Without Emily—who’d cried off at the last moment—by her side, Rhoda had no choice but to attend the Snodgrass Garden party with her mother.
She wore one of her newer day dresses, a creation she’d collected the day before from Madam Chantal’s shop. Not given to false modesty, Rhoda knew the bold jonquil yellow color set off her hair and skin perfectly. It even drew out the little golden flecks of light in her plain brown eyes.
Not many women could carry off such tones, Madam had effused, while draping the material down Rhoda’s front. Rhoda would be envied.
Rhoda smoothed her skirts while an unusual collection of nerves attacked her as her mother alighted from their coach.
She’d received an inordinate amount of attention at the Crabtrees’ ball. And then so many flowers arrived afterward.
She didn’t trust any of it—not the dance offers, nor the bouquets. Despite the gorgeous weather and the prospect of a delightful party, Rhoda wished she were already in Kent.
“You will outshine all the other ladies here today.” Rhoda’s mother grasped her by the elbow and led them around the path other guests were already following. “I must admit, Madam Chantal has outdone herself with that one,” she added with a sideways glance at the new dress.
“And yours.” Rhoda reached out to touch the fine silk of her mother’s understated day dress in deep Pomona green.
For a moment, Rhoda experienced a nostalgic comfort of going somewhere with her mother. Perhaps the familiar scent of her mama’s perfume brought it on. Mrs. Mossant had worn the same scent as long as Rhoda could remember.
“Such a shame St. John didn’t live to see you in it.”
Whoosh.
The warmth and security disappeared in one fell swoop. Any mention of St. John, or the events of last summer, never failed to drop Rhoda’s heart into the soles of her shoes. The edges of her vision clouded, and the world tilted awkwardly.
“I still cannot believe Miss Beauchamp landed the title. A duchess! You were so very close to having it yourself!” Rhoda wished her mother and sisters would forget about St. John. She wished even more that she could.
Nearing a cluster of guests, Mrs. Mossant patted Rhoda’s gloved hand as though she were a child. “There are Mrs. Potter and Mavis Torrey. I simply must express my regrets to them. Both are hosting parties next week that we’re going to miss. An apology is always best made in person.” She then pressed Rhoda onto a nearby bench and took her leave.
Mrs. Mossant had never made for a very good chaperone. She was too much of a socialite herself. Rhoda sighed and gazed around at the lovely setting. Lady Snodgrass had obviously planned her soiree so that it coincided with the blossoming of the most colorful flowers in her garden. Pink, purple, deep blues, and golden yellows matched the colorful bows tied to the canopy that had been set up a ways from the manor.
Rhoda didn’t know the actual names of the flowers. That was her mother’s particular talent.
Despite the sun, the stone bench felt cold on her backside. She pressed her knees together and studied some of the other guests. With Cecily and Sophia married, Rhoda found herself regretting the fact that she hadn’t attempted to make many other friends. Even the few ladies she’d conversed with on occasion didn’t seem to recognize her.
Which was odd… because, whereas none of the women met her gaze, a considerable number of the gentlemen present seemed to be brazenly staring at her.
An ominous shiver ran down her spine, and she swallowed hard.
Suddenly, despite sitting in the sunshine, on the edge of Lady Snodgrass’s exquisitely decorated courtyard, in the presence of over a hundred reputable members of the ton, Rhoda felt ill at ease. Frightened, somehow.
And Rhoda was never frightened.
Foolishness! Nonsense. Likely, she was imagining things.
“Miss Mossant.”
Rhoda jerked her spine ramrod straight when she realized Lord Kensington had crept up behind her. “Fortune is shining upon me today! How is it that I am so lucky as to find you sitting here alone? And looking so fetching?”
Surely, he wouldn’t! Not after his actions the other night. He moved around the bench to stand directly before her and presented a stockinged leg.
She’d not acknowledge him. Blond hair, perfect features, and sparkling blue eyes—such looks were wasted on the lout.
She’d give him the cut direct.
His arrogance, his nerve, knew no bounds.
“Come now, Miss Mossant. Surely, you don’t fault me for being overcome by your beauty.” Lord Kensington turned and dropped onto the bench beside her. He then had the audacity to attempt to take her hand in his.
Rhoda was no weak-willed simpering young miss.
Not anymore.
She snatched it away before he could wrap his fingers around hers, but he persisted. “A diamond such as yourself mustn’t ruin your countenance with such an ugly scowl.”
She would not be pleasant to this… person. She couldn’t even think of him as a gentleman. “If you do not enjoy seeing my scowl, I suggest you find another lady to harass.” She spoke in polite tones, staring straight ahead.
And then his hand landed on her leg.
Enough!
Bolting off the bench as though burned, she’d like to have called him out for his audacity. Unfortunately, she knew these people. They’d look the other way. As an earl, Lord Kensington would escape censure. As always, the ton would take his side.
She’d been lucky to escape him before. She’d not make the mistake of being alone with him ever again. She covered her mouth briefly, stifling the gagging sensation the incident provoked.
She hated this. Why was everything so… off?
Fighting the inclination to run away, to have their carriage brought around, Rhoda lifted her chin and stifled her urge to sprint in the opposite direction. To sprint away from all these people who suddenly acted like strangers.
But she could do no such thing, so she strolled in a leisurely fashion through the small clusters of people. She simply needed to find her mother.
One by one, as she approached familiar faces, heads turned away.
Other ladies recognized her easy enough but refused to acknowledge her. A cold vise began squeezing her lungs. What was going on? What had she done now?
What do these people know?
And where on earth was her mother when she needed her? Good heavens, if Rhoda experienced such treatment, it was more than likely her mother might be experiencing it as well, but for her few close friends.
But even then, scandal could end many a friendship.
If only she knew which scandal had come out.
“Such an honor to meet you, my lord! This is my daughter, Miss Louella Rose. Louella, dear, make your curtsey to the earl.” Justin cringed inside as the young woman dropped obsequiously before him, her smooth mahogany ringlets falling forward.
He’d been introduced to the mother, once, he believed, and she’d looked down her prominent nose at him. He believed the father to be a viscount. The girl really was beautiful. A perfect English Rose. Too perfect, in fact. As though she’d been groomed with the express purpose of attracting an acceptable title. He imagined he now fell into that criteria. God, he wished he could have kept the news under wraps a bit longer, or better yet, not inherited at all.
If not for Prescott’s request, he would not have attended today. The duchess would have come herself if possible. She’d implored her husband to provide some sort of protection for Miss Mossant. It was the last event Miss Mossant would attend before being swept away to the country by her concerned friends.
“My pleasure, ladies.” He bowed, all the while trying to catch sight of the tall chestnut-haired beauty who’d taken residence in his mind as of late. Although having witnessed the way she’d handled Kensington, he doubted she needed anyone.
He frowned, uncertain whether he admired her unconventionality or was repulsed by it.
Perhaps some of both.
“Such a beautiful day.” Lady Redfield, a round and rather buxom woman, tilted her head back, indicating the clear blue sky. “Perfect day for a boat ride, don’t you think, Luella, dear?”
Miss Luella Dear gazed toward the lake and then glanced down at her wrists. Oddly enough, she had silk ribbons tied around them. Odd fashion these debutantes sported these days. “Oh, yes, Mother. The conditions are divine.”
Not at all what he wished to do. Except he could not in good conscience disappoint the girl—or her mother.
One more search for Miss Mossant and then he cleared his throat. He couldn’t exactly explain that he had attended only to protect another lady from the very gentlemen who ought to be most trusted. “Miss Redfield.” He bowed. “I’d be honored if you would allow me to row you around the pond.”
A perfect smile, and then perfect blue eyes peered up from beneath long, dark lashes. Slim and just the perfect height, the younger woman took hold of the arm he’d extended and fell in beside him. “Have you just arrived in London, my lord?”
Justin took a breath and began to respond but was interrupted before he could get a word out.
“Papa brought us an entire week early so that I could shop. He insists I dress in the finest England has to offer. You wouldn’t believe the dresses I’ve ordered. Do you like this one, my lord?” She released him and halted her steps in order to skim her hands over her skirt and twirl around. The dress looked the same as every other dress worn by the other debutantes that afternoon.
“It’s lo—”
“Because Mother declared the pink perfect, but I’m not as certain.”
Justin nodded and smiled. He could see he wasn’t going to have to search for topics of conversation with this chit. As the thought struck, a flash of yellow caught his eye.
The color had somehow captured Miss Redfield’s attention as well. She turned her head and then grimaced. “It’s Miss Mossant! She has such lovely coloring. I don’t believe I could ever wear such a color, but it doesn’t look quite so horrible on her. Mother says I’m not to converse with her though. Mother didn’t tell me why; she only mentioned that Miss Mossant had tainted herself forever. I’m surprised Lady Snodgrass received her today.” And then she met his gaze conspiratorially. “Do you know what she’s done to kick up so much scandal?”
Justin pursed his lips in disapproval. A convenient set down he’d learned from the vicar who’d retired before him. “I’m certain your mother is mistaken.”
Miss Mossant did indeed have lovely coloring. And the dress perhaps would have made most other ladies appear sallow. But not her. It set off the golden highlights in her russet locks and made her coffee-colored eyes appear even darker. Mysterious.
He imagined it would bring out the golden lights hidden there and itched to take a closer look.
She held herself proudly even though no one approached her.
Justin winged his elbow to Miss Redfield and firmly changed their direction.
The determined debutante did her best to tug him, once again, in the direction of the jetty where the boats had been left out, but Justin’s mind was set.
Best for him not to appear to have singled one particular lady out today, anyhow. He’d be safer in the company of two.
“My lord, really, Mother will be most vexed if she sees me in her company,” Miss Redfield whined, on the brink of panic. Justin patted the top of her hand.
Miss Mossant’s gaze narrowed suspiciously as she caught sight of him approaching with Miss Redfield. Initially, he saw a hint of vulnerability behind her defiant gaze. But as she seemed to realize what he was about, it turned to relief. Too late to turn back now.
“Miss Mossant.” He released Miss Redfield long enough to bow.
Grasping the skirt of her brilliant gown in one hand, the solemn lady curtsied hesitantly.
“Are you acquainted with Miss Luella Redfield? She was just now making known to me her appreciation of your dress.”
Miss Redfield fidgeted for all of thirty seconds before apparently deciding she’d rather vex her mother than contradict London’s newest earl. “Um, yes, Miss Mossant. No one else would ever dare appear in something so bold.”
“Why, thank you, Miss Redfield. I’ve grown ever so bored with wearing bland pastels.”
Justin smiled to himself at Miss Mossant’s gentle jibe. Now that he’d located her, he was reluctant to leave her alone.
He’d make the boat ride into a threesome. But indeed, this was an ideal solution.
“Miss Mossant, you must join Miss Redfield and me for a ride around the lake.” Without giving her a chance to respond, he tucked her arm into his and then winged his other toward Miss Redfield’s. Again, indecision flickered over the girl’s perfect features, momentarily marring her creamy complexion. She pinched her lips but slipped her hand in the crook of his elbow.
Luck was on his side, for certain. Quite pleased with himself, he assisted the ladies along the jetty toward the closest available craft. Dropping his arm, Miss Mossant stepped back while he carefully aided the other young woman aboard.
“Careful now, Miss Redfield.”
She clasped his hand tightly and gingerly found her seat. Once safely aboard, she spread her gown picturesquely around herself.
Justin turned toward Miss Mossant, who surprised him with an impatient frown. “This really isn’t necessary, Mr. White.”
“Why do you persist in addressing him as Mister?” Miss Redfield asked from her position on the water. “Are you not aware he is an earl? Surely, you insult him, Miss Mossant.”
Still scowling, Miss Mossant moved to board the craft grudgingly as Justin sidled her to the edge of the jetty.
“I take no insult, Miss Mossant,” he assured her.
She tentatively placed one slippered foot onto one of the wooden seats, her hand still in his, and then lowered her other one to the bottom of the boat. Justin experienced an inkling of concern when he realized Miss Redfield was rearranging her dress once again, unbalancing the boat in the process.
And then Miss Mossant lost her footing for some unknown reason.
She fell toward and then away from him and would have gone tumbling into the water but for his hand. At that moment, the boat, secured only with a loose rope, drifted away from the wooden pier, leaving a few feet of open water between them.
Torn between releasing his hold on Miss Mossant, who by no means had found her balance, or jumping across the ever-growing expanse of water, possibly toppling all of them over in the process, Justin found himself at a complete and utter loss.
And then… the inevitable.