Tempt Me at Twilight (The Hathaways #3)(28)

“My God. Something else we agree on.” Leo gave the companion a half-mocking, half-uneasy glance. “We have to stop doing this, Marks. My stomach is starting to turn.”

“Please do not say that word,” she snapped.

“Stomach? Why not?”

“It is indelicate to refer to your anatomy.” She gave his tall form a disdainful glance. “And I assure you, no one has any interest in it.”

“You think not? I’ll have you know, Marks, that scores of women have remarked on my—”

“Ramsay,” Cam interrupted, giving him a warning glance.

When they had made it through the entrance hall, the family dispersed to make the rounds. Leo and Cam went to the card rooms, while the women headed to the supper tables. Amelia was instantly captured by a small group of chattering matrons.

“I can’t eat,” Poppy commented, glancing with revulsion at the long buffet of cold joints, beef, ham, and lobster salads.

“I’m starved,” Beatrix. said apologetically. “Do you mind if I have something?”

“Not at all, we’ll wait with you.”

“Have a spoonful of salad,” Miss Marks murmured to Poppy. “For appearance’s sake. And smile.”

“Like this?” Poppy attempted to turn the corners of her mouth upward.

Beatrix regarded her doubtfully. “No, that’s not pretty at all. You look like a salmon.”

“I feel like a salmon,” Poppy said. “One that’s been boiled, shredded and potted.”

As the guests queued at the buffet, footmen filled their plates and carried them to nearby tables.

Poppy was still waiting in line when she was approached by Lady Belinda Wallscourt, a pretty young woman she had befriended during the Season. As soon as Belinda had come out into society, she was pursued by several eligible gentlemen, and had quickly become betrothed.

“Poppy,” Lady Belinda said warmly, “how nice to see you here. There was uncertainty as to whether you would come.”

“The last ball of the Season?” Poppy said with a forced smile. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

“I’m so glad.” Lady Belinda gave her a compassionate glance. Her voice lowered. “It’s terrible, what happened to you. I’m dreadfully sorry.”

“Oh, there’s nothing to be sorry about,” Poppy said brightly. “I’m perfectly fine!”

“You’re very brave,” Belinda replied. “And Poppy, remember that someday you will meet a frog who will turn into a handsome prince.”

“Good,” Beatrix said. “Because all she’s met so far are princes who turn into frogs.”

Looking perplexed, Belinda managed a smile and left them.

“Mr. Bayning is not a frog,” Poppy protested.

“You’re right,” Beatrix said. “That was very unfair to frogs, who are lovely creatures.”

As Poppy parted her lips to object, she heard Miss Marks snicker. And she began to laugh as well, until they attracted curious glances from the queue at the buffet.

After Beatrix had finished eating, they wandered to the ballroom. Music fluttered downward in continuous drifts from the orchestra playing in the upper gallery. The massive room glittered in the light of eight chandeliers, while the sweetness of abundant roses and greenery thickened the air.

Locked in the unforgiving bondage of her corset, Poppy filled her lungs with strained breaths. “It’s too warm in here,” she said.

Miss Marks glanced at her perspiring face, quickly produced a handkerchief, and guided her into one of the many cane openwork chairs at the side of the room. “It is quite warm,” she said. “In a moment, I will locate your brother or Mr. Rohan to escort you outside for some air. But first let me see to Beatrix.”

“Yes, of course,” Poppy managed, seeing that two men had already approached Beatrix in hopes of entering their names on her dance card. Her younger sister was at ease with men in a way that Poppy could never manage. They seemed to adore Beatrix because she treated them as she did her wild creatures, gently humoring, showing patient interest.

While Miss Marks supervised Beatrix’s dance card, Poppy settled back in her chair and concentrated on breathing around the iron prison of her corset. It was unfortunate that in this particular chair, she was able to hear a conversation from the other side of a garlanded column.

A trio of young women spoke in low tones that oozed with smug satisfaction.

“Of course Bayning wouldn’t have her,” one of them said. “She’s pretty, I’ll allow, but so mal-adroit, in the social sense. A gentleman I know said that he tried to talk to her at the private art viewing at the Royal Academy, and she was prattling about some ridiculous topic . . . something about a long-ago French balloon experiment when they sent a sheep up into the air in front of King Louis something-or-other . . . can you imagine?”

“Louis the sixteenth,” Poppy whispered.

“But what would you expect?” came another voice. “Such an odd family. The only one good enough for society is Lord Ramsay, and he is quite wicked.”

“A scapegrace,” the other one agreed.

Poppy went from being overheated to chilled. She closed her eyes sickly, wishing she could disappear. It had been a mistake to come to the ball. She was trying to prove something to everyone . . . that she didn’t care about Michael Bayning, when she did. That her heart wasn’t broken, when it was. Everything in London was about appearances, pretenses . . . was it so unforgivable to be honest about one’s feelings?