Page 11 of The Making of Lady Catherine de Bourgh

Chapter eleven

April 1782

T he whirlwind that was Kent society was almost as exhausting as a Season in London, but much more enjoyable, to Catherine’s mind. Here, she was an illustrious lady of quality, not only one among a sea of high society ladies.

Early April found Catherine preparing for a dinner at Diana’s house. Diana—Mrs Bates, as she had once called her—was a nervous wreck the day before. Virginia and Miss Hawkins had teased her endlessly about her first true dinner party. There would be exactly nine ladies and nine gentlemen in attendance, Catherine and Lady Rosamund among them. Catherine should know, because she had visited to help prepare place cards two days prior.

Diana lived with her husband’s parents, who had gone to London for two months, and as such, she was delighted to be hosting her first true society event on her own. Even though she had been married since the prior Autumn, she had never been mistress of her own home, and she would not ever be, not until her father-in-law died.

Married women should endeavour to host quality events for their neighbours, Lady Barringer had always said.

After almost six weeks in Kent, Lady Catherine had worn nearly every gown she had brought with her, with the exception of two that she was reserving for only the highest quality events—none of which would likely be held in Kent. And so, she had Martha retrieve one of her favourites for the occasion due to its flattering shape. She was in good looks that night, no doubt due to Martha’s ongoing tutelage. Her new maid was indeed a quick learner, and Catherine hated to admit it, but her hair was looking better than even Jones was capable of.

It was a fine evening, the stars bright in the sky and nary a chill in the air. It was warm for early April. Catherine would know, because she had taken herself off to a balcony to escape the attention of Sir Lewis.

She knew of his return to Kent, but tonight was the first time she had seen the man since Derbyshire. Since it had been many weeks, she had put him out of her mind. But she could not deny that he disturbed her. If only it had been Mr de Bourgh invited instead.

Catherine had seen that gentleman many times on her walks in the gardens at Rosings Park, and each conversation left her feeling more and more partial to his flattering words and attentive nature. It was a pity that Diana had not mentioned his name when selecting her guests.

Catherine had been watching Sir Lewis with great care, lest she be found out. He brought out her curiosity. She had nearly succeeded in concealing her observation when, at liberty to look in his direction once again, she found him staring back at her.

Upon later reflection, it was best if she kept her eyes to herself—though she could not deny that she found him such a peculiar character!

He stood out in a crowd, with a crude sense of style and a casual manner that made her intensely intrigued. He did not behave like the other gentry; he was harsh and bold, with a laugh that nearly shook the table during dinner. But no one else seemed to find his manners crass, they simply tittered along with his revelry. He was an entertaining conversationalist, putting everyone around him at ease, with the exception of her.

Catherine was not simply hiding from Sir Lewis; she was also avoiding sitting at the pianoforte. When you tell people that you play “a little” so often, there is a danger that you may be asked to perform. Most of the ladies in attendance had taken a turn on the instrument in the last hour, and Catherine was biding her time now until tables were pulled out for cards or until such a time as her aunt called for their carriage.

The notes of a familiar song drew Catherine’s attention to the opening French doors, and she found her friend Diana was joining her outside.

“Are you not cold?” Diana inquired.

“Not at all. It is a mild night; do you not agree?”

“Yes, of course,” she replied. “Are you well? I worry when I find one of my guests all alone outside. Is there anything I can get you presently?”

“No, it is only that I enjoy being out of doors.” Diana looked surprised by that, and she should, because it was a blatant lie built into her foundation, stone by stone, by a mother who expected her to be agreeable at all times. “I only needed some fresh air. Let us join the others.”

“Well, now that we are alone, I would be happy if you would remain for a moment.” Diana looked up at the sky and sighed. “Do you think the party is going well?”

“It is splendid, my friend! You need not worry. The table was masterfully set, the food appealing and diverse, and now the entertainment is just as it should be. Congratulations.”

Diana blushed, but she had to know it was going well. Everyone was in such good spirits that night. “Mr Bates said as much, but he is often thoughtful in that way.”

“He seems a fine gentleman, Diana. You are a fortunate lady to have found such a husband.”

“You are correct,” Diana responded, grasping at Catherine’s elbow to lead her back inside. “Oh, and Virginia has invited us all for tea at the parsonage on the morrow. She wants to review every minute of the evening in great detail.”

The ladies both laughed at that. Virginia always wanted to know all the particulars. If only Catherine could be so lucky as Diana. Her marriage was just as it should be, and the manner of marital harmony was what she hoped to one day find for herself.

The next day, after the ladies had swapped accounts of the prior evening, drank their fill of afternoon tea, and ate far too much seed cake, Catherine took herself back to Whitmore. She told Mrs Sedgwick that a maid need not accompany her, for she knew the way by heart now.

Catherine came upon Mr de Bourgh almost immediately. She had not seen him in many days, and it excited her.

“Were you out enjoying a walk, sir?” Catherine asked as he came to saunter beside her.

“I was overseeing some crop and livestock management on the estate as well as some contractual disagreements with the local farmers. There is always much to do.”

“Does not Sir Lewis employ a steward for such things?”

Mr de Bourgh smiled sadly, “If only the man were to be fully trusted, my cousin would not need to call me to Kent so frequently. Besides, I am his heir. It is important I understand the responsibilities of landownership.”

“Where do you hail from?” Catherine asked.

“Originally, my branch of the family is from Sussex, outside of Brighton. Are you familiar with the area?”

“I have heard of it.”

“I imagine you enjoy the sea.” He raised his eyebrows with curiosity.

“And why would you think that?” He was exceptionally wrong, but nevertheless, she wanted to hear his answer.

“Most ladies do, do they not? There is always so much to do in Brighton! Dancing and parties every night. Not so dull as the countryside.”

Catherine thought the idea funny. She had never been so entertained as she had been in Kent.

“I can picture it now—you, walking along the beach, the wind blowing through your hair—it would be breathtaking to behold.” He looked at her with suggestive, narrowed eyes. Her heart was beating faster, and her breath came more quickly.

Catherine was no accomplished flirt, but she could see right through his empty flattery, and she could hardly believe how much she enjoyed it.

He knew her preferences not at all, and yet, she enjoyed hearing his constant stream of obsequiousness. It felt lovely indeed.

An unknown man followed them, calling out to Mr de Bourgh.

“Ah, you see,” he said with an exaggerated sigh. “Here comes Mr Barnes, the steward, now. You must excuse me.”

While she found his attention pleasing, she was relieved to be leaving him at the edge of Rosing Park’s grounds. She hardly knew how to behave around him, and it unsettled her in the best way.

With no small amount of excitement, Catherine fussed with her gloves and patted her hair into place while she and her aunt rode to a card party later in the week.

The carriage moved swiftly through the dark, carrying them to the Fuller’s estate.

“Have I met Mrs Fuller?” Catherine asked her aunt.

“I am not certain. Her son, Mr Barrett Fuller, is likely the true host. But a gentleman cannot send invitations and host a party on his own, now can he?”

“I have heard of him,” Catherine murmured. She did not tell her aunt that it was Mr de Bourgh who had mentioned the gentleman to her.

She had not been able to ask Diana to invite Mr de Bourgh to her event. It would have been too forward a request, indeed; but Mr Fuller was sure to invite him.

The Sedgwicks were the first family they found when they arrived, standing near to Sir Lewis and Lady Tilbury, a kindly widow who lived nearer to the village. Sir Lewis dragged his eyes from Lady Rosamund to greet Catherine. Though his greeting was all that was formal, a rogue glint in his eyes set her pulse skittering for an escape from his attention. Pulling on Virginia’s arm, Catherine gently guided her friend away from the small crowd of neighbours and towards the tables that had been set for play.

All night, Catherine looked about the crowded rooms for Mr de Bourgh. When not playing Quadrille or Picquet, she was feigning interest in the people filling each room.

At last, her wish came true, as she espied him across the corridor, near the door of the salon. He was apart from the regular guests, appearing to have only arrived at this late hour.

“Mr de Bourgh,” Catherine welcomed the gentleman with a curtsey.

“My lady,” he said as he gathered one of her hands in his own and laid a kiss on her gloved knuckles. “I am sorry to arrive late. Have I missed all the fun?”

He grinned from ear to ear. This man made his own fun, she imagined.

“No sir, I was just about to sit down for another game.”

She quickly invited him to help make up her pool of Quadrille. Mr and Mrs Bates joined them at the table. Mr de Bourgh’s marked attention was a delight after years of being overlooked by the gentlemen of her acquaintance. Mrs Bates seemed to take no notice, however; her face was serious the entire game, focused only on her cards and her next trick. While it was a game where one played for oneself, Mrs Bates frequently called her husband into an alliance to prevent the others at the table from winning. In response, Mr de Bourgh would send a competitive expression in Catherine’s direction, sending her heart aflutter at his generosity of spirit. She did enjoy winning.

Mr de Bourgh began a sort of secret language, nudging Catherine’s elbow discreetly when he had the highest card or highest trump. In response, Catherine would play a card of lesser importance when it was her turn so he might win the trick. His smile was addictive, and she sought to keep impressing him and gaining his favour slyly through the gameplay.

Some hours later, their host served a supper for all in attendance. After many hours of imbibing and heated game play, the meal was much needed.

“Come sit here with me,” Lady Rosamund called Catherine over.

To her great disdain, Sir Lewis joined her on her right.

“Enjoying your evening?” He asked her, once they had filled their plates.

“Is it still evening, sir?” She had no interest in empty banter with her least favourite neighbour.

He chuckled at her combativeness. “It is nearly midnight, my lady.”

“And yes, I am enjoying myself. I do love card games.” Her tone was dripping with haughtiness.

“Do you? I might have guessed otherwise.”

Annoying man. “And why is that?”

“I observed you most carefully tonight,” he said. “It would be a stretch to say that a lady who loses on purpose enjoys playing cards.”

“I beg your pardon. I certainly do not lose on purpose.”

Catherine grunted a very unladylike grunt. And her aunt quit her conversation with her neighbour to ask after her well-being. Catherine responded that all was well and turned back to Sir Lewis with a reproving expression.

He seemed amused by the disruption of her pleasure. It had been such a lovely night. Why did this man seem to be waiting for a moment to pounce on her fun.

“I was surprised to see you playing cards with my cousin,” Sir Lewis pointedly said to Lady Catherine.

“And why is that?” Lady Catherine realized she had raised her voice once again and moderated it as she continued, “The Fullers are generous to invite most of their neighbours.”

“I hope he has not imposed himself upon your kindness.”

What a vulgar thing to say about a lady! And his cousin, no less. His roguish smile increased her ire. No wonder she thought him a footman the first time she laid eyes on him. Mr de Bourgh should be relieved to know that he will take on Rosings one day. The current master was mad!

“Of course he has not. Mr de Bourgh is a gentleman!”

“Would a gentleman entice a young lady to play poorly so he might win a few shillings?”

Nettlesome man.

“Nothing to say to that, Lady Catherine?” Sir Lewis purred.

Abruptly, she felt his breath near to her right ear. “I have seen you win. It is obvious it brings you joy. Do not feign ignorance for a foolish gentleman who is undeserving of your attention. Win, my lady.”

And with that, he stood from his chair and left the table.

Barringer House, London April 10, 1782 My dearest Catherine, I enjoyed your last letter immensely. What characters you have met in Kent! I especially would like to meet a few of the gentlemen you have mentioned. Would that I could be spirited away from town and join you for a time. But, alas, you know your mother expects me here. I am happy to report that the family is well, and all are healthy. I apologise that it has been more than a week since my last letter. I am woefully behind in my correspondence. As you know from your mother’s last note, your sister made her curtsey, and your mother hosted a ball in her honour. It has been no great secret to the ton that one particular gentleman has intentions for your sister. We have explained how grateful we are that you have travelled to Kent to your dear aunt Lady Rosamund given that she was in low spirits. Many remark upon your absence and quickly applaud you for being the most thoughtful girl in all of England for sacrificing your Season in town. You are a hero, my dear! The gentleman from Derbyshire calls each day and sends flowers regularly. There can be no question as to his intentions. It has been decided that an announcement will be made among family and close friends in the coming week, and then of course, the news will be carried more broadly. Your mother plans to host the resulting significant event in mid-June. I only regret that it will require a longer stay in London than I had previously hoped. I may send Nanny Mary back to Oakley with my sons before June. They are rather confined here in town, and Barringer House feels much smaller when two little boisterous boys are making noise at all hours. I applaud your courage and openness, my dear. I fear you are having much more fun than I. Please do continue to write, and do not hold back in your next letter. I expect each and every detail so that I might live vicariously through you. Please be well, and send news of good health and prosperity. Affectionately yours, Elinor

Catherine set down the letter. A hero, Elinor may claim her to be, but the idea of the false narrative being talked about in drawing rooms and salons across London put Catherine immediately out of countenance. The encouragement from Lady Ashby would not assuage her fear that her absence this Season would follow her for the rest of her days. Just as she was warned before she left Oakley, adept gentry would know it was a farce and would assume the worst. Whispers were likely filling the halls of town each day with talk about her—presuming her a ruined daughter or a scandal monger. Fine daughters were not sent away, and the ton was practiced and clever when it came to secrets. Though on occasion well meaning, they were never kept long.