“I am only asking,” she said, glancing down at her menu, trying to appear absorbed, “because I took the liberty of approaching several stationers myself. None of the gentlemen I spoke to can accommodate us until next week.”
Catherine glanced up at Valentine. Her father would have berated her for impertinence and interfering, but Catherine felt only mildly worried that Quint would react the same. She knew in the logical part of her mind that he would not. But the primal, instinctual part of her brain—that part that had cowered in fear and fought for survival since birth—still kept its wary vigil.
As expected, Quint only frowned at her pronouncement. “That won’t do.” He paced away and then turned back. “I have an idea.”
Now it was Catherine’s turn to frown.
“Perhaps we can write them by hand. You ladies are always perfecting your handwriting, are you not? Perhaps handwritten invitations would be more . . . personal.”
Catherine blinked. “Handwritten invitations? How many guests are you inviting?”
“Ah, good question.” He tapped his tailcoat, first the right pocket and then the left. Finally, he extracted several papers from his waistcoat. “Here is the guest list. I believe the total number of guests is about”—he flipped through one, two, three, four—she lost count—“four hundred.”
He handed the list to Catherine and tapped his fingers on the table in front of her.
Josie gasped and Maddie looked as though she would choke. Ashley spoke for all of them. “If you think we are going to handwrite four hundred invitations and then hand address them, you are mad.” She popped the last piece of cake in her mouth and crossed her arms.
“Very well, then I shall find a stationer,” Valentine said.
Ashley snorted. “Best of luck to you.”
Catherine watched Valentine clench his jaw. She moved back slightly, but he put a hand on her shoulder, reassuring her. She was not even certain he realized he did it.
“Thank you for your support.”
With Quint’s warm hand on her shoulder, Catherine glanced down at the list, running her eyes over the endless columns of names. Valentine’s guest list included the most powerful, most prestigious men and women in the country. The air at the ball would indeed be rarefied.
She began to feel ill. Her head swam, and she had to remind herself to take a shaky breath. It was not only that the most powerful, most awe-inspiring members of the English government would be attending a ball that she planned that made her nervous. The sheer number of people who would be in attendance gave her greater pause. As hostess, she would never be able to escape if she began to feel overwhelmed. And just looking at the list overwhelmed her.
She clasped her hands on the table and forced her mind to focus on one detail at a time. She would not think of that night until it was upon her. Gradually, her heartbeat slowed.
Perusing the list one last time, Catherine tried to focus on the names of people she knew. Her cousins and aunts and uncles would be there. They would support her.
She flipped another page then, and one entry jumped out at her. She leaned closer and read it again.
Miss Elizabeth Fullbright
Her head shot up. “What is this?” she said, jabbing the paper.
Valentine looked down at her and frowned. “The guest list. I told you.”
“No.” She slapped the list down. “What is this?” She sliced at the offending name with her finger.
Valentine took the pages and peered at them. “That is your sister.” He handed the pages to her, and she handed them right back. Valentine’s face darkened, but Catherine did not inch back. She was not scared of him. And today, she was too tired to feel much of anything but exhaustion.
“Why is Lizzy on the list?” Maddie said, rising, and moving protectively toward Catherine. Catherine doubted Maddie was actually worried Valentine would strike her, but she appreciated the support nonetheless. Still she kept her gaze locked with Valentine.
“She is on the list because she should be,” Valentine replied, not turning away from Catherine. “In fact, I should have invited your father and mother. It will seem strange that they are not in attendance.” He looked at Catherine, his hand cupping her chin briefly. “But I know that would be too hard for you.”
Maddie had reached her side. “And it won’t be hard on her to have Lizzy there? You were betrothed, after all.”
Valentine shrugged. “All of that is in the past now.”
Catherine’s jaw dropped. All of it was in the past? Had he forgotten how he’d felt when he discovered that her father had drugged him and then tricked him into marriage? She had certainly not forgotten how she had felt when she’d awakened in the middle of the night to find her father selling her to a brute she had never even seen before.
“You seem an unusually forgiving man,” Maddie was saying. “But do you not think it will be even slightly awkward to bring your wife and your betrothed together in such a public forum?”
“Elizabeth is no longer my betrothed.”
