Line by Line

by Jennifer Delamere

  A short distance off, he spotted a woman standing by herself. Judging by the wisps of gray threaded through her dark hair, she was perhaps around fifty years old. She was tall and somewhat broad. Given that her gown, which was not in the latest style, fit rather too snugly, Douglas guessed she hadn’t always been so stout.

  What really caught his attention, though, was that her foot was tapping in time with the lively music calling people to the grand march. Her wistful expression as she observed the couples lining up to begin made it clear she wanted to be a part of the proceedings.

  Douglas didn’t think she was one of the more important matrons at this ball. She was someone’s aunt, perhaps. Or a cousin. Whoever she was, she wore a dance card around her wrist, so she must be open to the idea of dancing. He took in all these details in a moment. This unlikely combination of things told him he should take a chance.

  He approached her. “I beg your pardon, madam. My name is Douglas Shaw. I hope you won’t think me too forward, but . . .”

  He paused. He knew he was considered handsome. He’d done his best to avoid allowing that knowledge to make him vain, but tonight he was heartily glad he’d been blessed with good looks.

  The woman’s eyes grew wide with happy surprise at being thus addressed. She said tremulously, “Yes?”

  He could almost feel the way she was hoping against hope as her gaze locked on his.

  “I recently had the honor of becoming acquainted with the Misses Travers, Lawson, and Brenner. Would you be among their party? If so, then you and I might say we have already made an acquaintance—in a manner of speaking.” Douglas had guessed that she was related to one of those young ladies largely by her proximity to them.

  She nodded. “Why, yes. I am Mrs. Andrews, Miss Lawson’s aunt. I am chaperoning her this evening because her mother—my sister—is under the weather. But I don’t like to hover too closely, as I believe young people should be allowed room for a bit of fun.”

  “Fun should not be reserved only for the young,” he countered cheerfully. “I don’t suppose you would honor me by allowing me to escort you for the march?”

  She looked as though she could hardly believe what she’d heard, but she lost no time responding. “I’d be delighted, Mr. Shaw.”

  They found a place in line just as the march got underway. The primary purpose of the march was to provide an opportunity for the gentlemen and ladies to observe each other. This was especially important for the ladies, as they had the important task of judging one another’s gowns. The men were a more homogeneous group, dressed in black coat and tie, with the exception of the occasional officer in uniform or Scottish gentleman in a kilt.

  The couples stood side by side in a long line, following the lead couple as they walked toward the top of the room. At that point, the men split off to the left and the women to the right. Douglas had practiced this with a smaller group at one of his dancing lessons, but tonight he was astounded to see how it looked with hundreds of people. Still leading their respective rows of men and women, the head couple circled back to the place they’d begun and then rejoined. Everyone following did likewise, reconnecting with their partners. Then they split up again. This time the rows of men and ladies passed each other as they followed the lead of the top couple. As Miss Rolland breezed by Douglas, she gave him a brilliant smile. She wasn’t the only young lady to send lingering gazes in his direction. Douglas basked in the knowledge that he was making such a good impression.

  The march was surprisingly energetic. They were moving swiftly and covering a lot of ground. The lead couple each wound their way separately around the room, creating ingenious patterns as the long lines of people followed in their wake. At last the couples were brought together once more. As Douglas took Mrs. Andrews’s arm again, she looked so ecstatic that he was glad he had asked her to dance.

  When the music ended, everyone was out of breath and yet laughing, too. After many thanks to one another, Douglas and Mrs. Andrews parted with amicable good wishes. The lady presumably went back to her nonhovering oversight of her niece, while Douglas found a spot where he could watch the dancing. He watched carefully, noting how the couples interacted with one another, how the ladies were led off the floor by their dance partners, and how they reconnected with new partners for the next dance. This was all information he could use.

  Several times he caught sight of Miss Rolland. She clearly enjoyed dancing. She constantly wore a delighted expression and seemed to flirt with every partner. Most men simply accepted it with gracious good humor. Busfield was different. Whenever they danced, he spent a lot of time whispering in her ear, looking very serious. She did not seem to mind, and several times she gave a sly smile, as if he were saying something scandalous. Was he really a serious contender for her hand? Douglas would have to find out.

  Douglas had watched five or six dances when he was joined by Mr. Henley.

  “I’m glad we found you,” Henley said. He was accompanied by a tall, elderly man who was impeccably dressed, right down to the diamond stud in his cravat. Henley introduced him as Viscount Pennington.

  Instantly, Douglas forgot about the dancing. Here was his first introduction to a member of the aristocracy, and it couldn’t be better. The viscount was active politically and known to promote laws favorable to trade.

  Douglas gave him a bow. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

  The viscount studied Douglas through gold-rimmed spectacles. “Did I see you in the grand march with Mrs. Andrews?”

  “Yes, sir,” Douglas said. Had that been a mistake after all? He exchanged a worried glance with Henley.

  The viscount smiled. “Well done, young man. Mrs. Andrews is the sister of an old school chum of mine. She was quite the dancer in her day. It was good of you to take her around.”

  “Thank you, sir. It was a pleasure. She is a charming lady.”

  Henley looked proud enough to bust the buttons off his shirt. He was too good a businessman not to realize that Douglas had just pulled off an important maneuver for getting into the viscount’s good graces.

  “I had the honor of making his lordship’s acquaintance just this evening, and he was kind enough to agree when I asked him if I might introduce him to my right-hand man,” Henley enthused. “I told him you are an admirable gentleman as well as quite astute when it comes to business,” he added, implying that Douglas had just proved his point by dancing with Mrs. Andrews. Turning to the viscount, Henley said, “Sir, I wonder if we might take a few minutes of your time to discuss a bill that’s just been sent up to the Lords from Parliament, regarding international trade contracts and liability.”

  The viscount acquiesced, but as Henley began to lay out a case for supporting the bill, his interest seemed to fade rapidly. “It sounds very intriguing,” he said, although his attention was focused on some friends he’d spotted across the room. He gave them a quick wave before saying to Henley, “Why don’t you pop round to my solicitor tomorrow and fill him in on the details. That will help me decide how to approach the debates.”

  “Thank you, sir. I’d be delighted.”

  “And now back to the fun, eh?” the viscount said and left them to join his friends.

  “That went well,” Henley said.

  Douglas frowned. “Do you really think so? He only seemed concerned about how it would affect his own interests.”

  “I’ve never met an aristocrat who approached life any differently, to be honest. But we do what we can. You pulled off quite a coup with that grand march. It’s gotten us in the door with his lordship’s solicitor. That’s a good start.”

  Perhaps, but Douglas found it disappointing. The viscount wasn’t interested in socializing with them, only in discussing business—and even then, only briefly. That invisible barrier was still firmly in place.

  “Have you danced with Miss Rolland yet?” Henley asked.

  His question brought Douglas’s mind back to the next order of business. “Not yet. I believe it’s comi
ng up.”

  “Well, have at it. I’m off to find some refreshment.”

  The dancers were finishing up the lancers. Miss Rolland was escorted from the floor by a man Douglas didn’t recognize. Apparently Busfield was only in for the waltzes.

  Douglas walked over to her and gave a little bow. “I believe we are next?”

  “Oh yes!” Miss Rolland’s face was flushed with happiness as she accepted his proffered arm.

  As Douglas led her out to find a spot among the other dancers, he could feel beads of perspiration break out on his brow. Here was the test he’d been dreading. He placed his hand on the small of Miss Rolland’s back. She was shorter and rounder than Alice, but he figured that shouldn’t matter when it came to the dancing. He could compensate for her shorter step. He took a deep breath and led off as the music began.

  One, two, three times around. The letters flowed in his head, buoyed by the underlying dots and dashes. He and Miss Rolland moved smoothly together. Douglas wanted to bless Alice for her help, but he didn’t dare allow his mind to wander too far from the task at hand.

  Unfortunately, he hadn’t counted on the talking.

  Miss Rolland said, “Are you enjoying the company this evening, Mr. Shaw?”

  Her question disrupted the mental stream of dots and dashes that allowed him to keep time with the music. “I—I beg your pardon?” It was all he could get out, and he tried to say it in rhythm with his steps to avoid disaster.

  “I was highly amused to see you paired with Mrs. Andrews in the march. Of all people! I would have thought it ridiculous, except you looked so utterly charming, leading her around as though she were the most elegant woman in the world and not some old cow sent by Mary’s mother to keep watch on all of us.”

  “I don’t think you’re being charitable. She is very nice.” Again, his words came out very singsong, matching the one-two-three of the waltz. He wanted to say more, but he had to keep his mind on the steps. As it was, he narrowly missed stepping on Miss Rolland’s toe.

  “If you say so,” she replied dismissively, then immediately launched into another subject. “There are so many interesting people here tonight. I danced the polka with Baron von Halberstadt, who was once a school friend of Prince Albert! He is old, of course, but amusing nonetheless. And I danced the schottische with Lord Stanford, whose cousin is that notorious earl who eloped with an American heiress. . . .”

  Douglas vaguely heard her words, but he allowed them to roll over his head. He smiled down at her, his expression frozen in place as he concentrated. For a while, she seemed content to do all the talking. But then she paused and looked at him expectantly. He realized she’d just asked him a question.

  “Well?” she pressed. “What do you think of him?”

  “Who?”

  “Viscount Pennington.” She said his name in nasal, clipped syllables that mimicked upper-crust speech. “I saw you talking with him. He’s rather a bore, don’t you think?”

  Douglas stopped midstep. Taken by surprise, Miss Rolland stumbled ungracefully, then glared up at him. They bumped into another couple as he tried to help Miss Rolland recover her balance. He was rewarded with their offended scowls.

  Sending apologetic smiles to everyone in the vicinity, Douglas pulled Miss Rolland out of the stream of dancers so he could gather his wits. “I was just thinking that I’d so much rather look at you than talk just now. Your eyes are positively sparkling, the way they perfectly match the color of your dress.” He paired these words with the ardent gaze of a suitor.

  She tapped him lightly with her fan. “You are incorrigible, sir.”

  “Let’s dance now and talk later, shall we? Perhaps over a nice glass of punch?”

  She gave him a coy smile. “Why do you think I saved you the dance that’s just before the break?”

  Douglas raised an eyebrow. “Now who’s the incorrigible one?”

  She giggled. Clearly the crisis was past.

  They resumed dancing. Miss Rolland continued to make comments from time to time, but Douglas merely nodded and smiled. When at last the waltz ended, they came to a smooth halt on the final note. A massive feeling of relief and triumph rolled over him. He felt his chest expand in pride. They passed Busfield as they left the dance floor. The bank officer said nothing, but he regarded Douglas with narrowed eyes.

  Jealous, Douglas thought. He smiled down at Miss Rolland. “Now, about that punch?”

  “Yes, indeed!” she replied enthusiastically.

  He began to lead her toward the refreshment room. It was easy to guess which direction it was in, since many others seemed to be going the same way.

  Miss Rolland paused and looked up at him. “I was just thinking—there are bound to be a lot of people crowding the drink tables just now. Why don’t we wait a bit?” She tucked her arm tighter around his. “In the meantime, I know a quiet place where we can cool down.”

  Douglas had a good idea where this was going. He hadn’t expected her to do something like this so soon. The dancing had been a major challenge, but he suspected he was about to navigate even trickier waters.

  He gave a quick look around, judging who was near them and who might be watching. There was no sign of her father. During her monologue while they’d been dancing, she’d mentioned that at social events, he generally preferred to spend his time in whatever room was designated for men to enjoy a cigar and a glass of whisky. Nor did Douglas see the Henleys anywhere.

  He did see Busfield, who was watching them from a short distance away. His attention was forcefully diverted, however, by the three young ladies Miss Rolland had introduced Douglas to earlier. They approached Busfield from behind, so that he was forced to turn his back on Douglas and Miss Rolland in order to speak with them.

  Douglas also noticed Miss Rolland’s smile of satisfaction. “This way,” she said, tugging on his arm. It had all been beautifully choreographed.

  He had expected to step onto a terrace or into one of the little groves of potted trees for the few moments of privacy Miss Rolland had obviously planned. Instead, she led him down several hallways. He grew more worried the farther they got from the noise and lights of the ball. Flirting was one thing, causing a scandal was quite another.

  “I hardly think all this walking will cool us down,” he pointed out nervously.

  “Almost there.” She paused, pointing to a closed door farther down the hall. “That is a small parlor. Hardly any of the guests would know about it. I’ll go in first, just to ensure it’s not occupied.”

  “All right.” At this point he had to go along with her plan, although he was determined not to spend too much time here. He would not risk damaging either of their reputations.

  Miss Rolland slipped down the hall and into the parlor. Almost immediately she came back out and waved him forward. As soon as he was inside, she shut the door. The room was in shadows, illuminated only by stray beams from the streetlamp outside.

  “Well, this is cozy,” Douglas murmured. “Miss Rolland—”

  She took hold of his hands. “Please call me Penelope,” she commanded in a breathless voice. She lifted her face to his. “You will no doubt think me scandalously forward. But from the day we met, I knew we had a certain connection. Don’t you feel it, too?”

  At the moment, what Douglas felt was supreme uneasiness as she pressed herself closer to him. It was clear what she wanted. He dislodged his hands from hers and gently grasped her upper arms. The sooner he kissed her, the sooner they could extract themselves from this potentially dangerous situation.

  “Yes,” he said. “I feel . . .”

  It didn’t seem to matter that he couldn’t finish the sentence. Her dreamy gaze showed that she accepted this as proof he was too moved to put his feelings into words.

  Then he kissed her. Or she kissed him. He wasn’t sure which of them moved first. But did it matter? He told himself it should not matter that she had orchestrated this moment. Why shouldn’t he be pleased with a woman who didn’t
hesitate to go after what she wanted? He certainly would never be content with a shrinking violet.

  Nor was the kiss entirely unpleasant—although he found himself oddly aware that this time there were no clashing cymbals in the background. Then he felt like the worst kind of cad for even thinking about that right now.

  Miss Rolland reached for his lapels and pulled him closer in an effort to prolong the kiss. Douglas obliged. When at last he felt like he could step back without insulting her, he did.

  She raised a hand to her cheek, her dreamy, happy expression returning. “Oh, my heavens!” she said softly.

  “Miss Rolland—Penelope—I feel we shouldn’t stay here. I have too high a regard for your virtue—”

  “I understand.” She gave him an adoring smile “You are a true gentleman.”

  He was glad she had accepted his excuse at face value. “Thank you for your trust. Let’s get you back to the dancing.” He pointed toward her dance card. “Those gentlemen will be quite angry with me.”

  “None of them hold a candle to you,” she breathed.

  Douglas shifted in discomfort. He did not deserve such praise. “Let’s get going,” he repeated. She clung to him, and he gave her a last kiss before they left the parlor.

  Was Miss Rolland in love with him or merely infatuated? The question seemed vitally important in light of the conversation he’d had with Alice. As for his own sentiments, he had to admit he was no closer to being in love with Penelope Rolland than he’d been before. He wasn’t sure how he was going to manage it, or even if he was right in trying to force feelings that simply weren’t there.

  They made their way back to the ball without incident and were able to get a glass of punch before it was time for the next dance partner to take Miss Rolland away. She parted from him reluctantly, but Douglas felt only relief.