Miss Fellingham's Rebellion by Lynn Messina - Miss Fellingham's Rebellion Page A

whipster.
    “I am very impressed,” she said as he competently evaded a carriage that seemed on an inevitable collision course with them.
    Pearson blushed as he finished the maneuver. “I am not a four-in-the-hand like Deverill or Withering, but I muddle through well enough.”
    “I don’t go riding often, you know, so this is a veritable treat for me,” she assured him.
    He smiled and directed the curricle safely around a large hole in the road. “I like coming to Hyde Park. My family’s principal seat is in Kent, and when I am here, I miss the wide open spaces.”
    “We are from Dorset, but I know exactly what you mean. You don’t feel quite so confined, do you? When you want to break out into a full gallop, you break out into a full gallop,” she said on a wistful sigh.
    “Yes, that’s the very thing. Miss Fellingham, I should like to tell you— Oh, I say, is that woman in the blue hat waving at you?”
    Catherine followed his gaze. “I do believe it is our hostess from last night, Lady Sefton. And she is with Lady Courtland.” Upon seeing her, her stomach pinched in quite a painful way. Was she prepared to face her mother’s friend yet? From the way the noblewoman was waving, the decision was clearly not hers to make.
    “Catherine, dear,” Lady Courtland said as she pulled her gig up to Pearson’s. “What a lovely surprise. Lady Sefton,” she said to the woman sitting next to her, “you do remember Miss Catherine Fellingham? She was in attendance last night. And this is Mr. Gerard Pearson.”
    After the introductions were completed, Catherine said, “Lady Sefton, I had a marvelous time at your ball last night.”
    Lady Sefton smiled kindly. “Fellingham, you say? Aren’t you the chit who waltzed with Deverill?”
    Catherine felt herself blushing. “I…uh…I,” she stammered, wondering what she meant to say and how she would say it.
    Lady Courtland came to her rescue. “Yes, indeed this is the same girl. She has the town all aflutter wondering where she came from. I assure you, Lady Maria, that she is the daughter of my dear friend Eliza Fellingham.”
    Lady Sefton nodded and addressed Catherine. “No need to blush, child, you dance charmingly.” She examined her carefully. “I don’t think I’ve seen you at Almack’s.”
    “No, ma’am,” said Catherine softly.
    “I don’t believe her mother has applied yet for vouchers for her and her younger daughter,” Arabella said, clearly angling for the much-coveted entrée.
    “That shouldn’t be a problem,” Lady Sefton assured her before addressing a newcomer. “Ah, looks who’s here.”
    Catherine turned around and cringed when she saw Lord Deverill approaching on a beautiful chestnut mare. He was dressed in snug leather riding breaches and a sloping tailcoat. When he noticed her, he smiled, seemingly delighted to see her. She smiled back, but it was a thin smile, and she didn’t really mean it. She hadn’t wanted to encounter him again so soon. The image of the beautiful courtesan she had seen at the modiste was still too fresh in her mind. She looked down at her worn afternoon dress and suddenly felt inadequate. For the first time in six years, she found herself longing to be beautiful so that a gentleman would pay her some attention. Catherine knew that if she had Evelyn’s clear blue eyes, her heart-shaped lips and porcelain skin, Deverill would flirt shamelessly with her. After indulging these thoughts for several moments, she began to feel ashamed of herself. A woman was more than her appearance, Catherine thought. She was more than her appearance.
    “Lord Deverill,” continued the patroness, “I was just telling Miss Fellingham how much we look forward to seeing her at Almack’s. Perhaps you would like to waltz with her there.”
    Catherine could have sworn that for a second Deverill looked much taken aback by the bold suggestion, but then he reined in his mount and the moment passed. Most likely, she decided, he was