Rossiter walked slowly down the stairs, paying no heed to the repulsive looks that came his way, his ears closed to the contemptuous remarks, his thoughts turning wearily on what Bracksby had said. Derrydene’s departure now seemed reasonable enough, in view of his fixation with bells. Certainly, to follow him to Russia could not be considered. Another nail in the coffin of hope. That left only one last unexplored channel: Lord Norberly, a man who travelled somewhere in Scotland. Or perhaps Wales.
Sighing, he went in search of Viscount Glendenning. There was no need to linger in this house, where his presence was an insult to most of the guests and an embarrassment to his hostess. But Tio had tried, and he must not leave without expressing his thanks.
There was no sign of the viscount in the large music room that had been made over to those who wished to dance. The five-piece orchestra was playing a lively air, but there was no dance presently in progress. People stood about in little groups, the gentlemen impressively gallant in their full-skirted coats, gems flashing from lace cravats and white hands; the ladies delightfully feminine in their colourful gowns, plying their fans with the graceful coquetry that was not as easy as it appeared, since movement of their arms was restricted by the great panniers of their skirts. Watching the charming scene rather wistfully, Rossiter suddenly became aware that the merry chatter had ceased, and that everyone was staring at him. For the first time, the extent of his rejection by the society of which he had been a part came home to him. How many of these people had been dealt crippling losses by the failure of Rossiter Bank? How many had been ruined when the investment company had failed? Or had held shares in Rossiter Shipping? He could scarce blame them for the disgust with which they regarded him. But his father was wrongfully judged. And he wasnot,nor ever would be ashamed of his name! His chin came up slightly, his shoulders squared, and he faced them unflinchingly.
Far to the side of that hushed room, Sir Gilbert Fowles said with a curl of the lip, “Someone really should remove that blot from our landscape.”
Marguerite Templeby, Viscount Glendenning’s shy young step-sister, murmured softly, “Oh, but he is magnificent!”
Sir Gilbert scowled and opened his mouth for another sally that was cut off as a burst of excitement sounded from the hall.
Not sorry for the interruption, Rossiter turned to discover the cause. A clamorous group of gentlemen was assembling at the foot of the stairs. A lady wearing a gown of white satin and having a remarkably tiny waist, stood halfway up the stairs, her back to those who waited below. Rossiter wandered closer, trying to see what was happening. Without warning, the lady tossed a posy over her shoulder. The flowers were in a tiny vase mounted in a filigreed container, and it flew high over the heads of the crowd. Rossiter saw something whizzing at his face. He threw up a hand to protect his eyes, felt something strike him, and clutched it instinctively.
An excited roar went up. “Who won? Who caught it? What lucky fellow will escort our goddess to the ball tomorrow?”
The excitement faded. Through a stupefied hush, Rossiter saw every face turned to him, saw the aghast expressions; heard a man exclaim, “Good God, no! Not him!”
On the stairs, my lady whirled about, her wide skirts swirling to reveal her glittering jewelled slippers. Her laughter died abruptly. Gideon Rossiter’s lean features seemed to leap at her and all the colour left her face.
He glanced down at the flowers he held. “I seem to have intruded on a private lottery,” he drawled coolly. “You would doubtless prefer to throw again, ma’am.”
A young exquisite lisped, “Thath right! Throw again, lovely one.”
Over the immediate chorus of agreement, my lord Kadenworthy snapped, “Don’t be such a clunch. Fair’s fair.”
Naomi heard both comments. She drew a steadying breath. What a perfectly frightful thing! But to turn back was unthinkable. She said frigidly, “You have won, sir. Unless you do not choose to be my escort?”
All eyes turned to him; some hopeful, most condemning. He longed to be able to toss the flowers back into her proud, beautiful face; to free her from this contretemps and show his indifference to her—to them all. But to do so would be to insult her.
He lied stiffly, “’Twould be my very great pleasure to escort you, my lady.”
CHAPTER NINE
“Surely you are not leaving, Naomi?”
Not only was my lady Lutonville leaving this wretched soiree, but she could scarce wait to make her escape. Fate, with cruel whimsy, had played a very unkind trick on her. She was seething with rage, but because that rage must not be shown to a cynical world that would be all too ready to misconstrue it, she affected a bored amusement. It was not easy to refrain from gnashing her teeth at the gentle ladies who gushed over her “unhappy predicament,” while glee sparkled in their eyes; or to keep from giving a sharp set-down to the gentlemen who either moaned that she was placed in a ridiculous situation, or vowed bloody reprisals ’gainst Captain Rossiter.
Recognizing the voice of an old friend, however, it was with genuine pleasure that she turned to embrace a tall young woman with a lovely and intelligent face and smiling hazel eyes. “Mitten! How wonderful to find you here! How are you, my dear? And how is little Joanna?”
Lady Anthony Farrar patted the hand she held and leaned closer to say confidingly, “Five months old, delectable, and doted upon by far too many willing slaves. ’Tis as well that by Christmas time she will have either a small Gilbert or Helen competing for the attentions of her father and her uncles, who already are in a fair way to spoiling her!”
Naomi’s laugh held a note of wistfulness. “You look so happy, and so well. It must be wonderful to be cherished and protected by such a fine man as your Anthony. Truly, I envy you.”
“Thank you, love. You may be sure I know I am very blessed.” And watching her friend narrowly, Lady Farrar said, “I wish I could think you happy, also.”
At once brightening, Naomi demanded, “No, but why ever should you judge me otherwise? Did I look provoked just now?” She saw a flickering smile, and admitted very softly, “I was not, Mitten. Provoked is too mild a word by half! If one more person commiserates with me over this fiasco—I vow I’ll bite them! So you see, I must leave before I—further—disgrace myself!”
“You have never disgraced yourself. Although you tried hard enough.”
The flush on Naomi’s cheeks deepened a little, but Lady Farrar went on quickly, “I’ve heard tell that one of the penalties of being an accredited Toast, is the enemies they make among London’s ladies. An you leave now, ’twill not be a disgrace, my love, but a retreat. Before you are halfway to Falcon House the gabblemongers will be claiming you left shedding tears of mortification. Only think of the lovely time they will have, grieving for your embarrassment.”
“Aye. And giggling behind their fans, the cats,” stormed Naomi. “While they wallow in all the details of Rossiter’s libertine propensities and my—”
Lady Farrar blinked. “His—what? I’d not heard such things of Gideon.”
“Only gossip about me, eh? Lud, where have you been, Mitten?”
“Fiddle-de-dee!” exclaimed Lady Farrar, whose friends seldom addressed her by anything but her nickname. “Pray do not turn around, but that little tabby Melissa Coombs watches us as though you were about to suffer a seizure. Naomi, youmuststay, and have a jolly time however much you loathe it. If only to deny them the satisfaction of seeing you leave in a huff.”
