Elizabeth laughed, thanked Lady Jersey, and sped to her sister’s side. “Helene, what did Jovis want?”
Helene was fingering a lace ruffle on her gown. “What? Oh, it was just some message from Freddy asking me to come to the dining room. Probably to receive a toast, but I just couldn’t go, what with this tom ruffle, and for all times for it to occur.”
“Well, run upstairs and have it repaired before the rest of the guests arrive, instead of standing there moaning about it.”
“I would expect you to say something heartless like that!”
Elizabeth sighed. “I’m not heartless, just practical. Excuse me, I must speak with Aunt Romella.”
Lady Helene pouted prettily at her sister’s retreating figure, then swished her skirt back into place and headed for the stairs.
“Aunt Romella, excuse me, please,” Elizabeth said, breaking into a conversation between her aunt and a prominent widow who, it was known, was on the make for another husband. Fleetingly it occurred to Elizabeth that her aunt wasn’t above lording it over the poor woman for her success. “What did Jovis want?”
“Really, Elizabeth, you’re no better than ever. Carlton merely requested my presence in the dining room. I of course declined, and mean to educate him on the impropriety of such a request.”
“Of course. Thank you.” She turned in time to see Jovis once again enter the drawing room. For some reason, she knew she was the object of his visit this time and so stood patiently waiting for him to approach.
Jovis cleared his throat. “Um-hum, my lady, your husband sent me to desire you to come to him in the dining room.”
She smiled pleasantly at him. “All right,” she said starting for the door.
“You’re coming?” All of the butler’s studied impassiveness failed him.
“Yes, why not?” she replied, though truthfully she wasn’t as calm as she portrayed. The gentlemen were playing some game, that was obvious. She intended to get to the bottom of the matter. She admitted to a lively sense of curiosity as to the root of this queer start, but knew conjecture to be worthless.
The raucous noise emanating from the dining room could be heard in the hall. Elizabeth raised an eyebrow in question, though she calmly waited for Jovis to open the dining room door. A sudden quiet descended upon the room.
“The Viscountess St. Ryne!” announced Jovis stentoriously.
Elizabeth, her head held high, the candlelight glowing on her like liquid gold, glided into the room. St. Ryne slowly rose from his chair, a mingled expression of disbelief, chagrin, and love all on his face. He slowly circled the table to her side.
The cry “A hit! A hit!” swept the room.
“You sent for me?” she asked softly, her heart touched by his expression.
“Yes, my love, and I thank you. I am unworthy of you or your care.” He raised her hand up, turned it gently over, and planted a kiss on her palm. A flurry of catcalls and whistles greeted his gesture, but Elizabeth was deaf to their sound. She curled her fingers into her palm as if to hold on to his kiss. He put his arm around her waist. “Gentlemen,” he said, turning to the table, “enough jests and tests. It is time we joined the ladies.”
With alacrity, Branstoke rose, encouraging the gentlemen to do so as well. “I think, St. Ryne,” he drawled, “we all could do much worse than to follow your lead. Gentlemen, the ladies await.”
Elizabeth allowed herself to be conducted from the dining room while maintaining a gracious manner. This attitude was severely tested as one after another of the gentlemen madetheir way to Justin’s side to clap him on the shoulder and offer congratulations along with sly winks and thinly veiled innuendos. Question after question leapt to her mind, all crowding forward to be asked, but she steadfastly held her tongue, smiling graciously at all. Imagined answers also came forward with painful clarity, answers she wished to ignore for if they were the truth, then her fragile happiness would shatter, it being born into her that perhaps her entire marriage stemmed from bets made over cards and cups for sport.
Valiantly she tried to deny her foreboding, her smile becoming brittle as she watched gentlemen approach knots of ladies, whisper in shell-like ears until their auditors turned to stare at her with snickers and swallowed laughter.
Slowly, like grains of sand in an hourglass, Elizabeth’s euphoric happiness eroded to be replaced by a gripping fear. She thought she had been on the verge of ultimate happiness; still, she was no longer the impetuous, ill-mannered young woman, determined to strike a blow first before one could be leveled at her. She would not overreact. She would uncover the truth.
Somehow she made it gracefully through the interminable hour she stood by her sister and father in the receiving line before the ball. When she was excused, she fled to the refreshment table for a glass of punch and an opportunity to clear her head. Her temples throbbed slightly. She placed a cool hand on one side to massage away the pain. Her spirits rose as she saw St. Ryne leave a small contingent of his cronies to come to her side. She smiled wanly up at him.
“Bess!” he cried, taking her hands in his and leading her to an empty alcove. “Are you feeling all right? You look pale.” He searched her white, strained features, concern evident in his eyes.
She settled onto the sofa with obvious relief. The mere thread of a laugh escaped her lips. “Too long standing, too many people,and stuffy air have all taken their toll on me. I shall recover directly,” she assured him, touched by his solicitude.
“May I get you anything?”
“I was intending to get something to drink. If you could—” she trailed off.
“Of course, my love.” He strode away with purposeful strides.
Freddy, standing at the edge of the dance floor while another lost suitor claimed a dance, wandered over to Elizabeth’s corner.
