“The lady was right in one sense, however,” said Bracksby.
She shot a startled glance at him.
He shrugged. “I fear it cannot add to your consequence that poor Rossiter is your escort tonight, ma’am.”
“Oh,” said Naomi, relieved. “I fancy most people know the circumstances. Besides, Captain Rossiter is not to be blamed for his father’s predicament.” And she thought, ‘Good gracious! Why should I defend the creature?’
“How like you to be so forgiving.” Admiration lit Bracksby’s dark eyes. “One can scarce wonder at Gideon’s dogged determination to escort you. Although I feel sure he realized he would be cut.”
Naomi frowned a little and sipped her punch. She murmured, “’Tis not a greatly successful evening for either of us.”
In a markedly deserted corner of the crowded ballroom, which everywhere else rang with talk and laughter, Rossiter had much the same thought. He had expected to be shunned, but he had found it difficult to keep his face impassive when several old friends had looked straight at him with no sign of recognition. Tio Glendenning had rushed to his side whenever he was able, but Tio was bedevilled with the numerous obligations of a host, and had time for only a few words before he was rushed away again. Bowers-Malden had been so gracious as to go out of his way to come up and chat briefly, which was good of the earl, all things considered. And when she left the reception line the countess had paused to remark kindly that Gideon looked quite “wrung out” and to urge that he sit down for a while. He yearned to follow her suggestion, but dare not. He would be less obvious were he seated, and he intended to give no one the opportunity to sneer that he was ashamed and trying to hide. Also, there was the fear that if he once sat down he might not be able to get up again, for his bruises seemed to become more stiff and painful by the minute.
One benefit of his ostracism was that it gave him time for thought, and his mind struggled to make sense of the events of this long and busy day. Someone had gone to the trouble to ambush him and then warn him off. And if someone had a reason to want him to stop his investigation, then there must be something to be concealed.
There was also the matter of Tummet’s recognition of one of the bullies who had broken into and searched Promontory Point. That the thief had gone to Sir Louis Derrydene’s house was both intriguing and baffling. Sir Louis was supposed to be in Russia. If he really had stayed in London, it was possible that he had some shady little business afoot and needed the services of a hired ruffian to accomplish it. Was it likely, though, that he had merelychancedto hire the same man who’d previously broken into the Point? ‘Pushing coincidence altogether too far,’ thought Rossiter. Yet if ’twas not coincidence, if there was a connection, what was it? How could a conspiracy, planned and carried out before his own return from the army, relate to this rash of thefts all apparently having to do with some object either he or Jamie Morris had picked up in Holland? It made no sense to—
“…should not have been allowed to enter where there are decent people assembled! Are you gentlemen intimidated by a uniform?”
The nasal tones were all too familiar. Rossiter discovered that he was no longer alone. Mr. Reginald Smythe and several other gentlemen stood nearby. There were several heated declarations of a willingness to “take action.” They were a motley crew, probably pot valiant, but some other gentlemen were wandering this way, looking grim. Rossiter tensed, wondering if they would dare eject him forcibly. The other guests would probably be willing enough to look the other way, in which case this situation could become dashed ugly. He turned to face them, meeting their hostile stares haughtily.
Coming into the room on Bracksby’s arm, Naomi noticed the sudden hush, and saw heads turn. She glanced curiously in the same direction. There could be no doubt of what was happening. Rossiter looked proud and defiant, but he also looked terribly alone. Instinctively, she started forward.
Bracksby caught at her hand. “’Twere best to stay clear, ma’am. They’ll likely do no more than ask him to leave.”
Agitated, she said, “Reggie Smythe has hated him forever. Where is Tio, or Gordie Chandler, or Bowers-Malden?”
“Likely manoeuvred out of the way. Oh, Gad! Here’s Crenshore! His father was ruined when the bank failed! Come, my lady. We must—”
But Naomi was already hurrying towards the ominous little group.
Cyril Crenshore, large, flushed, and aggressive, had stepped directly in front of Rossiter. “You’ve a choice, Captain,” he grated. “Leave quietly, or—”
“La, Captain Rossiter,” said Naomi, strolling up beside Bracksby. “Do you not claim your dance, I shall have no alternative but to allow Mr. Bracksby to take your place, as he begs to do.” She stood there, plying her fan gracefully, and looking both enchanting and serenely unaware of the atmosphere of barely suppressed fury.
“Take Rudi, lovely one,” said Mr. Crenshore, who adored her. “We’ve a matter of business to discuss with this fellow.”
Rossiter bowed, wondering why the deuce Bracksby had brought Naomi into this mess. “I relinquish my claim, ma’am.”
Naomi’s eyes flashed with vexation.
Bracksby said, “Ah, but I do not care to win by default, Gideon. I feel sure that these gentlemen can chat with you at some more opportune time.”
He spoke in his usual mild tones, but Crenshore was reminded of his manners. It would be exceedingly poortonto create a fuss while in this house as a guest. Scowling, he stepped back. Several of the other gentlemen exchanged glances and retreated also.
Irritated, and aware he was losing support, Smythe blustered, “You surprise me, Rudi. ’Pon rep, but y’do! I’d have said you’d be first to see the need for decent people to—”
“To remember they are gentlemen and that ladies are present?” interposed Bracksby. “Then you would be perfectly right, my dear fellow.”
Smythe flushed. “Perhaps you were not a victim of the alleged failure of Rossiter Bank, but I can assure you—”
“Perhaps,” interpolated Rossiter icily, “you would wish a private meeting to discuss the matter, Smythe.”
Naomi gritted her teeth.
Bracksby said in a low voice, “Gideon, for the love of God! Do you mean to challenge all London?”
“If need be,” snapped Rossiter.
