Freddy followed the direction of her gaze. “Old Emmy? Of course not. No one good enough for ’er, and all. What is this? Her eighth season out?”
“Tenth,” Kate said emphatically. “She was two years ahead of me in school. Oh, Freddy, we mustn’t gossip about her. It’s too wicked. But how can she wear white?”
“Which reminds me,” Freddy said. “Haven’t I seen this gown you’re wearing before, only in a different incarnation?”
Kate dragged her attention from the spectacle of the aging debutante and looked down at herself. “What do you mean?”
Freddy took her by both hands and held her at arm’s length. “Dame Ashforth’s,” he said, running a critical gaze up and down the length of her dress. “June twenty-seventh, eighteen hundred and sixty-three. You had only a single dance with me, and told Amy Heterling that I trod upon your toes. I was crushed when I heard about it.”
Kate’s jaw dropped.
“Yes,” Freddy said, releasing her hands. “You see, I love you quite madly. I liked it better when it was white. And what have you done to the front of it, there? All the little interesting bits are gone.”
Recovering herself, Kate said flatly, “The ‘interesting bits,’ as you call them, have been covered with an insert. It doesn’t do, you know, for the chaperone to show more bosom than her charge.”
Freddy sighed, “It’s a burning shame to butcher a Worth in that manner.”
“Speaking of burning,” Kate said lightly, “I would think Mr. Worth would be delighted this dress has turned out as well as it has, considering its history. You can hardly even smell the smoke anymore.”
A look of horror appeared on Freddy’s handsome face. “Kate,” he cried. “I’m so—I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
Kate gave him a playful tap on the shoulder with her fan. “Freddy! What’s wrong with you? I’m only joking.”
“I know,” he said, looking miserable. “Only it wasn’t a joke, really. I mean, I’m sure all of your things smelled horribly after … after—”
She snapped the fan open, and laid it over his mouth, effectively keeping him from continuing.
“No more,” she said, with mock authority. “You know better than to speak of such things on a dance floor. It offends Bacchus.”
When she lowered the fan again, Freddy looked sheepish. “Allow me to make amends, then, to the god of revelry,” he said, “by asking you for this dance.”
Kate looked horrified. “Are you mad? Do you want to get me into trouble my first night out? I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on Lady Isabel, not cavorting with my former beaux.”
“What do you mean, former?”
“You know what I mean.” Kate heard a scream, and, recognizing Isabel’s voice, quickly turned back toward the dance floor. Geoffrey Saunders, she saw, had snatched his sword back from Isabel, and was pretending to run her through with it. Kate quite sympathized with his feelings, but really, she could no longer tolerate this sort of behavior.
“Excuse me, Freddy,” she said, her mouth tightening. “I’m afraid I’ve got to go and commit a murder.”
Freddy caught her by the arm, however, before she took a single step. “Whoa, now. That’s not the way.”
Kate hissed, “What do you mean? Freddy, I can’t let her go on like that. She’s making a scene.”
“But it will be worse if her chaperone suddenly strides up and cuffs her on the ear.” He nodded his head toward the dance floor. “I know a better way. Come on. You approach from the left. I’ll create a diversion on the right.”
Kate hadn’t the slightest idea what he was talking about, but she moved in the direction he’d pointed. Isabel was at the center of a large group of young people, and if she wasn’t the prettiest girl in the group, she was certainly the most animated, and Kate knew that high spirits tended to make up for even the plainest face.
When Isabel spotted Kate, she half expected her to run—Kate was quite certain her disapproval must have been easily readable on her face. But instead of fleeing for cover, Isabel darted forward and seized Kate by the hand, then dragged her, despite her protests, into the center of the group.
“Geoffrey,” Isabel cried, hauling Kate up before her beau like a prize salmon she’d caught. “This is she, Geoffrey! The lovely Miss Mayhew who made it possible for me to be able to see you again! Isn’t she the veriest angel, Geoffrey? So little and precious! I simply adore her, and you must, too.”
To which Mr. Saunders replied, “Your wish, as always, Lady Isabel, is my command.”
And to Kate’s horror, the young man stooped down, lifted her hand, and laid a kiss upon her knuckles.
Kate was quite glad supper had taken place so many hours before, or she was quite certain hers would have come up again.
“Isn’t she a love, Geoffrey?” Isabel asked. “Oh, Miss Mayhew, I’m so awfully glad you came to live with me. Really, I must be the luckiest girl in the world!”
Mr. Saunders hadn’t yet released Kate’s hand. He was looking down at her very intently, and she could not help but notice that his eyes were extraordinarily blue—something that must have contributed to his irresistibility, as far as Isabel was concerned.
Kate knew what he was going to ask before he said it. In fact, she might almost have said the words along with him, they were so familiar to her.
“Don’t I know you from somewhere, Miss Mayhew?” he asked.
“I fail to see how that would be possible, Mr. Saunders,” Kate said, managing a queasy smile. She gave her hand a tug, and Mr. Saunders released it at once. Turning to Isabel, Kate whispered, “Lady Isabel, I need a word with you, if you please.”
Isabel whispered back, quite audibly enough for everyone on that side of the crowded room to hear. “Not now, Miss Mayhew.”
Kate reached out and laid a hand upon the back of Isabel’s arm, right where her upper arm met her elbow.
“No,” Kate whispered. “Now, my lady.”
Isabel yelped. Kate was putting steady pressure on her funny bone. Not hurting her, exactly, but not causing her any great pleasure, either.
At that moment, Freddy sauntered up, and slapped Geoffrey Saunders rather hard upon the back.
“Saunders, old bean,” he shouted. “Good to see you. Been a while, hasn’t it?”
Geoffrey grew noticeably paler behind his mustache. “Lord Palmer,” he said, losing a good deal of the bravado he’d exhibited in front of Kate. “How nice to see you again.”
“Listen, Saunders,” Freddy said, swinging an arm around the younger man’s neck. “I’m not sure if you remember the last time we met. It was at old Claymore’s country place. It rained all weekend, and we were all forced to stay indoors and play at bagatelle. Coming back to you now? In fact, if I recall correctly, you ended up owing me quite a tidy little sum by Monday morning ….”
Their voices trailed off as the earl dragged the younger man away. Isabel, glumly watching them go, no longer protested as Kate quickly led her off to a quiet corner of the room.
“Lady Isabel,” Kate said brusquely, as she reached up and adjusted a few of the girl’s curls. “You are entirely too free with your affections where that young man is concerned. You must learn to be more guarded.”
Isabel, her eyes still on her lover’s back, murmured, like an automaton, “I’m not.”
“You are, Lady Isabel.” Kate tugged on her charge’s bodice, which had slipped down even lower than it was supposed to. “It doesn’t do, you know, to let a young man be so sure of your affections. If you want to win him, the best way to do it is to keep him guessing about whether or not you like him.”
Isabel’s bright green eyes, so like her father’s, fastened onto Kate’s face. “But if he doesn’t know I like him, he won’t come around,” she said plaintively.
“On the contrary,” Kate said. “He’ll come around more.”
Isabel’s lower lip began to jut out petulantly. “That’s rot,” she declared. “If you like someone, you should let him know it.”
“Certainly you should … after he’s declared himself.”
“But how’s he going to know to declare himself,” Isabel asked, “if I don’t give him any encouragement?”
“You’re going to give him encouragement,” Kate explained gently. “You should encourage all of your beaux equally, however. It’s far too early in the season to be singling one out from all the others.”
“But Geoffrey’s the only one who ever really pays any attention to me, Miss Mayhew!”
“Because you’ve made it perfectly clear to everyone else that Mr. Saunders is your favorite, and that you have no interest in anyone else. But you can’t tell me he’s the only man who asked you to dance tonight.”
“Well,” Isabel said, looking down. “No. But he asked for all my dances as soon as he saw me, and so then when Sir William asked—”
“You hadn’t any dances left.” Kate nodded. “In the future, you should reserve the first and last dance for Mr. Saunders, but leave the rest open for other young men who might ask.”
“But Miss Mayhew—”
“Do you want Mr. Saunders to ask you to marry him?”
“Oh, yes!”
“Then you must be different. You must not make it so easy for him. If he thinks he’s already won you, he’ll grow bored. And then he’ll move on to someone he feels represents more of a challenge.”
“Bored?” Isabel cried, paling visibly. “How horrid!” She scissored a glance in the direction in which Mr. Saunders and the earl were returning. “I couldn’t stand for Geoffrey to grow bored of me ….”
Freddy, Kate saw, was still chattering amiably, but Mr. Saunders looked exceedingly glum. As he sauntered to her side, the earl gave Kate a comical leer, even as he slapped the younger man on the back and said cheerfully, “Well, I’m glad that’s settled, then. Just a little misunderstanding between friends. Happens all the time, don’t it, Kate?”
Kate gave him a very sour look. “I’m certain, Lord Palmer,” she said, pointedly avoiding his Christian name, and wishing he would do the same, “that I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Bah!” Freddy turned to Isabel, who was looking up at Geoffrey Saunders with an expression on her plump face that could only be described as worshipful. “Ho there, little lady,” Freddy said, in a voice so boomingly loud that Isabel actually jumped a little. “What do you say you and I take a turn about the room? I feel like doin’ a jig or two.”
Isabel’s green eyes went very wide as she looked from Freddy, to Geoffrey, to Kate, and then back again. “Oh, but …” she stammered. “Oh, but I promised—” Her gaze landed on Kate, whose mouth suddenly got very small.
“Oh,” Isabel said, looking down again. “Oh, yes, thank you, Lord Palmer. I should be delighted.”
Kate had the pleasure of seeing Geoffrey Saunders’s jaw drop as the earl whirled Isabel off onto the dance floor. He did not look hurt so much as he did perplexed. Feeling quite pleased with herself, Kate opened her fan, and began applying it with a good deal of energy.
“Beastly hot in this room,” she commented. “Wouldn’t you say so, Mr. Saunders?”
Geoffrey Saunders was a handsome boy—there was no denying but that he was a pleasure to look at—but just because he looked like an angel, Kate soon discovered, didn’t mean he was one. Because when he’d collected himself enough to speak again, what actually came out of his mouth were the words, “Look, here, Miss Mayhew,” and those he uttered quite testily.
Kate, pretending to be taken aback, raised her eyebrows. “Yes, Mr. Saunders?”
“Well.” Geoffrey Saunders’s blue eyes, she saw when she raised her gaze to meet his, were ringed with golden eyelashes that were extraordinarily long for a man. And, she noted, Mr. Saunders knew how to use them. He fluttered them quite innocently. “I was thinking. You’re different from Lady Isabel’s other chaperones. I mean, aside from being younger—and quite a bit better looking—”
This last was said with a swift appraising look out from under the eyelashes that, Kate knew from experience, was supposed to make her blush with pleasure. What it actually did, however, was make her apply her fan even harder to her burning face, as she thought furiously, The cheek! The insolent cheek!
“—you’ve got a brain or two in your head, I can tell. Well, as it happens, I’ve got brains, too.” Geoffrey paused, as if expecting her to say something like, “But of course you do, Mr. Saunders. Anyone could see that.” But Kate, perversely refusing to give him any satisfaction whatsoever, said nothing.
“What I’m trying to say,” Geoffrey went on, “is … well, there’s money to be made here, Miss Mayhew. Quite a lot of it. And if we two were to put our heads together, Miss Mayhew, I’m quite sure we could come up with a plan that would make us both quite … comfortable.”
Kate said, “Oh, really?” in a noncommittal tone.
“Really.” A footman passed by, and Mr. Saunders seized a glass of champagne, one for each of them. Kate declined the one he offered her, however, and with a shrug, Mr. Saunders downed them both. “Might I ask your salary, Kate? May I call you Kate?”
Kate said tartly, “You most certainly may not. Nor do I see any reason why I should reveal my salary to you.”
Undaunted by her rudeness, Mr. Saunders went on. “Well, I can tell you what it is. Twenty-five pounds a year. Am I right?”
Kate watched as Freddy expertly whirled the Lady Isabel about the room. Isabel actually appeared to be enjoying herself. The color had come back into her cheeks, and occasionally she giggled with pleasure at something the earl said.
“Twenty-five pounds a year,” Mr. Saunders repeated, ignoring Kate’s pointed silence. “Do you have any idea how much the Marquis of Wingate is worth, Miss Mayhew? Any idea at all?”
Kate said, “I haven’t, but I feel quite sure you’re going to tell me.”
“Damned right I am. Nearly half a million pounds.” Mr. Saunders deposited the empty champagne glasses on the tray of a passing’ footman. “He has properties in the West Indies, Africa, and South America, holdings that have taken in, at last count, half a million pounds, Miss Mayhew. Out of which you are earning a piddling twenty-five a year. Doesn’t that make you angry, Miss Mayhew?”
Kate watched as, the set ending, the earl bowed low to the Lady Isabel, who curtsied quite prettily.
“What makes me angry, Mr. Saunders,” Kate said calmly, “is your impertinence.”
Mr. Saunders, rather than taking offense at her manner, seemed delighted by it. “I say, Miss Mayhew,” he said admiringly. “You’ve got spirit I like a girl with spirit. You and I should get on capitally.”