Free Cynthia Bailey Pratt by Queen of Hearts Page A

it?”
    “I don’t want to ruin my...on second thought, let us sit there, in the middle of the walk. Those ladies look as if they are ready to go.”
    Berenice stood by the bench until the ladies already occupying it became tired of sending her evil looks and departed. At once, Berenice dropped down. Danita followed suit, only to find that her cousin seemed unable to sit still. She bobbed and weaved in her seat, trying to see around passersby. Danita asked, “Are you expecting someone?”
    “Oh, no.” Yet she all but rose from the bench when a gentleman slightly above the common height appeared, walking with two young ladies. With a murmur of disappointment, she sank down again.
    To either side, the green lawn stretched out, cool and inviting, until taken over by trees. But on the light-colored gravel walk, the sun reflected hotly into their faces. “We should have brought our parasols,” Danita said.
    “What does it matter?” Berenice began jerking at the fingers of her gloves.
    “Miss Clively?” A dark-haired woman with an enormous hat and dressed in a yellow silk gown far too young for her, stopped before their bench. Berenice squinted upward. “How is your grandmother today? Better, I hope.”
    “I suppose so,” Berenice mumbled.
    “She’s very well, Mrs. Rivington,” Danita added. As she had thought, this comment went unnoticed. Danita had been several times to Mrs. Rivington’s house for tea and once for a musical afternoon. Her hostess had never spoken to her, though she delighted in spoiling Berenice. She and Mrs. Clively were old friends, though Mrs. Rivington tried to make it clear that Mrs. Clively was far older than herself.
    Berenice liked being the center of so much attention, yet on this occasion she seemed uneasy and impatient. She did not invite Mrs. Rivington to share her bench. Danita, more polite, made room by rising. Without a glance in her direction, Mrs. Rivington sat.
    Danita lifted the edge of her glove, reassured by the sight of her arm that she was still visible, and not merely a dress puffed up into the semblance of a woman.
    “I cannot imagine what has happened to my friend! I sent him to order luncheon in the hotel for half-past one, and to meet me here. But then, what can one expect of a man?” Mrs. Rivington had buried her third, and would not have minded changing her last name again. “Now, tell me, dear, are you enjoying Bath?”
    “Yes,” Berenice answered, turning her head to look past Mrs. Rivington toward the folly.
    “I would have thought badly of you, if you’d said anything else. Where is he? I know he’ll be disappointed if I cannot introduce him to you. He asked me last night who the prettiest girl in residence was, and I had to tell him Miss Berenice Clively. My conscience would permit no other answer.”
    No other answer could have roused Berenice from her curious preoccupation. “Did you? How kind you are, Mrs. Rivington! Do you truly think I am...what you said?”
    “I swear, I’ve not seen another girl to touch you. Even Miss Parridge, whom everyone calls so fine.”
    “Not that great gawky brunette! I can’t abide an olive complexion on a girl, though it is pleasing on a gentleman.” Berenice gave her own pink cheek a pat, and then, reminded of her primary interest in coming to the Gardens, began to glance once more into the faces of the males strolling by their bench.
    “I know you shall like John, if he ever comes. He is very fair. What can be keeping him?”
    Danita, tired of standing still in the heat, said, “I shall go and look for him. What is his name?”
    For the first time, Mrs. Rivington let her eye fall upon the companion. “I don’t like to trouble you ... his name is Mr. Newland—the Honorable Mr. Newland.”
    Danita stopped at the mention of the name. “Perhaps you should come with me, Berenice. Your grandmother ...”
    “What about Judith?” Mrs. Rivington asked.
    Berenice said slowly, “Grandmamma stopped me from dancing