I’m Katherine Lindsey, only do call me Kat. That is how my family and friends address me, and I have a suspicion you and I will be great friends, indeed.” She extended her hand.
The tall woman hesitated and then dropped the hankie and clasped Kate’s hand in a reassuringly firm shake. “I’m Caledonia Rivers, but I prefer Callie. Caledonia sounds rather fierce, I think.”
Breaking hands, Miss Rivers crossed to the settee and sank down on the velvet-covered cushion. Eying it, Kate confirmed it was, indeed, the same drab pink as the smirking blonde’s ugly gown.
“Then it suits you. You were fierce—and splendid.” In no hurry to leave her hideaway to return to the madding crowd, Kate settled onto the cushion beside her. “We’re both rebels in our way, you because of your politics and I because of my refusal to become leg-shackled to some man simply because every woman of a certain age and station is told she must marry.”
Shoulders drooping, Callie admitted, “True enough, only I feel such a fool. I shouldn’t have lost my temper as I did.”
Kate resisted the impulse to wrap her arm about the woman’s shoulders as she would have done her own sister. But alas, they were British, after all, and the nearest thing to strangers.
“Nonsense, you’d every right to give that lot the dressing-down you did, but then again, I’m known to have a bit of temper myself.” There was an understatement. The past month, she’d smashed a crockery bowl and two vases after learning of her father’s latest spree. “As to the rubbish about your gown and looks, pay it no heed. You’ve managed to draw the undivided attention of every male in the room—the breathing ones, at any rate.”
Turning to face her, Callie sent her a knowing look. “Not quite every male, I should think.”
Kate felt warmth rush to her cheeks and knew the flush had nothing to do with her earlier tears. She was blushing.
“If you’re speaking of Mr. O’Rourke, I assure you I’ve done nothing to encourage him.” It seemed being a mature woman of almost twenty-seven hadn’t yet afforded her the invisibility she’d hoped.
Callie shook her head and smiled. “It would seem you need do nothing at all. He is quite clearly smitten.”
Kate tapped her gloved finger against her lips, thinking yet again about how nice it might be to kiss him, only not in the middle of a ballroom floor, but rather someplace private—and dark. Rather than risk betraying herself, she shifted the subject to her new friend. “Hmm, I rather think the same could be said of Hadrian. Mr. St. Claire, I should say.”
The suffragette’s green eyes widened, the irises a slightly paler shade than Mr. O’Rourke’s, more of a jade color, whereas the Scot’s were a deep, rich emerald. Dear Lord, was she truly mooning over a man’s eyes? How unlike her. She could almost believe he’d used their brief time on the dance floor to hypnotize her. She wasn’t acting at all like her capable, practical self.
“That’s why you look so familiar. Why, you’re one of his PBs, Professional Beauties, aren’t you, his best seller?”
Kate shrugged, not sure whether to be flattered or embarrassed at being so recognized. A bit of both, she supposed. “It’s a great deal of stuff and nonsense, but then again, it pays the accounts.”
Uh-oh.
She must be off her game, indeed, to let that last bit slip out. Ladies in her position weren’t supposed to permit sordid matters of custom entry into their pretty, empty heads. Fearing she might give more of herself away if she lingered
a deux,
she popped up from her seat. “Shall we go back in? I for one could do with a drink.”
Once she’d gotten home and deposited her father, fully dressed, into bed for the night, Kate had hoped to find solace behind the closed door of her bedroom, but such was not to be. Crossing the threshold, she found Beatrice, Bea, waiting for her inside.
Long legs tucked beneath her night rail, her sister
The tall woman hesitated and then dropped the hankie and clasped Kate’s hand in a reassuringly firm shake. “I’m Caledonia Rivers, but I prefer Callie. Caledonia sounds rather fierce, I think.”
Breaking hands, Miss Rivers crossed to the settee and sank down on the velvet-covered cushion. Eying it, Kate confirmed it was, indeed, the same drab pink as the smirking blonde’s ugly gown.
“Then it suits you. You were fierce—and splendid.” In no hurry to leave her hideaway to return to the madding crowd, Kate settled onto the cushion beside her. “We’re both rebels in our way, you because of your politics and I because of my refusal to become leg-shackled to some man simply because every woman of a certain age and station is told she must marry.”
Shoulders drooping, Callie admitted, “True enough, only I feel such a fool. I shouldn’t have lost my temper as I did.”
Kate resisted the impulse to wrap her arm about the woman’s shoulders as she would have done her own sister. But alas, they were British, after all, and the nearest thing to strangers.
“Nonsense, you’d every right to give that lot the dressing-down you did, but then again, I’m known to have a bit of temper myself.” There was an understatement. The past month, she’d smashed a crockery bowl and two vases after learning of her father’s latest spree. “As to the rubbish about your gown and looks, pay it no heed. You’ve managed to draw the undivided attention of every male in the room—the breathing ones, at any rate.”
Turning to face her, Callie sent her a knowing look. “Not quite every male, I should think.”
Kate felt warmth rush to her cheeks and knew the flush had nothing to do with her earlier tears. She was blushing.
“If you’re speaking of Mr. O’Rourke, I assure you I’ve done nothing to encourage him.” It seemed being a mature woman of almost twenty-seven hadn’t yet afforded her the invisibility she’d hoped.
Callie shook her head and smiled. “It would seem you need do nothing at all. He is quite clearly smitten.”
Kate tapped her gloved finger against her lips, thinking yet again about how nice it might be to kiss him, only not in the middle of a ballroom floor, but rather someplace private—and dark. Rather than risk betraying herself, she shifted the subject to her new friend. “Hmm, I rather think the same could be said of Hadrian. Mr. St. Claire, I should say.”
The suffragette’s green eyes widened, the irises a slightly paler shade than Mr. O’Rourke’s, more of a jade color, whereas the Scot’s were a deep, rich emerald. Dear Lord, was she truly mooning over a man’s eyes? How unlike her. She could almost believe he’d used their brief time on the dance floor to hypnotize her. She wasn’t acting at all like her capable, practical self.
“That’s why you look so familiar. Why, you’re one of his PBs, Professional Beauties, aren’t you, his best seller?”
Kate shrugged, not sure whether to be flattered or embarrassed at being so recognized. A bit of both, she supposed. “It’s a great deal of stuff and nonsense, but then again, it pays the accounts.”
Uh-oh.
She must be off her game, indeed, to let that last bit slip out. Ladies in her position weren’t supposed to permit sordid matters of custom entry into their pretty, empty heads. Fearing she might give more of herself away if she lingered
a deux,
she popped up from her seat. “Shall we go back in? I for one could do with a drink.”
Once she’d gotten home and deposited her father, fully dressed, into bed for the night, Kate had hoped to find solace behind the closed door of her bedroom, but such was not to be. Crossing the threshold, she found Beatrice, Bea, waiting for her inside.
Long legs tucked beneath her night rail, her sister
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