Claybourne was obviously not happy. But then neither was she. She needed him to see that Frannie was learning, because Catherine was growing desperate for him to take care of the problem of Avendale. But Frannie wasn’t cooperating. She was acting as though she knew nothing. And Claybourne had his dratted elbow on the table. He looked as though he was going to slip out of his chair.
“We are hosting a proper dinner. One does not lounge during a proper dinner,” Catherine finally told him.
He sipped more wine. “It is Frannie who needs the lessons, not I.”
“That is hardly evident by observing your behavior now. We either do this properly or not at all.”
“I vote for not at all. I’m bored with this endeavor. I’m certain Frannie has grasped the gist of the occasion.”
Catherine had gone to the trouble of dressing properly for the occasion. For these people, she’d put aside the nightly reading to her father who was weaker and paler than ever. She’d spent the afternoon reassuring Winnie that Avendale wouldn’t kill her. She’d met with her father’s man of business only to discover that some of the investments he’d recommended were not going to pay off as well as he’d hoped—they weren’t going to pay off at all. She’d heard not a blasted word from her brother, and when he finally did return to England’s shores, he might do so only to discover that he no longer had a source of income, that the estates were in decline—because of ventures she’d approved.
And now Claybourne was bored! He was fortunate a length of table separated them or she’d reach out and slap the boredom right off his face. Since she couldn’t reach him, she threw words at him.
“You seem to have little understanding of the aristocracy. Do you believe everything we do is for our pleasure? I can assure you, sir, that it is not. We do it because it is required. We do it because it is a duty. We do it because it is expected. How much more difficult it is to do things because they are right, proper, and required. How much easier life would be for all of us if we could go about and do things willy-nilly, however we pleased. It is the very fact that we understand responsibility and adhere to it that raises us above the common man. I am becoming quite weary of your mocking me.
“Do you think this is easy for me? These ridiculously late hours? Perhaps you can lounge about all morning, but not I. I have a household to oversee.”
She was suddenly aware of the tears washing down her cheeks.
“Catherine?” Claybourne was no longer lounging. He was coming up out of his chair.
“Oh, forgive me. That—that was not polite at all. Please excuse me, I need a moment.” She rose and walked out of the room.
Luke watched her leave. He’d been insolent and rude. He was upset with Frannie for not trying harder. He was angry with Catherine for having the habit of touching the tip of her tongue to her top lip—just a quick touch, barely noticeable, but he noticed—after each sip of wine as though she needed to gather the last drop. He was angry at Bill for smiling at Catherine, for pretending to have an interest in the amount of rain that was falling on London this summer. He was furious with himself because he wanted to gather that wine from Catherine’s lips with his own. He was furious because he was intrigued with Catherine, because he was noticing so many things about her—the way the light captured her hair, revealing that it wasn’t all the same shade of blond. Some strands were paler than others. He told himself that his interest in Catherine was only because he didn’t know her well, while he knew everything about Frannie. They’d grown up together. There was little for them to learn about each other. But Catherine was another matter entirely.
He looked at Bill and Frannie. “I should check on her.”
“Of course, you should,” Frannie said, “more than a moment ago as a matter of fact.”
He strode from the room and looked in the parlor. She wasn’t there. Dread tightened his stomach. What if she’d left? What if she was out walking the streets? What if she’d put herself in harm’s way?
Walking into the library, he found her standing by the window, looking onto the garden as she’d been that first night in his home. Only this time she didn’t jerk around in surprise by his presence. When she faced him, he saw the fury and disappointment in her eyes. She didn’t give him time to say a word before she continued her tirade.
“You say you are willing to do whatever necessary to have Frannie as your wife, but I do not see you doing everything required. I see you doing only what it pleases you to do and calling it sufficient to gain what you want. Whereas I must—”