The Romany Heiress (13 page)

Watching Cate had definitely proved entertaining
and insightful today. He hadn’t uncovered anything today about supporting his own claim to Spelthorne, but
he had learned several things about her. After watching
men in parliament and assessing the people and issues
that came before him as the earl, Giles thought himself
to be a good judge of human nature. What he had seen
of Cate, her strength, her tenacity, her own sense of justice, suggested to him that she was serious about her
claim to Spelthorne. She believed in the truth of that
claim. She was not out to scam him but to lay claim to
what was rightfully hers.

Because of that, he found her to be an intoxicating
mix of danger and desire. He admired many of the qualities she’d shown him today.

He’d meant it, as foolish as the statement may have
been, on the verandah when he’d said he wished he
could have known Cate without the quagmire surrounding them. He doubted the resolution of the pending issue
between them would leave much room for friendship, especially since it could only be resolved one way-in his
favor.

However, he did have a month before the curate arrived. One month in which he must discreetly gather evidence in his cause. Yet, still a month when the issue
between them was somewhat stalemated. The idea grew
in his mind. It was just possible that the month could be
used for something in addition to evidence gathering.
He could spend it with Cate, the person.

But to what end? His practical nature queried. What
could come of that endeavor? His practical nature would
need an answer beyond the mere whimsy of wanting to
know her, to be near her, to watch and see what kind of
crazy stunt she’d pull next.

He hit upon an answer that would satisfy his practical
self. He would get her ready for her new life, one that he
would fund when her claims were dismissed. When that
happened, she would need somewhere to go. She would
not be going back to life with the Rom. She had left her
caravan, the only source of home she’d likely ever
known. She would be devastated when the claims were
proven false. Some funds would soften the blow.

He’d see her able to purchase a decent home in the
country and provided with a modest allowance for living. He would set her up as country gentry and for that, she’d need some training. She would need to know how
to order dresses, what to wear to certain functions, how
to run a small household, and myriad other items. Over
the course of the month, he’d teach her those things. He
would organize her new life for her.

Ah yes. His practical side was very pleased with his
answer.

By 7:00 the next evening, Cate was nearly shaking
with nerves and anticipation while she sat in her room,
waiting to be summoned. She was going to a real ball
with gentry and even a few peers in attendance. It was
just as she imagined that evening in the Denbigh’s garden. Giles would be there. He would see her in the
lovely gown of rose crepe with its vandyked flounces at
the hem showing off the delicate cream silk underskirt
beneath. Her hair was done to suit her long-ago fairy
tale, piled high on her head with a few gentle curls allowed to stray, framing her face. Throughout the carefully piled coiffure was wound a subtle strand of small
pearls, courtesy of Isabella, who had apologized they
were only Scottish pearls.

Cate wiggled her toes in the satin dancing slippers of pale cream, another item on loan from Isabella’s seemingly endless trunk of clothing. They were a bit too
large, a subtle reminder that the reality fell short from
the imaginings of her mind. The dress was borrowed. It
wasn’t the aquamarine gown she dreamed of wearing
and, like all of Isabella’s loaned garments, it had to be
hemmed before it fit Cate well enough. The shoes were
stuffed with wads of cotton in the toes to prevent her
from tripping, although she hoped she didn’t have to
move around overly much. That was another concern
contributing to her rising nerves as she waited. In her
daydreams, she knew how to dance properly-not the
wild abandoned dances she performed so well at the
gypsy camp.

The knock came, summoning her to join the houseguests downstairs to mingle with the guests arriving
from neighboring homes before the dancing began. Cate
rose from her place at the window seat and smoothed
her skirts once more, squared her shoulders and raised
her chin, doing her best to glide across the floor and glad
that she’d sent Magda below stairs earlier so that the
woman couldn’t see her “putting on airs.”

Cate opened the door, expecting to see a maid. She
had not expected to see Giles. He was the host, after all,
and, had myriad responsibilities. Yet there he was, resplendent in dark evening clothes, his hair combed to
burnished perfection, not an inch of him askew from
what appeared to be a very complicated knot in his cravat to the neatly pressed line of his evening trousers. Cate blushed. She was sure real ladies didn’t stare in
such an obvious manner. She hadn’t been able to help
herself. He looked entirely magnificent.

“Are you ready to go down?” Giles asked, either unaware of what she’d been doing or showing his impeccable manners yet again by overlooking her blunder.

“Yes. I don’t suppose I can be any readier. The longer
I wait, the more nervous I’ll get”

“You look splendid. There’s no need to be nervous.
The other ladies who opted to take dinner trays in their
rooms and rest before the entertainment are just starting to come down as well.” Giles offered his arm to her
and Cate, after two days in his company, easily took it,
laying her white-gloved arm on his right sleeve.

He covered her hand briefly with his left and whispered, “Remember, this isn’t London. It’s merely a
country ball, much less formal, although I daresay it’s
likely to be rowdier. You will do fine”

His sincere encouragement caused Cate to hazard a
sideways glance up at him while they walked down the
long stretch of hall to the main staircase. “Why are you
being so nice? You don’t have to be. I hardly think I’d
be as polite if I were in your situation.”

“First, Cate, let me be clear. I am not in any situation.
I am the Earl of Spelthorne, and I will remain so. If it is
anyone who is in a situation, it is you. Your claims will
come to naught. However, I am intrigued by you. I
made it clear that I would have liked to have met you
without these entanglements. There is nothing we can
do about your situation until the vicar arrives, so why not enjoy the opportunity? With the right guidance, I
am sure you will find the experience enriching.”

A dozen retorts vied for the right to be heard on her
tongue. Did he know how arrogant he sounded? She
didn’t dare tell Magda for fear of the older woman having the chance to say “I told you so” She might have
given free rein to the retorts if his one thought hadn’t
paralleled hers so nearly. Why not enjoy the hiatus between her claims and the vicar arriving?

“I suppose there’s no harm in playing Cinderella for
a bit,” she said, hoping he realized how lucky he was to
get off so lightly for his high-handed behavior, but realizing he probably had no idea.

They were nearing the staircase. Giles chuckled at her
reference. “Cinderella? When I think of you, I think of
Snow White.” Cate felt the weight of his stare on her and
felt her body grow warm. Her usually glib tongue could
not think of anything witty with which to respond.

Giles covered the silence with a witty response.
“Well, Cinderella is probably appropriate for tonight. It
is a ball, and you’ll get to dance with some nicely established men, although I doubt any of them will turn
out to be Prince Charming. We’re all remarkably normal folk around these parts”

They had come to the top of the stairs and Cate looked
down into the throng below. She gasped. “Remarkably
normal” had nothing to do with the hall below her or the
glimpses she could catch of the drawing room-cumballroom through the flower-festooned archway beyond.

Sometime between the group of guests returning home from a day of hiking around nearby follies and the supper
hour, the hall had been transformed into an indoor garden
complete with low stone benches, topiary trees planted in
large urns and cut into spiraling shapes, lanterns placed
about the entry to give it the look of a lit garden at night
and she even heard the tinkling of a fountain-a genuine
fountain at the center of the hall.

Giles leaned forward towards her ear and whispered,
“Champagne”

At first she didn’t understand the reference. What did
champagne have to do with the fountain? Then she noticed guests dipping goblets into the streams of liquid,
noticed the golden hue of the “water.” Her eyes widened
at such invention.

“Not as fancy as London?” She turned to Giles and
raised a doubting eyebrow. “I can hardly imagine how
this could be surpassed.

They neared Isabella, where she and Tristan stood
greeting the guests near the arched doorway leading
into the drawing room. Upon closer inspection, Cate
could see that the flowers garlanding the entrance were
roses in all shades of pink and red. She had never seen
so many roses in one place.

“Many of these are from Tristan’s greenhouses,” Isabella supplied, catching her attention. “Aren’t they
perfect for Giles’s “Last Rose of Summer” ball?” She
smiled, looking confident and lovely in the gauzy seafoam green confection she wore. “Your gown turned
out well.”

“Oh yes” Cate said, only just beginning to see why Isabella had chosen the color for her. The lovely rose
hue of the gown was the perfect foil for the room beyond the archway, ablaze with lights and filled with
brass urns of floral arrangements featuring roses in the
niches lining the walls.

At the far end of the ballroom, musicians began tuning up their instruments on the raised dais. Giles slipped
a stiff piece of paper into her gloved hand. When she
looked down, she discovered it to be none other than a
dance card and, horror of horrors, it was filled in. Entirely. Not a blank slot was to be found. Casting a quick
glance at Isabella, Cate noted she had looped the card
about her wrist. Cate quickly followed suit and fumbled
for a believable protest. “But I don’t know any of these
gentlemen.”

“No need to know them,” Giles said urbanely. “It
would look amiss if my own cousin, no matter how far
removed, was a wallflower at my party.”

There was no chance for further protest. Giles was
too busy organizing. “Cate, I’ll need to leave you here in
Gresham’s capable hands. As hostess and as the highest
ranking male present, Isabella and I need to lead off the
dancing. Tristan will dance with you this first set”

Cate gaped at him in astonishment. For a man who
remembered every last detail when it came to supplying her with clothing and accessories, could he truly
have overlooked the likelihood that she didn’t know
how to dance in society? Her fairy tale was getting off
to a rocky start. Cinderella had gone to the ball knowing how to waltz!

Swallowing her pride, Cate reached for Giles, trying
to keep him from moving off before she could confess
her lack of ability, but he was beyond her grasp, sailing
toward the orchestra and the top of the ballroom with
Isabella on his arm.

Slowly, she became alarmingly aware of Viscount
Gresham at her elbow. His interrogating brown gaze
seemed to know all in a glance. “A quadrille’s not near
as dreadful as a minuet. Thankfully those are becoming
less and less the dance of choice for opening these affairs,” he drawled, making no attempt to put her at ease
like Giles had done or to befriend her as his wife had. It
was no secret he held her in contempt. Anything he had
done at the fair for her had been mostly for Giles’s
peace of mind.

“I find both the quadrille and the minuet insufferable.” Cate opted for taking the high ground. Perhaps
she could convince him she simply didn’t care to dance.

He wasn’t fooled. “A quadrille is easy enough to learn.
It’s just a collection of country dances when you break it
down, nothing all that sophisticated really. Just watch the
other couples” With that, the viscount took her by the elbow and insinuated them into a group forming near the
door. The music started, they bowed and curtsied, and
Cate discovered the viscount had been right.

There were things to be thankful for with the
quadrille. They danced with three other couples, saving
her from having to be in close proximity with the viscount and one didn’t dance with any partner too long as
to truly show their ineptitude. Afterwards, the viscount escorted her back to Giles’s side, commenting in a low
voice meant only for her, “One dance down, fourteen to
go until the intermission.” She was not naive enough to
take his parting sally as a sign of support. He meant it
as an illustration of her lack of breeding. She read all
that he meant to imply. Real ladies, even if they didn’t
dance effortlessly, knew the steps. How could she expect to claim Spelthorne when she couldn’t manage a
basic dance?