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Gabrielle could have kissed her friend.
Violet waved her hand dismissively. “Oh yes. He’s been making more appearances in Society lately. I heard he accepted Lord Winterbourne’s invitation.”
Diana made a small strangled sound, and Gabrielle threw her an apologetic look.
“It will be quite the event,” Violet added, unaware of Diana’s distress. “I heard the Scarlet Pimpernel will be there as well.”
Gabrielle dug her nails into the arm of the chair, but before she could scream in frustration, Diana said testily, “I don’t believe in the Scarlet Pimpernel.”
This was not news to Gabrielle, but Miss March gasped and Violet was struck silent—something Gabrielle had not seen happen before. Even Mrs. Cheever, usually content to sit in her daughter’s shadow, raised a brow.
“What do you mean?” Miss March asked, breaking the silence. “How can you not believe in him?”
“She thinks someone made him up,” Gabrielle explained. “It’s not an outrageous idea. If he’s a myth, he’s something that keeps us all occupied so we don’t think too hard about what’s really happening in Paris.”
“H-he’s not a myth,” Violet finally sputtered, obviously so shocked that she forgot whom she was speaking to. “He’s a real person. A brave, honorable man, rescuing those poor souls from certain death.”
“Exactly!” Miss March said passionately. “I would give my life for the Scarlet Pimpernel.”
“Or her virginity anyway,” Diana muttered so only Gabrielle could hear.
Gabrielle put a hand over her mouth to hide a smile. She didn’t care if the Scarlet Pimpernel was real or a myth. She knew Cleopatra’s necklace was real, and she knew Sedgwick had it.
Miss March frowned at Diana. “But, my lady, what about all the French émigrés he’s rescued? They all tell the same story.”
Diana shrugged. “Their stories are vague and embellished at every new telling.”
Gabrielle nodded. “You must own that the story of the Scarlet Pimpernel carries prestige. An émigré can dine on it for a year.”
“Oh.” Violet looked disappointed. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Well, I think he’s real,” Miss March declared. “And one day I’d like to meet him and express my undying gratitude for all he’s done. I would tell him—“
“Oh dear. Look at the time,” Diana drawled. “We simply must be going.”
Gabrielle jumped up, quite aware of their impolite behavior and not at all regretful. She had the information she needed, little as Diana liked it. Gabrielle’s mistake with Sedgwick the night before already meant Diana would not be able to attend Winterbourne’s ball. She would not further inconvenience Diana by keeping her here any longer.
“Good day, Violet. Mrs. Cheever. Miss March,” Gabrielle said.
“Lord Winterbourne’s ball will be my first town ball, and I’m ever so excited!” Miss March exclaimed. “Will you be at Lord Winterbourne’s ball, Lady Diana? Lady McCullough?”
“It doesn’t look that way,” Diana said through her clenched jaw. Gabrielle put a hand on her friend’s arm.
“I will,” Gabrielle answered
“I do hope to see you there,” Miss March said with a smile. “Together we can search for the Scarlet Pimpernel.”
“Oh,” Gabrielle sighed. “I can’t wait.”
Chapter 4
“Here.” Lord Leasham offered Ramsey another glass of champagne. “Drink up, old boy.”
Ramsey held his full glass aloft. “I haven’t finished this one.”
Leasham frowned. “You’re behind, old chap.” Leasham downed his and snatched another from the tray of a passing footman. The two stood in Lord Winterbourne’s ballroom amid the overgrown foliage, arranged to resemble a jungle in Africa. The ladies who entered oohed and ahhed over the decorations, but Ramsey was unimpressed.
The room was hot, the orchestra just slightly off-key, and he was bored. Not, apparently as bored as Leasham, who had now drunk half a dozen glasses of champagne. But then the dissolute younger son of the Duke of Hartford was always thirsty, be it for champagne, gambling, or women. He was exactly the kind of privileged peer Ramsey had always despised, but he was easy company, even amusing when he wasn’t foxed. And loathe as he was to admit it, Ramsey knew he was no pillar of virtue.
