Rebel Angels (Gemma Doyle #2)

Rebel Angels (Gemma Doyle #2) Page 49

A woman as soft and overstuffed as a settee waddles to our table."Good afternoon, Mrs. Worthington. Is it true that your distinguished guest is to sing for us today?"

Lady Worthington looks startled. "Oh. Well, I can't say . . . I . . ."

The woman prattles on. "We were just discussing how extraordinary it is that you've taken Miss Bradshaw under your wing. If we might borrow you for a bit, please do come and tell Mrs. Threadgill and me how the czarina's long-lost relation has come to be with us."

"If you'll excuse me," Lady Worthington says, gliding to the other table like a swan. "Are you all right, Fee?" I ask."You look pale."

"I'm fine. I simply don't like the idea of some little beast underfoot while I'm at home."

She's jealous. Jealous of someone named little Polly. Felicity can be so incredibly petty at times.

"She's just a child," I say.

"I know that," Felicity snaps. "It isn't worth discussing. We have more important matters at hand. Follow me."

She leads us through tables of elegant ladies in grand hats sipping tea and gossiping. They glance up but we are unimportant, and they resume their discussions of who has done what to whom. We follow Felicity up wide, carpeted stairs, past ladies in stiff, fashionable dresses who seem to take a keen, if discreet, interest in these brash young ladies storming the barricades of their genteel club.

"Where are you taking us?" I ask.

"The club has private bedchambers for members. One of them will surely be empty. Oh, no."

"What is it?" Ann asks, panicked.

Felicity's peering over the banister to the foyer below. A solid-looking woman in a purple dress and a fur stole is holding court. She's a commanding presence; the others hang on her every word. "One of my mother's former friends, Lady Denby."

Lady Denby? Could this be Simon's mother? A lump forms in my throat. I can only hope that I will be able to slip away undetected, so that Lady Denby will not form an unfavorable opinion of me.

"Why do you say former friend?" Ann asks, looking worried.

"She has never forgiven my mother for living in France. She doesn't like the French, as the Middleton family can be traced to Lord Nelson himself," she says, mentioning Britain's great naval hero."If Lady Denby likes you, you are set for life. If she finds you wanting in any way, you are shunned. Mind, she's still cordial, but very cold. And my foolish mother is too blind to see it. She continues to try to win Lady Denby's favor. I shall never be like that."

Felicity moves slowly, daringly, along the balcony, watching Lady Denby. I'm doing my best to keep my head down.

"Is she Simon Middleton's mother, then?" I ask.

"Yes," Felicity answers."How do you know Simon Middleton?"

"Who is Simon Middleton?" Ann asks.

"I met him just yesterday at the train station. He and Tom are acquainted."

Felicity's eyes widen. "When had you planned to tell us about it?"

Ann tries again."Who is Simon Middleton?"

"Gemma, you're keeping secrets again!"

"It is not a secret,"I say, blushing."It is nothing, really. He has invited my family to dinner. That is all."

Felicity looks as if someone has dropped her in the middle of the Thames. "You've been invited to dinner? That is certainly something."

"It is bad manners to discuss people I've never met," Ann says, pouting.

Felicity takes pity on her. "Simon Middleton is not only a viscount's son but exceedingly handsome. And he seems to have taken an interest in Gemma, though she doesn't wish us to know about it."

"It is nothing, truly,"I protest."He was simply being charitable, I'm sure."

"The Middletons are never charitable," she says, looking down."You must take great care around his mother. She scrutinizes people for sport."

"You've not put me at ease," I say.

"Forewarned is forearmed, Gemma."

Below us, Lady Denby says something merry that makes her companions laugh in that restrained way women learn somehow when they pack away their girlish selves. She doesn't seem to be the monster Felicity makes her out to be.

"What will you wear?" Ann asks dreamily.

"Horns and the pelt of a large animal," I say. Ann takes this in for a moment, as if she believes it wholeheartedly. What shall I do with her? "I shall wear a proper dress. Something that meets with my grandmother's approval."