Page 13 of The Making of Lady Catherine de Bourgh

Chapter thirteen

M artha laced Catherine’s stays with expertise by the end of April. “Are we dressing for someone in particular, my lady?” The helpful maid smiled and winked at Catherine while she laid rejected ribbon and gloves aside, obviously hinting at a suitor. Catherine did not think it wise to share much with the girl. She hardly knew her. Though she missed the confidence she had once shared with Jones. There was nothing quite so intimate as one’s relationship with a personal maid.

No harm could come, so long as she did not mention names.

“I do think there are some rather fine gentlemen in the area.” Catherine tested the waters.

“The girls downstairs have some ideas about a gentleman who seems to follow you around with his eyes. I told them to stop their gossiping, but you do seem rather particular about your gown, hair styling, and jewellery tonight. I wondered if maybe the girls were right. A suitor! My mother will never believe me if I tell her I dressed the earl’s daughter when she met her future husband!”

They were in Kent—a new place for both of them—and they had spent many hours sharing information back and forth about what they had learned about places and people. No one was better about uncovering information than a trusted servant. Perhaps it was time to charge Martha with further responsibilities.

“Tell me your surname,” Catherine said.

“It is Dawson, my lady.”

“Dawson. Well, that is what I shall call you from now on. You are a lady’s maid, are you not? It is time others addressed you as such. I shall tell the housekeeper.”

“Does that mean you will keep me on, my lady?” Dawson looked at Catherine with awe.

“It is unlikely that Jones will desire to continue on as my lady’s maid, even after our return to Derbyshire. If she wants the position when we do return to Oakley, I shall provide you references to ensure you are situated as a lady’s maid. However, Jones’s mother continues to suffer, and I feel her place will remain at home. She will be well taken care of. Have no worries there.”

Dawson smiled with pure joy.

“I think we are finished, Dawson. You are excused for the evening. We will not likely return until the small hours of the night, so you might rest now until we arrive home.”

Catherine indulged in a little vanity once Dawson had left the room, staring at herself in the mirror and anticipating the dances she would share with Mr de Bourgh that evening at the assembly.

The assembly rooms were a total crush once again, but this time, Lady Catherine was not a complete stranger to the guests. She and her aunt spent more than a half hour greeting their neighbours and friends.

The dance card tied to her wrist was nearly full by the time Mr de Bourgh approached her to claim a set.

“Forgive my tardiness. I was unavoidably detained. Would you do me the honour of standing up with me tonight?”

Catherine preened at the attention. “I thank you, yes,” she responded, holding out her wrist so that he might choose one of the last dances of the evening.

“You must excuse me, sir. The first set is beginning,” she explained as she watched Mr Hunter approach her for their dance.

“I shall look forward to our set all night.” Mr de Bourgh smiled in her direction and took himself off to the card room with many of the married gentlemen in the area. He was not dancing with anyone else! What a boon for her confidence it was to know her fondness for him was reciprocated.

The room was much warmer than she remembered from the previous month, and she rarely had a moment’s reprieve from the dance floor—not that she would complain of such a thing. She was counting down the moments until her set with Mr de Bourgh, and it was nearly time. After that dance, she cared very little how the remainder of the night proceeded, frankly.

As her current partner led her off the dance floor and returned her to her waiting aunt, her heart began racing with anticipation. Her aunt handed her a handkerchief to discreetly wipe her brow and a cold glass of lemonade to quench her thirst.

“Who is your next partner, my dear?” Lady Rosamund asked.

“Mr de Bourgh. Have you seen him?”

“I am sure I am wrong, but I thought I saw him leaving not an hour ago.” Her aunt’s expression betrayed her concern.

“Surely not! He would not depart before our dance.”

“I was unaware that you were acquainted.”

Was their acquaintance unknown to her? Their walks at Rosings had not been disclosed, but her astute aunt could not have missed their other public meetings.

“We met at the last assembly and played cards at Mr and Mrs Fuller’s party.”

“I see. Forgive me, dearest. I had not remembered. You must be correct. I will ask his cousin where he might be found.”

“Pray do not. It is not necessary—” Catherine began to say, but Lady Rosamund was already moving around the edge of the large room in search of Sir Lewis. That was the last man she hoped to see.

“Who did you say was your next partner?” Diana asked, as she stood nearby with her husband.

“Mr de Bourgh,” she said, checking her wrist to ensure she was correct—and she was.

“Sir Lewis’s cousin? Oh, he is long gone,” Mr Bates responded with a chuckle. “A little too deep into the punch and much too short in the pockets, if you do not mind me saying so.”

“What a dreadful thing to say. Of course we mind,” Diana glared at her husband while he continued to look very amused. “Forget every word he said. Shall we sit together for the set? I would hazard a guess that you will not mind a rest after dancing all night. It is well after midnight, I should say.”

Catherine’s stomach dropped at the idea that he had abandoned her. And after all her preparations and anticipation. He over imbibed and gambled too much? That did not sound like the kind and thoughtful gentleman she was acquainted with. What a horrible thing to say about such a gentleman. There was undoubtedly no truth to it, Catherine was certain.

“Would you do me the honour of this dance?”

Catherine looked up from the chair she had claimed and found Sir Lewis standing before her, his hand reaching out to her. He was a poor replacement for his cousin. But Catherine knew she could not deny him the dance, or she would have to sit out the remainder of the night.

“Thank you,” she responded. Her eyes met Lady Rosamund’s, who appeared very pleased with herself for remedying the situation.

Sir Lewis led her onto the dance floor, her hand in his.

She held her chin high as she began to turn through the movements of the dance. It was one she was familiar with, and the steps came easily. She kept her gaze away from Sir Lewis and instead focused on the room and the other couples.

A terrible sound echoed through the room as one of the instrumentalists played the wrong note and proceeded to continue playing in the wrong key. Perhaps the instrument was broken—or the musician a drunkard. Catherine kept a small, polite smile upon her face, as she had been taught.

“Lady Catherine,” Sir Lewis attempted to gain her attention. “What lovely musicianship we are enjoying tonight.”

Atrocious, more like. “Yes, lovely,” she responded.

And when she looked up to finally meet his gaze, she saw him draw his finger down from the top of his forehead to the bridge of his nose and shake his head at her. He had caught her out once again.

She whispered as the steps brought her closer to him, “Did no one teach you it was rude to speak ill of others in company?”

“I am not company , am I?” He grinned at this, making her want to toss him into the Thames.

“My sister Eloise used to say, ‘Kitty, you must keep those types of thoughts to yourself.’ And as such, I have done so. There is no harm in being polite.”

“Kitty?” he mused. “You certainly have more claws than that!”

Hmph. What a ghastly comment. Though her cheeks did heat at the indirect compliment. Perhaps she did have more backbone than she often exhibited with others, but it was a part of yourself you silenced, not put on display.

“Does not your noble lineage impel you to help others? You are a clever girl. You can share what you are truly thinking. Why must you only submit to the whims of society? Those that would disagree with you are likely wrong, and others who would encourage you to tell an untruth for their own gain are selfish indeed.”

Catherine had nothing to say to that. Keeping ruthless control over her emotions was a part of her. She had no experience being frivolous or flippant or fun.

“You would have me behave like a prize fool? Spouting opinions and demands wherever I went? Spurning other’s thoughts and caring only of my own?”

“More fool I,” he said more soberly. “I thought you were made of sterner stuff. I only want you to be yourself.”

Catherine was relieved when the music came to its end and the set was complete. It was a cold comfort to join her friends who were pleased with the evening and enjoying one another’s company. She deeply wanted to relax her hold on her self-control at that moment—to fully embrace how confused she felt and how deeply hurt. Sir Lewis had practically told her she was misleading, and his cousin had abandoned her. What was she doing in Kent anyway? Was she not supposed to be proving to herself and her parents that she could make her own way in the world? At that moment, she deemed all her efforts a great waste of time.

Catherine’s self-pity consumed her. She recognized a familiar loneliness sweep through her—a startling realization as she stood in a sea of people who crowded the assembly room.

Some days later, Lady Catherine found herself enjoying an early May picnic at Waterstone Park, an estate not ten miles from her aunt. The property was vast, and the elderly couple that hosted the event told Catherine and her friends multiple times how happy it made them to see young people enjoying themselves.

Catherine was positioned very carefully on a blanket, propped up just so to support her tightly corseted waist, her skirts splayed out around her. Ruffles of a delicate, floral patterned lace and white silk bows decorated her low, wide neckline, protected by her wide hat, which was fixed at the perfect asymmetrical angle upon her teased hair. She knew she looked divine. She wondered what Mr de Bourgh might think if he came upon her sitting just so out in the fine weather.

She had no notion that the gentleman would join them that day, but she had taken particular care with her toilette in the case that he would. While she was still bothered by his behaviour at the recent assembly, it was only fair to allow him a chance to explain himself.

Diana shared the blanket with her, the deep rose of her gown mingling with Catherine’s lavender skirts. They were the picture of propriety and good breeding; and they were accompanied by their good friends who sat nearby on their own blanket. Virginia and Emilia looked less picturesque as they made sport of each other endlessly and drank too much punch, but to Catherine, they were all becoming very dear.

Their hostess had visited with the girls for a long time, and they were finally alone in their corner of the property, enjoying the shade of a great elm.

“I am not hiding from Lord Metcalfe,” Virginia interrupted Catherine’s thoughts, unladylike laughter pouring out of her.

“I see. And would you say your behaviour has been welcoming?” Diana teased.

“I have not given him an answer, and so my time is my own,” Virginia answered.

“I had no notion to make such a choice,” Diana said.

“As you should have done,” Emilia encouraged Diana. “Mr Bates was a fine catch.”

“Perhaps,” Diana said. “But I do wonder . . .”

“Surely you do not regret your choice?” Catherine interrupted.

“No, but I do see some sense in the concerns my sister shared with me. She wondered if our different temperaments would align when we were married, while my mother assured me they would. But I do find that we spend most of our time apart. We have very little in common. But I am sure that is usual, is it not?”

“My parents spend very little time together,” Catherine responded, encouragingly.

“My father is wild for my mother,” Virginia chimed in, saucily. “They eloped, you know.”

“No!” Emilia responded with no little shock.

“Yes,” Virginia went on. “It was quite the scandal in their day. It is why we do not spend time in town with the earl now.”

“I had no notion,” Diana responded.

Virginia rose from her blanket and stood before the girls, leaning over to dramatically whisper, “And that is what I want for myself. I refuse to make the right choice for only my parent’s sake—or a gentleman’s. My parents were able to choose, and I want the same for myself. Just because Lord Metcalfe is decided upon me does not mean I must relinquish my agency.”

And with that, she sauntered off across the lawn. Within moments, she was looping her hand through Mr Webb’s elbow and walking down to the nearby lake.

“Poor Lord Metcalfe. The scandal,” Diana whispered. “I fear she will regret her choices.”

“That she may, but I am coming around to seeing things more her way,” Catherine responded, surprising even herself. “It is possible that our parents do not know what is best. Perhaps we know our own minds and should be trusted to choose our husbands.”

“Do not let my earlier comments sway you away from what we both know is best. I do not regret marrying.” Diana leaned closer to Catherine and rested her hand on her arm. “I see why my parents thought him a good match. He is. But sometimes it is ever so lonesome.”

After checking to ensure no one had wandered over to their side of the lawn, Diana leaned in and whispered, “And his mother is a complete bore.”

Catherine giggled with her friend at that and was thankful to have some ladies in whom she could confide.

“When will your sister marry?” Emilia asked Catherine. Of course, Emilia wanted to speak of Lady Anne’s upcoming marriage. She was very enamoured with marriage, and Catherine’s quick mention of her sister’s upcoming nuptials had clearly not satisfied her curiosity. To her view, everyone was a romantic and each day held the promise of the beginning of her passionate future. Catherine did not have the heart to tell her where her dreams of grandeur could land her.

“The viscountess writes that she will marry in the second week of June.”

“I am sure your mother is very busy with all the planning. Will you to go to London to witness her nuptials?”

Catherine felt some shame in her banishment from town. “No, I am quite happy here in Kent. I have no desire to cut my time short.”

Diana and Emilia smiled and agreed with her.

“Do you not wish you had been given a second Season in town?” Diana asked.

“I am content,” Catherine said.

She was ashamed that she had never told her new friends the truth of why she was in Kent. She had instead let them think that she and her sister had both been offered one Season in London. This approach required no effort. No one questioned her when she put it that way.

“I would give anything for a Season in town,” Emilia said.

“It is not all as glamourous as you would imagine. The balls and dinner parties are quite exquisite, but you are expected to attend events every night of the week. It is exhausting, and the pressure—the pressure on some of the ladies is quite severe. Oh, to be a gentleman looking for a wife. It is much easier for them. For the ladies, there is so much sitting and waiting and conversing and waiting and sitting—on and on it goes. I would much rather find a gentleman of quality here in Kent.”

This perked up Emilia. “Do you admire a gentleman in the neighbourhood?”

“I may.” Catherine blushed.

“I have seen one showing you marked attention, but I did not want to speak until you addressed the topic first,” Diana responded. “What I would give for you to settle here and be with us always.”

Catherine replied softly, “I do hope to continue my friendship with one gentleman in particular, but one should never raise their hopes too far. It is the gentleman who must speak first.”

Emilia squealed and Diana shushed her.

“Quiet now,” Catherine chided. “A lady must have some secrets.”

“And we are no longer alone,” Diana warned and tapped Catherine’s hand softly with one discreet finger.

Catherine tipped her hat to see who approached and saw Sir Lewis prowling towards the ladies. She looked around them to see if he might be approaching anyone else, but alas, they were the only people in that corner of the lawn.

“Lady Catherine, Mrs Bates, Miss Hawkins,” Sir Lewis greeted them and bowed.

The ladies simpered and smirked while Catherine gritted her teeth and forced a paltry grin upon her face.

“Lady Catherine, I thought you might do me the honour of joining me for a stroll,” Sir Lewis said.

A deep breath was hardly enough to settle her annoyance. That was the last thing she wanted to do. She was perfectly content as she was, enjoying the fine weather with her friends and sitting away from the sunshine.

“Thank you, yes.”

She was nothing if not civil, unfortunately.

Sir Lewis offered her a hand and she placed hers delicately in his while she stood with as much gentleness and femininity as one could in such a gown.

Sir Lewis offered his arm, and Catherine set her hand upon it very gently. She had no reason to hang on him as the other ladies in the neighbourhood did. Let them all throw themselves at the chance to manage Rosings Park; they could have him. If she could get away with it, she would show him no notice.

“A fine day, is it not?” Sir Lewis asked.

“It is,” Catherine replied, and quickly continued, “And I do mean that sincerely. It is not warm, and it is not cool. If the bugs would abandon the party, it would be perfection.”

“Ah, she tells the truth!”

“I am capable of it,” Catherine bit back.

“I am happy to hear it. And are you enjoying yourself?”

“I was.” Frankness could be quite liberating!

He chuckled. “And I have gone and ruined it by removing you from your bosom friends?”

“I would not say such a thing.”

“Of course you would not, but that is not why I asked.”

She tilted her hat to allow herself to take him in. He was dressed very smartly, indeed. The dark blue frock coat and camel-coloured breeches—the grey eyes she would know anywhere, always laughing sinisterly—and that pleased grin of his. If she did not dislike him so much, she would say he was awfully handsome, indeed.

“I am sure you will tell me why,” she finally responded, with more cheer than she expected.

“I wondered if I might steal you away, that is, if you were finding this party very dull. There is a ridge just over there, and from the top you can see the River Darent, and sometimes, on a clear day, you can see the church steeple in Westerham.”

His offer was a strange one. Perhaps he had plans to take her up to that ridge so he might tell her how better to arrange her hair. With him, one never knew. But she did know, for certain, that he seemed to always have ulterior motives. And she wondered if they were all punishment for the night she so grossly abused him at Oakley. If someone had told her to turn back into the rain and use the servant’s entrance, she too might chastise them for many months.

Catherine nodded and looked back at the larger group that stood nearer to the house across the parkland, her aunt among them. Her heart sank when she saw that Mr de Bourgh was also present. He was looking in her direction, and across the field she felt their eyes meet, and he nodded in her direction. She felt a sinking feeling that she had just agreed to spend the remainder of her time at Waterstone Park kept away from the one person she had hoped to see.

As Sir Lewis led her across the lawn, they fell into a contented silence. It was far better than being teased. And when they reached the famed ridge, Catherine could see why Sir Lewis had brought her. Some miles in the distance, one could see the river and the little village.

“Just there, south of the village, there are the remains of an old Roman encampment and beyond it, a tower. When I was a little boy, my father took my brother and me there to explore.” Sir Lewis pointed at his query so that Catherine might better see.

“I was never one to spend time exploring out of doors,” Catherine responded.

“I know, my lady.” And he certainly did. His request for honesty meant that he knew quite a lot about her. But she still knew little about him.

“Were you and your brother close?” She asked quietly.

“We were like many brothers. At odds as much as we were obliging. We were both prepared for different lives. Our parents saw to our education in an exceedingly different manner. And as such, the older we became, the less we understood one another. But I do miss him.”

“I am certain you do.” To be sure, Catherine undoubtedly understood it. Family, as she was learning, had its complications.

“It is easier when I remember our younger years. Life was much simpler then.”

Catherine nodded and felt herself squeeze his elbow in a fleeting moment of camaraderie and support. She too knew what it was to lose a relation.

They spoke no more of his past, and Sir Lewis gave her a brief history lesson on the region. Kent was so different than Derbyshire—all lush green versus the rocky clime of her family seat. She was warming to it and to the people there.

“Shall I return you to Lady Rosamund?” Sir Lewis asked kindlier than expected.

“Yes, thank you,” Catherine responded.

As they made their way back to the lawn party, Catherine was pleased to see that Mr de Bourgh still lingered near a group of gentlemen and was following her with his eyes, as she was him.

Unfortunately, Sir Lewis was leading her in a different direction, towards her aunt. If only a young lady could simply excuse herself and speak to whom she liked. She was starting to see that some of the rules that had guided her greatly principled control were perhaps not for her protection but for propriety’s sake alone. And for the first time in her life, she considered the importance of caution and whether she was willing to part with her once firmly held doctrine.

The word of the day was “scandal.” Virginia Sedgwick had roused much gossip the previous day at the Waterstone picnic, and after a long talk with her parents, had been warned off Mr Webb. If she would not have Lord Metcalfe, she must tell the gentleman. A private ball hosted at his home, Persimmon Park, was being held at the end of the week—and the neighbourhood had long believed that the event was for Virginia and Virginia alone. Her suitor had called in a female cousin to play hostess, and his staff had been putting in orders for weeks in the nearby villages.

“They say I must give him my answer before the ball.” Virginia sniffled into her dainty lace handkerchief. “My father feels it is not right to continue in this manner.”

Diana nodded along and agreed, “You must give him an answer.”

“They say I made a mockery of him yesterday! Why must I make a decision about my entire future just because the viscount down the lane has made his?”

“He is a kind man. Any lady would be honoured—” Always a romantic, Emilia tried to join the fray.

“I have never said he is not kind,” Virginia stammered between tears.

“If you must accept him, do it for yourself,” Catherine said. She was feeling less in concert with her previous notions of blindly following one’s parents. Look where it had brought her. If her friend must accept, let her make that decision with eyes wide open.

Virginia looked stunned by Catherine’s response. “You have always said one should look to their parents for guidance. You surprise me.”

“I am, perhaps, thinking differently as of late. I have been wondering if choosing my own husband could please my parents—and the more I think of it, the less I believe I care.” Her tone was laden with boredom, but she meant every word.

It was not the working of one moment that had led her to this statement but a slow brewing resentment for her past and a desire to influence her own future—for it was truly only she who would be forced to live with the consequences or the advantages.