A Matter of Honor by Nina Coombs Pykare

Jersey hear you call her old,” he warned. “She can ruin your reputation in ten seconds flat.”
    Cecilie tossed her curls, but she asked, “How shall I recognize Lady Jersey?”
    Denby smiled. “She’s small and dark, piquant. With great dark eyes. And she likes men.” His gaze flicked toward Aggie and away again, and once more she felt that she was supposed to hear more than the words actually said.
    It was then that the guests began arriving and it seemed to Aggie that they stood for hours, nodding and smiling, hearing names that she, at least, would never be able to recall.
    However, she had no problem in recognizing or remembering Lady Jersey. Although no longer young, Jersey obviously took good care of herself. Her gown of pale lavender was constructed of the “fine” French muslin and revealed the lady’s form in all its delights. From a small heart-shaped face two great dark eyes under long black lashes gazed at Aggie and she felt a sudden chill. The Jersey might like men; it was obvious that she did not care much for women. Aggie deliberately looked away as the lady smiled up at Denby from eyes gone suddenly very warm.
    But finally the main task of greeting was over. Then Aggie was free to stand by the great banks of flowers, behind the line of dowagers in their chairs, and watch Ceciliebeing led through the steps of the dance. Every man who partnered her was catalogued and f i led in Aggie’s mind. None of them seemed particularly appealing to her, but she was aware that no man held much attraction for her but the unattainable Denby himself. She tried to think as Cecilie would. Consequently it was upon the best dancers that she bent her most intent gaze.
    She was thus occupied when a sudden commotion by the door caught her attention. Curious, she looked to see what latecomer had caused such a furor. Framed in the doorway stood a tall blond woman. She did not wear the French muslin; her gown was of silk, a deep and vibrant blue that seemed to draw all eyes. But perhaps it was not the gown itself, thought Aggie with a twinge of envy, but the way it f i t, that caught one ’ s attention. It looked like the lady had been poured into it, and with some caution, too, for fear the seams might split. The bodice was cut low, so low that it almost seemed as though at any moment her barely restrained bosom might escape its conf i nes altogether. There was a decided rustle as the dowagers leaned toward each other.
    “The woman’s a fool , ” said one in red and white striped silk that reminded Aggie of an awning at the fair. “ Denby’s too sensible to be lured by such display.”
    The other matron, whose gown of bright yellow satin was in glaring contrast to a deep purple turban trimmed in green-dyed ostrich plumes , giggled in falsetto tones before replying in a hoarse whisper. “Denby’s a man, ain’t he? And you’ve got to admit Lady Alicia’s got the looks for it. Her bosom’s not as good as mine was, but it’ll do. It’ll do.”
    Her face crimson, Aggie moved silently away. So this was the fabled Lady AliciaTemple. She paused beside a palm to take another look. Lady Alicia still stood in the doorway , surveying the crowd before her with imperious eyes. Certainly she did not lack conf i dence. Now Aggie wished she had stayed where she was. She might have heard more about Denby and Lady Alicia - heard, for instance, if they were already engaged in some sort of illicit - liaison.
    As she watched, heart in mouth, Denby crossed the room to welcome the newcomer. Her gloved hands reached out to grab his and the kiss she gave him was hardly a mere salute of greeting. In fact, it might have become embarrassing if Denby had not extricated himself from her embrace and led the lady to the dance floor.
    Lady Alicia trod the measures of the quadrille with grace, her blue-green eyes laughing warmly up at the Earl. Aggie felt a lump rising in her throat. Just so had he once looked down at her. For a terrible second