Midnight Star by Catherine Coulter Page A

refresh themselves.
    “Oh, that,” Penelope said, waving a small dismissing hand. “Mama couldn’t allow that.” She giggled at Chauncey’s look of bewilderment. “Many of the ladies here tonight aren’t ladies. Everyone knows it, but no one says anything if they are masked.”
    “ They? ”
    “Loose women,” Penelope said, quite unconcerned. “After all,” she continued matter-of-factly, “there are so many men here. What are they to do? Even Delaney has a French mistress.” She shrugged, not at all concerned. “Of course he’ll give her up after we are married.”
    Chauncey was silent a moment, chewing over this startling information. “So,” she said brightly after a moment, “when do you announce your engagement?”
    “After Del convinces me, I suppose,” Penelope said, eyeing the Englishwoman from the corner of her eye. She hadn’t missed the two waltzes Del had danced with her when he had first arrived.
    Penelope was rather silly and vain, Chauncey thought judiciously as she patted several strands of hair back into place, but still, she didn’t want to hurt any innocent person. She forced herself to ask lightly, “You must be very fond of him. I thought him very . . . witty.”
    To Chauncey’s surprise, Penelope shrugged her shoulders pettishly. “Oh, that! I can’t understand some of the things he says sometimes, and he just smiles at me when I ask him to explain. I like him well enough. Daddy thinks he’s quite a catch. And since he’s been to England—indeed, even has English relations, royalty almost—Mama thinks the sun rises on him!”
    Chauncey could think of nothing to say to this artless speech. He has English relations. So that was how he managed to trap her father! But why, she wondered, didn’t Paul Montgomery know of these relations? She temporized. “I hope everything works out as you wish it to, Miss Stevenson.”
    Penelope gave her a superior, confident smile. “Oh, it will, Miss Jameson. I don’t imagine that you will be in San Francisco much longer?”
    Chauncey almost smiled at the hopeful note in Penelope’s voice. “We will see,” she said. “I find I am much enjoying your beautiful city.”
     
    Chauncey pounded her hapless pillow, but sleep eluded her. She doesn’t love him, she thought over and over. I won’t be hurting her heart, only her pride. She supposed she reached her decision just as the sun was beginning to rise over the city.
    It was so simple, really. So simple and final, you fool! She climbed out of her warm bed and padded on bare feet to the windows. I wonder if he is awake yet. I wonder if he liked me. He certainly seemed to, she thought, even though he had avoided her the rest of the evening. What if he loves Penelope Stevenson? What if I can’t win him away from her?
    “Miss Chauncey! Up so early? Are you feeling well?”
    Chauncey turned to see Mary, her dark hair disheveled, drawing the sash more tightly about the waist of her robe.
    “No, I can see that isn’t it at all,” she continued, her eyes shrewd even as she yawned behind her hand. “You met Mr. Saxton.”
    “Yes, I met him—indeed, waltzed twice with him.” She gave a self-mocking smile. “He is not quite what I expected, Mary. He does not look in the least . . . evil. At least I don’t think so, since everyone stayed masked. And he acts in the most lighthearted way imaginable.”
    “Then why were you staring out of the window looking as if you had lost your last friend in the world?”
    “I intend to marry him,” Chauncey said baldly.
    “So,” Mary said thoughtfully, “the wind sets that way, does it? You are certain then that he intends to wed Miss Penelope?”
    “It appears so. She is silly and vain, but her father is quite wealthy. It seems Mr. Saxton is an opportunist as well as a villain.”
    “You don’t think he loves the chit?”
    “I know she doesn’t love him.” She shrugged, but her voice hardened with resolve. “As for Mr. Saxton,