Women curtsied as they studied Kate from beneath their lashes. Some showed genuine warmth and were gracious in their praise, but others less effusive. She would have to prove herself to become one of them. The witty and often scandalous gossip she overheard as they strolled through the huge noisy ballroom made her wonder if she really wanted to. Lady Sommerford’s new babe apparently wasn’t her husband’s, and gossip had it that several men might have fathered the child. It mattered not, for he had his heir and a spare, and had become quite taken with his new mistress.
The men and women flirted outrageously in the honeyed light of a thousand candles reflected in huge gilt-framed mirrors adorning the walls. The air close and humid, different scents fought for ascendancy, and not all of them pleasant. Ladies whispered behind their fans, their eyes full of laughter. A lady tucked a man’s note into her cleavage when her husband’s back was turned. Kate fanned herself, too, not coquettishly, as Brigitte had suggested, but because she feared she might faint, not just from the heat of close contact with a hundred bodies, but the shock of such an extravagant display of wealth.
The orchestra struck up again.
“Bach. A favorite composer of the king.” Robert bent toward her to make himself heard above the babble of conversation around them.
Couples performed an allemande, twisting and turning on the polished wooden floor in graceful movements.
Footmen carried trays of champagne and dainty foods to the guests, who clustered around the rim of the ballroom floor or wandered in and out of the adjoining chambers.
Seated on ornate, gilt chairs upholstered in crimson velvet, the jovial King George and the queen were surrounded by six of their children. When introduced, Kate sank into a deep curtsey while the monarch peered at her nearsightedly. When the queen smiled, Kate’s nervousness slipped away. Their questions were mercifully brief. They both expressed genuine sadness at the marquess’ passing.
Their eldest son, and heir to the throne, George Augustus Frederick, the Prince of Wales, kissed her hand, observing that her husband was a lucky fellow. Considered handsome and known for his charm, Kate failed to find the tall, bulky man with a florid complexion attractive. He appeared to be much older than his two-and-twenty years. His attention to Kate made her uncomfortable.
As soon as he could, Robert drew her away.
“I’m not sure I quite like the prince,” she said in an undertone.
“I’m relieved that you do not,” he said shortly. He turned to greet someone at his elbow.
When he turned back to her, she asked him why.
“He’s been through several mistresses already. I don’t want him adding you to the list.”
She wondered if Robert might be jealous. More likely it was a matter of possession or pride. She disliked him thinking she could be swayed in that direction and huffed. “As if I would. I am a married woman.”
“The prince’s ladies most often are. Some cuckolded husbands are busy elsewhere. Some suffer in silence. Royalty live by a different set of rules.” Robert glowered down at her. “Prince or no, I’m not one of those husbands who will turn a blind eye, Kate.”
The dangerous light in his eyes, made her gasp.
He said no more and, claiming her arm, moved on to introduce her to more guests. They were polite to her face, no doubt because of her high rank, but a buzz of conversation followed her. The aged Duke of Allthrop raised his pince nez. “That’s the chit who married young St. Malin? Did all right for herself,” he said loudly. His wife whispered in his ear. “What? Don’t hush me. I’m not deaf. She’s a fetching little thing.”
Kate feared her face was scarlet.
She performed the cotillion with Lord Branchford, who when they came together, gazed at a fixed point above her head. He trod heavily on her toes. “You are from the country, I believe, Lady St. Malin.”
Kate sighed. “Oxfordshire is not so terribly far from London, my lord.”
“Ah, yes, but bucolic, eh? I have a hunting lodge in that area. We all withdraw to the country when the Season ends. I find it a bit of bore and short of the comforts one comes to expect.”
Kate was about to defend her childhood home, but she remembered Robert’s warning and merely smiled as at the end of the dance, he returned her to Robert.
A handsome middle-aged couple approached them. The dainty woman smiled, but her partner, a heavy-set man, scowled.
“Robert, how well you look.” The lady reached up to touch his face.
Robert bowed stiffly. “I should like to introduce my bride, Marchioness, Lady St. Malin,” he said stiffly. Surprised, Kate noted the ridge of color on his cheekbones and the unhappy expression in his eyes. “Kate, Lord and Lady Charlesworth.”
“How delightful to meet you, my dear,” Lady Charlesworth said. She turned back to Robert. “Why were we not invited to the wedding?”
“It was done quickly and simply, in Cornwall.”
Her eyes turned wistful. “Will you bring Lady St. Malin to visit us soon, Robert?”
“Regrettably, we have many social engagements to fulfill.”
“Robert, please—” The lady’s blue eyes filled with tears.
