12 - The Imperialists by William Stuart Long

Author:William Stuart Long [Long, William Stuart]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical Fiction
ISBN: 9780440206484
Amazon: 0440206480
Barnesnoble: 0440206480
Goodreads: 1329331
Publisher: Dell
Published: 1990-01-01T06:00:00+00:00

What else could he do but wait?

Chapter XVIII

The sound of feminine laughter rang from the parlor of the Broome-Gordon house as Rufus Broome stepped up onto the porch. When he used the brass knocker, his sister, Jessica Broome Gordon, opened the door. She was smiling, and the smile widened as she threw open the screen and embraced Rufus.

“You’re just in time for our private celebration,” Jessica said.

Magdalen Broome rose from her chair when Rufus walked into the room beside Jessica and took her due, a quick hug, a kiss on one papery, wrinkled cheek.

Rufe bowed to Bina Tyrell, dressed in a shocking red gown that went well with her glossy black hair, and his face flushed slightly as he repeated the courtesy to the fourth woman present in the airy, pleasant room, Misa Mason.

“So what is the celebration?” Rufe asked, taking the chair indicated by Jessica.

“The great Australian male, in all his wisdom and charity, has graciously extended to mere women the right to vote in federal elections,” Magdalen said.

“Congratulations,” Rufe said. “I think that any one of you ladies would make an excellent premier of Australia. I assure you that if any of you is nominated, I will support you, and if you run, I will vote for you.”

“Although I detect a slight hint of amusement in the man’s voice,” Bina said, “I approve his words.”

“The man is not amused, just very pleased to be in the presence of such beauty,” Rufe said, looking directly at Misa before playing his smile on the others.

“So, you see,” Jessica said, “the male animal pays lip service to our victory and then very quickly puts us back into our place by speaking of feminine beauty.”

“Well, only one of you is really ugly,” Rufe said.

There was a chorus of protest.

“Actually,” Rufe said, “it’s been proven in survey after survey. One out of three people is incurably ugly. If you doubt that, look at the person on either side of you, and if you don’t see ugliness, guess what?”

Jessica threw a delicately embroidered cushion at Rufe’s head. He warded it off with a casual sweep of his arm. “Now, speaking of ugly,” he said, “there is an officer on my ship who is not only ugly but creatively ugly—”

“Rufe …” Jessica said.

Misa Mason rose, drawing Rufe’s eyes to her. She was wearing a splendidly fitted white business suit accented by an impressive pearl necklace. On her left hand was one blazing ruby. She said, “Perhaps if we feed the man …”

She served cakes on a little plate and poured tea. As she bent to hand him the tea, his eyes were drawn to the creamy brown cleavage shown by the fashionable dress. Feeling the almost tangible thrust of his gaze, her hand fluttered, and she had to resist an urge to cover her bare upper chest with her palm.

“But what’s this?” Jessica asked, leaping to her feet and moving to finger the insignia of rank on Rufe’s shoulder.

“I’m due a celebration myself,” Rufe said.

“Mother, look,” Jessica said.

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