Red Rose (7 page)

Rosalind stood and examined her gown in a long mirror. One thing she had insisted upon during her reluctant fittings at Madame de Valéry’s. She was two and twenty. Although this was officially her come-out Season, she refused to behave like a debutante and wear pastel shades. They would serve only to accentuate her age and to emphasize the darkness of her coloring. She wore a deep rose-red gown of unadorned satin. The neckline was modest. Madame had cunningly fashioned the bodice so that it flared loosely from just beneath the breasts. The skirt was full but not ill-fitting. It swirled around her as she moved. Rosalind was not given to pointless longings, but she did catch herself thinking wistfully of being able to dance as she gazed at the rose-pink slippers that peeked beneath the wide hem of her dress. She gave herself a mental shake, drew on the elbow-length white gloves that the dresser was holding out to her, and turned to Sylvia with a smile. “Shall we go down,” she suggested, “before his lordship comes looking for us, breathing fire and brimstone?”

He was waiting for them in the drawing room, looking magnificent, Rosalind conceded reluctantly. Her eyes took in the dull-gold knee breeches and coat, the brown waistcoat and snowy white linen and lace at neck and cuffs. He was truly handsome from the neck down, but his face looked more like that of a man contemplating his own execution than of one about to host a ball for the
ton.

He bowed unsmilingly and placed his empty glass on the mantel. “You are both to be complimented on your appearance,” he said. “Shall we join Hetty in the ballroom? Our first guests should be arriving soon.”

He offered Rosalind his arm, but she pretended not to notice and turned and limped out of the room ahead of both him and Sylvia. She would not allow him to treat her like an invalid.

In one of his few meetings with his wards in the previous few days, Raymore had instructed Rosalind on how she was to conduct herself at the ball. She had felt like an enlisted soldier taking orders from a general. He had not asked or discussed or coaxed; he had told. She was to stand next to him in the receiving line, with Sylvia on her other side. If she became tired of standing, she must take his arm and lean on him. When the dancing was to begin, he would lead her as unobtrusively as possible to a sofa close to the door, after which he would begin the dancing by leading out Sylvia.

He and Cousin Hetty would introduce her to various guests; she assumed he meant various young men. Her inability to dance would be attributed to the fact that she was somewhat lame. He had considered telling everyone that she had twisted her ankle, he told her frankly, but had decided that that would not serve, as she could expect to be in London for at least two months and she could not convince everyone for the whole of that time with the twisted-ankle story.

On no account was she to move from the sofa. If no one else offered to bring her a plate of food at suppertime, he would do so himself. All she had to do was smile and be charming to all who came to converse with her.

It was while he talked that Rosalind devised her plan to get even with this man whom she had come to detest. Only this enabled her to sit outwardly serene as he talked about her quite candidly as if she were a piece of spoiled merchandise that a buyer would have to be tricked into purchasing. She would show him!

The first part of the evening went as planned. The Earl of Raymore was satisfied with the appearance of his wards. His cousin, of course, looked inviting, as he had expected. But he had been half-prepared for some resistance from Rosalind. He had thought that she might try to appear in an old gown or with a plain hairdo. He had been quite prepared to march her back to her room and threaten to take her inside and dress her himself if she did not immediately cooperate and dress herself becomingly. But he was impressed. In her own way she looked almost magnificent. Not in his style, of course, or quite in the style that was likely to take well with the
ton,
but certainly she was quite acceptable. If only she did not have that ugly limp!

She did not take his arm at all during the hour in which they stood greeting guests, even though he offered it several times when there was a lull in the lineup. But he could not complain about her attitude. She was not sullen. She smiled and shook hands with each person who passed. Raymore was pleased that he had taken such a firm stand with her from the beginning. She had obviously learned to accept his way as best for her.

When even the last trickle of guests appeared to have passed into the ballroom, Raymore sent Hetty and Sylvia in to draw the eyes of his guests, while he ushered Rosalind to the sofa that had been reserved for her.

She watched with something between amusement and wistfulness as the earl led Sylvia into the first set of country dances. She had never been to a ball, but had watched her cousin have dancing lessons at home. It was a silly pastime, she had decided in self-defense. But she did feel a momentary pang on this occasion as she watched so many elegantly dressed men and ladies move gracefully through the intricacies of the dance. It must be wonderful to be able to move with such grace.

She was not left long to brood alone. After the first set, her guardian approached with a young man who was trying to look at ease in a coat that must have taken three grown men to squeeze him into and collar points that held his head almost completely immobile. Although she conversed with him for almost half an hour, Rosalind could never remember afterward so much as his name. She was watching Sylvia dancing with a string of dazzling partners, including Mr. Charles Hammond, who looked even more dashing tonight than he had at the theater.

Rosalind remembered Sir Rowland Axby afterward, mainly because he sat with her during the supper dance and insisted on bringing her a plate of food and sitting beside her while she ate, though she urged him not to miss the gathering in the supper room on her account.

She felt a little sorry for the man. Nothing in either his looks or manner was particularly attractive, and such must have been the case all his life, she judged, because he talked very fast, holding her eyes with his anxiously, as if he were accustomed to being interrupted. Rosalind had been bored even before his arrival. She might as well listen to him and give him a little happiness, she thought resignedly. He talked about his home, his possessions, his friends (she suspected there was some fabrication there), and his children, who ranged in age from twelve down.

The Earl of Raymore was definitely gratified. He had already assessed the ball to be a resounding success before supper was over. He had never enjoyed a ball, of course, and could not be said to be enjoying this one. But both his wards appeared to be well-launched. Sylvia had had a dizzying array of partners, many of them eminently eligible and many of them appearing smitten by her beauty and her sunny manner. He had noted with particular interest that Lord Standen had danced with her twice and had escorted her to supper. That would indeed be a dazzling match. The man had rank, looks, wealth, everything that could commend him to a prospective bride.

And Rosalind was not to be the utter disaster that he had feared. He had seen to it that she was partnered during each dance but the first, and was pleased to see that she was making an effort to be agreeable. As he had hoped, she and Axby seemed to be dealing well together. The girl apparently had sense. She must realize that she could not aim much higher and was prepared to consider his suit. And Axby looked very interested. He had certainly seemed undeterred when Raymore had explained to him that the girl could not dance because she was lame.

And indeed, Raymore thought, for someone like Axby she was a prize. She looked quite handsome tonight in the richly colored gown and her hair dressed that way. “A red, red rose” flashed through his mind, and he looked at her curiously as the orchestra tuned up again and Axby bent over her hand, saying his farewells. Tonight it was not so impossible to imagine that rich contralto voice as belonging to her.

Before Raymore had a chance to select another partner who might not object too strongly to sitting out a dance and talking to his ward, he noticed that Sir Bernard Crawleigh was standing before her. Raymore turned his attention to Sylvia, checking her partner for this dance. Standen’s younger brother was leading her out for a quadrille. Raymore almost smiled. Was Standen trying to protect his interests by cutting out as many rivals as possible? He must have instructed his brother to dance with Sylvia. The two brothers were as different as day and night. Nigel Broome had none of the advantages of his brother, neither height, nor looks, nor confidence.

Rosalind was explaining to Sir Bernard why she could not dance. “To put it bluntly, sir,” she said, looking frankly into his eyes, “I am crippled and have been ever since I had a riding accident at the age of five. Oh, I can walk,” she assured him as his eyes strayed to her feet, “but only with a rather bad limp.”

He smiled. “I wondered why you have been sitting here all evening, ma’am,” he said. “May I join you?”

“If you really want to,” she replied, “though I would not have you feel obliged to do so. I see several young ladies who look very eager to dance.”

He grinned and sat down beside her. “This evening cannot be much fun for you,” he said. “Are you here by choice or do I detect the heavy hand of Raymore in this? I can well imagine him playing the tyrant.” Rosalind smiled conspiratorially and found herself conversing quite easily with him for the next half-hour. She surprised herself. She was usually markedly self-conscious in the company of young men, especially ones as handsome as Sir Bernard, with his dark wavy hair, dancing brown eyes, and very charming smile. As she talked, she began to see how she might best put into effect her plan to teach her guardian a lesson. She certainly could not put it off much longer and was becoming quite agitated at the thought.

When the music stopped she smiled at her companion. “It is excessively hot in here, sir. Would you escort me to the balcony for a breath of air?”

Sir Bernard did not immediately reply. “The balcony is across the room from us, ma’am,” he said, “across an empty dance floor. Would you be embarrassed to have all eyes upon you as you walked?”

Rosalind flushed. She would be extremely embarrassed but bad decided that this plan was one sure way of convincing Raymore to send her back home. At least she would never again have to face any of these people. “I perceive that
you 
would be embarrassed to be seen with me,” she said.

He smiled slowly. “On the contrary,” he said. “Do you know, Miss Dacey, I have a sister who is constantly into mischief. You remind me of her at the moment. You are up to something, are you not? Now, what is it?”

Her eyes twinkled back at him for a moment, but her heart was also beating uncomfortably fast. “Shall we go?” she asked, rising to her feet and extending an arm to take his.

The guests, congregated around the edge of the dance floor in small groups, gradually found their attention caught by the slow progress right across the center of the room of Sir Bernard Crawleigh and Miss Rosalind Dacey, the ward of Raymore who had been seated all evening and who was rumored to be lame. They all become shockingly aware that the rumor was quite true. Although the girl was rather splendidly dressed and bore herself like a queen, she moved in a rather ungainly manner. Why she chose thus to disclose her deformity no one could imagine, but she appeared quite unperturbed. In fact, both she and her companion seemed engrossed in conversation, apparently unaware that almost three hundred pairs of eyes were on them. Having crossed the room, they disappeared through the open French doors leading onto the stone balcony outside.

The Earl of Raymore, conversing with a group of acquaintances, had frozen at first. When he realized that his senses were not deceiving him, he ruthlessly suppressed his first instinct, which was to rush across to his ward and drag her out through the closest doorway. He smiled lazily and resumed his conversation. He waited until the music began again, made his excuses, and circled the room in leisurely manner until he too could leave through the French doors.

He could not remember ever being so angry in his life. The girl had done that quite deliberately. It was a well-calculated move to show her contempt for her guardian. And how well she had succeeded. Little fool! Did she think that any man would willingly be seen with her after this? Even Axby must have taken her in everlasting disgust. His one aim now was to find her so that he might have the satisfaction of placing his hands around her throat.

He did not have far to look. She and Sir Bernard were sitting on the bottom step leading onto the lawn that circled the house, laughing softly.

Rosalind looked over her shoulder when Raymore stood three steps above them. She had expected this encounter, was prepared for it. She looked up at him with a mixture of defiance and triumph in her eyes. He held her eyes with his, his expression impassive.

“Crawleigh, I wish to speak to my ward, please,” he said softly and pleasantly.

“Miss Dacey was about to faint with the heat,” Sir Bernard explained gallantly. “I suggested that I escort her outside for some fresh air.”

“I thank you for your concern,” Raymore said, his eyes still on his ward. “Would you leave us now, please?”

Sir Bernard glanced uneasily at Rosalind, but he really had no alternative but to turn and climb the steps again and disappear into the ballroom.

“Stand up,” Raymore instructed, still very quietly and pleasantly. He descended the remaining steps until he was standing in front of her.

Rosalind knew without a doubt that if she did not comply immediately, she would be yanked quite unceremoniously to her feet. She stood.

“Take my arm,” he said, extending it with the utmost courtesy.

“Where are we going?” Rosalind asked suspiciously.

“Would you prefer to walk there with me and find out, or to be carried over my shoulder like a sack and find out that way?” he asked, his words quite at variance with the air of courtesy that he still assumed.