Page 5 of The Taming of the Duke
“Ahem—I meant no offense, Miss Parville,” he said. “I’ve observed propriety, and would do nothing to compromise your sister. I was merely saying that…”
“You were making an uninformed judgment about my sister’s character, merely based on the fact that she’s pleasing to the eye.”
A flare of irritation crossed his expression.
“Are you impugning your sister’s character, Miss Parville?”
“No, Lord Horton,” Catherine replied. “I was impugningyours.”
“I…”
“If you wish to dance with a woman merely because you find her appearance appealing, I suggest you find yourself another partner.”
“Perhaps Miss Blanche would like to answer for herself.”
Catherine exchanged a glance with her sister.
Remember Papa’s instructions, Blanche.
As if she understood the silent command, Blanche nodded. “I’m afraid I’m unable to dance, Lord Horton, but thank you for the invitation. Perhaps, another time, when I’m in a position to accept?”
Before Catherine could stop her, Blanche offered her hand. Lord Horton took it and lifted it to his lips. “My dear Miss Blanche,” he said. “I shall await your acceptance with anticipation.” Then he turned to Catherine.
“Miss Parville—a pleasure,” he said in a tone that implied anything but.
As soon as he’d rejoined his friend at the opposite end of the ballroom, Catherine’s sister hissed in her ear.
“Did you have to be so uncivil? He only wanted a dance.”
“It matters not,” Catherine said. “You know what Papa thinks.”
Blanche rolled her eyes. “Yes,” she said, exasperation in her tone. “He won’t let anyone court me until someone courtsyoufirst. But have you considered that I might have enjoyed dancing with someone as handsome as Lord Horton?”
“Beauty’s no guarantee of character, Blanche,” Catherine said. “More often, it goes hand in hand with a poor character.”
“A man cannot help how he looks, Cat, no more than a woman.”
“I disagree.” Catherine gestured around the ballroom at the array of brightly colored silks and feathered headdresses, some so tall that they were in danger of brushing the chandeliers. “You only need look at the primped-up debutantes prancing about—all trying to do each other to secure a man’s attention—to see that I’m right. We live in a world dominated by men and women so insipid that they base their opinions on looks alone.”
Blanche folded her arms and let out a huff. “You’rethe only one basing your opinion on looks, Cat. Perhaps you’re as shallow as those you seek to despise. Or maybe you envy their beauty given your lack of it?”
Catherine averted her gaze as the long-buried memory—ofhiswords—resurfaced.
Who’d want to court an ugly little thing like you, Miss Parville?
A light hand touched her arm, and she turned to see Blanche looking at her out of wide, expressive blue eyes.
“Forgive me, Cat.”
“It matters not,” Catherine replied. “The Spinster Shrew has no feelings, remember?”
“Itdoesmatter, and youdohave feelings,” Blanche insisted. “I’ll never understand why you must conceal them. And I didn’t mean it when I said you lacked beauty. You could have your pick of suitors if you tried—I only ask why you don’t.”
“Believe me, Blanche, you’re better not knowing.”
“You’ve always been kind tome,” Blanche said. “You’re like the mother I never knew. In fact, when I overheard Miss Sandford telling Miss Rowe that you had the disposition of a spider, I had a good mind to tell them both that…”
“Hush!” Catherine said. “It wouldn’t do to tarnish my reputation and have those unbearable creatures believe me to beamicable. I’ve a reputation to uphold.”
