“Is she, Percy?” Kate asked, stopping and gazing up at his perspiring face.
“Good Lord, Kate, don’t be a fool. Julien is your husband, not some old roué to sport around with every pretty face.”
“You’re right, Percy, it is overly warm. If you will excuse me—” She felt the words choke in her throat as she sped away from him before he could form a protest.
“Damnation!” Percy accidentally bumped his battle-ax against a lady’s elbow. “Apologies, ma’am.”
When Kate broke away from Percy, she thought perhaps to seek out some quiet room where she could be alone. But somehow she found that her legs were quite at odds with her mind and moved her resolutely the length of the ballroom toward the long windows. She was beginning to feel quite ill, her stomach churning uncomfortably and a steady pounding growing in her head. She silently cursed her own physical weakness and stopped to press her fingers against her forehead. Her lacings were too tight, that was it. Eliza had tugged and tugged until Kate had gasped for breath. She smoothed the tight brocade about her waist, drew a deep breath, and wondered as she pulled aside the heavy curtains what was happening to her, what was so overwhelmingly compelling her to search out her husband. She found that she was quietly pleading to some divine power that she would find Julien alone. As she slipped through the narrow opening, she felt as though someone’s fist had struck her hard in the stomach, for she saw Julien and Lady Sarah, standing very close, the lady’s hand possessively holding her husband’s arm. She heard Lady Sarah say with devastating clarity, “Is she frightened of your passion? That is why, is it not, that you returned so quickly from your wedding trip?”
Oh, dear God, Julien, she cried silently to herself, please, please . . . She couldn’t see her husband’s face, but his continued silence dinned in her ears.
“Oh, my dearest, Julien, can she give you this?”
Kate pressed her face against the windowpane to blot out the picture of Lady Sarah locked tightly against Julien’s chest, her mouth upon his. She was filled with sudden fury, and without thought she stepped forward, her hands balled into fists. Her long gown caught itself on the hinge of the window and pulled her up short. She bent down and gave the skirt a vicious tug and found that her anger was dissolving into a dim haze of misery. She looked down at her dress, a whore’s gown, was it not? Nothing but a whore’s dress. Good God, what right had she to rain down curses on Lady Sarah’s head?
She pressed her hand against her mouth and turned about quickly. Hurrying back into the ballroom, she made her way to a more distant row of windows and slipped out quietly. She ran along the flagstone balcony, until, unable to help herself, she leaned miserably over the railing and lost her dinner.
She sat huddled against the railing until she was brought to her senses by voices quite near her. She panicked, thinking that it was perhaps Julien. He mustn’t find her like this. Remnants of pride patched themselves together.
She rose slowly to her feet, pressing her lace handkerchief to her mouth and gritting her teeth against a new wave of nausea. With automatic motions she smoothed her gown and forced her face into an impassive mask as she sought out an antechamber to bathe her face and mouth. She felt strangely empty, as if nothing now mattered to her. She was grateful for the numbness, the feeling of detachment, for when Julien later approached her, as she chatted with the utmost unconcern with a young matron dressed in the acceptable shepherdess costume, she was able to greet him with a semblance of calm.
“Lady Ridgelow,” Julien said with a slight bow before turning to his wife. “My dear, Percy is in quite a taking, claiming that you abandoned him at the punch bowl. Come, you must make reparations before we take our leave. A pleasure to see you again, Lady Ridgelow.”
As Julien guided her through the now-thinning company, he said quietly, “Actually, Percy was in quite a taking over my behavior, not yours.”
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