Page 78 of Gallant Waif
In the end Kate had spinelessly allowed Madame Fanchôt, Amelia and Lady Cahill to decide everything and left to them the meticulous planning and endless discussion which went into every choice. For her part, Kate could not have cared less whether, for instance, the lemon muslin was cut to drapeso,enhancing the lovely line ofmademoiselle’s shoulders and neckline, or likeso,to enhance her bustline, or likeso,to give her height. Her only contribution to that discussion had been to suggest that perhaps the neckline was rather too low, a suggestion that was ignored by all three ladies as too nonsensical even to warrant a response.
So now Kate stared at her reflection, exposing more of her chest than she had ever done in her life. She became aware of her maid still holding out the artificial flowers, awaiting her response, and smiled apologetically.
“I think not, Dora. To be quite honest, I am terrified that it would fall out of my hair.” The maid bridled, assuring her that such a thing was quite impossible.
Kate interrupted the flow. “It is just that my head feels so strange and light since my new crop, and I cannot but feel that something is missing, so although I am sure you would place the flowers most securely you do understand how I feel, don’t you?”
Dora relented after a moment and said that of course she did, and miss looked very elegant and lovely and would be sure to be a success again tonight.
Kate wrinkled her nose. Yes, of course, “success’ was what was important. How could she have forgotten? She had tried not to let herself think of other things, or wonder what might be happening at Sevenoakes. That was one benefit of such hectic socialising—one didn’t have time to brood. Tonight, for example, she was going to a ball and it would be surprising if she had time to think of Jack even once.
Jack leant against an elegant column, arms folded, a black frown on his face, staring, glaring, unable to tear himself away. It had been Francis’s idea to come to this ball on the evening of their arrival in London and Jack had regretted it the moment he’d arrived and clapped eyes on Kate, utterly transformed from the shabby little starveling he had first met. She was dancing, her head thrown back, mischievously laughing up into the eyes of a fellow Jack had been to school with, and knew to be titled, rich and eligible.
“Blast it!” he exclaimed to Francis. “What the devil is she doing dancing with that fellow Fenchurch? And in such a dress!” Jack could hardly take his eyes off the creamy curves revealed by the fashionable low-cut neckline of Kate’s dress, and neither, he noticed, could Kate’s partner. Nor a number of other so-called gentlemen.
Francis glanced from his friend’s black frown to Kate’s laughing visage and back again. He controlled his twitching mouth and said innocently, “Nice chap, Fenchurch. Kate would do well to encourage his advances. Couldn’t do better, in fact.”
“Fellow’s a complete bounder!” snarled Jack.
“Good heavens, is he?” said Francis placidly. “How very shocking. News to me, I must say. Always thought he was a friend of yours, old man. A bounder? Well, well. I must say, I am surprised. Still, he’s a dashing-looking chap, and there is the title. I dare say that accounts for his popularity with the ladies.”
Jack grunted. There was nothing particularly dashing that he could see in the tall Viscount’s regular even features, thickly curling blond hair and tall, muscular physique. Fellow was addicted to sports, that was all. Damn it, what the deuce was he saying to make her blush like that? Jack found he was clenching his fists and thrust them into his pockets to hide the fact.
“Stand up straight, boy, and stop lounging all over the wall like a looby! How many times have I told you to get your hands out of your pockets? Not that I can see how on earth you can have pockets in such indecently tight garments.”
Jack sighed. “Good evening, Grandmama.” He turned to face her. He bowed, and she ran her eyes over him assessingly. A marked improvement from the last time she’d seen him.
“Have you seen my little protégée?” she said, grinning.
Jack grunted.
“Looks charming, doesn’t she? Gel’s done me proud. I wish her mother could see her.” She raised her lorgnette and peered short-sightedly at the dancers. “Who’s she dancing with now? Eh, Jack?”
“Fenchurch.”
Lady Cahill smiled. He hadn’t even turned to look. And what was more, she thought delightedly, he was so taken up with Kate’s activities that he had forgotten to be sensitive about his altered appearance, his shattered cheek and his limp.
“Fenchurch? Ah, yes, fine, big, handsome chap, ain’t he? Not that that signifies. All her beaux seem to be. Gel’s mighty popular—her dance card was full before she’d been here ten minutes. I doubt she could give you even a country dance, Jack. You could ask her, though.”
He snorted.
Lady Cahill smothered a chuckle and continued. “Oh, look, the dance is finished and see how they rush to procure her a chair and refreshments. Can’t leave the girl for a moment but she’s surrounded by admirers. Taken very well, Maria’s girl. But, there Jack, you’re not interested in an old woman’s ramblings. Tell me, what has brought my favourite grandson to London?”
Her favourite grandson mumbled something inaudible and stumped away, scowling. Kate was undoubtedly a social success. And he was unaccountably infuriated. He’d rushed up to London in a state of high anxiety, ready to rescue a poor little waif from social ostracism and humiliation. He’d found her apparently in the highest of spirits, with any number of fellows underfoot, making complete cakes of themselves over her! Her dance card too full to allow him even a country dance! He snorted again. He had no intention of joining the ranks of her admirers, begging for a moment of her attention! He retreated behind another pillar and scowled at her from there.
Kate saw him arrive. For a moment her heart seemed to stop. He looked worn and tired and the broad shoulders of his plain dark coat glittered from the hundreds of candles that lit the ballroom. He had come in the rain. His hair too was damp and clung to his brow in dark wild curls. She longed to run across the room and fling herself into his arms. She longed for him to stride out across the ballroom floor and sweep her into his embrace. She longed to kiss him.
She continued through the cotillion mechanically, finding in the performance of the stately measure the control she needed. Her heart was ablaze with excitement. Why had he come? How long would it be before he noticed her? Would he like the way she looked now? Would he ask her to dance? Oh, how she had missed him!
She forced herself not to look at him, not trusting herself to do so. She responded to Viscount Fenchurch’s sallies, laughing and smiling automatically, having no idea of what he was saying. The dance would finish soon and then Jack would come over to her. Unable to restrain herself any longer, she used the movement of the dance to dart another quick shy glance at him.
And froze. He was staring right at her. His gaze scorched her…and she froze. There was nothing but the strongest condemnation in his face. He was staring right at her as if he despised her. Her steps and smile faltered, and as she stumbled her partner gathered her smoothly up, concern in his handsome face. Kate recovered herself and continued.
The dance felt like the longest one in history. Somehow she got through it, smiling blindly at her partner whenever his face swam into view. She had thought she had come to terms with the pain of Jack’s condemnation, but the sight of him had been so unexpected, her response so joyful, that his obvious disgust had slid through her icy armour like a hot knife through butter, straight into her heart. Again.
The dance finished, but before she could excuse herself and seek solitude in which to deal with her desolation the band struck up again and she found herself being whisked back on to the floor. Pride alone carried her through it, and if her partner found her to be a little inattentive anddistraitehe found nothing amiss with the dazzling smiles she flashed him.
By the time the second dance drew to a close, Kate’s temper was rising. Jack had continued to prop himself against the wall, glaring at her throughout the dance, black fury and total disapproval on his face.
