It was something she had not felt since before her sister died.
She might have made an utter fool of herself and hugged Lady Belham on the spot. Thankfully the woman continued.
“But I digress. You were right, in that I’m quite new to town. I arrived not a week ago from Haddington, in Scotland, and am staying with my cousin until I secure a house of my own.”
“You don’t sound Scottish.”
“No. My husband, however, had property there, and preferred to spend his time at that remote estate and far away from London life. He passed away a little more than a year ago.”
“I am sorry,” Rosalind said.
“He was a good man,” the woman said stoutly. “But he was considerably older than me, and it was his time.”
Before Rosalind could react to that blunt statement, Lady Belham continued. “But you haven’t told me your name yet.”
Rosalind jumped, dipping into a curtsy. “Miss Rosalind Merriweather, my lady.”
“What a beautifully melodic name. Full of so many dips and turns. It quite delights the tongue. Rosalind is the daughter of the exiled duke in As You Like It, is she not?”
“Yes, she is that,” Rosalind’s lips lifted in a wry smile. “I’m afraid my parents were dreamers of the worst sort. They thought that by giving me a whimsical name, it would help to inspire all manner of artistic endeavors in me.”
“And did it work?”
“Not a bit.” Rosalind held up her hands. “All thumbs.”
Lady Belham’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “And what of poetry?”
“Completely beyond me. If I had a suitor, one stanza from me would see them right off.”
“Well, I do suppose you could make a new career for yourself if you wish, writing bad verse for the women of the ton who are eager to put off unwanted beaus,” she drawled.
Rosalind laughed. “I could at that. Unfortunately I haven’t the time to pen poorly written poems for debutantes.”
“Pity that,” the woman said. “But is that who you were watching then? Miss Gladstow?”
Recalling herself and her self-appointed job as protector to the girl, Rosalind turned her gaze back to the crowd on the floor. It took what felt an eternity before she located Sir Tristan and Miss Gladstow. Both were laughing as they did a promenade. Rosalind let out the breath she was holding.
“Yes,” she replied.
“I notice she’s partnered with Sir Tristan Crosby,” Lady Belham said with interest. Too much interest.
Rosalind turned to her. “You know of the gentleman then?”
Lady Belham gave a small laugh. “Of course I do.”
Before Rosalind could wonder at the woman’s strange answer the music came to a flourishing close. Startled, she peered over the dancers, but they were already exiting the floor. To her frustration and alarm, she could not discern Sir Tristan in the crowd.
“Blast it,” she muttered. “I’ve lost them.”
Lady Belham gave a startled laugh. “If you mean Miss Gladstow and Sir Tristan, I do believe I see them heading to the doors leading to the front hall.”
Rosalind went cold. She could not let them escape. Before she could hurry away, however, Lady Belham spoke, stalling her.
“I like you, Miss Merriweather. I haven’t many friends in town. If you’re ever up for a visit, please do stop by an afternoon. I would so love to continue our exchange.” So saying, she held out a thick, creamy card. A hand-written address graced one side.
“Thank you so much, my lady,” Rosalind said hastily, stuffing the card into her own bag. “I would like that.” Dipping into a quick curtsy, she bounded away, following in Sir Tristan and Miss Gladstow’s wake.
Chapter 6
Rosalind was motivated enough that she should have been able to cut her way through the crowd like a powerful ship through calm ocean waters, throwing partygoers this way and that like flotsam. Instead she felt more like an awkward sea bird fighting against a high wind. With every second that passed the anxiety clawing at her grew, making her more and more frantic. At long last she made it to the other side of the room. She took a quick look about, fully expecting to have to search the rest of the house where no doubt Sir Tristan already had Miss Gladstow in an amorous embrace. What she did not expect to see was that gentleman in plain view.
Nor did she expect to see him being accosted by…Mr. Marlow?
What in the world was Mr. Marlow doing here? There was no way she would believe that the son of a minor landowner had been invited to Lord and Lady Jasper’s exclusive ball. Yet here the man was, standing nearly nose to nose with Sir Tristan. Outrage seized the muscles of his face, making his normally placid countenance appear positively forbidding. Miss Gladstow stood behind him, her hands clasped to her chest, her eyes wide with…joy?
“You don’t care for anything but her fortune,” Mr. Marlow said. “You cannot marry her.”
Standing behind Sir Tristan as Rosalind was, she could not see his face. When he laughed, though, the sound was mocking, and quite unlike anything Rosalind had ever heard from him.
“Who will stop me if I wish it, pup? You?”
Mr. Marlow drew himself up to his full height. “Yes.”
“Want her for her dowry, do you?”
“Say such a thing again, sir, and I shall be forced to call you out,” Mr. Marlow growled. “I love Miss Gladstow. She is the creature of my heart. I was a fool not to see it before, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let her go now. I don’t care if she comes to me penniless. If she will have me I will be the happiest of men.”
Miss Gladstow hurried forward. “Oh, David. Do you truly love me?” she breathed.
The man’s countenance changed in an instant. He turned to Miss Gladstow, his face relaxing into something almost handsome for all the emotion that overtook it. “With all my heart, Sarah.”
Rosalind watched, stunned, as the couple fell into a passionate embrace. Their corner of the room went silent, the only sound the occasional gasp as someone new caught sight of the display. After a time the lovers broke apart, linking arms and hurrying off together, oblivious to the crowd that had gathered to gawk. As conversation erupted about her, she looked to Sir Tristan. How must he feel, after being made a fool of in such a public manner?
He turned for the door then, no doubt intending to escape the ballroom and the scene of his embarrassment. But instead of frustration or anger twisting his face, the man was…smiling?
She blinked. What the blazes?
He might have passed her by then if his gaze had not unexpectedly tripped to her. The change in him was instantaneous. His step slowed, his expression sobering. And then he did the most incredible thing. His eyes scanned her from her head to her toes. Before she could speak, he slipped around her; in the blink of an eye, he was gone.
Rosalind stared at the space he had been, completely flummoxed. She knew she should feel relief. Miss Gladstow was safe. She had not fallen under Sir Tristan’s spell, nor would she marry Lord Jowls. No, after that display her parents would not be able to force a match on her again. Miss Gladstow would marry someone who would love and care for her, who would treat her with all the respect she deserved.