, her mind busy forming, testing, and discarding ideas for the intended role. Deirdre giggled again and reached out to draw her niece to sit by her so they could begin planning the campaign.