“Pardon?” the girl looked at her as if she’d grown another head. “No. No, of course not. He is never anything but kind.”
“Are you certain? You have seemed upset since our outing.” Then a thought sparked. She frowned. “Was it Mr. Marlow?”
A furious blush spread over the girl’s cheeks. “You know, Miss Merriweather, I do believe I am horribly parched. Would you be willing to fetch us some punch?”
“Oh! Certainly.” Rosalind fairly bolted from her chair. Granted, she had not managed to pry the girl from the side of the room. But at least she could search out Sir Tristan herself.
She hurried through the crowd, weaving in and out of the swell of people, doing her best to locate Sir Tristan. She soon found, however, that being several inches shorter than the great majority of guests present put her at a distinct disadvantage. She could see even less from this angle than she had been able to while seated against the wall. For a moment she looked longingly at the orchestra balcony, stretched on one side of the vast room. Surely no one would notice if she snuck up and peeked out.
Before she could think better of it she was off, working toward the far side of the room. There must be a door there somewhere that led to the upper reaches. After a bit of searching she found it, hidden behind a heavy red velvet curtain. She ducked behind the fabric and made to open the door there.
A low conversation on the other side of the curtain snagged her attention, halting her progress.
“And have you any prospects for brides, Ullerton?”
“Several. There is a fine contingent of young misses out this year. Though I admit there is one lady I have my eye on.”
“And who might that be?”
Rosalind blanched. Lord Ullerton was on the other side of the curtain? She turned the handle, intending to slip into the passage beyond. She certainly had no wish to overhear what the man had to say.
But his next words once again stalled her.
“Miss Gladstow seems a fine choice.”
“Miss Gladstow?” There seemed honest confusion in the other man’s tone. “I know of her father, of course, but cannot remember the chit. Which one is she?”
“You know, plain little thing, dark hair, painfully shy.”
A sharp bark of laughter. “Why the devil would you want to chain yourself to the likes of her?”
Rosalind expected Lord Ullerton to come to Miss Gladstow’s defense. He had seemed kind, after all, and if he was interested in her for a wife he would certainly not want anyone disparaging her.
Instead, as if he were Mrs. Gladstow’s puppet, he said, “Sir Tristan Crosby has been sniffing after her, and I admit his interest has only piqued my own. Besides,” he added, to Rosalind’s horror, “the girl comes with the means I need to stay afloat.”
A knowing chuckle answered that. “Ah, yes. One could certainly put up with a boring mouse of a wife for such a thing. And it is not as if you need live with her year-round. Get a child or two on her and you shall be free and clear.”
Rosalind’s hand, still clasped around the door handle, clenched tight on the metal in an effort not to bolt from her hiding place and give the other man a piece of her mind. Surely Lord Ullerton could not let that go, as disappointing as he had been up until now.
“True,” he mused instead, stunning Rosalind. But what came next was worse. Much worse.
“Though I may keep her around for a long time. For she’ll come with a delicious little companion that I’ve a mind to get to know better.”
“Miss Merriweather, isn’t it? I don’t know, Ullerton, she seems a veritable termagant. Never knows when to shut that mouth of hers.”
Lord Ullerton chuckled low, the sound sending a frisson of disgust down Rosalind’s spine. “Oh, I’m not concerned about that in the least. For I’m planning on putting her mouth to other more interesting uses.”
“She doesn’t seem as if she’d be easy to tame.”
“That will make it all the more interesting. I do like a bit of a fight when breaking a new girl in, after all.”
They both chuckled, the sound growing fainter as they moved off.
Rosalind stood frozen, stunned. Her disgust of a moment ago had fled, to be replaced by a fear so acute she could taste it. It soured her stomach, clouded her mind, seized her muscles.
The heavy curtain that had hidden her from Lord Ullerton but a moment ago now felt like it was closing her in. Her lungs struggled, as if she were drowning. Needing to escape the confines of the small space, she hurriedly pushed the curtain aside and stumbled back into the brightness of the ballroom. Surely she would find safety in the glittering mass of people, would find comfort in their numbers.
Instead all she found was a strange dreamland. For people still laughed and talked and danced. How was it life still went on, as if something monumental and life altering had not occurred? As if she had not been made fully aware of how defenseless she was in the space of a moment.
She stumbled along, not knowing where to go, what to do. Her shoulder connected with one man and she lost her balance. The room swirled around her.
A strong hand reached out, grabbed at her arm, a familiar voice sounding in her ear. “Miss Merriweather, are you well?”
“Sir Tristan?” She blinked and her confusion fell away as his face came into focus.
He frowned down at her. “You do not look well at all. Let me help you to a chair.”
“I’m fine, truly.”
“You most certainly are not. Has something happened?” Suspicion tightened his features. “Has someone harmed you?”
“Of course not.” She had been indirectly and unknowingly threatened, as well as frightened nearly witless. But she had not been harmed. Yet.
But he did not look mollified in the least. Wanting to distract him, she said, “If you’ll excuse me, Sir Tristan. I need to get back to Miss Gladstow. I am fetching her some punch.” At that she frowned, looking down at her empty hands. Goodness, but she had forgotten all about that. Sudden exhaustion overtook her. The very thought of returning to her charge, of acting normal, was almost too much to bear.
The concern in his eyes doubled. “I will make you a deal. I will fetch Miss Gladstow punch, and you will find a place to sit and rest.”
Too tired to fight him, wanting only to take a moment for herself, she nodded. Giving her one last long look, he bowed and was off through the crowd.
Rosalind watched him go, grateful for his intervention. She moved off to the side of the room, intending to do as he had bid her.
Until she recalled Lord Ullerton.
The whole point of ensuring that Sir Tristan and Miss Gladstow remained in each other’s orbit tonight was to ensure the earl’s interest in her was sufficiently piqued to make the girl an offer. Miss Gladstow would get a husband of good standing, Mrs. Gladstow would see her daughter marry into the nobility, and Rosalind would remain employed. Everyone would get what they wanted.
But now that she knew the extent of the man’s perfidy, she knew in her heart she could not do it. She could not sell Miss Gladstow in marriage to such a man. Nor could she enter that man’s home knowing what he had planned for her. No, she would rather die.