Page 8 of Her Notorious Rake
“Indeed she does. She hopes for me to see an Italian opera.”
“Pray, have you attended such a concert before.”
Once, with Father.“Yes—but it has been a considerable length of time since then.”
“Well, I pray that you find it a pleasurable experience.”
The dance drew to a close, and Lord Neville bowed low, Gemma curtsying. He had not led her off the floor but for a moment when several young men cornered them, and each asked Gemma for a dance. Her card filled up rapidly, the last dance reserved again by Lord Neville. Gemma found this astonishing, as she had likely insulted him by her inattention. But Aunt Philippa might be pleased, since she evidently held Lord Neville in high-esteem. Her pointed glances when he’d approached earlier indicated she hoped to make a match of Gemma and Lord Neville.
And sure enough, her aunt bustled up to her, drawing Gemma towards the refreshments. She snatched Gemma’s card to examine it. “Lord Neville again?” she gasped.
“Aye,” Gemma smiled, hoping that the evening would take a turn for the better. She just needed to make it through without utterly mortifying her generous aunt or causing her to regret ever bringing Gemma back to London.
“I beg you to refrain from usingayein conversation,” Aunt Philippa whispered. “Heavens, you’ve been in the countryperhaps too long.”
Gemma’s stomach twisted.It was not exactly desirable for us either, to sell Father’s estate, his things, and most of his books. But we were afforded no choice.
A server passed carrying glasses of Madeira—Aunt Philippa adored Madeira, as she’d declared last evening. She plucked one off the tray and handed it to Gemma, before taking one for herself. “Come, now, I see the Nelsons over there. They are most eager to learn more about you.”
The rest of the hour passed lost in the labyrinth that was conversation with some of London’s premier socialites. The Nelsons were a younger, handsome couple, around Aunt Philippa’s age, and they adored the opera and travel to Venice. They told her all about theCarnevale, before it had been abolished in 1797, although private masked events were still held throughout the city every year.
Gemma wished that such an event could be held here in London. The thought of hiding behind a mask. The sting of her missteps and misapprehensions would be dulled by the anonymity of a face covering. She turned her head and through the crowd spotted a young woman standing near the wall, beside an older man and woman, presumably her parents. She looked as lost and alone as Gemma felt, and at last, she managed to extricate herself from Aunt Philippa and the Nelsons, slipping across the room to exchange her wine for lemonade. The room had become rather stuffy, and she’d prefer ice-cold lemonade to the slightly warm Madeira.
The young woman, it took her a moment to recall, had to be Miss Prudence Harcourt, who she’d met earlier at the reception line. At least, she prayed that she remembered her name correctly. She approached the young woman, whose blond curls were crimped perfectly around her rosy, round cheeks, giving her a cherubic look. Her eyes were lowered to the ground asshe sipped her own glass of lemonade beside her parents. They hardly seemed to remember her presence, so absorbed were they in sloshing wine and gossiping with several others.
“Good evening, Miss Harcourt,” Gemma offered Prudence her warmest smile. She dipped in a curtsey, and Prudence returned the gesture, nervousness in her glance.
“Good evening, Miss Hayesworth,” she said in a rush.
Gemma’s mind raced as she searched for something to converse about with Prudence. “Is this your first season?” She inquired.
“Oh, no. ‘It is my third.”
“My second,” Gemma told her.
“The marriage mart can be…tempestuous,” Prudence sighed.
“I do think Lady Kenway is in need of diversion these days. I can’t think why else she would think to invite Lord Oliver Hayesworth’s daughter,” A woman’s tinny voice caught Gemma’s attention, and Prudence must have heard too, for her eyes went wide.
“Family or not, it truly is generous of her to put so much time into the girl.”
“As I said, she seeks diversion. The Hayesworth girl is her pet.”
Gemma stiffened, unable to meet Prudence’s eyes. Her face and eyes burned. And suddenly, her stays squeezed into her ribcage, digging into her lungs it seemed. She whispered to Prudence an apology and excused herself, slipping through the guests till she finally reached the doors leading to Aunt Philippa’s extensive gardens.
The kiss of the evening air greeted her, and she closed the door behind her quietly, squeezing her eyes shut. Tears leaked down her cheeks.
And then she tore herself off the wall and hurried down thestone steps into the tunnel of bowers that led from the terrace to the hedge maze.
The nausea of panic rose in the back of her throat, and she struggled to breathe in and out, her heart pounding so hard it made her dizzy.Compose yourself,she told herself severely.
She began to recite in a shaky whisper, “Lyra, Vega, Orion, Andromeda, Cepheus, Cassiopeia…” Gemma closed her eyes, her voice trailing off as memories of Mother frantically telling her to send a servant for the doctor…Gemma telling Mother that all the servants were gone…Mother screaming atGemmato get a doctor herself then…
She started to recite anew, frantic to keep herself from bursting into sobs. “Lyra…Vega…Orion…Andromeda…” Gemma’s thoughts swam, and she couldn’t seem to summon the next name.
“Cepheus and Cassiopeia.”
She let out a cry when she turned to see the tall figure of a man peeking from around the corner of the bower. He stepped out into the faint light from the house. He extended his hand—a handkerchief, she discerned in the shadows of dusk.
