Cynthia Bailey Pratt (19 page)

Despite this lack of encouragement, it was not long before Danita found her sense of rhythm had not deserted her. At the end of the first dance in the set, her gray eyes sparkled from the exertion and her cheeks were flushed.

The orchestra began to play another tune, just as spritely as the first. “Shall...shall we go again, Mr. Newland?”

“If you like. Perhaps I should fetch you some punch. You seem a trifle overheated, but I suppose you are used to even more violent exercise.” His expression, if anything, grew colder. He had a way of throwing back his blond head and advancing his foot that gave him a very nearly imperial, but certainly magisterial, air highly incongruent in one who could scarcely be thirty, barrister training or no.

“My dear sir, what do you mean?”

“I shall fetch you your punch. Miss Wingrove. Have the goodness to remain where you are, so that we may discuss your influence over Berenice. I feel I am bound in duty to speak. She has now no male relation near to guard her.” With this cryptic utterance, Mr. Newland stalked away.

Standing alone, Danita felt herself to be conspicuous. Mr. Newland had not escorted her to a chair but merely abandoned her near the center of the room. Though she’d not noticed it during the dancing, it certainly did seem to be growing warmer inside the vast barrel-vault. She wished she had her fan, all the more so when two gentlemen walked by and gave her long slow scrutinies through raised quizzing glasses. One of these men had a flabby face the color of unbaked bread and a forehead liberally beaded with drops of sweat.

It was after he’d gone past that she recognized him as one of the Duke of Lichoakes’s cronies, present at the whist game. Never had she felt more eager to return to the comparative safety of Mrs. Clively’s flaying tongue. Looking furtively about for Mr. Newland, she saw instead several other gentlemen she thought she had seen on another evening, seated then beneath a too-brightly blazing chandelier. Though they did not turn in her direction, at any moment they might. She could have felt more naked only if the duke himself had been present to stare at her.

Hearing a laugh, she felt certain it was at her expense. With a twitch of her shoulders, she refused to turn, but heard the boisterous outbreak again. Peering suspiciously back, she saw a strong-shouldered dark-haired gentleman in evening dress, far taller than his companion, a thin, blond fellow, whose collar points almost pierced his ears. Lord Framstead raised his hand tentatively to Danita, as though he were not sure about inviting her attention. She had eyes only for Sir Carleton.

The bigger man gave an encouraging glance to his friend. “Good evening. Miss Wingrove,” Lord Framstead called, his light voice pitched over the noise of the ballroom. Seeing that she waited for him, he approached, his neck stretched out between the stabbing points of his high collar. He threaded a silk handkerchief nervously through his long fingers. “I ... I wonder if you would honor me, that is...”He indicated the dancing with two fingers.

“Of course.” If nothing else, it was one in the eye for Mr. Newland. Leaving her standing alone had not been an act of chivalry. Fortunately, the pace of this dance gave her an opportunity, every so often, to meet and speak with her partner. “Have you known Sir Carleton long?”

“Um, Sir Carleton?” he asked, as if he were acquainted with a thousand men of that name.

“Sir Carleton Blacklock,” Danita said, playing his game.

“Oh, ah, yes, I’ve known him ever since I came on the town. Charmin’ chap. Plays fair, but it ain’t his fault if other people cheat, you know.” Lord Framstead’s green eyes, which as Danita had already noted were not foolish, tried hard to communicate something to her.

“Did Sir Carleton ask you to invite me to dance, my lord? If such was the case, we can retire now.”

“No, no indeed. Miss Wingrove. All my own initiative, yes quite. Saw that Newland fellow leave you, thought I’d take advantage of his loss, what?”

“How gallant.” It was time to float out in the center of the ring and clasp arms with two other girls. It was most enjoyable to laugh with them as they all went around together, but the second time it was her turn to spin, the young ladies turned their backs on her and circled about without her. Danita did not think this was the proper performance of the dance and for a moment, she stood still. Then, with a determined lift of her chin, she revolved alone before returning to the ring. “And what,” she asked aloud, “was that in aid of?”

Lord Framstead’s face was scarlet. He mumbled something and missed a step. When he escorted her back to Mrs. Clively, Danita said, taking as her example that lady’s conduct, “I know Berenice has been waiting for you to ask her to dance, Lord Framstead. Haven’t you, Berenice?”

Danita was grateful that Berenice’s vanity enabled her to rise gracefully to any situation, at least those where young men were concerned. “Why, yes. Lord Framstead, I’m not pleased with you. You’ve been an age.”

Mr. Newland arrived, his classic curls rather rumpled, just in time to see Berenice float off on the arm of his lordship. “Very well, Miss Wingrove. Perhaps we can finish our set?” He tapped his foot in its narrow dark pump.

“No, indeed, Mr. Newland, I would not dream of monopolizing you. Let me introduce you to...” Danita looked over at the wall, seemingly supported on the tired backs of the companions, looking drearily on an enjoyment they could never share.

Waving forward a small dark girl in an obviously cast-off gown, Danita blithely ignored the dagger-look of the girl’s benefactress as she wrangled Mr. Newland into taking the young lady out. With a glance from the girl that said Danita had created an acolyte for life, and one from the gentleman that promised a fierce reckoning, Danita seated herself as the couple went off.

Danita greeted with relief the opportunity to reflect on the curious behavior of the girls during the dance, Mr. Newland’s comments on her “influence” over Berenice, and the frightening chance of recognition by gentlemen present at the card party. Reflection, she soon discovered, was useless in these surroundings. The music was loud, exceeded only by the genteel shrieks of people trying to speak over it, and the air stifling.

Mrs. Clively had not seemed to notice the dispatch of Mr. Newland, though she had beamed approval at Lord Framstead and Berenice. Her lips moved rapidly near the ear of the matron seated beside her. From the sly glances the recipient gave and the round 0 of her mouth, Danita deduced that Mrs. Clively imparted fascinating gossip.

A shadow fell over her. Raising her head, she found herself facing a breadth of green satin, blurred by a net frock. Raising her eyes, she could see nearly all the figure of Mrs. Rivington, augmented by a very short waist and a drape of pearls about the slightly sagging throat. “Get up, girl, and give me your seat,” Mrs. Rivington demanded.

“I ... I beg your pardon,” Danita said. Perhaps it was better to be ignored than treated rudely.

Mrs. Clively suddenly turned her head their way. “Oh, there you are, Cordelia. I’ve been desirous to speak with you this last hour. What a pretty gown, my dear. You know, I saw one very similar in
Ackerman’s Repository,
recommended for girls in their first Season. It’s all right, Danita. If you stand, I am sure the gentlemen will be much more willing to approach you. It is a waste of your youth to immure yourself with old ladies.” Danita stood up. “Be seated, Cordelia.”

Mrs. Rivington at once began to speak in a low voice to Mrs. Clively, pausing every now and then to flash a glance of pure dislike at Danita. As this made her very uncomfortable, Danita began to slip farther and farther away from the Dowager’s Corner.

It was not her imagination. She was being stared at. Where she passed, fans were raised before sanctimonious mouths and whispers followed. Danita felt as if she were burning at the stake. And here came the Chief Inquisitor.

“Your Grace,” she said, dipping into a curtsy, determined to show no fear.

“Miss...Miss Wingrove, is it not? Delightful. I am afraid I do not dance at these dull Bath affairs,” he said, indicating his stick. “Perhaps I might offer you a glass of something? I’ve brought a flask, to enliven the punch which, I am sure, sorely requires it.”

“I do not drink alcohol, sir.”

“Come now, no need to play the innocent. Do you forget we have met before?”

“Sir, I recall it vividly. Do you recall the company?” Danita did not meet the nobleman’s eyes. She knew too well then-peculiar shininess that seemed to give nothing back but reflections. She instead noted how many people seemed to find a great deal to interest them in her direction.

The duke said, “To put it bluntly. Miss Wingrove, I can offer a lady of your...talents...” He ran his eyes over her figure. “Yes, I can safely offer you much more than a common gamester could hope to muster in a year’s hard play.”

Danita was so busy sorting out that this was an insult to Sir Carleton that it was a moment before she realized the sting in the duke’s words targeted her also. Now she looked at him, as she would have regarded a snake in the garden. “I think, sir, we have nothing further to say to one another.” She curtsied. “Good evening.” She turned her shoulder to him.

“Would you think so? I shall take the liberty of calling on you soon....”

“You have taken quite enough liberties as it is.”

“I think, though,” he continued as if she had not spoken, “it shall not be at your great-aunt’s. You must have an establishment of your own. This I can provide for you, if you are willing to be amenable.”

Danita could be fairly certain the duke was not talking about a millinery shop. “I really do not know to what you refer, sir. Nor do I believe I wish to know.”

“I find your protestations of innocence fascinating. Miss Wingrove, but we shall get on together much better if you drop them now. We may play that game later, if it pleases you.”

From some little distance away, a sharp female voice called, “Ambrose! Ambrose!” The duke gasped. The self-sure smile faded from his thin lips.

Danita searched the Assembly Rooms for the woman making this unappealing noise. At first, no one stood out. Then, she noticed three tall feathers, dyed a stunning orange, nodding and dipping in midair. They were attached to a green cap perched on top of a short, stout woman of about sixty, dressed in a jonquil evening gown. She resembled a rare tropical fruit, and she hurtled directly toward them.

The duke bowed hastily to Danita. “Good evening. Miss Wingrove.” With quick steps, scarcely leaning on his cane, he went to meet the woman. “Mother! How well you look!”

He must have heard Danita’s chuckle, for he shot one glance back at her. At the expression in those eyes, Danita felt no more like laughing than the mouse caught by the stare of a snake. He was not done with her yet.

Confused, Danita longed desperately for a quiet spot to think over the queer happenings of this evening. But her pride came to her aid. It must not look as though she were running away. She was determined not to leave the ballroom until eleven o’clock, when the Master of Ceremonies would end the dancing, stopping the music at once even if in the middle of a phrase.

It was ten-thirty-five by the large wall clock when a discreet cough sounded beside her. An attendant of the Assembly Rooms, dressed in blue satin livery to match the walls, informed her that Mrs. Clively had sent for her chair.

“Thank you,” Danita said, her lips stiff after smiling vaguely at nothing for so long. “Will you please inform my great-aunt that I shall wait for her outside.” The footman bowed.

The cool breeze revived her. Still musing on the duke, she jumped when a tall form she had taken for a column suddenly spoke to her. “Danita?”

“Sir Carleton?”

“Yes. Hush, my dear.” His hand came out of the shadows, seized her own and pulled her into the darkness beside the lamp-lit walkway. “I was surprised to see you in there,” he said quietly. “I suppose you never received my note?”

“Note?” If she had raised her hand, she could have touched his face, he stood so close. His eyes reflected the faint light that came from behind her.

“As I thought. I wrote to warn you to stay away from here tonight. Your sudden wealth is a damnable complication. If I had known of your uncle’s illness, I never would have taken you to the card party.”

“How could you have known? His death was sudden. I’m not sorry in the least that I went with you, even though ...”

“Though?”

Did his hand half-lift in the darkness? Danita seemed to feel a soft touch upon her hair, in its usual low knot with the addition of a band of black silk, duller by far than the curls it bound. Stiffening, but not in fear, she found it hard to concentrate on what she’d meant to say. “Even though it was unconventional.”

“I hope you will not suffer for it. Bath is nothing if not conventional. For instance, if anyone knew we stood alone, like this ...” Sir Carleton’s voice was low, a mere rumble in his broad chest. “That is why I did not approach you in there. With the rumors I have heard, to attend you publicly would rather convince the town of their truth than salvage your reputation.”

“What rumors?” Danita stepped back, wrapping her cloak more securely about her person. The depth of this desire she felt to have his arms about her once more, if but for protection, astounded her. She hoped a little distance between them would restore her to her senses. Trying hard to concentrate on what he said, she could only regret her self-control.

He laughed on a harsh note. “Of course they wouldn’t tell you. They’ll only talk behind you so you have no chance to refute their evil.” The deep voice was tense. Danita had never imagined Sir Carleton angry. She somehow knew that he had little need for anger. What fool, seeing his size and power, would chance Sir Carleton’s good humor? An obscure thrill went through her as she realized he was angry on her account.

“What rumors?” she asked again, wrapping her arms about herself as though for warmth.

She saw him hesitate, and then he smiled. “I’m a coward, Miss Wingrove. You see, it is largely my fault that you are in this bramble. I don’t want to risk further your ill-opinion by being the bearer of bad news.”