When they entered the Malloren ballroom, he stopped his daughters, who were already starting to walk away, for a second to follow the routine of every evening.
"Daughters, wait a moment," said Edward in his usual calm and kind tone, "I need to tell you something important," he continued, slowing his customary retreat to some corner. They stopped and looked back at him with surprised and curious faces.
"Catherine, tonight I want you to meet a gentleman. I will introduce you to him at once," he announced, focusing his attention on the eldest, who immediately tensed at his words.
"Is that necessary, father? I don't think it will lead anywhere. She knows that as soon as she sees me, she will rush to find some absurd excuse and run away. That's at best," Catherine replied in her sweet voice, shrugging one of her shoulders nonchalantly.
"Don't say that, child. The gentleman in question is the son of a very dear friend. It will only take a moment, nothing bad will happen, you'll see," she encouraged him, with a reassuring gesture.
"Don't worry, we'll dispatch him quickly and then we'll look for Meredith," Abby interjected when she saw her older sister's contrite gesture.
"Okay, Father. As you wish," she finally agreed, following the marquis, who had started the march in search of the mysterious man.
She knew it was a total waste of time; she had already been there countless times. Whenever she was forced to interact with a gentleman, the result was inevitably the same: she ended up seeing his back moving away at full speed as soon as he found the first opportunity.
However, his father did not seem resigned to the fact. Not even the fact that she was beginning her fifth and final season. For, according to unwritten social rules, it was considered acceptable for an unmarried lady to go through a maximum of five social seasons. After that, she was relegated to the position of official spinster.
The Marquis led them to the refreshment table and handed each daughter a cup. Catherine looked around and confirmed, once again, how much she was looking forward to the end of the season, when she could finally be free. The invitations would gradually cease and she would only have to attend events held by relatives or those close to the family.
Couples circled the runway, and the young woman watched the multitude of faces. Some beaming, others jaded. But they all wore their masks, the one that forced them to show what they were not, that forced them to pretend to be superior and perfect. She was tired of it all, and grateful that the day when she would stop suffering in these horrible evenings was near.
She could almost feel her longed for freedom and the realization of her true passion: writing. Being a spinster would offer her the possibility of pursuing her dream; to become a writer. It was her most intimate desire for as long as she could remember. And she was on the verge of achieving it, as an important gazette was interested in one of her writings. For that reason, it was transcendental that her condition did not change. No nobleman he knew would accept under any circumstances that his wife had such an idea. If she married, she would have to give up her dream, and that she would never do.
"You must only hold out for six months, Catherine. When spring comes to an end, you will be free," she thought, encouraging himself.
Sipping from her glass, she looked longingly at the couples dancing. She loved music and she was good at dancing, but she had only done it twice. In her first season, with the eldest son of a friend of her father's, who was forced to be her escort in a quadrille, and the last time last season, with the man she thought would ask her to marry him. Which didn't happen, for he ended up finding a nicer lady than her, he had told her, but she knew what his words had intended: that he found a less ugly one.
The rest of the seasons had been spent sitting at her flower stand, watching the ladies fill out their dance cards. Deep down it pained her that she had never been able to waltz. And no longer would she, spinsters were not allowed to dance. She would go on to share the place of chaperones, ladies in waiting and old ladies.
Her father cleared his throat next to her, calling her attention.
"Here come the people I told you about," he said, pointing to her right. Catherine followed the direction of his hand and saw the Count de Vander, approaching with her father, the Marquis de Somert. Beside him, Abby snorted in annoyance, which made her smile in amusement. She knew her sister couldn't stand the earl and heir. Although she didn't dislike him, she found him sympathetic. On the contrary, in her sister's words, Colin Lancaster was self"centered, shallow and vain.
"Father, I already know Lord Vander. He danced with me in my first season. "She reminded him, quizzical.
"I know, child. It is not him I want you to greet, but his youngest son," she whispered back without looking at him.
Catherine arched her eyebrows, puzzled. Something strange was happening there. Her father wanted her to greet and exchange words with such a man? She couldn't believe it! Now she really didn't understand anything at all, he had always insisted and stressed to her to stay away from gentlemen like the youngest son of the Marquis Somert.
Of course, she did not know him in person, for he was not someone who was invited to decent events. But his reputation preceded him, his fame adorned every corner of the imaginary structure of the centuries"old aristocracy. That man and his scandals lived on the lips of, practically, everyone in London called him "The Black Knight", and his social record was so, black.
All this crossed his mind the instant the Marquis's party reached his height. Her father greeted his friend and he did the same for the two of them. Then the Lord of Vander kissed her hands and raised an eyebrow when Abby yanked her hand away before he had even brushed them with his lips. His face did not show what he thought of his younger sister's act, for the tall man merely gave a half"smile.
Then, both nobles moved away, and a third gentleman stepped forward.
"And this, daughters, is Nicolas Lancaster. The recent Lord of Lancaster," said her father, introducing him, and he greeted Abby graciously.