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Rockwell’s nostrils flared and he looked to Lady Isabella for confirmation. She regarded him carefully.
“I had no idea you were acquainted with Madame Follet,” she remarked.
Observing the exchange between the two, Deana suspected Rockwell and Lady Isabella to have been on familiar terms.
“Likewise,” Rockwell said.
They seemed to have forgotten the presence of the other two until Lord Devon interjected, “Will you be staying long?”
Rockwell’s response was a curt “No.”
Lady Isabella turned her attention once more to Deana. Her ladyship seemed to take in every aspect of her appearance and determined that something less than chaste had transpired. Unperturbed, Deana returned the stare in full. This startled her ladyship and rendered Deana even lower in the woman’s estimation.
“Have I had the pleasure of your acquaintance before, Miss Sherwood?”
“That would be doubtful,” Deana replied, “lest my lady frequents gaming hells.”
Lady Isabella frowned, perhaps wondering if she was the subject of a jest. Lord Devon’s brows shot up. Even Rockwell turned in astonishment, though Deana thought she detected the corner of his mouth twitch upwards.
“Perhaps we can become better acquainted at dinner?” Lord Devon suggested, eying Deana with improved interest.
“Perhaps,” Rockwell said, his tone doubtful. “We have not—”
“Till dinner,” Deana said gaily, ignoring Rockwell’s frown.
Lord Devon doffed his hat, and he and Lady Isabella turned their horses around. Deana attempted to mount her horse without assistance. Knowing that Rockwell was not pleased, she wanted to put some distance betwixt them. Had she more forethought, she might not have spoken as she had, but jealousy had overcome her. It was not a sentiment she had great familiarity with, but she hoped to overcome it for their remaining time at Chateau Follet.
Rockwell, folding his arms, watched her slide off the saddle. “I did not allow that we would dine with them.”
“Nor did you forbid it.”
“What possessed you to speak of gaming hells?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “It stopped her from prying further, did it not?”
“She asked an innocent
question.”
She looked at him with some sympathy. The most astute of men could not discern the subtleties that women could. Strangely, the jealousy fueled her confidence.
“Your friend has formed a judgment of me.”
“Isabella is too often quick to judge,” he admitted.
It was ‘Isabella’ and not ‘Lady Isabella.’ As she had suspected, the two had been close.
He shook his head. “The compulsions of the fair sex shall always baffle me.”
She put her foot once more in the stirrup and attempted to hoist herself onto the saddle, but, lacking practice, she failed once more to mount the horse. She felt his hands at her waist. Strong arms lifted her easily onto the saddle.
They rode in relative silence. Deana wondered if his thoughts were upon the Lady Isabella. She knew she could never claim the affections of a man such as Lord Rockwell, but she would have liked to have had him to herself for the duration of their time at Chateau Follet.
Rockwell allowed her some solitude before dinner. Bhadra assisted with her half dress, a beautiful French dress of sheer ivory muslin embroidered with vermeil in an Oriental style and possessing a daringly wide décolletage that exposed the majority of her bosom. Worn over multiple petticoats, it flared from the empire waist and was accented by two long tassels down the front. Bhadra added a plumed turban and velvet slippers.
In truth, Deana had little wish for dinner company, but her curiosity regarding Rockwell and Lady Isabella had prevailed. She sighed at the new feelings Rockwell had engendered, for better and for worse. Anger and shame, titillation and euphoria, brazenness and jealousy. What a mix of emotions for one day! And throughout it all, a thrill unique to anything she had felt before.
“I find the styles and colors of the Orient to be singularly attractive,” Deana commented and eyed the maid. “Do you miss India much?”
