her, and she had no weapon with which to defend herself.
“I do hope you’re enjoying yourself, Miss Folger.” His eyes beamed with kind intensity. “Did you find the meal satisfactory?”
Against her best efforts, Rachel’s cheeks warmed. “Oh, yes, it was—”
“Moberly.” Lady Augusta appeared beside him. “I must speak with you, and I fear the noise of your aunt’s playing will drown me out. May we find a quiet corner?” She waved her silk fan languidly, and her eyes sent an invitation Rachel could not discern.
“Of course, my lady.” Mr. Moberly glanced at Rachel and offered an apologetic smile. “Forgive me, Miss Folger. I shall return in a moment.”
“Of course.” Rachel echoed his words, working hard to keep the sarcasm from her tone.
Once again, certainty shouted within her. She was nothing more than a trifle in Mr. Moberly’s eyes. He would always defer to those considered well-born. Why had she ever permitted herself to think otherwise?
But just as Papa claimed the empty seat beside her, another thought quickly replaced her disappointment. She stood and moved past him, determined to discover Mr. Moberly’s true character. When Papa raised his bushy eyebrows to question her, she whispered “the necessary.” Instead of searching for that room, she tiptoed down the hallway just as Mr. Moberly disappeared into his study. Rachel stopped outside the door, still ajar, leaned against the wall and, heart pounding, prayed no servant would discover her eavesdropping.
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