Pulling himself together, his lordship looked into the lazily amused eyes and walked slowly forward. He knew that the Duke had already made some rather astute assumptions but it did not cause him any undue concern. Rockliffe might be acutely perceptive and prone to mischievous provocation but he was not a gossip.
‘Imagination, Rock,’ he said easily. ‘I was merely dazzled by that opulent cravat pin of yours. I suppose it is a diamond?’ And then, without waiting for a reply, ‘How do you do, Mistress Vernon. I scarcely dared hope to see you again so soon.’
Rosalind’s colour fluctuated deliciously and she smiled shyly.
‘Philip acts quickly – once he is convinced he should act at all,’ she said. ‘I have been here for three days. This is my first party.’
There was a tiny, tell-tale silence which Jack broke by clearing his throat, reminding Amberley that he was there and causing him to say quickly, ‘Then you won’t have met my friend Mr Ingram. Jack – this is Mistress Vernon whose brother, Lord Philip, I think you met at White’s the other evening.’
Blinking a little, Jack bowed over Rosalind’s hand and said, ‘Your servant, Mistress Vernon. Are you enjoying your first taste of society?’
‘Well, I wasn’t,’ came the candid reply, ‘but I must admit that it has improved tremendously over the last half-hour.’
‘I thank you,’ murmured Rockliffe, provocatively meeting Amberley’s eye.
‘Mountebank!’ retorted Jack amicably.
Rosalind laughed. ‘I don’t know about that – but his Grace is quite right, you know. He has been keeping me very well entertained.’
‘My point, I think?’ suggested the Duke gently.
The Marquis, who was deriving no pleasure from finding Rosalind apparently already on the friendliest of terms with Rockliffe, chose this moment to remember his determination to remain aloof and give her time to make other acquaintances. He subjected the room to a swift, keen scrutiny and then said lightly, ‘Ah – Lady Wendover beckons. If you will excuse me, Mistress Vernon … gentlemen?’ And, with a slight bow, he walked away.
Jack stared after him and then looked blankly at the Duke.
‘What’s the matter with him? He must know Charlotte Wendover only wants him to dance with one of those platter-faced girls of hers.’
‘You would think so, would you not?’ His Grace looked Mr Ingram in the eye and shook his head almost imperceptibly. Then, flicking the fan shut and replacing it in Rosalind’s hand, he said, ‘Mistress Vernon – it has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I shall look forward to furthering it. Meanwhile, however, here are your brother and Mistress Dacre.’ And he moved adroitly away, leaving Jack to exchange half-hearted banalities with Lord Philip.
Rosalind hardly noticed any of it. Somewhere inside her was a cold incomprehension caused by Amberley’s conduct. He had greeted her with the same formality he might have offered to any chance-met acquaintance and then left her with what his friends plainly considered a poor excuse. She felt rebuffed and abandoned to a degree that she told herself was out of all proportion to the event; but it was no use – and her only positive emotion was a strong desire to go home.
It was not to be. The Duke of Rockliffe’s pleasure in her company had not gone unremarked and, as soon as he removed himself, there were suddenly numerous gentlemen eager to obtain an introduction. Even Maria Hawley, who had spent a whole month in a vain attempt to engage Rockliffe’s interest, came back reinforced with two of her friends and charged with a wrathful determination to repay Mistress Vernon’s ill-advised snub.
Plunged into a sea of strange voices, all seemingly intent on warring for her attention, Rosalind struggled to stay calm and reply to them as best she could. They were all around her, bombarding her from every side with their questions, their compliments and their contrived witticisms until her already weakened defences began to crumble and, with her nerves vibrating like violin strings, it was all she could do to stop herself screaming. The voices sounded nightmarishly similar and, even given the opportunity to accustom herself to each separately, she doubted her ability to identify one from another. Only one was recognisable as it jibed and sneered and cut at her; the thin tones of Mistress Hawley – and harder to bear than all the rest.
‘Where is my brother?’ she asked, unable to understand why Philip was making no attempt to rescue her. And had to repeat the question three times before she got an answer.
‘Oh – he’s caught fast in the talons of Colonel Harding,’ replied someone carelessly. ‘Being regaled with the old fire-eater’s memoirs, I shouldn’t wonder. Terrible bore, old Harding, y’know – and the very devil to get away from.’
Under cover of a laborious conversation with the elder Mistress Wendover, Amberley shifted his position so that he could watch Rosalind. He did not like what he saw and a hint of grimness touched his mouth as he wondered what Lord Philip was about not to put a stop to the situation. White with strain, Rosalind turned this way and that, trying to face her persecutors – all of whom must be singularly stupid, thought the Marquis savagely, if they couldn’t see how much they were upsetting her. And then she came abruptly to her feet and his lordship hesitated no longer but, with a curt excuse to Mistress Wendover, strode briskly across the room.
Almost immediately he was detained by a light hand on his arm and he swung round to meet Rockliffe’s veiled gaze. ‘What?’
Without removing his hand from the wide velvet cuff, his Grace stared absently at the onyx signet ring on his finger and said remotely, ‘Dominic, my loved one – you look ripe for murder. Either dissemble a little … or let me do it.’
For a second, the Marquis could not trust himself to speak. Then he said unevenly, ‘No. But I thank you for your advice and will repay it with a little of my own. Stay out of it, Rock.’ And, shaking off the restraining hand, he closed in on the group about Rosalind.
‘What a shame you can’t dance,’ Maria Hawley was saying pityingly. ‘But perhaps you should try. I am sure any of these gentlemen would be happy to oblige you.’
A murmur of enthusiastic assent rippled through the assembled ranks.
‘No!’ There was a note of rising panic in Rosalind’s voice. ‘I can’t dance with any of you and I don’t wish to be – to be obliged.’
‘Quite right,’ approved Amberley lightly as he threaded a watchful passage through the group.
With a startled gasp, Rosalind turned towards him, hands outstretched. ‘Oh – it’s you.’
The Marquis received her hands in his and held them reassuringly. What he wanted to do was to take her right away from these thoughtlessly stupid people but he knew it to be unthinkable – less because of the gossip it would cause than because he suspected that, once alone with her, he wouldn’t stop at holding her hands. And, since it was equally impossible to tell her tormentors to go to the devil, he opted for a third course that was no less shocking but which might at least have the merit of appearing less singular to Rosalind.
He said, ‘Yes. It is I – come to beg you to make an exception in my case and attempt this minuet.’
She shook her head and he felt her hands shaking.
‘I can’t,’ she said, low-voiced and pleading. ‘You know I can’t.’
‘On the contrary, I know that you can – with me,’ he demurred calmly. ‘Come.’
And, without giving her time to reply, he led her back through the uneasily silent group which parted like the Red Sea under the single contemptuous glance that was all he gave it.
‘I can’t,’ whispered Rosalind again as they moved out of earshot. ‘It’s insane – and I only want to get out of here.’
‘I know. But you can’t – any more than you can disappoint me,’ he told her with apparent ease as he drew her to a halt and turned her to face him. ‘Give me your hand, pretend this is your parlour at Oakleigh – and smile. It will be alright, I promise you. Ready?’
She drew a long, unsteady breath. ‘Oh God – if I must then. But you’re quit
e mad, you know. Mad and inhuman if you don’t know that the last thing I want to do just now is dance.’
‘Mm. In fact, I’m little short of a monster,’ responded his lordship cheerfully as the music started. ‘Your curtsy, my dear.’
Rosalind obeyed automatically. ‘And what’s more,’ she went on crossly as she arose and turned to move at his side, ‘you have absolutely no right to bully me like this – not after the shabby way you abandoned me earlier.’
Amberley placed his arm lightly about her waist and heard a distinct gasp of shock from behind them. ‘Very true. I beg your pardon.’
Obedient to the pressure of his fingers, she stepped gracefully across him and held out her skirts. ‘So you should! For if you didn’t mean to speak to me, you shouldn’t have persuaded Philip to bring me to London. You must know I only came because … ‘ She paused to concentrate on her steps.
‘Yes?’ prompted the Marquis. ‘You only came because … ?’
‘Because I thought you wanted me to.’
‘I did.’ With resolute cowardice, he avoided meeting Lord Philip’s eye as they danced past him.
‘Really?’ asked Rosalind sardonically.
‘Yes – really.’ Rueful amusement quivered in the pleasant voice and he resisted a childish impulse to point out that, with Rockliffe in attendance, she had not appeared to need him. ‘Stop ripping up at me. I thought you wanted to be rescued?’
And since this was indisputably true and since there was also something very soothing in the strength of his guiding arm, Rosalind relinquished her grievances and fell silent.
From the edge of the floor, Philip followed his sister’s progress with hideous fascination.
‘I don’t believe it,’ he said weakly, half to himself. ‘I know she said he taught her to dance … but I can’t say I ever thought they’d be crazy enough to do it in public.’
‘Damned scoundrel’s got his arm round her!’ observed Colonel Harding loudly, peering disapprovingly through his glass. ‘Modern manners – disgraceful!’
Philip flushed, uttered a muffled curse and eyed the Marquis with mounting wrath. Then Isabel emerged at his side and he hissed furiously, ‘I thought you were with her. Why didn’t you stop her making such a spectacle of herself?’
‘I couldn’t,’ snapped Mistress Dacre, stung by the injustice of it. ‘Any more than I could stop Maria Hawley and those others from upsetting her.’
‘Well I can – and I will!’ He took a hasty step towards the dancers.
‘No you won’t.’ Isabel clung determinedly to his sleeve. ‘You’ll cause a scene and make things worse. Leave it to Lord Amberley. It looks as if he knows how to take care of her.’
The blue eyes blazed dangerously. ‘Better than I?’
‘Just at this moment – much better,’ returned Isabel unkindly. ‘And if you think he’s not perfectly aware of the stir he’s causing, you can’t have looked at him properly.’
In point of fact the Marquis, whilst trying to devote himself exclusively to Rosalind, was acutely conscious of every curious glance, indrawn breath or murmured word and a hint of uncustomary colour stained his cheek. He had never cared very much for the mass of public opinion but this kind of exhibitionism was little to his taste and, as the couples around them gradually started drifting from the floor to watch from its perimeter, he began to wonder if he had not made a severe miscalculation.
A glance into Rosalind’s face brought a modicum of comfort and revived his sense of humour. Their roles were now so ludicrously reversed that it was he who was tense while she, unaware that they were being stared at from all quarters, appeared comparatively relaxed. Just at that moment, he thought ironically, she was better off than he.
As he watched the last couples desert the floor to leave them in sole possession of it, the usual glint of laughter began to dawn in his eyes and, bending his head, he murmured, ‘I don’t know about you – but I have just one small regret.’
She swayed under his arm. ‘Oh? And what is that?’
‘That Lady Warriston and dearest Letty aren’t here to see us,’ he replied wickedly. And had the satisfaction of hearing her deliciously husky laugh.
At the moment Lord Amberley and Mistress Vernon took to the floor, his Grace of Rockliffe was offering Mr Ingram snuff from a topaz-studded gold box and, inevitably, was about to inform him where and by whom it had been made. The fact that he stopped mid-sentence was sufficiently unprecedented to startle Jack into seeking the reason. Then, staring incredulously at the Marquis’s fair head tilted intimately close to Mistress Vernon’s dark one and at the velvet-clad arm encircling her waist, he said, ‘Christ! What the hell is he doing?’
‘Wrong question, Jack,’ came the absent reply. And then, with a brief, sideways glance, ‘Ah. Perhaps Lord Philip neglected to mention that his sister is blind?’
‘Good God! Is she?’ Jack stared across the floor. ‘I had no idea. What a damn shame! But I suppose that’s why Nick’s holding her like that.’
‘Quite. But the really interesting question is less what Dominic is doing than where and how he found the opportunity to practice it.’
‘Practice it? That’s absurd!’
A faint smile touched the corners of Rockliffe’s mouth as he watched Amberley and Rosalind. ‘Is it? Look carefully. They’re performing a sequence of steps which can be repeated. Steps which they both know. And Dominic is leading. How do you think that can have come about?’
‘Oh.’ Jack thought for a moment before saying slowly, ‘When he and I first arrived this evening, it was clear he’d met the lady before.’
‘Exactly,’ sighed his Grace. ‘And it’s also clear that he has spent sufficient time in her company to achieve what we’re witnessing now.’ He paused and then added, ‘A mystery. How intriguing.’
Remarkably, since they were all craning their necks to see what everyone was looking at, the orchestra brought the dance to a timely and triumphant conclusion while the Marquis responded to Rosalind’s curtsy with a flourishing bow. Then, in the deathly hush that followed, he directed a brief, challenging glance along the flanked rows of their bemused audience and raised Rosalind’s hand to his lips.
‘Mistress Vernon,’ he teased, ‘permit me to observe that you are a credit to your dancing-master. I congratulate you – both.’
And, as if on cue, the silence around them dissolved into a buzz of pleasurably shocked chatter.
~ * * * ~
TEN
It was really no surprise to anyone that, as a result of Lady Crewe’s assembly, Rosalind became a nine-day-wonder; but what was surprising was that her spectacularly public defiance of convention did not appear to have done any harm. Lord Philip found this very hard to accept and, for a whole week, lived in the horrid expectation of seeing his sister ignored or snubbed – or, worse still, hearing her name coupled with that of Amberley. But none of these disasters occurred and, instead, flowers, invitations cards and a constant stream of callers poured into the house in Jermyn Street; and not one voice openly alluded to the possibility of a relationship – past, present or future – between Mistress Vernon and the Marquis. Philip relaxed.
Gradually, he came to realise that this happy state of affairs was owed to the exertions of three people; quietly reliable Isabel, mischievous but influential Rockliffe and, of course, Amberley – who had what Philip was fast coming to regard as an excessively irritating knack of always appearing to be right. Between them, these three had each told a handful of people - ‘in the strictest confidence!’ - that Rosalind was blind, and thus made sure that everyone knew it. Also, substantially contributing to the general reluctance to link Mistress Vernon’s name with that of the Marquis, was the fact that Rockliffe’s interest in her appeared demonstrably greater … for, in the days that followed, it was he and not Amberley who was usually to be found at her side. It was just confusing enough to silence the doubters and, when added to the palliative that Rosalind was known – though by what means Philip could n
ot tell – to be well-dowered, it meant that she could not lightly be dismissed.
The only negative aspect of the affair was the deepening of Lord Philip’s hostility towards the Marquis and this manifested itself immediately Amberley restored Rosalind to her brother’s side at the end of their dance. Philip was unable to resist addressing a low-voiced tirade at the guilty pair and his temper was not improved when Rosalind received with misplaced levity the intelligence that everyone else had left the floor to watch. The Marquis said very little and Philip attributed this to an arrogant dislike of having his conduct criticised. It did not occur to him that Amberley was in perfect agreement with him – up to a point – but was restraining himself from replying with a pithy denunciation of Philip’s care of his sister. With heated indignation on one side but only cool reticence on the other, it cannot be said that they quarrelled; but the atmosphere between them was most definitely strained and misunderstanding became mutual.
Although she knew what the trouble was, Rosalind wisely refrained from discussing it with her brother – aware that any attempt to persuade him that the Marquis was neither devious nor arbitrary would only make matters worse. Philip was never deliberately contrary but he had a stubborn streak that inevitably made him dig in his heels if pressed too hard. He and Amberley had got off on the wrong foot at their very first meeting and it was plain that Philip thought he had good reason to dislike him. And even if, as Rosalind suspected, he was mistaken, the only sure way to put matters right was for him to discover it for himself. Philip would not be told, but he could – and must – be shown.
That her views were shared by Mistress Dacre came as a pleasant surprise and, as a result, Rosalind found herself liking Philip’s engagement a good deal better than she had anticipated. Behind Isabel’s unassuming manner lay a strength of character that enabled her to wield a subtle influence which was remarkably effective because no one seemed to notice it. Isabel would never raise her voice or repeatedly urge her point or make a play with wet eye-lashes; she would never need to. And Rosalind found it admirable.
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