Branstoke smiled enigmatically. "No, gentlemen. That bet I will not take. Not because I believe any of you will succeed. More because I know you won't," he said softly. Smiling casually, he made his farewells and quietly left the room.
"Dashed queer fish," muttered Randolph. He turned back to his friends. "So, Reggie, think you can beat me, eh? Show me the color of your money, and we'll just see. . ."
Never before had Cecilia felt suffocated in a press of people. Seated next to her on the sofa was Sir Harry. Standing behind her, breathing down her bare shoulder with wine-soured breath, was the Honorable Mr. Reginald Rippy. Seated in a chair drawn up too close for propriety was Lord Havelock. To close this circle was her brother, blithely and enthusiastically enumerating each gentleman's sterling characteristics. She was ready to scream. What was this, feast or famine? Though she wanted to get to know each gentleman better, this was impossible! Undeniably a climate in which Miss Amblethorp would say society manners completely obscured a gentleman's true measure.
None of her normal ruses was working. When she complained of the heat, one of them took her fan and obligingly fanned her. When she swore her heart was pounding in her chest till she was nigh on swooning, they produced vinaigrettes, asafetida drops, and feathers which they offered to burn. In passing, she considered staging a fainting spell but rejected the idea for fear that one of them—or all! —would conceive the plan of carrying her upstairs. The thought of any of them holding her in an intimate manner was repugnant. Why couldn't grandmother have planned dancing for this evening in addition to the ball tomorrow evening?
She perfunctorily accepted a lavender-water drenched handkerchief from Sir Harry, absently looking about the room as she held it to her brow. Unfortunately, her need for the lavender water was real, not imaginary. Her head ached. Lady Meriton was not helping matters. Seeing the little group, she proclaimed it a marvelous study and begged they all refrain from moving about while she cut the tableau.
Out of the corner of her eye, Cecilia saw Branstoke in company with Miss Cresswell. There was a peevish set to that beauty's features, and her full red lips were turned down in a decided pout. With the defection of Randolph and his cronies, her court was diminished, and she did not like that at all. She glared at Cecilia and whispered nasty little asides to Branstoke, but he did not respond with the shared humor she hoped to garner. So she sat, simmering, glowering, and throwing dagger glances at Cecilia's way. Cecilia wished her new entourage would return to worshipping at the Cresswell altar. From there she could pick them off—like ripe fruit—one at a time for questioning.
Branstoke might have been asleep as he sat there with his tortoise shell eyes gleaming gold highlights from under dark lashes. A wisp of a smile pulled at his finely chiseled lips. Cecilia looked to him, a request for succor fleeting across her pale, expressive face. In response, his smile pulled his lips tighter revealing straight white teeth. He inclined his head slightly in understanding and promptly turned his attention to Miss Cresswell.
Cecilia clenched her teeth, damning herself for the momentary weakness that let her expect rescue from Branstoke. She spied Janine sitting off to the side under one of the more gruesome scenes depicted in the Mortlake tapestries collection. As her illnesses were strangely not affecting these gentlemen, she would try another venue: the older woman seeing that the shy young miss is not forgotten. She glanced at her aunt. It appeared Lady Meriton had nearly completed her cutting.
"I am overwhelmed at the kindness you gentlemen have bestowed upon me," she said in a tone heavily laced with treacle. "I'm sure it is quite unfair to the other ladies, especially when one considers how my miserable illnesses have aged me."
The gentlemen were quick to refute her comment, but she airily waved their words aside.
"No, no, not another word, or I shall be forced to assume you are making a May game of me. Or a wager?" she ventured, remembering Branstoke's earlier words about men's viler instincts surfacing in a group.
A purple blush suffused her brother's dissipated countenance. "Dash it all, Cecilia! Here are my friends anxious to do the pretty and be nice to my poor widowed sister, and you display this sniveling suspicion. Ecod! Can't you have the grace to accept a few sincerely proffered compliments?" he grumbled and pouted, though she did note a sheen of sweat on his brow.
Cecilia's eyes sparked, then banked. Closing her eyes briefly, she pulled confusion and uncertainty into her expression. She simpered, her hands fluttering. "Compliments! Oh, my word, I haven't had compliments since I was a giddy young girl. Gentlemen, forgive me please, I had no idea. I mean, it's so unusual, and after this morning—Well, what was I to think?" she said guilelessly, opening her royal blue eyes wide and staring at each of them in turn.
"Mrs. Waddley, you are too intelligent for us," said Lord Havelock smoothly, taking her small hand between his long slender fingers. "But you are incorrect as to its genesis. The unfortunate occurrence this morning led us to seebeyondwhat we may have casually observed." His tone was florid and designed to coax a woman into good humor. Cecilia knew that but couldn't help responding positively to this overture. She wondered to what extent Miss Amblethorp's revelations caused her reaction.
"Yes," said the Honorable Mr. Rippy, his head bobbing nearly as sharply as his Adam's apple. "Stands to reason. Always knew Randolph was a gudgeon."
"That's doing it too brown. You're just knocked acock because I beat you at billiards!" declared Randolph.
"Easy, lads," said Elsdon, laughing. "We've all been a pack of blind sapskulls, Mrs. Waddley. Make no mistake about that. We're just trying to amend matters in our clumsy fashion."
"Thank you, Sir Harry; your truthfulness does you honor," said Cecilia.
"Honor, bah! I'd like to soak your head," grumbled Randolph.
"At least, Randolph, I may depend upon the regularity of your opinion, of little value though I may deem it," retorted Cecilia, affecting an exaggerated pout.
"Ho, she's got you there, Randy!" crowed Mr. Rippy, slapping him heartily on the back.
"I realize," she continued coolly, watching Mr. Rippy's reaction out of the corner of her eye, "it can't be helped—considering the company you keep."
"Huzzah! She has you, too, Reggie!" said Sir Harry, thumping his friend in turn."A crew of patches, rude mechanicals.That's how we appear, no doubt."
Randolph grumbled under his breath but refrained from further comment.
During the group's momentary discomfort, Cecilia made her excuses and left to join Miss Amblethorp.
"I depend upon you, Miss Amblethorp, to be my salvation," she saidsotto voceas she slid into a chair next to the young woman.
"Well, you may have it only if you will refrain from addressing me as Miss Amblethorp. I am fagged to death of Miss Amblethorp," returned her friend with no little asperity.
Cecilia grinned and relaxed. "I knew I could depend upon you to relieve the stale air. I tell youtruthfully,my head aches, yet not for a moment would that group grant me reprieve! I don't know what has occasioned their solicitude. Nothing, I assure you, that I have done! It is most disquieting."
"It is you who are most disquieting," returned Janine sharply. Then she blushed furiously at her rudeness and looked down to where her hands were grasping and twisting her fan tightly. The delicate sticks snapped under the pressure. "Oh-h-h, no," moaned Janine dismally, loosening her grip on the maltreated fan to survey the damage. "Your behavior is so changeable—I don't understand it."
There was a moment of silence between the two women. Cecilia covered Janine's shaking hand with her own as the young woman unconsciously traced the break in the sticks.
