Free A Heart's Masquerade by Deborah Simmons Page B

until the tears turned to sporadic hiccups. "Little Catherine! I don’t believe it," she said softly, holding Cat back to study her. "How you’ve grown! How old are you now?"
    "Sixteen."
    "No! I don’t believe it,” she said again. "How the years have flown. Oh, but my poor girl, you look so thin. Let’s get you something to eat."
    Relieved that she had not been turned away, Cat sniffed. It was only when she lifted up her arm to automatically wipe her nose with her sleeve that she was reminded of her guise. "Oh, aunt, perhaps a bath would be better first."
    Amelia smiled, and in a very short time, Cat was luxuriating in a brass tub filled with piping hot water and trying to choose among a variety of scented soaps. She lathered her entire body with a bar that smelled deliciously of lavender and washed her hair until it squeaked. The water had long since cooled when she finally stepped out to dry herself with beautiful linens.
    Marie had laid out one of Amelia’s dressing gowns, which Cat gamely donned, although the sleeves stopped short of her wrists and the hem showed a long stretch of calf. Accustomed as she was to rough seaman’s garb, Cat thought the robe was heavenly. She reveled in the feel of the silky material against her skin and the lemon fragrance that clung to the fabric.
    Cat was brushing her hair when Amelia herself brought a tray and placed it on a table flooded with sunshine from the arched window. Taking a seat across from her aunt, Cat was dazzled by the array of fresh food: cheese, cold ham, slices of melon, and huge, soft rolls. She tried not to gobble the meal, but after the ship’s biscuits, the warm rolls, topped with great globs of honeyed butter, tasted like ambrosia.
    "You poor dear, you must be starving," Amelia murmured. With a start, Cat looked up, pausing mid-bite as she realized she’d been oblivious to her aunt’s presence. Where had her manners gone? Chagrined, she put down her fork and fidgeted with her napkin.
    "Go ahead, dear, eat," Amelia said with a smile of encouragement. "Now, about your clothes... I’ve sent Isaac off to Bridgetown for my dressmaker, Madame Roussard. She does very nice work, and her charges are reasonable."
    Amelia’s hands moved restlessly as she spoke. "Perhaps later we shall try Mistress Shaw, who is quite popular with the young ladies and more stylish I suppose. That is, if you are not too tired."
    Cat swallowed hard, her brows drawing together.
    "Oh, dear, perhaps I shouldn’t have taken it upon myself, but we simply must get you dressed properly," Amelia said.
    Cat eyed her aunt closely, but detected no censure, only pleasure and concern. "I’m not tired, and I don’t mind you calling for the dressmaker," she said. "Of course, I must have some new clothes, but I don’t expect you to pay for them. I have some money of my own."
    Amelia waved away the offer. "My Horace left me quite comfortable, and I can certainly take care of my niece. Now, I don’t want to hear another word about such matters."
    With that admonishment, she reached over to squeeze Cat’s hand. "I’m just glad you are here," she said. "Now, you finish eating and tell me everything."
    Truly comfortable, well-fed, and clean for the first time in a long while, Cat sat back to tell her tale to the astonished Amelia, who was soon pale with shock as Cat related her harrowing experience at the hands of Edward and her sudden flight from Wellshire.
    "Oh, Catherine, you poor child. If only I had known!" Amelia said, visibly upset. "When Belinda died, I should have sent for you."
    Cat shook her head. "How could you know? And, besides, I was content until Edward came."
    "He’ll never find you here, a world away," Amelia said. "We are far from the fashionable circles, thank heavens. You’re safe now, and you must forget about the whole horrible experience."
    "I will never forget," Cat said softly. Seeing the concern on Amelia’s face, she hastened to reassure her. "Oh, you needn’t worry,