Page 80 of Gallant Waif
The voice lowered itself slightly, and continued to a gathering crowd, avid for gossip.
“That little tart betrayed our brave soldiers to the French, lived with a Frenchmanas his mistress!I know, for my husband was one of the officers that captured her. Her father would be turning in his grave—he was a man of the cloth, you know. Mind you, I always wondered why he never looked at her—he must have known…”
The crowd pressed closer.
Something was wrong. Kate knew it. So many looks, sideways glances, whispered comments followed by significant stares.
“Miss Farleigh, our dance, I believe.” An elegant young fribble bowed over her hand and led her into the next set.
“Have you heard, Miss Farleigh? “Tis monstrous exciting. Apparently some little whore has been passing herself off as a lady, when all the time she played spy for old Boney and whored for his officers.And she’s here tonight!’ Her partner glanced around the room, speculating.
Kate glanced away, a sick feeling in her stomach. Let me just finish this dance, she prayed silently, then I can leave inconspicuously.
But it was not to be. As they moved through the stately steps of the cotillion she noticed her partner eagerly whispering his news to the others in the set. At one point he faltered, stopped and stared at Kate, aghast. He turned back to his source, whispered something and resumed the steps.
Only now he would not look her in the eye. His fingers did not so much touch hers as gesture disdainfully in her direction. The dance continued. Kate felt the ice surround her. No one looked at her. No one touched her. No one spoke to her.
Bitterness rose in Kate like bile. She had known how it would be.Thiswas the reason she had never wanted to appear in society ever again. Had she been allowed to go her own way, she would not be experiencing this. Again.
“Ceddy, please escort me to my mama. I cannot think she would wish me to associate with a traitress!” Nose held high, a young lady abandoned the set in mid-movement.
In seconds, the ordered progress of the dance collapsed, as each of the ladies in Kate’s set marched righteously off the dance floor, escorted by their partner. Kate looked at her partner in mute appeal. If he would only escort her from the floor, she would be able to leave with a shred of dignity.
His face twisted in contempt. “My brother was injured at Salamanca!” he snarled, and stalked away.
Kate stood in the middle of the dance floor, frozen. She knew she had to move, to get away from all of the eyes, from the whispering and pointing. From the hate. The loathing. The avid speculation. But she couldn’t move.
Around her she felt the rest of the dancers faltering, the rising hum of gossip and conjecture. The music petered out in mid-tune as the last of the couples left the floor. It had the effect of focusing all attention on Kate. She felt the crowd gathering into a dense barrier, the seething, greedy stares of bored aristocrats, eager for sensation to alleviate their safe, pampered, dull lives.
Lions and Christians.
The thought gave Kate the strength she needed to move. She turned, seeking Lady Cahill with her eyes, but there was no sign of her. Kate moved slowly towards the circle of watchers, trying to ignore the barrage of eyes upon her, probing, malicious, scornful.
She had nothing to be ashamed of. She would not give them the satisfaction. She stiffened her spine. The way before her parted reluctantly. Ladies, who only hours before had claimed friendship, turned their faces coldly away. No one would meet her eye; a hundred eyes bored into her.
“Little better than a camp follower!”
“The cheek—to try to pass herself off like that in decent company!”
And one, less elliptical than the others. “Traitorous whore!”
Her body began to shake. She could do nothing. There was no standing up to insubstantial whispers from people who would not even look her in the face. She forced herself to keep walking, desperately hoping the trembling of her body was not visible to the observers.
Was there ever a room so long? Only four more steps. Three…two…
A powerful black-clad arm snaked out of the dense crowd and pulled her into the centre of the circle again.
“What—?”
“I think you must have forgotten me, Miss Farleigh,” said Jack. His normal tone of voice carried in the watching hush.
Kate blinked up at him.
“My dance, I believe. Did you forget it?” He smiled down at her bewildered face, his casual manner belied by the implacable grip on her arm.
“But…” With everyone listening, Kate couldn’t say it. Shehadn’tpromised him a dance. He didn’t dance. Not since he was wounded, anyway. He only leaned against walls and columns, glaring at her. So why would he seek her out now? Now, when the world was turning against her again and she wanted nothing more than escape. Kate tried to pull away, but his hold on her was too powerful.
Ignoring Kate’s glance of pathetic entreaty, Jack moved steadily back through the crowd, towing her beside him, greeting acquaintances in a cheery tone as he went, for all the world as if they were not in the very heart of a major scandal, their every movement watched by hundreds.
