River Of Fire (28 page)

"No sooner said than done. It was she who sent me to find you." He offered his arm. "Shall I take you to meet her?"

She asked Michael to tell Kenneth where she had gone. Then she took her cousin's arm and accompanied him across the ballroom. Lady Bowden was sitting with a group of older women, but she stood and came forward when she saw her son and Rebecca approaching. She was even smaller than Rebecca, not beautiful but with lovely silver hair and a fine-boned elegance.

"Mother, meet Cousin Rebecca," Hal said.

"A pleasure, my dear." She glanced at her son. "Off with you, Hal. Fetch us some lemonade or something." He chuckled and went to do her bidding.

Lady Bowden turned back to Rebecca, her soft blue eyes studying her husband's niece with undisguised interest. "I knew you must be Helen's daughter as soon as you entered the room."

"You knew my mother?"

"Oh, yes. My father's property marched with the Bowden estate. Marcus and Anthony and I grew up together. Our fathers had some vague idea of a marriage between the families. Then Marcus met Helen and went head over heels." Lady Bowden smiled a little sadly. "I could hardly blame him. She was the most ravishing creature. All the young men were in love with her. But of course you know what she was like. My condolences on your loss."

"Thank you. She is much missed," Rebecca said quietly. "You are very good to talk to me when there has been such a schism between our families."

"I have nothing against you, child," Lady Bowden said with wry humor. "I owed Helen a great debt. If not for her elopement with Anthony, I would never have married Marcus."

In a flash of insight, Rebecca understood what had happened: Lady Bowden growing up loving Marcus and thinking she would be his bride. Silently enduring first the pain when he lost his heart to another woman, then his anguish when Anthony and Helen had run away. In the end, Marcus had turned to the girl next door—but in her secret heart, Lady Bowden carried the sorrowful knowledge that she had been second best.

Instinctively concealing her understanding, Rebecca asked, "Is Lord Bowden here tonight?"

"No. If he were, I could not have met you." A flicker of a smile crossed Lady Bowden's face. "I would do nothing that my husband forbade. But what he doesn't know won't hurt him."

Rebecca laughed. "I wish we could become better acquainted, Lady Bowden, but I don't suppose that is possible."

"Please call me Aunt Margaret." Her ladyship pursed her lips. "Naturally we cannot exchange calls. But perhaps, on occasion, I might send you a note mentioning some unfashionable time when I might be strolling in the park."

"I should like that." She took the older woman's hand for a moment. "Until next time, Aunt Margaret."

Smiling, Rebecca made her way around the edge of the ballroom. After the current quadrille ended, it would be time for the supper dance. Kenneth would be her partner. She looked forward to telling about her aunt and cousin.

Then, between one step and the next, her happiness shattered as she came face-to-face with the two sisters who had been Rebecca's chief tormentors during the one long, miserable year she had spent at a school for young ladies. Charlotte and Beatrice had been smugly self-righteous ten years earlier, and time had not improved them.

As Rebecca stared, her stomach churning, Charlotte said spitefully, "Merciful heaven, Beatrice, you were right—it really is Rebecca Seaton. Who would have believed that she would have the barefaced gall to try to force herself into decent society?"

"Obviously the dear duke and duchess don't know about her past," Beatrice said, her nostrils pinched as if she were smelling rotten fish. "It is our duty to inform them."

They both turned ostentatiously in the gesture of contempt known as the cut direct. Rebecca stood trembling, knowing that she should simply walk away, but unable to move. Their malice was all the worse for the fact that she had ceased to expect it.

Then a deep voice said, "There you are, Miss Seaton. I have someone I wish you to meet."

It was the Duke of Candover himself. He brushed by Charlotte and Beatrice as if they were invisible. Then he took Rebecca's hand and tucked it in his elbow. "Margot and I are so pleased that you have finally consented to attend one of our balls. I trust you are enjoying yourself?"

Unable to speak, Rebecca nodded. Her old schoolmates were watching the duke, their eyes wide with shock. Candover turned his head with cool deliberation and looked at them. Whatever was in his face made the sisters turn white. Then he led Rebecca away. She clung to his arm, grateful for the support.

When they were out of earshot, she said unevenly, "What did you do, your grace—turn them to stone?"

He chuckled. "My wife calls that my Medusa stare. It's a modest talent, but useful."

"I'm very grateful for being rescued, but why did you do that for a woman you've only just met?"

He regarded her with thoughtful gray eyes. "The general reason is that I don't approve of intolerance, perhaps because it has been one of my own failings. The specific reason is that Kimball wants you to be accepted socially. Since he saved my friend Michael's life, I shall do my best to oblige him."

"I didn't know that," she said, surprised. "Is that why you've all gone to such lengths to welcome Kenneth and me?"

"The initial reason." The duke smiled at her with masculine appreciation. "But it's no great hardship, you know."

As they reached the corner where her new friends were gathered, Candover said, "I hope that encounter didn't ruin your evening."

"It made me appreciate how fortunate I am," she said with a smile. "Thank you, your grace."

Kenneth had been in a group with several other men, but he broke away and came to join Rebecca. "You're looking a little strained." He put her arm on his hand and led her into a promenade about the ballroom. "Did something happen?"

Tersely she described her meeting with her relatives and the unpleasant incident with her old schoolmates. When she finished, Kenneth said, "A good thing Candover was there. Since he has conspicuously championed you, your problems should be over."

With her free hand, she used the fan to waft cooler air to her face. "The duke said you saved Michael's life."

"Perhaps I did." His expression darkened. "But Michael saved my sanity, which was rather more difficult."

She made a note to ask what that meant at some later time.

Kenneth continued, "I should have thought of this earlier. Is there any chance you'll meet your despicable poet here?"

"None at all. A year or so after our ill-fated affair,he ran away to Italy with a married woman. There he expired, very poetically, of a fever," she said dryly.

"Proving that there is poetic justice in the world."

She smiled. She had shed no tears for Frederick, whose self-love had greatly exceeded his talent.

Beginning to feel tired, she asked, "How late will we stay?"

"Michael ordered the carriage to be ready after supper. Catherine needs to get back to her baby, and I imagine that by then you'll have had your fill of socializing."

"You're a genius. After supper will be perfect." She stood on her toes to search the ballroom. "Have you seen Lavinia? She must have arrived, but I haven't found her yet."

"I saw her in the distance, dazzling several cabinet ministers." He gave Rebecca a teasing glance. "Your problem is that you need to be a foot taller."

He scanned the crowd as they continued their slow progress about the room. She held his arm and mentally did a pastel sketch of her surroundings, content to let him do the serious looking. Then an eddy of the crowd brought them face-to-face with a woman whose blond beauty and lavish jewels were familiar.

The woman halted, then gave a slow, malicious smile. "Kenneth, darling. How wonderful to see you again after so many years."

He whipped his head around to stare at her, the blood draining from his face. "I can't say this is an unexpected pleasure," he said in a voice as brittle as glass, "so I will settle for saying that it is unexpected."

Her eyes narrowed. "Your wit has quickened, darling. It becomes you." She laid a hand on her magnificent diamond necklace. "Almost as much as this becomes me."

With sudden deep foreboding, Rebecca realized that the woman was Hermione, Lady Kimball.

After her first shock, Rebecca examined Kenneth's stepmother with clinical detachment. Though most would call her beautiful, an unmistakable hardness marred the handsome features.

"I didn't expect to see you here tonight," Kenneth said coolly, his hand tightening protectively on Rebecca's arm. "If memory serves me, it is still customary to spend a year in mourning after the death of a spouse."

"I'm wearing black, darling, and diamonds rather than colored stones." Hermione gestured at her low-cut, clinging gown and the king's ransom in gems draped over her voluptuous body. "And of course I'm not dancing. But I know that your father would not have wanted me to spend a whole year in isolation. He was the most generous and indulgent of husbands."

Kenneth surveyed her costume with contempt. "Perhaps, but he was also a great believer in tradition."

Ignoring the remark, Lady Kimball said to Rebecca, "You're Anthony's girl, aren't you? I sometimes saw you scurrying around Seaton House. You look quite sweet in your mother's cast-offs."

"That's enough, Hermione," Kenneth said sharply. "Save your insults for me, not innocent bystanders."

"If you think little Miss Seaton is innocent, you haven't been listening to enough gossip, but no matter." She studied his face critically. "A pity about the scar. However, it wasn't as if you were good-looking to begin with. At least you survived. I was rather glad to hear that, for sentiment's sake."

For a moment, Rebecca feared that Kenneth might do murder, but he managed to retain his control. "Good-bye, Hermione," he snapped. "We have nothing to say to each other."

Before he could take Rebecca away, Hermione raised her hand and cupped his cheek with provocative intimacy. "Ah, Kenneth, darling. Still troubled by that boring conscience of yours. I rather hoped you had overcome it by now." Her malicious gaze slanted over to ensure that Rebecca was listening. "If you had, we could have resumed where we left off all those years ago."

The implication was unmistakable. Rebecca stared at Kenneth in shock, but there was no denial in his eyes. Only the sick horror of someone who had been dealt a mortal blow. Knowing she must get him away, Rebecca grasped his arm hard, but she spared a last glance for his stepmother. "Have a care, Lady Kimball," she said with icy fury. "Your face is beginning to reflect the ugliness of your spirit."