Time's Fool

by Patricia Veryan

  “Yes, but—”

  “Then they have doubtless discovered their error, so don’t maudle your mind with nonsense.” He started to the door, then hesitated, and came back to stand by the bed. “Gideon,” he said in a gruff voice, “I gather I am luckier than I realized in that you came back from Holland alive. I’d—er, I’d not see you killed, boy. You will take care?”

  Touched, Morris said, “Never fear, sir. I’ll keep an eye on the gudgeon.”

  Sir Mark stared at him. “You cannot guess how that relieves my mind,” he said dryly.

  * * *

  “You would not dare!” Already wearing her ball gown, Katrina’s eyes were wide, and she gazed at her friend in awe.

  “Oh, yes she would, Miss Katrina,” said Maggie, coaxing a strand of Naomi’s hair into a glowing ringlet. “It don’t matter to my lady if folks says as I doesn’t know how to send her out. When my lady’s in a taking like this—”

  “Oh, hush, you silly girl,” snapped Naomi, snatching the comb. “Go! Go! I shall manage my hair myself!”

  Maggie threw her apron over her head and departed, wailing. Once in the hall, her wails ceased, and she smiled to herself. When my lady got over her pet and was full of remorse (as she always was, the sweet soul), there would be a gift offered in repentance for her harshness. It would be the lavender cap this time, thought Maggie happily. My lady never had much cared for it, but it would look lovely with her own new Sunday gown. And if a certain first footman, by the name of Mr. Robert Hinton, come creeping round with his saucy words and saucier hands, he’d discover that ladies with caps of lavender silk and lace could look so high as they wanted! She tripped along the hall, humming softly.

  Naomi was also humming, turning the mirror this way and that as she studied the back view of her coiffure. Maggie really had performed her usual magic, and the clustered curls looked rather nice. “I see no reason,” she said loftily, “why everyone must be the same. There is no law says we all must wear powder, is there?”

  “There is no law which says a gentleman must fight an he is insulted. But they all do.”

  “Precisely. Gentlemen are so many silly sheep, which is not to say I shall be the same.”

  Katrina said quietly, “Then, alas, you must judge me also a silly sheep.”

  At once contrite, Naomi flew to hug her. “Oh, but I am a horrid cat! I wonder you bear with me! Your hair looks divinely in that silver powder. But then you would look divinely were you to go bald in public!”

  Laughing, Katrina said, “Do not even think such a thing! And your auburn hair is truly glorious, Naomi. I fancy you will be the rage of the ball, and poor Captain Rossiter scarce see you the entire evening.”

  “One can but hope,” muttered Naomi, returning to the dressing table and fastening an emerald necklace about her white throat. Gideon had been used to say the nicest things about the colour of her hair … She caught herself in a sigh, and smothered it hurriedly. “I declare,” she said, “between my wretched escort tonight, and this miserable business about my slipper, I am all a’twitter! Everyone is whispering and trying to guess who the wicked lady is, and how her slipper chanced to fall from an upstairs window…! Oh, Trina! Why must people have such horrid minds?”

  “Only some people, dearest. And after all, nobody knows ’tis your slipper. If you can but get another made before—”

  “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. Her robe à la Francaise was 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.

  “Good question,” quipped someone audibly.

  Over several barely subdued sniggers, Rossiter said, “Very fit, thank you, ma’am. And proud to accept your hospitality.”

  They were through the line then. He started to extend his arm, but paused, noting the eager gallants who were already converging upon them. “You would doubtless prefer me to leave you to your—admirers, my lady.”

  Naomi managed a laugh, and rapped him lightly with her fan. “Do you imply you are not among ’em?” she said coquettishly. “Fie upon you, sir! Have you no chivalry?”

  “’Course he ain’t, delightful damsel,” simpered a tall young exquisite, shouldering Rossiter aside, then recoiling sharply. “The devil!” he exclaimed, indignant.

  “Not in front of the lady,” admonished Rossiter, with a reproving shake of the head. “And you should take care where you put your feet, sir.”

  “He is very right y’know, m’dear Farrington,” smirked Reginald Smythe, contriving to seize and kiss Naomi’s hand. “Did he step on your toe, poor fella? You shall have to wash your shoe. Or burn it,” he added, sotto voce, drawing a laugh from the gentlemen closing in around Naomi.

  “No, but you are naughty, Reggie,” she trilled, giving his hand a playful pat.

  He raised his quizzing glass and peered down at her feet. “And I suspect you also have been naughty, adored one,” he responded.

  Naomi’s heart gave a jolt and she knew she had turned pale. She reached out to Mr. Harrier. “Alfred!” she said, her voice unwontedly shrill. “How well you look in that luscious plum.”

  “And you are simply divine, light of my life,” lisped the dandy, saluting her fingertips.

  From the corner of her eye she saw Rossiter being edged from her proximity. And they all managed so well to quite ignore him. He staggered slightly as Lord Sommers pushed past. She could only pray that if he did succumb to his potations ’twould be when she was on the other side of the ballroom.

  Rossiter watched the crowd gathering about her. Gradually, deliberately, she was swept away from him. He smiled grimly, and glancing to the right encountered a battery of stony stares. Assured that the view to his left would be much the same, he sauntered towards the ballroom. The crowd broke away as he approached. He felt his face grow hot as backs were turned, and he was given a wide berth.

  A dowager with a very elaborate wig put up her fan and from behind it asked audibly, “Am I acquaint with that most dashing young captain?”

  The stocky gentleman beside her glanced at Rossiter and said something in a low-pitched, aghast tone.

  “Oh, Lud!” exclaimed the lady. “I suppose young Horatio invited the creature! ’Pon my soul, but poor Bowers-Malden has his trials with that scatter-wit heir of his!”

  There was some smothered laughter. A muscle rippled in Rossiter’s jaw, and he walked on, his head held high and proud. It was, he thought, going to be a long evening.

  * * *

  The quadrille ended at half past eleven, and Naomi’s cheeks were tired. She’d never dreamed how difficult it was to be obliged to smile constantly, and decided that the moment she left this wretched ball she would scowl for three days. Rudolph Bracksby was among the group of beaux who greeted her return from the dance floor. The quiet gentleman’s pleasant face was a welcome sight, and she was glad to grant his request to take her down to supper. There were cries of outrage at this infamy, and her admirers begged her to reconsider. At last, however, Mr. Bracksby was able to lead his lady down the stairs and conduct her to a little table against the wall. Leaning back in the chair with a stifled sigh of relief, Naomi saw Mrs. Golightly seated with a group of her cronies, among whom Sir Gilbert Fowles, all teeth and guffaw, was holding forth. With an inward moan, Naomi put up her fan and tried to be invisible. A moment later, she knew she had failed.

  “Here you are, my love! I declare I feared I’d never have a word with you!” Samantha Golightly surged into the vacant chair. A tall young woman, whose large white teeth and neighing voice inspired the uncharitable to designate her “horsy,” she moved with a bouncy gait that did little to dispel the illusion. Her only claims to prettiness were manifested by a pair of snapping black eyes, and a splendid bosom. She wore an extremely décolleté pink satin gown, which concealed very little of her principal attribute, and several gentlemen watched hopefully as she leaned forward, regarding Naomi with a triumphant grin.

  “Good evening, dear Samantha.” Naomi put on her smile once more. “Is it not a delightful party? Bowers-Malden has outdone himself. As usual.”

  “Oh, indeed, indeed. Which is in despite Tio, of course. That rascal! How could he upset his papa’s guests by inviting Gideon Rossiter? To say nothing of putting you in so unenviable a situation. Everyone feels so sorry for you, my poor sweet. ’Tis cruel, cruel that you should be obliged to endure the escort of such a notorious creature. And especially after your own unfortunate—ah, relationship with him was—”

  “Good evening, Mrs. Golightly.” Bracksby set a plate of delicacies and a glass of iced punch before Naomi. “How kind in you to entertain my lady whilst I was gathering these tidbits.” He retrieved his ow
n plate and glass from a hovering waiter, then stood looking rather helplessly at the small table. “Oh—pray do not get up, ma’am,” he added in his gentle voice.

  Mrs. Golightly, who had shown no sign of getting up, rose at once. “Dear Mr. Bracksby. You must keep this poor child entertained, for truly she has much to bear. Never fear, Naomi. We none of us believe the nonsense about your slippers. I fancy you are wearing them tonight, in fact. No?”

  “Slippers…?” echoed Naomi, staring at her with a commendably blank expression.

  “Why, yes. You surely have heard that a lady’s jewelled slipper fell from a bed—” She giggled, and fluttered her eyelashes with appalling coyness. “Well, from one of the upper rooms at the Dowling Soiree. And that everyone—but everyone—is casting bets on the identity of the naughty girl. Never fear, I have assured several people, dear Naomi, that although you wore jewelled slippers that evening, yours is not the one was lost.”

  “Good gracious,” said Naomi. “An I had dreamed such petty gossip was abroad, I should have worn those same shoes, if only to disappoint the gabblemongers.”

  Mrs. Golightly blinked, but she was not one to shy from a shadow, and said in a confiding whisper, “A very wise notion, my love. Slip away and change them. That will teach everyone a lesson!”

  “Such a friend you are, dearest,” purred Naomi. “And what a pleasant selection you have made, Mr. Bracksby. I feel sure Mrs. Golightly will wish you to sit down. ’Twas lovely chatting with you, Samantha.”

  His lips twitching, Mr. Bracksby seated himself. Mrs. Golightly took herself off looking triumphant, and Naomi muttered, “Cat!”

  “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.”