Cinderella Six Feet Under(103)

Ophelia stared at the ring he held up. A berry-sized ruby glistened darkly. There were smaller diamonds, too, a constellation around the ruby, all set in dark gold. If a lady slid that onto her finger, it’d weigh her down like a ball and chain. Still, Ophelia had never, ever owned something so fine, or even touched something so fine.

Griffe held his breath, hound eyes pleading.

Penrose appeared at the top of the steps and passed across the terrace several paces behind Griffe. He didn’t see Ophelia, but she felt again that stabbing pain, that plummeting sense of inadequacy. Penrose went inside.

Ophelia looked down at Griffe and said the rottenest thing she’d ever said in all her days. “Yes,” she said. “Yes.”





31




The next two hours passed in a ruby-tinted, champagne-heated haze. Ophelia danced waltz after waltz with Griffe, who was tender, charming, and solicitous. She was having a fine time pretending she hadn’t a care in the world, and the champagne quite numbed her sore toe. She ignored the awful thought that she would have to break things off with Griffe. Why had she said yes?

Professor Penrose was nowhere in sight, but Ophelia glimpsed Eglantine and Austorga seated on chairs against a wall. They were bickering, although Austorga’s face was hopeful. Miss Smythe, beside them, gazed dully through her spectacles into the swirling throng. Mrs. Smythe read a book.

When Ophelia and Griffe sailed by a wine table, Ophelia caught sight of a pair of cunning, whiskey-colored eyes that she’d know anywhere.

She nearly tripped on her own feet. “I must go arrange my hair,” she said to Griffe. She left him standing in the middle of the dance floor. “Henrietta!” she whispered at a cascade of chestnut curls.

Henrietta turned. She wore a pink brocade gown that displayed her bosom like a bakery shop window. Her delicate eyebrows lifted. “My, my. Ophelia Flax. The things you see when you—”

“What’re are you doing here? I ought to be happy, but I’m furious! I’ve searched Paris high and low for you! Prue thinks you could be dead.” Ophelia snatched Henrietta’s wineglass and took a gulp. Why not? She wasn’t in New England anymore.

“Of course I’m here, darling. I wouldn’t have missed this for the world. Goodness. I’ve never seen you looking so feminine, Ophelia.” Henrietta’s voice was the same as ever: silky, and clear enough to project to the uppermost seats in a theater. “You never used to be much for making an effort with your looks. I figured you were one of those girls who attempt to get by on cleverness.”

“Do you know your daughter Sybille is dead?”

“Yes. I saw the newspapers. So sad.”

“But you’d met her. You’d given her Howard DeLuxe’s name.”

“How did you dig that up? Yes. Sybille wished to leave Paris. Man trouble.” Henrietta poked out her lower lip. “But come now, Ophelia. Must we speak of such rotten, gloomy things?”

“That tone of voice isn’t going to work on me. I’m not one of your dullard gents.”

“Speaking of which, who was that long-haired gentleman I saw you dancing with? He looked rich.”

“He’s my . . .” Ophelia swallowed. “My fiancé.”

“Oh! Well done, Ophelia, well done.” Henrietta clapped her gloved hands.

“Only, he believes I’m an heiress from Cleveland.”

“A trifle. I once told a fellow my family owned a million acres in California. That tale was worth a Mediterranean yacht cruise.”

Ophelia gulped more of Henrietta’s wine. Was this what she’d become? Simply another opportunistic actress? Ugh. “I want a full story about where you’ve been, and why,” she said.

“You’ve always been such a schoolmarm, Ophelia. Why don’t we simply enjoy ourselves? This ball is magical! I—”

“Now,” Ophelia said. She took Henrietta by the elbow. Henrietta swiped another glass of wine from the table, and Ophelia steered her through the mob and onto the terrace.

“Start at the beginning,” Ophelia said.

“I met Malbert in New York. He swept me quite off my feet.”

“Hard to picture.”

“Well, you know. His title. And he mentioned a mansion in Paris.”

“Did you know he was already married?”

“Goodness! You don’t beat about the bush, do you?”