“Just remember, if you dance with any other ladies here tonight, that you are married to me.”

“I am not likely to forget, my sweet, for a hundred reasons.”

Catherine made the agreeable discovery that dancing with Henry had not lost its charm, and that two dances with him as her partner passed as quickly as they had the previous winter — in other words, all too quickly.

As the musicians finished with a flourish, Mr. King appeared at Catherine’s elbow in the mysterious way that belonged to truly accomplished masters of the ceremonies, and to her surprise asked her to lead the next two dances. “It is a bride’s right,” he told her, “and I hope not a disagreeable duty, as I have taken pains to procure for you a partner whom you already know.”

The only young man amongst Catherine’s acquaintance who might be in Bath was John Thorpe; and it was with a sinking feeling that she agreed to lead the dance, thinking it a very onerous duty indeed; but then she realized that Mr. King was looking expectantly at the young man standing beside him, who was smiling at her in a very familiar manner, though she did not know him at all.

Henry’s voice came from behind her. “Mr. King, your scruples are very kind indeed; but I am afraid that Mrs. Tilney is not yet acquainted with my brother-in-law. Do not trouble yourself, sir, for it is the work of a moment. Catherine, may I present Eleanor’s husband, Lord Whiting?”

Mr. King was all apologies; but Catherine’s real delight at meeting Eleanor’s husband, and the Viscount’s own good breeding and charming manners soon did away with all the discomfort of the moment, and Mr. King soon bustled off to inform the musicians of Mrs. Tilney’s choices.

“Eleanor’s over that way,” said his lordship to Henry, nodding towards the chairs. “Sitting out this dance, and I have been strictly charged to send you to her.”

“Yes, of course,” said Henry, his eyes already eagerly scanning the chairs. “You are in good hands, my sweet; enjoy your moment in the sun. I will watch with Eleanor.”

“Give her my love,” said Catherine, “and tell her that I shall come to see her directly the set is finished.”

Henry immediately disappeared into the crowd, and his lordship gave Catherine his hand to the top of the set, where Mr. King stood waiting. “Mrs. Tilney has chosen ‘Mrs. Darcy’s Favorite,’” he informed the other dancers, and Catherine blushed at the attention, kind though it was, turned upon her.

Lord Whiting turned out to be an excellent dancer, perhaps even better than Henry, though Catherine would scarcely have credited such a notion. The demands of leading the dance precluded conversation until they reached the bottom and had a turn out. His lordship said, “You will forgive me if I am too familiar, Mrs. Tilney; I have heard so much about you from Eleanor and from Henry’s letters, that I feel as though we are already very well-acquainted.”

“And I have heard much about you, sir; Eleanor’s happiness is clear in her letters. I am surprised to learn that you have come to Bath, though.”

“It was an unexpected trip and arranged with great haste, as was your own, I apprehend. We arrived only today.”

“You are not unwell, sir? But I suppose you would scarcely be dancing if you were gouty.”

“No, I am very well, I thank you; and you are correct, madam. Considering that most visitors to Bath claim to be here for their health, it really is astonishing how many of them turn up at the rooms when there is a ball.”

Catherine assented, thinking his lordship quite a clever young man; and as another couple had reached the bottom of the set, they rejoined the dance and had no more opportunity to speak except for the usual commonplaces of a ballroom until their two dances were over.

The viscount led Catherine to the chairs; Henry, taller than those around him, saw her before she reached the chairs and moved as if to intercept her, but when Catherine saw Eleanor seated nearby, she ran past Henry to bestow a warm embrace upon her.

Eleanor returned the embrace, but she looked past Catherine with an expression of apprehension, an expression that Henry, who now stood beside Eleanor’s chair, shared; an expression that Catherine had seen before on both brother and sister.

She took a deep breath, tried to ignore the sudden nervous patter of her heart, and turned to make her curtsy to General Tilney.


Chapter Three