gasped in surprise at the line of opulent coaches.
Light spilled out from practically every window of the large double storey house. Robbie helped her out of the coach with a hand at her elbow and her feet sank into something soft. A scarlet carpet strip, rolled out from the courtyard area to the marble steps leading on to the verandah, saved her dainty evening slippers from getting wet and muddied.
With her arm now linked through Robbie’s she felt quite regal as he escorted her inside. A uniformed manservant took her cloak, and a maid showed them into a stately reception room. A large portrait of Her Majesty, Queen Victoria, in coronation robes hung in a gold frame on the wall opposite the door.
A waiter approached them, and Robbie picked up a glass for each of them. She had never tasted champagne before and the bubbles got up her nose as she nervously gulped down a couple of mouthfuls.
Glancing at the elegant silk and taffeta gowns worn by the other ladies added to her feelings of insignificance. Diamonds, rubies, and other precious stones, twinkled about their throats, wrists and fingers. Her simple gold cross looked as out of place here as she did.
She recognized some of the guests by sight or from seeing their pictures in the newspapers. Prominent leaders of the community, wealthy landowners, all well represented here tonight. People like herself and Robbie did not belong with judges, surgeons and the landed gentry.
Robbie wandered away from her, and as she desperately glanced around trying to find him, she spied Tom Ogilvy. When she waved to him he strolled over.
“Good evening. Care to dance, Miss O’Dea?”
“Yes, thank you,” she accepted eagerly, desperate to get away from the scrutiny of several haughty ladies who didn’t bother concealing their curiosity as to why someone like her would attend a function such as this.
An eight-piece orchestra play ed a waltz, one of the few dances in her limited repertoire.
Tom proved to be an accomplished dancer . “You waltz very well, Miss O’Dea, you’re as light as thistledown.”
“Thank you.” She gave a nervous trill of laughter. “You dance well, too.”
When the dance ended, Tom escorted her from the floor and back to her seat . She cast nervous glances at several well-dressed, obviously wealthy guests. Stewards, wearing red coats with blue collars, gilt buttons on their flaps and cuffs, and blue waistcoats over black breeches, scurried by, adding to the atmosphere.
Michael enter ed the reception room with Priscilla clinging to his arm. His expression registered surprise at seeing Melanie, but he smiled and inclined his head. Priscilla, after giving her a haughty glance, rudely turned her back.
How dare she? Melanie fumed . Who did this woman think she was?
“May I have the next dance?” Tom led her on to the dance floor before she could frame a refusal. His face appeared flushed now, and he held her much closer than on the previous occasion . His breath, heavy with the smell of spirits, stirred her hair.
Thank goodness when the dance finished he led her back to where Robbie stood. So, he had decided to honor her with his presence had he? She ignored him and accepted Tom’s offer to dance again. Robbie scowled fiercely but she didn’t care. Why bother bringing her here if he kept on disappearing? It was humiliating and she wouldn’t put up with it.
An hour or so after his arrival Michael strolled over.
“Would you do me the honor of the next dance?” He smiled and held out his hand .
“Thank you , I’d like that.” He escorted her on to the dance floor. She couldn’t understand why no other man except Robbie and Tom had asked her to dance. She might not be the prettiest girl in the room, but certainly wasn’t the ugliest either.
“You look enchanting, my dear,” Michael whispered in her ear. “You dance well, too. I’ve been watching.”
“Thank you, I learnt from an expert.”
“Oh!” He quirked an enquiring