Free Martha Schroeder by Guarding an Angel Page B

herself and her own kind, loving heart. She might well believe that she could marry Gideon and risk nothing more than a little gossip and possibly having a few doors closed to her. Nothing, Amelia would think, that she cared about in the least.
    But she would care. When her children were not certain whether they would be welcomed as the grandchildren of a duke or scorned as the children of an unknown guttersnipe. When her daughters were not sought after by the most eligible men and her sons not invited to join the most exclusive clubs, then she would feel the weight of her folly. Gideon had observed Society from its far boundaries for a long time, and he had seen the lengths to which people would go to remain in the Haut Ton. Look at Eustace, who would stop at nothing to get Amelia to marry him!
    Gideon, outcast gypsy that he was, could afford not to care about the opinions of the upper ten thousand. But Amelia, much as she thought herself equally free from such concerns, was not an outcast but a leading member of that august group. Since she was unwilling to protect herself from the penalties of social ostracism, Gideon would do it for her. Exactly as the duke had known that he would. Automatically his hand reached for the small iron ball he always carried, but of course in his tightly fitted evening clothes, there were no convenient pockets into which he could fit his talisman. Damn!
    If only he could find her in this miserable crowd, he could commence his efforts immediately.
    As he gazed around, he became aware that people were staring back at him. He stood alone as he had since he had entered the room, and when he thought about it, he realized he was frowning into every face he saw. No wonder everyone was giving him a wide berth, he thought with sardonic amusement.
    “No, do not begin to smile now,” Sir Richard remarked as he came up to Gideon. “It will unnerve people far more than the frown is doing.”
    “I am hardly formidable enough to render these hardened party goers fearful. After all,” Gideon said with a wry half smile, “they brave Almack’s, something I am not likely ever to have to do.”
    “I will not argue with you about the courage necessary to speak to Lady Jersey as opposed to that required to charge the French cavalry.” Sir Richard smiled at someone over Gideon’s shoulder. “Ah, here are your wards now.” His smile suddenly disappeared. “What in the world has Miss Forrester done to herself?”
    The tone of disapproval in Sir Richard’s voice made it difficult for Gideon to refrain from turning around to stare. He wanted to turn and look at Amelia, but now he also wondered what costume the eccentric Jane had donned for the evening. Jane was becoming noted for the Quakerish simplicity of her dress. She would have to go far to exceed her already plain gowns unless she affected something truly outlandish like calico or linsey-woolsey.
    “Captain Falconer.” Jane’s voice was tentative, not her usual self-assured tone. “Sir Richard.”
    Gideon turned and tried hard not to stare. Always noticeable because of her height, tonight Jane was the cynosure of all eyes because she was dressed in a fashionable gown of shimmering gold satin, with her chestnut hair falling in shining curls from a Psyche knot on the top of her head.
    “Why, Jane,” said Gideon, smiling at her obvious nervousness, “you look beautiful.”
    “It was Amelia’s idea,” Jane said uncomfortably. “I feel a perfect fool.” She gave Gideon a tentative smile and turned to greet Sir Richard. He looked at her with grave displeasure written all over his face, and Gideon could see Jane’s self-confidence begin to melt away.
    “Miss Forrester,” Gideon said, “Would you care to take a turn around the room so everyone can see you?”
    She stared at him, obviously uncertain of just what he meant. “I—I don’t think. I mean, I—”
    “Jane is afraid that she has let me talk her into more fashion than she is ready