Her mother kissed her cheek. ‘I don’t want to see you hurt. It’s better to head these things off before they become confusing.’ In other words, before they become dangerous, before the rashness of youth and hot blood took them down a path only one of them could afford to travel. Catherine thought it might be too late for that. Oh, there was no physical damage done. She knew the real damage her mother alluded to. One couldn’t come of age in Paris and not know. But emotions, her emotions, were engaged and she rather thought Finn’s were, too, even if he would deny them.
‘Now, darling, we need to get dressed. It won’t do to be late to the ball when we don’t have to go any further than downstairs.’
All she had to do was go downstairs? Catherine thought. She might as well go to the moon. Going downstairs was proving to be nearly as difficult. She stared at her reflection in the vanity mirror. Was a dalliance all Finn saw when he looked at her? Did he look at her and see a nice but unsuitable girl? Her mother had meant well with her blunt speech, but now Catherine had to face the opening quadrille with Finn and her newborn doubts.
No, she wasn’t going to think of it that way. Catherine put her mental foot down. She’d been looking forward to the Yule Ball and she had a beautiful gown she’d been saving for the occasion. She wasn’t going to let a warning about Finn get in the way of that. Forewarned was forearmed. She would dance with Finn and with Channing and with the other young men present and that would be that. Except perhaps with Channing. She’d spent precious little time with Channing today. With her mother’s warning tucked in her mind, tonight might be the perfect opportunity to return more fully to her original intentions.
The maid came and helped her finish her preparations, fussing with Catherine’s simple hairstyle and helping her slide into the frothy gown of white silk and lace. ‘Oh, miss...’ the girl sighed appreciatively as she tied the wide blue sash about Catherine’s waist ‘...you look an absolute treat. The gentlemen won’t be able to keep their eyes off you!’
Catherine smiled and studied the gown in the long mirror. The bodice, done en coeur, left her shoulders bare, the delicate fall of lace veed to the centre of her bosom, drawing the viewer’s eye downwards to the tight-fitted waist and the gentle, natural curve of the full skirt over her hips. The skirt would bell out nicely, but not obtrusively, when she danced. The style was simple, but the fabrics were of the finest, the tailoring of the latest preferences from the fall of lace at the bodice draped à la Sevigne to the silk-de-chine scarf she would carry for effect. The ensemble was perfection.
Catherine slipped her feet into matching white slippers, an enormous luxury. She wouldn’t get more than one night out of the delicate shoes before they would look dingy. But her great-aunt had insisted and bought them as a farewell gift. The image in the mirror smiled.
* * *
By the time Catherine joined her parents in the receiving line her resolve had returned.
And was immediately tested.
Finn stood at the ballroom door alongside his mother and father, greeting guests who’d been invited along with the house party, looking resplendent in dark evening attire. His jacket was cut tight across his shoulders, emphasising their breadth, and tapered at the waist to show off the trim, masculine line of him, long legs and all. His hair, walnut-dark like his father’s, gleamed in the light, his jaw stern. But his eyes! Oh, his eyes were like liquid chocolate, warm and seductive all at once. It was his innate sincerity, Catherine thought, that created the look. She wanted to fall into them. Surely, any woman would want to. Funny, how she’d failed to notice such charms until now.
‘Good evening, Mr Emerson, Mrs Emerson,’ the countess gushed sincerely. ‘Catherine, dear, you look stunning.’ Finn’s mother smiled warmly. ‘The girls are already inside waiting for you. Finn, doesn’t Catherine look lovely?’
She felt Finn’s eyes on her as she curtsied to the earl, trying to act formal and informal all at once as if nothing was out of the ordinary. It was odd enough to curtsy to the earl, who was like a second father to her, to say nothing of feeling Finn’s not-so-neutral gaze while she did it. But the proprieties must be observed on such occasions. Both the countess and her mother were sticklers on that account. Familiarity bred complacency and complacency bred slovenly behaviour.
‘I thought you might miss our dance,’ Finn said once she reached him. He offered her his arm. There was to be no reprieve then, no time to drift over to visit with Meredith and Alyson and let her senses settle. ‘The sets are starting to form and you’ll want to see the ballroom.’ He bent close to her ear conspiratorially. ‘Mother has outdone herself this year.’