Chapter 15
Party Manners
“There is always something offensive in the details of cunning. The maneuvers of selfishness and duplicity must ever be revolting, but I have heard nothing which really surprises me.”
Jane Austen, Persuasion
Navigating a crowded party was a skill. Rosalind slipped casually between the knots of men and women, nodding politely when she happened to catch someone’s eye.
But for the most part Mrs. Lynn’s gaudily dressed friends were deep in their own conversations.
They talked and laughed with great energy.
Unless she was much mistaken, they also kept up a steady stream of gossip about their fellow guests.
From the corner of her eye, Rosalind caught sight of Sir Anthony.
He was holding forth to yet another group of gentlemen.
The fact that this “card party” was more in the nature of a casino did not seem to have discommoded him at all.
Rosalind was not surprised at his insouciance.
His house was, after all, filled with guests.
Mrs. Lynn had doubtlessly told him how many of these people who were now playing faro and vingt-et-un in his gilded salon were terribly important and influential.
There was also the fact that from what she could hear, they paid him many pretty compliments.
It would be fairly easy to dismiss the whole party as just a harmless way to pass the time.
The haut ton as a whole regarded gambling much the way it did strong drink.
A man was expected to indulge in both wholeheartedly, and to stand the consequences with dignity.
If he could not do so, he was regarded as less worthy in the eyes of his peers.
As with all things, the rules for women were different. A woman was never supposed to be seen to either drink or gamble to excess, but neither was she permitted to fully abstain. She must firmly control herself, and then aid and protect her male relations if their self-control failed.
The results of these twin expectations often brought women to Rosalind asking for help. Consequently, she had become rather more acquainted with the rules and customs of the gambling world than she had been previously.
“Mrs. Rutherford!” Mrs. Lynn glided into Rosalind’s field of view, forcing Rosalind to turn and acknowledge her.
“But you are all alone? How shocking!” Mrs. Lynn beamed.
“It is, however, lucky for us both. I have been asked by Mrs. Collins to find us another player for our game of whist. You will oblige me, I’m sure? ”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Lynn,” said Rosalind. “I must decline.”
“Oh, don’t be shy. Mrs. Collins is an excellent partner, and I am so unskilled, you are certain to take every trick.”
Rosalind smiled. “I thank you for the invitation, but I do not play.”
“Oh, tush. Everyone plays at least a little.”
“Perhaps most people do. I do not.”
Mrs. Lynn laid her fan across her bosom in a gesture of shock. “Do not tell me you are one of these Methodistical persons who frown upon innocent card games? I’m quite certain I saw Mr. Rutherford sit down for a congenial hand or two.”
Rosalind smiled. “Perhaps Mr. Rutherford is a better player than I.”
Mrs. Lynn’s eyes narrowed. “I sense some mystery here. However, I shall not press you. Yet.” She laughed.
“But because of your stubborn refusal, I fear I must continue in my quest for a partner. Do enjoy your evening, Mrs. Rutherford.” She patted Rosalind’s hand in a friendly fashion and sailed away.
Rosalind stood back to let her pass, but when she looked up again, she saw Elizabeth Kinsdale was gone.
Well. She frowned to herself. If that was a distraction, it was nicely done. I will have to be more careful.
But now she was left with the question as to why Mrs. Lynn would want to keep her from reaching Elizabeth.
Rosalind strolled between the rooms, her gaze drifting across the gathering. Elizabeth, however, was nowhere to be seen.
Rosalind fluttered her fan and reached a decision. Perhaps it is time to consider the obvious.
Keeping her motions casual, she took herself through the French doors and out onto the pied-à-terre.
The back garden was a long, narrow space.
It had been laid out with the same sort of taste as the interior of the house.
Statuary—a promiscuous mingling of Greek and Roman styles—lined the brick walls.
There was even what looked to be a folly toward the back.
Rosalind suspected there was also a convenient door in the far wall, but the shadows were too thick for her to make out anything clearly.
Rosalind stepped to the side and drew back into the shadows between the house and a large stone urn. She waited quietly while her eyes adapted to the darkness.
There.
Now she saw movement among the deeper shadows. After a moment, she saw Elizabeth Kinsdale emerge, strolling toward the house as if nothing in the world were wrong.
Rosalind kept her gaze focused on the shadows behind Elizabeth.
There.
A silhouette waited in that deeper darkness. A man in a dark coat and a low-crowned hat, watched as Elizabeth returned to the party.
Rosalind held her breath.
Elizabeth passed her, walking back through the French doors without so much as flicking an eye in Rosalind’s direction. The man stood where he was. Rosalind felt sure he was watching Elizabeth intently. She felt her throat tighten. Could he see her? What would he do?
But the man only faded deeper into the shadows. He moved cautiously but smoothly, like one used to the dark. If Rosalind had not been watching so closely, she would never have seen that back gate open, and close again.
Rosalind let out a long, soft breath. She stepped out of the shadows and turned to go back inside. Only to find herself face to face with Elizabeth.