Page 15

She looked back at the tall, gaunt woman.

She was dressed in an outlandish mulberry silk gown trimmed with black embroidery at the hem and across her narrow breast. Her cap was of mulberry velvet accented with large curling black-and- white ostrich feathers that bobbed and swayed frantically as she greeted her guests.

The entire assemblage was set at a rakish angle on faded red curls.

About her neck she wore a gem-studded dragon necklace which echoed the outlandish oriental decor of her home and confirmed that her favorite motif was dragons.

If people like Lady Oakley were to be her experience in London, then perhaps she’d been too hasty in condemning the metropolis.

No matter, her current guise allowed her the opportunity to observe, she decided firmly.

She sat down on the settee Aunt Alicia indicated, calmly folding her hands in her lap.

An hour later, when Susannah came to her side, fanning herself after the exertions of a fast-paced contredanse, Catherine still sat there.

Her back was beginning to ache from the stiff upright posture she maintained, while her feet treacherously ached to join the sets that formed and move to the rhythm of the music.

“I wish you would not sit here, hidden behind all this profusion of flowers,” Susannah complained.

An amused smile tugged at Catherine’s lips.

“This is where Aunt Alicia placed me. Do you get the feeling that if neither she nor anyone else sees me, then perhaps she can forget my existence? Even for a while? Good heavens, I can’t see her threading her way through this maze of flowers to my side, can you? ”

Susannah shuddered. “There would be water and flowers everywhere.”

“Precisely.”

“Oh, but, Catherine, it isn’t fair,” Susannah softly wailed.

“Oh, pooh. It is what I’ve always claimed I desired.

And it is amusing to watch the antics of Society.

Do you know people do the strangest things when they think no one is watching?

What is really amusing is how anyone could believe they are not noticed in a crowd this size.

They act as if they are secluded. One gentleman and lady put me quite to the blush with their fondling.

And they were standing just over there, in that corner of the room!

” Catherine pointed to a shadowed corner framed by large columns carved to resemble palm trees.

Susannah laughed. “I know what you mean. It makes me wonder why we’re so often told to be carefully circumspect in all our actions lest we disgrace ourselves and be barred from Society.

But come, I know you must be tired of sitting here so long.

Accompany me to the punch table, for I am dreadfully parched and in need of refreshment. ”

Smiling, Catherine stood up, and for a moment, her face was framed by an array of spring hothouse flowers placed in vases set on tall pedestals in front of the settee. She hooked her arm through Susannah’s, and they made their way toward the punch tables placed in an alcove along the opposite wall.

Stefton, Captain Chilberlain, and the Earl of Soothcoor had arrived but minutes before, and many a maiden turned her eyes in their direction.

Stefton ignored them all, his eyes searching the assembled company, his face set in a mask of cold hauteur to discourage casual conversation with any he passed.

He was eager to find his quarry. Keen as a dog to the chase.

He was not pleased by his inexplicable anticipation; nonetheless, the feelings remained.

They were also feelings he remembered from his first sight of the wench while she rode the big bay as if she and the horse were one.

Almost he would choose to end the game before it began. Almost.

It was then that he saw her. He inhaled sharply.

Her face was framed by riotous yellow and pink flowers that accented the red-gold highlights in her hair and the roses in her cream-colored cheeks.

When she stepped from behind the flowers, he grimaced at the stark white gown she wore.

It showed her creamy skin to hideous disadvantage.

The dress was so ill-suited to her, she might as well have been dressed in rags.

“It’s worse than I thought,” grumbled Soothcoor, scanning the full ballroom. “I’m for the card room. How about you, Chilberlain? Stefton?”

“Not yet,” said the Marquis. He turned to look at Soothcoor. “And neither will you. I need you.”

Startled, the Earl looked from Stefton to Chilberlain.

The Captain shrugged. “I don’t know what maggot he has in his brain, but I’m game to humor him."

"Ay, I suppose for a wee bit, but I’ll not stay around to see him dance around some bitch.”

“Have you ever known me to be so obvious?” Stefton drawled lazily, though inwardly he again repressed the eager quivering. “And remember, I cast myself in the role of fairy godfather, not the handsome prince.”

He watched Catherine as she approached the punch table, the animation in her features as she conversed with her cousin giving a lie to her appearance.

“Now, gentlemen, I suggest you mingle about the company while I engage Cinderella in a dance. When we have finished, I shall introduce each of you to her, and you will dance with her in turn.”

“What devilment are you up to, Stefton?” demanded Soothcoor.

“Patience,” floated back his reply as he threaded his way through the assembled company toward their hostess.

“Lady Oakley, forgive my intrusion,” Stefton softly said as he came up beside Lady Oakley

“Stefton!” She grabbed his wrist with long bony fingers.

“I know you’ve just arrived. Do not tell me you are leaving already!

I refuse to allow you to merely put in an appearance, cause untold maidens’ hearts to flutter, then disappear.

I will not allow it!” she said sternly, the swaying feathers in her cap punctuating her words.

“Such was not my intention,” he said.

“Good. Furthermore, you will oblige me by dancing.”

“Certainly.”

She looked at him suspiciously. “And not just with your flirts, or—or cheres amies .”

Stefton’s expression shuttered. “I beg your pardon!” he said stiffly.

“Oh, don’t come all stuffy and cutting with me. I may be old, but I’m not dead. Or blind. Though sometimes I think that may not be so bad. When I look at today’s fashions I shudder. Positively shudder.”

Stefton relaxed, enjoying Lady Oakley’s honesty. “You could remove your glasses,” he suggested.

She grinned, pushing her frames up her nose. “Yes, but I’ve worn them so long I’d feel positively, well, you know what I mean,” she finished primly.

A grin cracked Stefton’s reserve. Lady Oakley was an old friend of his parents, and it was for their sake he made an appearance at her yearly spring ball, held near the beginning of every Season.

In truth, he would have done so regardless, for he enjoyed Lady Oakley and her eccentricities.

She was a refreshing respite from the staid dowagers and the insipid debutantes that littered Society.

“So, do you dance, my lord?”

“Of a certainty. I have even come to you for an introduction to a candidate.”

Lady Oakley’s pale brows vanished up behind the ruff of red curls that covered her brow.

She blinked at him, her lips pursed in surprise.

“Well, then, let me think which lovely lady I can bestow your favors upon.” She quickly scanned the room.

“There is Miss Halcombie or the blonde Monweithe chit. All the gentlemen seem to favor that one this season. Or. . .”

“No,” he said, interrupting her recital of the Season’s eligibles. “I wish you to introduce me as a dance partner to Miss Shreveton, standing over there by the punch table. Miss Catherine Shreveton.”

She looked in the direction he indicated, her brows again climbing behind the fringe of hair at her brow. “The young woman in that hideous white gown?”

He inclined his head slightly in agreement, while hawk-like he observed Lady Oakley’s thoughts scurry across her transparent features.

“I’ll not pretend to understand you, sir, but neither will I allow you to change your mind, for I’ve not seen that young woman on the floor yet this evening.”

“I thought not,” he drawled.

She glanced at him sharply, but his face was unreadable. She shrugged. “Come, then,” she said, hooking her arm in his and leading him toward the punch table.

Susannah saw Lady Oakley approaching arm in arm with the Marquis. She lightly touched her cousin’s hand. “Catherine, be forewarned. I believe the Marquis of Stefton has arranged the formal introduction he promised he would,” she said, a tiny giggle escaping her lips.

Catherine’s head snapped around, her brown eyes catching the intent silver ones of the Marquis.

Tingling excitement coiled down her spine.

She frowned, damning the feelings as swiftly as they came.

Why must this man affect her so? She would not have it, she determined grimly. She would not have it at all!

Stefton saw her tiny frown and smiled rakishly in response. His anticipation for the evening grew. His poor quarry would not have a hole left to duck into when he was through with her this evening.

“Ladies, please allow me to make the Marquis of Stefton known to you. Stefton, may I present to you Miss Shreveton and Miss Shreveton.”

Stefton bowed over one lady’s hand and then the other’s, a giggle escaping from Susannah as he bent over hers. He looked up at her and winked conspiratorially. Next to her, Catherine fumed, her temper rising.

Lady Oakley smiled complacently, her beringed fingers clasped in front of her.

“I notice you do not dance, Miss Shreveton,” she said, addressing Catherine.

“I cannot have that at one of my balls, you know. It will ruin my reputation as a hostess if my guests fix themselves against a wall. Allow me to offer the Marquis of Stefton as a partner.”