“On the topic of unrequited love,” said the auburn woman, in a malicious tone, “isn’t it fun to watch Lord Townsend and Lady Wescott pretend the other doesn’t exist?”
“His beloved Ophelia!” The high-strung fan-flutterer cried it so loudly her friends hushed her, and all of them giggled again.
“I’m astonished any of them are here dancing with one another after everything that went on. They had a drag out fight, you know, Townsend and Wescott. I heard Lord Townsend practically took his head off.”
“I heard the other way around, that Lord Wescott injured Lord Townsend so badly he had to go to a hospital in Switzerland to mend.”
“Oh, he wasn’t in Switzerland mending, my dear. From what I understand, he was in Paris drinking and seducing aristocrats’ wives.”
Jane could barely keep track of who was speaking, much less understand their catty jibes. What a load of nonsense. Gossips ought not to be allowed at balls. If the one lady didn’t stop fluttering her fan in that hysterical manner, Jane would grab it from her and throw it down onto the lawn.
“I don’t see what makes Lady Wescott so special,” said the first woman, who seemed to be the ringleader of their gossip circle. “Just because she can sing, he turns his world upside down for her.”
“Who, Lord Wescott?”
“No, silly, Lord Townsend. He ran off to Europe to nurse his broken heart—and a black eye or two, I suppose—then came back to propose to Lady June out of spite and jealousy, because she’d been meant for Wescott before.”
A third woman tittered. “And then botched it all and proposed to her bizarre sister by mistake.”
All of them laughed now as the blood drained from Jane’s face. They were speaking of her. She was that bizarre sister. But it couldn’t be true. No one made a mistake like that, not in the matter of marriage.
“I’ll never understand why he went through with it once he realized his error,” said the first woman. “It’s obvious to anyone they don’t suit. Why, he’s avoided her all night. When they take walks in the park, you can see he wants to be anywhere else.”
“Wouldn’t you?” the flutterer said meanly. “I hear she keeps a menagerie of badgers, skunks, and snakes.”
They made disgusted noises that stabbed at Jane’s heart.
“His parents probably made him go through with the marriage,” said the tall one. “The Lockridges are such sticklers for honor and propriety and all that. And with Ophelia married to Wescott, he can’t ever have her now, no matter how hard he stares at her with that longing in his gaze.”
Jane could bear it no longer. She turned to leave, but heard her name spoken in cutting vitriol. “And that Jane, swanning about on his arm like the cat that got the cream. I can only imagine the awkwardness in that marriage. He calls her a stunning creature…” She paused, her voice going sour. “And she takes it as a compliment.”
They all laughed as the third woman leaned in. “She’s a creature all right. She should have released him from his proposal. She wasn’t the sister he wanted.”
“She was never meant to have him,” agreed the auburn-haired gossip. “She should have kept to her weasels and snakes.”
“I would rather have had him,” said the third woman. “And his snake, if you know what I mean.”
They all tittered. “Does she pet his snake just right, I wonder?” said the auburn-haired woman. “Is that why he hasn’t left her yet, his stunning creature? His mistake?”
Jane was not a creature. She was not a mistake. These were only mean ladies making up outrageous stories. She crept from her shadowed place before they noticed her and made her way back toward the ballroom. She would find Edward, or his parents, and tell them these ladies had to be turned out of the ball for being so completely bereft of respect and manners…
“Jane, dear!” Rosalind caught her hand as they passed one another. “How are you enjoying yourself?”
Jane tried to govern her expression, but she was so close to tears. Rosalind’s smile faded as Jane gazed at her, wordless, wounded. Elizabeth stood a few feet away, and she, too, noticed something was terribly wrong.
“What is it?” she asked. “Jane, what’s wrong?”
“There is a group of women here,” she began, so overcome she could barely get out the words. “They’re saying the meanest, most awful things. Why, they ought to be thrown out before someone else overhears the silly…horrible…things they’re gossiping about. They’re saying things about me and Edward that can’t possibly be true.”
“Come with me,” said Rosalind. “Come, let’s find a private place to sit for a moment. Elizabeth, come too.”
Her friends helped her away from the whirling ballroom when she could barely see from anger. Or was it sadness? Rosalind led her down a corridor to a dim, unused parlor and took her over to the window, near the fire. Elizabeth appeared a moment later with a glass of cool, clear water.