“How can I? You may be sure all the gabblemongers are watching the shoemakers like hawks. I do not dare go myself to Mr. Painton’s shop, and no matter whom I sent, or how much I paid, the news would leak out, and I should be judged again, when I did nothing more than—”
“Than come near to breaking your pretty neck, and in such foolish cause! Truly Naomi, if August knew—”
“Lud!” Whirling about Naomi gasped, “You’d not tell him?”
“Of course not. And if he did know, he would censure you privately, but never betray you. The one you’ve to outwit, my love, is Mrs. Golightly.”
“Samantha? Heavens! Why?”
“Do you not recall? She was in Painton’s when you gave him the order for the slippers. She may not have noticed, but—”
“Oh!Oh!” moaned Naomi, sinking her face into her hands. “I had quite forgot. That horrid girl has always loathed me! She was fairly mad for Gideon before I went to Italy, and I heard she made herself into a proper figure of fun, flirting with him at parties after I was gone.” She glanced up with a tragic air, saw Katrina staring curiously, and added a hurried, “Not that I give a button for that, of course. But—oh, Trina! She is sure to be there tonight. An she asks me where my jewelled slippers are…!”
“She’d not be so pushing, surely? Oh, dear! She would! My poor Naomi! Whatever shall you do?”
“Bluff my way, I suppose. Somehow. But people will be eager to believe her, does she spread the word. And he— Everyone will say I am a… guttersnipe.” For a moment she looked so crushed that Katrina was aghast, then the proud little head tossed up, the drooping mouth curved to a defiant smile. “A pox on the lot of ’em! I must prepare for the arrival of my knight-errant. And pray he’ll not come wearing a coat five years behind the fashion!”
A footman came with several corsages. A darkly red rose set in a filigreed silver holder; a tiny bouquet of cornflowers and baby’s breath; another of dainty pink roses; a delicate cluster of lily-of-the-valley and maidenhair fern. “Oh, this one is perfect!” exclaimed Katrina, taking up the lily-of-the-valley, and glancing at the card.
“Yes, indeed,” said Naomi, pleased. “Who sent it?”
She saw her friend’s face fall, and scowled. “Then I shall wear the red rose! ’Twill make a nice contrast.”
Half an hour later, watching as she descended the staircase, Rossiter caught his breath. Herrobe à la Francaisewas a shimmering sweep of palest green and silver brocade, cut very low in the bust, the stomacher emphasizing her tiny waist. The hem of the green satin underdress was caught up into deep scallops. Her unpowdered head was held regally high, the candlelight awaking flashes of dark red fire from amongst the rich brown of the glistening curls. As she drew nearer, she studiously avoided looking at him, her averted and disdainful face giving him the chance to study the delicate curve of her cheek, the firm little chin, the vivid, shapely mouth. Surely, someone so lovely could not be faithless and immoral?
At the fourth step from the bottom, Naomi lifted her eyes to look without marked delight at her escort. Despite her rather unkind remark to Katrina, she knew Gideon well enough to be assured that his appearance would not disgrace her. She had not, however, been prepared for the sight of him in full regimental evening dress, and to see him standing there, tall and straight, his cloak flung back from one shoulder, his tricorne under his arm, his fine eyes fixed on her face, momentarily struck all power of movement from her.
They stood there, gazing at each other. Two people once ineffably beloved, now separated by an impregnable barrier of hurt and disillusion.
Naomi gave herself a mental shake and started down once more, lifting her panniers slightly.
Enchanted, Gideon saw the candlelight glint on the emerald buckles of her slippers. Just as the light had caught her slippers at the Dowling Soiree, when she’d turned on the stairs after tossing the bouquet! He had a clear picture of his brother, flourishing a jewelled slipper and sneering, “The lady who lost this at the Dowling Soiree left her reputation behind…” And the dear illusion shattered. He thought achingly, ‘Naomi… Naomi…’ and heard his own voice say coldly, “Good evening, ma’am. I fancy you relish this no more than do I.”
My lady shrugged. “There will not be the need for us to do more than arrive and leave together.”
A footman came up to offer her cloak. Rossiter took it, and disposed the garment about Naomi’s shoulders. Handing her onto the terrace steps, knowing he was moving awkwardly, he glanced at the vivid rose pinned to her bodice. “How charming. A nice contrast.”
“Is it not?” One slim finger touched the glowing bloom. “I received several posies, but alas, one cannot wear them all. La, but I am remiss! You were so kind as to send me a corsage, also. Such pretty cornflowers. I thank you, sir.”
He thought, ‘She knows perfectly well that I sent lily-of-the-valley, which she always loved,’ but he said, “I am only grateful you noticed my poor offering, ma’am. So often the delicate is overwhelmed by”—he glanced again at the red rose—“the ostentatious.”
“But I do not consider cornflowers in the slightest ostentatious,” she said, opening her eyes at him.
“I am very sure that a lady with your experience of the world knows quite well which flowers compliment her—personality,” he riposted.
“Oh, yes,” she murmured, showing him all her teeth and longing to sink them into his neck.
He was assisting her into the carriage, then. A rented carriage, obviously, and with dreadfully hard and uncomfortable seats. Gritting her teeth, Naomi thought it was all of a piece, and that the evening would likely continue to deteriorate.
As it transpired, her worst fears paled before reality. By the time they reached Laindon House, she was convinced that Rossiter had drunk his dinner. He sat opposite her in the farthest corner of the coach, said not a word, and surreptitiously braced himself against the side each time the vehicle turned a corner, as though fearing he would tumble from the seat. ‘Twill be famous,’ she thought bitterly, ‘an he falls down in a drunken stupor in the middle of the reception line!’
He descended from the coach in a stiff and ungraceful fashion, and having handed her down, walked across the carpeted flagway as though he could scarce manage to set one foot before the other, causing her to give an inward moan of apprehension.
Predictably, once inside the great house, they were the object of much attention. Heads turned their way, fluttering fans covered chattering lips, even as amused eyes left little doubt as to whom was being discussed. Naomi was embraced, smiled upon, and gushed over. How daring of her to disdain powder. And her hair was simply adorable, so she must not regard what people would say. But of course, ha, ha, ha, that had never weighed with The Lutonville! The eyes of the ladies slipped past her, to rest upon her escort with scorn or speculation, and not a few with surprised admiration. That was because of the uniform, of course, thought Naomi, for despite his infamy it became him. The stares of the gentlemen were less kind, but they were frustrated also, because however much they despised the Rossiters, they could not very well insult a fellow guest wearing their country’s uniform.
The Earl of Bowers-Malden, impressive in black and gold, bowed over Naomi’s hand and told her she looked ravishing. His large and outspoken countess smiled and murmured that she was “a brave gel,” then turned to Rossiter. “And you also, Gideon,” she said. “Are you fit to be here?”
‘Most definitely—not!’ thought Naomi.
