Suzanne Robinson Read Online Free PDF Page B

chilled. She couldn’t sit down for fear of wrinkling the gown. Walking across the room, she leaned her forehead against the window as she had that afternoon. The pane was cold, but she paid no attention.
    It wouldn’t do to cry. A veteran of the American frontier didn’t cry over garish hair and freckles. Besides, the tears would spoil the powder.
    Much later Kate was standing beside Aunt Emeline,who dozed in an armchair. Before her was the polished ballroom floor, and across it swept a blur of skirts and trousered legs. Standing with her was a young man whom Ophelia had introduced as Mr. Arbuthnot. Kate clenched her gloved hands together and searched her mind for something else to say. Each time she tried to begin a conversation, something went wrong. Perhaps Englishmen weren’t interested in the argument between the Northern and Southern states on slavery, or in the beauty of San Francisco Bay. Of course. She must talk about England. Fixing a smile on her lips, she tried again.
    “I have read some of the stories of Mr. Charles Dickens lately.”
    Mr. Arbuthnot was watching a group of laughing cavalry officers. Kate glanced down at her hands, then looked up and smiled again.
    “Are you interested in history, Mr. Arbuthnot?”
    The young man dragged his gaze away from his friends and looked down at her. “History? Can’t abide the stuff. Ah! Here is Miss Maitland. I’ll leave you two ladies to rest after all this dancing, shall I?”
    Without waiting for her answer, Mr. Arbuthnot bolted away. Kate saw him rejoin the officers he’d been with before Ophelia made him talk to her. As she watched, Mr. Arbuthnot made a comment, and several pairs of male eyes glanced at her. There was a round of smirks among them. Kate turned her back.
    “Really, Kate, what did you say to Weedy to make him rush off like that?” Ophelia patted her upper lip with her kerchief and smiled at a gentleman passing by.
    “I don’t know. I asked him—”
    “Shhh.” Ophelia grabbed Kate’s arm. “Don’t turn around. Keep looking at me and smiling. He’s here. It’s so late, I thought he wasn’t coming.”
    “Who?”
    “The marquess. You can turn around, but don’t let himsee you looking at him. He’s the one talking to Lord Bunton and Mother.” Ophelia giggled. “He’s so much taller he has to bend down to hear old Bunty. No, over by the doors. See the one with the black hair?”
    Kate saw him, and there it was again, that feeling of magic. The world grew fantastical. Colors suffused with brightness, and her spirits lifted as though she’d discovered her own gold mine.
    She stared at Alexis de Granville until Ophelia nudged her. The marquess wasn’t looking their way, however, for his progress about the room was hindered by friends. He took a step, then was stopped by a couple. After exchanging a few words, he began to move again, only to be brought up short by a pack of young officers. She couldn’t hear what he said to them, but the whole group closed around him, quiet and attentive for once. Alexis laid a hand on one man’s shoulder, gave him a sweet look, and said three words. She started when every officer in the group burst into laughter, including the young man who was the brunt of the marquess’s comment.
    He left them before they’d recovered and ran into a blockade of skirts. Beside her, Kate heard Ophelia growl as a mama and her two daughters cooed at him. By this time, however, Ophelia’s mother had decided to rescue Alexis, and the blockade evaporated under the attack of this worthy battleship. He was captured and towed to port in front of Kate and Ophelia.
    As he came closer, Kate could feel the tug of the magic. She was sure it was real now, because she’d seen it work on a roomful of people. She wasn’t imagining things. People fought for his attention; they claimed him as they would a prize. Yet she sensed a hesitancy in those who sought him out. It was as though they approached an unpredictable deity