Page 21 of A Gentleman's Wager
“It’s hardly a torturous hardship I was asking,” she spat at his retreating back. Arrogant prig, strutting about like a peacock. Still, a footman… one could surely be relied upon to carry a message within, whereupon Lucerne would come without. Only, she would have to take her eyes off the doorway to find one. As it was, the fog spat out another two gentlemen before she made her decision.
“Miss Rushdale,” declared the spritelier of the two.
Bella’s heart fell into her pumps. “Mr Lumb.” Were all her erstwhile suitors in attendance?
“This is my cousin, also Mr Lumb.”
“Arthur,” the cousin declared. They were alike as to be brothers, with the same sparse effusion of strawberry blond hair and complexions prone to ruddiness. Bella offered him a curtsy, though not her hand.
“Do you not dance, Miss Rushdale?”
“I was partaking of a moment’s respite,” she answered, having taken no part in the dancing so far.
“Then you must allow us to fetch you some refreshment. Some cordial water, or there’s a rum punch, a famed Marlinscar speciality by all accounts.”
“Ratafia,” Mr Francis Lumb declared, “All my sisters adore it, though I confess I find it over sweet myself.” They offered her an arm apiece, and even though she didn’t precisely accept either, Bella was summarily swept away from her vantagepoint and insistently refreshed.
-14-
Louisa
To Louisa’s great dismay, Wakefield had been entirely swallowed up by the crowd of newly arrived guests by the time she reached the bottom of the grand stairs, and no amount of searching had led her to him. Instead, she had been commandeered by Charles Aubury to partner him at whist.
“Pay attention, Miss.” Charles tapped her lightly on the back of her hand. She was not a good player even when her focus was on the game. Truly, she had no interest in whist. She wanted to find Frederick, and failing that, Bella, so that she might consult her wisdom. What if everything was now ruined, and Frederick avoiding her? Oh, he couldn’t blame her for Pennerley’s actions, surely.
A shadow fell across the baize.
“Mr Aubury, I really don’t think I wish to join in another round.” She placed her cards face up, expecting to hear exasperated sighs, but he was entirely silent. “Mr Aubury?” she said, confused, but she had only to turn her head in his direction to ascertain the reason for his silence. He was entirely transfixed by the abundance of creamy cleavage set right at his nose level. Millicent Hayes, she recognised of old. The neckline of her gown was so low, her nipples practically popped out of their confinement whenever she tilted forwards even a quarter inch. Moreover, Louisa would swear she’d rouged them. No wonder, Charles had lost interest. She couldn’t and wouldn’t compete with that sort of vulgarity.
“Good evening,” she said, and pushed back her chair.
Charles grunted a vague affirmation. “Millicent can take your place. You will, won’t you, Miss Hayes? We’ll be most grateful to have you, and may I say how delightful you’re looking tonight, as if Juno herself had descended to walk among us mortals.” He hopped up, frog-like, to pull out Louisa’s recently vacated chair.
Louisa turned away, already tired of his fawning. She wasn’t sure who she was more offended by, Charles for his lack of courtesy, or Millicent for her obscene dress. No matter, she had spied Bella, but would have to be quick to catch up with her. Card players and revellers were not so easy to pass between.
“Do you always go everywhere in a rush?” a soft male voice brought her to a halt in the hallway.
Him. Pennerley.
Cautiously, she turned her head, and found him in the shadowed archway of the stairs; dark blue coat and silver-figured silk waistcoat, hair as dark as a raven’s wing, and eyes like amethysts. She timorously crossed to where he was leaning against the wall.
“Lord Pennerley, your servant,” he said, and lifted her hand to briefly press his lips to her glove. The contact was warming even through the fabric. “I believe I owe you an apology. Taking advantage earlier was rather cruel of me.”
“Yes.” She boldly met his gaze, only to take a quick step back when faced with its intensity. He followed her retreat, parting contact with the wall against which he’d been idling. “Will you grant me a dance, Miss Stanley? It seems the least I can do to make up for my earlier behaviour.”
Louisa fumbled for the dance card attached to her wrist. The way he looked at her, it was as if he could see straight into her head and knew exactly what she’d been thinking and feeling when he’d kissed her earlier, and all that she was thinking and feeling now too.
“Um, I’m free whenever you wish. Nobody else has asked me yet.”
“Not even the delightful Captain Wakefield?”
“Erm, no.”
He tapped his index finger to the paper. “Then I had best engage you for two.”
“Oh! Thank you.” Even with the marquis wanting two dances, that still left plenty of opportunity for her to dance with Frederick, even if he asked her for three dances, a number that would loudly declare his interest to the room. She did so hope he would declare himself soon, then she might write to her aunt before any gossip reached her and prompted her to interfere. She’d grown desperately fond of him. He was always so gentle, and well-mannered with her, but not in a stuffy, overbearing way. He made her laugh when he spoke about his sisters, and he listened when she spoke of Tristan and how bitterly she still felt the loss.
Of course, all this was dependant on him not being so outraged by the kiss Pennerley had stolen that he abandoned all thoughts of her entirely. Mayhap she ought to refuse the marquis after all.
