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Maidie could only echo this sentiment, but she said nothing for the Wingroves were waiting to greet them. She underwent a number of introductions without untoward incident, remaining close by Lady Hester’s side so she was not called upon to do more than murmur a few conventional phrases as they meandered from group to group. She had begun the evening buoyed up with confidence engendered by the becoming apricot gown of Lady Hester’s choosing, which had been delivered that very morning. But as she passed among Lady Wingrove’s guests, it was gradually borne in upon Maidie that the colour toned too well, throwing undesirable attention upon her hair. It seemed to her that every pair of eyes which encountered her strayed upwards, and blinked a startled reaction. Maidie began to wish she had not been persuaded into wearing her hair loose, and was thankful the full enormity was slightly mitigated by a frivolous wisp of lace and flowers which served for a cap.
“Everyone is looking at my hair,” she imparted in a frantic whisper to Lady Hester at a moment when they were briefly alone.
“Perhaps they are admiring it,” suggested the elder lady with a twinkle.
“Do not be ridiculous, dear ma’am. How can they possibly do so?”
“Very easily. Now do not put yourself about, child. Forget your hair. They may look, but no one will say anything to put you to the blush, I promise you.”
Maidie drew a breath and tried to relax. It was perhaps unfortunate that, the very next moment, Lady Hester was accosted by an alarming female in puce satin with a feathered turban and a deal of ornamentation in gold. This gaunt creature stood tall and arrogant before them, all apparent condescension as she pried her jutting nose into Maidie’s affairs.
“Lord, Hester, is it true what I have been hearing? Have you indeed come out of hiding only to bring out John Hope’s daughter? What peculiar virtue does she have to make you bestir yourself after all these years?”
“You may judge for yourself, my dear Selina,” responded Lady Hester, as Maidie stiffened. “My dear, this is Lady Rankmiston, one of society’s most distinguished hostesses. Lady Mary Hope, Selina, who is related to me.”
Maidie took the two fingers extended to her, and gave back look for look the interested stare bent upon her.
“Distantly related, I feel sure, Hester,” said Lady Rankmiston smoothly, with a significant look flashed at the ginger locks. “I have not seen such a head in your family.”
Stung on the raw, Maidie gathered her defences. “You are right, ma’am. The colour of my hair comes from the Hopes, not the Otterburns. It is a distinctive aberration which has made an infrequent appearance ever since the Tudors. There is a family tradition that it hails from an ancestor who was born of King Henry the Eighth on the wrong side of the blanket.”
“In-deed!” Maidie was happy to note she had taken Lady Rankmiston aback. But she made a quick recover. “Your candour does you credit, my dear.”
“Well, I have no idea whether the legend is true,” Maidie admitted, the hostility fading from her voice. “But I must say it lends one a certain distinction to be able to claim King Henry for a royal forebear. Most people, so my great-uncle Reginald told me, are only able to go back to Charles the Second, who left so many bastards in the nobility it can only be counted a commonplace.”
Lady Rankmiston, apparently stricken to silence by these disclosures, could only stare at Maidie with a blank expression on her face. Maidie cast a questioning glance at Lady Hester, but her patroness was laughing.
“You begin to see, I don’t doubt, Selina, thepeculiar virtuewhich attracted me to this very unusual debutante.”
“Unusual, indeed,” agreed the other lady, finding her tongue. “Such a happy turn of phrase, too. Am I to understand Delagarde is sponsoring you, child?”
“Yes, but with the utmost reluctance,” said Maidie, throwing discretion to the winds. “I am very much obliged to him, but I don’t wish to impose upon him any more than I need. It is Lady Hester by whom I am allowing myself to be guided.”
“And I,” interposed that lady swiftly, “have advised Lady Mary not to abate one jot of her refreshing frankness. I cannot bear these mealy-mouthed damsels who will never say boo to a goose, can you, Selina?”
“No, but neither am I an advocate for encouraging impertinence in the young,” said Lady Rankmiston, in a tone designed to crush pretension.
“Have I been impertinent? I beg your pardon, if I have. My great-uncle had the greatest dislike of shams. He would not have me say anything but what was in my head, so I am not much in the way of curbing my speech. It is what Lord Delagarde particularly dislikes in me.”
“I can find it in me to pardon him.”
“Lady Mary was brought up by Reginald Hope,” Lady Hester explained before Maidie could pick this up. “He was something of a recluse, you must know, and rarely ventured into society.”
A flash of recognition entered Lady Rankmiston’s eye. “Reginald Hope? What, that old lunatic had charge of you? Lord, you poor child!”
A tide of fury washed through Maidie. Without pausing for thought, she let fly. “He was no such thing! He was the wisest and kindest of men, and I loved him very dearly. I think it is perfectly horrid of you, ma’am, to speak so slightingly. Great-uncle was right. He said society was full of old cats who had nothing better to do than to scratch and claw at everyone around, and I see that you are one of them!”
With which, she turned on her heel and marched away, oblivious alike to the startled faces which followed her progress, and the direction in which her feet were taking her. But she had hardly gone a dozen steps when her arm was grasped in an ungentle grip, and she found Delagarde at her elbow. He spoke in a savage under-voice.
“Come with me!”
Far too angry to do anything but obey, Maidie was swept along, unaware how people stared as they passed and turned to whisper behind fans. In a very short space of time she found herself alone with Delagarde in a small antechamber at the far end of one of the saloons, where he released her and turned to set the door a few inches ajar. He was fuming, but not so lost to all sense of propriety as to go apart with a single female and shut the door upon them both. He could only hope they would not be overheard. Not that matters could well be much worse than they were already. He kept his voice low.
“What in the name of heaven do you think you’re doing? Don’t you know better than to insult one of the queens of society?”
“I don’t care who she is! She had no right to insult Great-uncle. If I insulted her, it was no more than she deserved.”
Angry tears rose to her eyes, but she dashed them away. Brought up short by the abrupt recognition of her distress, Delagarde checked the hot words hovering on his tongue. He eyed her in a baffled way, as the tears welled again, and were as ruthlessly rejected.
