Free The Courtship Dance by Candace Camp Page A

Rochford and Althea fell silent again once the topic of Galen Perkins had been dropped.
    Gamely, Francesca took up the conversational baton again, saying, “Have you read the newest book?”
    “Lady Rumor?” Rochford tossed back, a smile quirking at the corner of his lips.
    “Who?” Althea asked, looking confused. “Lady who?”
    “Rumor. It’s a nom de plume, ” she explained. “No one knows who it is. It is said that she is a member of the ton. ”
    Althea looked at her blankly. “Why would a member of the ton wish to write a book?”
    “It is supposed to be full of scandals and rumors—thinly disguised, of course. Everyone is said to be quaking for fear they will be in it,” Francesca went on.
    “Ah, but how slighted they will feel if they are left out,” Rochford added.
    Francesca chuckled. “True enough.”
    “But that’s absurd,” Althea said, frowning. “No one would wish to be included in a book about scandal. Who would wish for a blot upon one’s name?”
    It occurred to Francesca that Althea Robart truly was entirely lacking in a sense of humor. She glanced at Rochford and saw his dark eyes dancing in amusement.
    “You are right, of course, Lady Althea,” he saidsmoothly. “I cannot fathom why I should have thought such a thing.” He cast a droll glance at Francesca, and she had to turn away to hide a smile.
    But that would not do, she knew. Clearly, the light social conversation in which she was wont to engage was not the sort of thing at which Lady Althea shone. Therefore, it was incumbent upon her to turn the conversation in the other woman’s direction, to introduce a topic upon which Lady Althea could expound. She cast about for such a subject. The problem was that she did not know Lady Althea well.
    “Lady Symington’s ball will be coming up soon,” she said after a moment. “Will you be attending, Lady Althea?”
    “Oh, yes. She is second cousin to my father, you know.”
    Francesca suppressed a groan. Indeed, she had managed to hit on a topic the woman enjoyed—family.
    “Ah, look, the lights are going down,” Rochford spoke up. “The play is about to begin.”
    “Why, yes, so it is.” With relief, Francesca turned her attention to the stage.
    She was not really interested in the action that was occurring there, however. She was too much occupied with her plans. She seemed to be failing at every turn to bring Althea into any interesting conversation. It would be best, she thought, if she followed up on her idea to visit someone else during intermission, leaving Althea and Rochford alone in the box.
    It would have been better if she could have foundsomeone more engaging than the Eversons, of course. Mr. Everson was the sort who thought himself an expert on almost any topic and was more than happy to give his opinion, whether one wished it or not. Mrs. Everson, on the other hand, was given to conversing about her ailments, which seemed to be legion, but which never appeared to keep her from attending all social functions. The girls, at least, had little to say—though it was not hard to see why, given that both of their parents strove to dominate any conversation.
    However, Francesca knew that she had little choice. She was growing more certain that Althea Robart was not the wife for Rochford, but still, she ought to give it one more push. Perhaps, if she was alone with Rochford, Althea would unexpectedly blossom in some way.
    Therefore, as soon as the curtain fell and the lights came on, Francesca stood up, turning to the others. Rochford, however, had been faster than she. He, too, had risen, and before she could speak, he began, “Ladies, shall I bring you some refreshments? A glass of ratafia, perhaps?”
    “How kind of you,” Francesca replied quickly before Althea could say anything. “Not for me, thank you. I believe that I shall slip around to see Mrs. Everson. But perhaps Lady Althea would like a glass.”
    Rochford stared at her, his eyebrows rising. “Mrs.