Gabriella exhaled softly. “My goodness. It appears we are late to our own cause.”
Rebecca’s mouth curved. “Lady Kimpton has never been one to wait for permission. It’s said that she demanded her husband pay her to stay with him after some fantastic row. I’m certain it was idle gossip,” she said, looking after the retreating woman.
The tiniest thread of recollection teased Rose’s memory. “That bit about dropping someone on a ship…”Surely not.
Rebecca migrated in Lady Harlowe’s direction, and with their heads together, they appeared to be plotting against the world.
“Darling?” Huntley appeared before Gabriella with his arm out as the chords of the first waltz of the evening fired up, leaving Rose on her own and wishing desperately for Emerson. Better yet, wishing to be away from the all-seeing eyes of thebeau monde. She was quite tired of it all. The pretense, the undercurrents… She missed Emerson.
“Good evening, Lady Stanford.”
Rose blinked and found herself staring into Lady Lockhart’s eyes of blue so light they resembled chips of ice. Quickly recovering, Rose gave the matron a cool tip of her lips and inclined her head. “Lady Lockhart.”
The silence between them grew awkward, but Rose didn’t care. The woman was a terror.
A familiar voice cut in. “Forgive me the intrusion, Lady Stanford.”
Relief spilled through Rose. She turned to Benjamin Massey. He bowed with an elegance that perhaps Emerson couldn’t touch. But something that Ben would never match was Emerson’s masculine virility, and she desperately wished it were he who was standing before her. Curiously, there was a slight swelling on Ben’s cheek. “Good evening, Mr. Massey. I wasn’t expecting to see you.”
He glanced around. “I thought Emerson would be here. Has he not arrived?” His eyes twinkled with mischief.
Her own flicked to Lady Lockhart and back. “He is with my brother,” she said a little too sharply.
Ben blinked.
“Ah, my felicitations on your…engagement,” Lady Lockhart said. “It does seem to have come about rather suddenly. Then, I suppose a duke’s sister…” Her words trailed off.
“A duke’s sister what, Lady Lockhart?” Rose spoke pleasantly for all the instinct to lash out at the horrid woman.
“Lockhart?” Ben said with a bite of surprise. His brows furrowed. “Lockhart!” He snapped his fingers, his lips tipping into an easy smile. “I met your daughter. Just last night. She’s quite lovely.”
His words struck the air.
“B-but,” Lady Lockhart sputtered. “That’s impossible…”
Dear God. For one suspended instant, Rose did not—could not—breathe. Her heart gave a violent, traitorous lurch, as if it meant to flee her body right there on the ballroom floor. Heat drained from her limbs, leaving her fingers numb, useless things at her sides.
He could not have said that.
Her gaze snapped to Lady Lockhart. Too late. As her words fell away, realization seemed to seep in. Slow. Precise. Merciless. She moved her gaze about the room, and with each person’s eyes she met, they turned their backs or whispered behind their fans.
She stared at Rose, and her expression settled into something far more dangerous. “My niece,” she said to Ben, not taking her eyes from Rose, each word measured with chilling care, “has not left her bed in a fortnight.”
The lie hung there—polished, deliberate.
The damage was done, Rose realized, with sinking certainty, dismay flooding her.
The crease reappeared between his brows, his smile tightened. “Miss Viola? But I did see her. Last evening at Lady Stanford’s.”
The glittering candlelight of the ballroom seemed to flicker on and off. The heat, or her corset, blocked the air to Rose’s lungs even as Ben’s words echoed through some long away tunnel. He kept talking, but Rose couldn’t make out anything due to the pulse roaring in her ears.
What began as a queenly nod of Lady Lockhart’s overly dressed head that set the stuffed bird atop bobbing in a precarious manner came to a slow rock before stopping completely with her sudden stillness. Her eyes narrowed on Rose, instantly watchful. “Is that so?”
Ben froze as well, but quickly recovered. “Lady Stanford, I’d hoped to steal you for this set.” He snatched Rose by the hand and pulled her into the ongoing waltz.
“I put my foot in it, didn’t I?” he said into the first turn.
“At least no blood was drawn,” she murmured, though she felt quite faint.
