“Georgie!” she said to her sister, reproach in her voice.
“Did I say something wrong?” the countess asked. “But there is only Lady Severn to hear, Vera—or did you imagine that I had not told Ralph yet? And I am sure Lady Severn will not have a fit of the vapors to know that you are increasing and that I am wondering if you will be dancing the more strenuous sets.”
Lord Beauchamp was grinning, and had set one arm loosely about his wife’s waist. “I warned you not to tell Georgie until the evidence was staring her in the face, Vera,” he said. “Though why you should be embarrassed, I have no idea, unless you are afraid that people will be imagining the process by which you have come by this state.”
“Roger!” his wife said while he laughed down at her. “I am so sorry, Lady Severn. If my sister and my husband do not drive me to an early grave, perhaps I will live to a ripe old age.”
“I envy you,” Abigail said, smiling reassuringly at the baroness. “I hope to be in the same state myself before many months are past.”
Her husband’s hand was at her waist, she felt as she was speaking.
Lord Beauchamp chuckled. “Now, there is a challenge for you to take up, Severn,” he said. “Ah, the dancing is about to begin at last. Vera, my love?”
“Abby?” The earl was smiling at her. “It is a quadrille, not a waltz, so you can put away that look of blank terror for a while.”
Abigail laughed. It felt very splendid, she thought, to be led into the opening set by the gentleman who was not only her husband but also without a doubt the most gorgeously handsome man in the room. Her own claim to great splendor had already been relinquished to fifty other women, but she would continue to bask in the glory of being Miles’s wife.
After a few minutes of dancing, she was caught again by that feeling of familiarity about someone across the ballroom. She turned her head sharply and looked again.
It was a woman—a woman with black hair and a daringly low-cut red gown that clung to her generous curves just as if it had been dampened. And undoubtedly it had been—Abigail had heard that several bold ladies did that.
Her hair had been a light brown when Abigail had known her, and her figure had not appeared quite so generous. But her identity was unmistakable. She was laughing up at a dark-haired, heavyset gentleman, her dancing partner, apparently enjoying herself greatly. She had not often looked happy when Abigail had known her. Not toward the end, anyway.
Their eyes suddenly caught and held across the room, and her stepmother raised her eyebrows and smiled at her.
Abigail jerked her head back to stare at the intricate folds of her husband’s neckcloth.
“I am sorry,” she said as she trod on his foot.
“No harm done,” he said, “I managed not to scream out loud and you are not so very heavy anyway. You are not really nervous, are you, Abby? You look as white as a ghost.”
“I have only three spaces on my dancing card,” she said. “Everyone has been most obliging.”
“Have you reserved a waltz for me after supper?” he asked.
“Two spaces,” she said. “Are you permitted three dances with me, Miles? I thought two was the limit.”
“Since you are my bride of two days,” he said, “I think I will be forgiven.”
Abigail glanced again at the woman in red. But there was no mistake. She was Rachel, all right.
THE EARL OF SEVERN was feeling well pleased with his first appearance in public with his wife. She was taking well.
His mother and Connie, he was relieved to find, had treated her civilly after their late arrival, his mother actually seeking them out after the opening quadrille was finished and offering her cheek for Abigail’s kiss and his own.
A large number of people had come to be presented to her and had remained to be charmed and amused by her conversation. The two empty unreserved spaces on her dancing card were quickly filled.
Lord and Lady Galloway had been courteous in the receiving line, and Frances gracious. He had reserved a set with her sometime before supper.
His wife was dancing the same set with the young Earl of Chartleigh, he saw. At least she would be able to talk uninterrupted with that very quiet gentleman. He smiled and wondered not for the first time how Abigail had succeeded in appearing so quiet on that first morning and during their shopping trip the next day.
“I am to be presented next week,” Frances was saying. “Of course, Mama did wonder if it was quite proper for me to make my come-out tonight before my appearance at court, but Aunt Irene assured us that it would be quite unexceptionable to do so. I do believe that sets during a ball should be shorter, do you not agree, my lord? Then one would be able to dance with more gentlemen and there would be fewer disappointed at finding that one’s card is full already.”