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and escorted her up the stairs, while the family followed en masse. They entered the overheated
house, which was filled with flowers, music, and the din of hundreds of simultaneous
conversations.
Doors had been removed from their hinges to allow for the circulation of guests from the
ballroom
to the supper and card rooms.
The Hathaways waited in a receiving line in the entrance hall.
 Look how dignified and polite they all are, Leo said, observing the crowd.  I can t stay long.
Someone might influence me.
 You promised you would stay until after the first set, Poppy reminded him.
Her brother sighed.  For you, I will. But I despise these affairs.
 As do I, Miss Marks surprised them all by saying grimly, surveying the gathering as if it were
enemy territory.
 My God. Something else we agree on. Leo gave the companion a half-mocking, half-uneasy
glance.  We have to stop doing this, Marks. My stomach is starting to turn.
 Please do not say that word, she snapped.
 Stomach? Why not?
 It is indelicate to refer to your anatomy. She gave his tall form a disdainful glance.  And I
assure
you, no one has any interest in it.
 You think not? I ll have you know, Marks, that scores of women have remarked on my 
 Ramsay, Cam interrupted, giving him a warning glance.
When they had made it through the entrance hall, the family dispersed to make the rounds. Leo
and
Cam went to the card rooms, while the women headed to the supper tables. Amelia was instantly
captured by a small group of chattering matrons.
 I can t eat, Poppy commented, glancing with revulsion at the long buffet of cold joints, beef,
ham,
and lobster salads.
 I m starved, Beatrix. said apologetically.  Do you mind if I have something?
 Not at all, we ll wait with you.
 Have a spoonful of salad, Miss Marks murmured to Poppy.  For appearance s sake. And
smile.
 Like this? Poppy attempted to turn the corners of her mouth upward.
Beatrix regarded her doubtfully.  No, that s not pretty at all. You look like a salmon.
 I feel like a salmon, Poppy said.  One that s been boiled, shredded and potted.
As the guests queued at the buffet, footmen filled their plates and carried them to nearby tables.
Poppy was still waiting in line when she was approached by Lady Belinda Wallscourt, a pretty
young woman she had befriended during the Season. As soon as Belinda had come out into
society,
she was pursued by several eligible gentlemen, and had quickly become betrothed.
 Poppy, Lady Belinda said warmly,  how nice to see you here. There was uncertainty as to
whether
you would come.
 The last ball of the Season? Poppy said with a forced smile.  I wouldn t miss it.
 I m so glad. Lady Belinda gave her a compassionate glance. Her voice lowered.  It s terrible,
what happened to you. I m dreadfully sorry.
 Oh, there s nothing to be sorry about, Poppy said brightly.  I m perfectly fine!
 You re very brave, Belinda replied.  And Poppy, remember that someday you will meet a frog
who will turn into a handsome prince.
 Good, Beatrix said.  Because all she s met so far are princes who turn into frogs.
Looking perplexed, Belinda managed a smile and left them.
 Mr. Bayning is not a frog, Poppy protested.
 You re right, Beatrix said.  That was very unfair to frogs, who are lovely creatures.
As Poppy parted her lips to object, she heard Miss Marks snicker. And she began to laugh as
well,
until they attracted curious glances from the queue at the buffet.
After Beatrix had finished eating, they wandered to the ballroom. Music fluttered downward in
continuous drifts from the orchestra playing in the upper gallery. The massive room glittered in
the
light of eight chandeliers, while the sweetness of abundant roses and greenery thickened the air.
Locked in the unforgiving bondage of her corset, Poppy filled her lungs with strained breaths.
 It s
too warm in here, she said.
Miss Marks glanced at her perspiring face, quickly produced a handkerchief, and guided her into
one of the many cane openwork chairs at the side of the room.  It is quite warm, she said.  In a
moment, I will locate your brother or Mr. Rohan to escort you outside for some air. But first let
me
see to Beatrix.
 Yes, of course, Poppy managed, seeing that two men had already approached Beatrix in hopes
of
entering their names on her dance card. Her younger sister was at ease with men in a way that
Poppy
could never manage. They seemed to adore Beatrix because she treated them as she did her wild
creatures, gently humoring, showing patient interest.
While Miss Marks supervised Beatrix s dance card, Poppy settled back in her chair and
concentrated on breathing around the iron prison of her corset. It was unfortunate that in this
particular chair, she was able to hear a conversation from the other side of a garlanded column.
A trio of young women spoke in low tones that oozed with smug satisfaction.
 Of course Bayning wouldn t have her, one of them said.  She s pretty, I ll allow, but so
maladroit,
in the social sense. A gentleman I know said that he tried to talk to her at the private art
viewing at the Royal Academy, and she was prattling about some ridiculous topic... something
about a long-ago French balloon experiment when they sent a sheep up into the air in front of
King
Louis something-or-other... can you imagine?
 Louis the sixteenth, Poppy whispered.
 But what would you expect? came another voice.  Such an odd family. The only one good
enough for society is Lord Ramsay, and he is quite wicked.
 A scapegrace, the other one agreed.
Poppy went from being overheated to chilled. She closed her eyes sickly, wishing she could
disappear. It had been a mistake to come to the ball. She was trying to prove something to
everyone... that she didn t care about Michael Bayning, when she did. That her heart wasn t
broken,
when it was. Everything in London was about appearances, pretenses... was it so unforgivable to
be
honest about one s feelings?
Apparently so.
She sat quietly, knitting her gloved fingers together until her thoughts were diverted by a stir near
the main entrance of the ballroom. It seemed that some important person had arrived, perhaps
royalty, or a military celebrity, or an influential politician.
 Who is he? one of the young women asked.
 Someone new, the other said.
 And handsome.
 Divine, her companion agreed.  He must be a man of consequence otherwise there wouldn t
be
such a to-do.
A light laugh.  And Lady Norbury wouldn t be fluttering so. See how she blushes!
Curious despite herself, Poppy leaned forward to catch a glimpse of the newcomer. All she could
make out was a dark head, taller than the others around him. He walked further into the
ballroom,
talking easily with his companions while the stout, bejeweled, and beaming Lady Norbury clung
to
his arm.
Recognizing him, Poppy sat back in her chair.
Harry Rutledge.
She couldn t fathom why he would be here, or why that made her smile.
Probably because she couldn t help recalling the last time she had seen him, dressed in fencing
whites, trying to skewer a misbehaving monkey. Tonight Harry was forbiddingly handsome in
full
evening attire and a crisp white cravat. And he moved and conversed with the same charismatic
ease
that he appeared to do everything. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]