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Deana mustered a half smile. Rockwell was clearly interested in Lady Isabella and would be with her were it not for the presence of Lord Devon and obligation on the part of Rockwell to play the good host.
“I am well.”
“Have you enjoyed your stay here, m’lady?”
The maid’s effort to initiate conversation surprised Deana out of her doldrum. “Yes, the hospitality has been more than welcoming.”
There was a pause, and Deana wondered if Bhadra would protest that she had not intended to fish for compliments.
“And your company?” Bhadra continued. “With his lordship?”
It was a very forward question, and Deana wondered at what prompted the maid to ask it. But she could not observe Bhadra, who was lacing the stays from behind.
“Yes,” Deana replied slowly. “I must admit I found his manners rather disagreeable at first, but he is much improved with familiarity. However, I do not think he is entirely partial to my company.”
“Why would my lady think otherwise?”
“If I were a man, I should prefer to pursue the Lady Isabella.”
“His lordship is most concerned with your welfare and asked me to service you with the best of care.”
“He is a magnanimous host.”
“It has been some time since last his lordship was here, but in times past, it was apparent he only half-enjoyed his time and company.”
Deana caught Bhadra’s gaze for only a few seconds before the maid retrieved the bodice of the evening gown. She wondered at the purpose of Bhadra’s statement.
“But he seems to derive much satisfaction in yours,” Bhadra finished.
Deana contemplated what had been said. Bhadra might know better than most the true sentiments of Lord Rockwell. Perhaps he even confided in the maid. That he enjoyed his time with her, however, did not negate his preference for Lady Isabella.
“Thank you, Bhadra,” Deana acknowledged of the attempt to console her. “It has been a pleasure to know you.”
Bhadra made a curt nod and finished dressing Deana for dinner. Deana looked at the reflection of herself in a pale blue frock with white lace edging. She wished there could be another night in which she could wear the sari. She had felt beautiful then.
At dinner neither Lord Devon nor Lady Isabella were present. Though she had Rockwell all to herself, he seemed preoccupied and they conversed little. Madame Follet had the card tables brought out after dinner. Deana encouraged Rockwell to play, thinking it might lighten his mood. They had just sat down to a round of vingt-et-un when Lord Devon and Lady Isabella appeared. Contrary to her quietness after the picnic earlier, Lady Isabella seemed in cheerful spirits. She flashed them a large smile as she fluttered her ivory handled fan. Lord Devon was his customary self.
“I might as well hand over my money now, eh?” Devon quipped as the pair sat down at their table.
Deana raised a quizzical brow.
“Are you not a maestro at this game, Miss Sherwood?”
“I have played it many a time,” Deana replied, “but there is always the element of luck, which no man can master.”
“As there are four of us, perhaps a game of whist is in order.”
Deana looked over at Rockwell, whose countenance had darkened considerably since the advent of the couple.
“Very well,” she agreed for a few hands of whist was surely harmless.
“Now, what shall the stakes be?”
“Whatever you wish,” Lady Isabella replied. “There can be no amount Rockwell here can ill afford.”
“You would have to carry us both,” Deana said quietly to him, “as I am, well, low in the way of funds.”
Devon waved dismissively. “Rockwell here can front you any sum you desire. For myself, I prefer stakes of a different sort. Perhaps you would care to join me, Miss Sherwood?”
