tonight!â
They enjoyed a light dinner at the charming flat of Lord Graham Fortescue, a good-humoured Tulip of the ton, who enjoyed the rather dubious distinction of being often referred to as âthat young fribble whoâs a bosom bow of Snow Boothe.â His lordship journeyed with them to the ball, and it soon became apparent that Albiniaâs expressed hopes for her niece had been a trifle premature. They had turned onto Clarges Street and taken their place in the procession of vehicles discharging guests before Sir Peter Wardâs large house, when Mrs. Boothe exclaimed excitedly, âLook, Becky! Only look at that glorious gown! And the wig! I never saw anything so elegant! Who is she, Fortescue?â
Obediently craning his neck, his lordshipâs brown eyes skimmed the crowd. âThe tall girl? Thatâs The Monahan. Sheâsâ By Jove! Snow, look at this! Dâye see her escort? You never thinkâ¦â
Snowden looked, and whistled softly. âSo sheâs his interest! Iâd heard the gossip, butâ Gad! Theyâre bringing it into the open, eh?â
âWho? Who?â Trapped by her paniers and trying vainly to glimpse the gentleman with the lady in the magnificent gold brocade robe volante, Rebecca said, âI cannot quiteâ Oh.â Her nose wrinkled disdainfully. ââTis Mr. de Villars.â
âYes. And speaking of dressâlook at his!â Snowden chuckled. âBlack and silver, to her gold! Heâll cause a flurry with the lady on his arm!â
Rebecca asked, âAre you quite sure of theirâer, relationship, Snow? The lady is so lovely, surely she could not view him with favour?â
âNot much for looks, is he?â Snowden agreed cheerfully. âYet the women melt at his feet, Lord knows why. I never could believe heâd actually snared The Monahan.â
âShe seems entranced,â murmured Mrs. Boothe, curiously. âIs he very wealthy, Fortescue?â
âPockets to let from what Iâve heard, maâam. Still, he keeps up appearances, donât he?â
âHe does indeed,â Snowden agreed, with a grin. âThe Monahan is expensive, that I do know.â
Rebecca turned to him, much shocked. âYou do? Howââ
âHeâhe ainât clutch-fisted, neither,â Fortescue interposed, desperate but ever loyal. âNo lady leaves his protection with rancour, so they say. Andââ
âMyâ lord! â gasped Mrs. Boothe.
âOhâegad!â groaned his lordship.
âHere we are, at last!â said the vastly diverted Snowden. âGet your pretty selves together, mesdames. And remember, Becky: No dancing!â
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
Had anyone ever told Rebecca that she could have a wonderful time at a ball without once dancing, she would not have believed it. On this warm May evening, however, she thoroughly enjoyed herself. Before they were through the reception line she had become a centre of attention, and she could scarcely have been more pleased than to have two gentlemen vying for her attention when she came up to give her hand to the host.
Sir Peterâs greeting was the essence of charm and manners. His hair, heavily powdered, was tied back in the English style. The great cuffs of his green velvet coat were frogged with pale green satin, the pocket flaps and stiffly pleated skirts free of further ornamentation. It was a rather austere habit for so young a man, but Rebecca, entranced, thought that very austerity emphasized his good looks.
Once in the ballroom, she was besieged, as her aunt had foretold, gentlemen pressing in around her, and old friends struggling through the crowd to embrace and congratulate her upon her return to social functions. When she was asked for her dance card, and replied demurely that she would not be dancing, her decision was obviously applauded. Several would-be partners claimed her for