by Nerys Leigh
It had been a long time since anyone had called him handsome. He didn’t object at all to hearing it again. “I feel like a trussed up pig, but I reckon it’s worth it.”
She erupted into giggles. “Every woman is going to envy me tonight.”
“I doubt that. I know every man there is going to wish you were on his arm though.”
Entwining their fingers, she gazed into his eyes. “There’s only one man whose arm I plan to be on, for the entire evening.”
His eyes flicked to her lips. “Would I mess up any of your two hours of getting ready if I kissed you?”
Her eyes sparkled in the darkness of the carriage. “Possibly, but I can’t say that I’d mind.”
~ ~ ~
They reached their destination more or less intact, although Millie’s cheeks were a little flushed as they exited the carriage. George indulged in a small amount of satisfaction over that, until it occurred to him that he might look the same.
He raised a hand to his warm cheek. In the years since Clem’s passing he’d almost forgotten what it was like to kiss a woman he cared deeply about. He was thoroughly enjoying reacquainting himself with the experience.
“Where’s your hat?” Millie said, looking past him into the carriage.
“There was a hat?” He pretended to look around for the top hat he’d purposely left in his bedroom. He approved of one style of headwear, and that wasn’t it.
She rolled her eyes and slapped him with the pair of gloves she carried, but she was smiling.
Tugging on his own white gloves, he stared in awe at the house outside which they stood. He’d thought the Ravensworth home grand, but this was on a whole other level. A row of moonlit statues silhouetted against the starry sky topped three stories of carved stone. At least twenty windows, every one of them lit up, looked out over the sweeping drive and manicured hedges and lawns.
“How many people live here?” he asked as Millie pulled on her long gloves.
“In the immediate family, seven.”
“In this huge place?”
She slipped her gloved hand around the elbow he offered her. “There are also around forty staff.”
“They wouldn’t need so many servants if they had a smaller house,” he pointed out.
“True, but then they couldn’t display their wealth in as ostentatious a way as possible.”
And there was the crux of the matter. It was all about appearance. How things looked had never mattered to George. How things were, that was what was important. But then he’d never been anywhere near the kind of social circles where appearance was everything, until now.
Judge Ravensworth was right about one thing – he and Millie were from completely different worlds.
A footman greeted them at the door and took Millie’s wrap. Another took his place for the next set of guests as the first ushered them in and left to secrete the wrap somewhere else. George stared around them as they crossed the entrance hall, a room every bit as grand as he would have expected from the outside. Two huge crystal chandeliers illuminated painted walls, an intricately patterned floor, and velvet furnishings. And this was just the entrance hall.
“Millicent! Darling! I’m so glad you could come!” Sophronia Mitchell, the woman they had met with her husband in the park the day after George arrived, swept up to them in a cloud of blue velvet and lace and grasped Millie’s shoulders in a strange amalgamation of a semi-hug and a not-quite-kiss on the cheek. “You look divine. And Mr. Parsons, it seems evening wear suits you well.”
His hand automatically rose to his hat before he remembered he wasn’t wearing one, so he dipped his head instead. “Ma’am, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”
Mrs. Mitchell giggled. “Oh my, I just adore the way you speak. It’s so very western.”
He had no idea what that meant, so he simply smiled.
“Thank you, Sophronia,” Millie said. “And you look wonderful. Is that a new dress?”
“You’re such a dear for noticing! I found a tailor who works in a darling little shop on Broadway and he’s simply a genius. Look at the detail on this…”
George’s mind wandered as the two women talked about tucks and ruches and other things about which he had no idea. There were a lot of other people in the hall, talking and laughing as they moved towards a set of double doors at the far end. As he scanned the room, he couldn’t fail to notice that most of them were looking at him. Not staring outright, of course, but glances accompanied by whispers and giggles. Recalling Millie’s assertion that anything different was cause for gossip, he gave an internal sigh. It seemed he was the talk of the town.
A strong urge gripped him to sweep Millie into his arms and leave. He smiled to himself at the idea. He’d probably be talked about for years to come for that. But for Millie, he’d behave. These people were her friends, after all.
Movement in their direction caught his eye and he watched Mrs. Mitchell’s husband approach. By his expression, he was none too pleased to see George again, but he managed half a smile at Millie when he reached them.
“Good evening, Millicent. You look lovely.” His mini smile faded as he turned to George. “Mr. Parsons.” His gaze strolled down George’s black and white attire. “So good of you to make an effort.”
Mrs. Mitchell slipped her arm around her husband’s. “Horace, don’t they make a simply divine couple?”
The response was a non-committal grunt which could have indicated anything but almost certainly meant ‘no’.
Mrs. Mitchell released her husband’s arm and startled George by grabbing his instead and tugging him towards the door. “You must let me introduce you around. Everyone is just dying to meet you.”
He shot a panicked look at Millie, silently begging her for help. During his lifetime he’d tamed horses so wild no one else would go near them, stopped more than one stampede, and once, when caught out in a thunderstorm, been cornered in a cave by a none-too-pleased bear when he didn’t pay attention to the warning signs that one lived there. But each of those experiences was a pleasant diversion in comparison to the prospect of being paraded around a room of New York society’s elite.
To his relief, Millie rushed to his rescue, moving to block their path before Mrs. Mitchell could abduct him. “That’s so kind of you, Sophronia, but there’ll be plenty of time for introductions later.” She grasped George’s free arm. “I haven’t had the chance to dance in so long, and you know how much I enjoy it. I’ve been looking forward all week to a waltz with George.”
For a few seconds he was caught in a mild tug of war between the two women.
With a pout, Mrs. Mitchell finally released him. “I suppose I can wait. You deserve to have some fun after all you’ve been through.”
“You’re so kind.” Millie looked around the room then leaned past George towards her friend as if imparting a great secret. “I saw Lucretia as we came in and I think she’s wearing that purple dress.”
Mrs. Mitchell’s eyes lit up. “Not that thing with the puffed sleeves from last season that makes her look like an eggplant? How utterly awful! I must go and see. Come along, Horace.”
She grabbed her husband’s arm and they disappeared into the crowd.
George breathed out a sigh of relief. “Thank you. I thought I was done for then.”
Millie smiled as they started walking towards the doors at the far end of the hall. “I can’t promise you won’t have to talk to anyone tonight, but I’ll try to make it as painless as possible.”
“I’d be much obliged.”
She looked up at him sideways. “Besides, I really am looking forward to that waltz. You can waltz, can’t you?”
“I reckon I might remember how.”
~ ~ ~
Although Millie hadn’t been eager to come to the ball, and she certainly hadn’t wanted to subject George to the judgmental eyes of New York society, she couldn’t deny she was enjoying the envious looks many of the women were throwing her way as they walked arm in arm
across the entrance hall to the ballroom.
She’d adored the appreciative look George gave her when he’d first seen her in her new dress, but that was as nothing compared to how she’d felt at the sight of him in formal wear. She’d thought him incredibly handsome from the first moment she’d laid eyes on him, even with a few days of beard darkening his jaw and clad in faded trousers and a flannel shirt. But a clean-shaven, dressed-up George was delicious in an entirely new and wonderful way.
Their somewhat heated, all too brief journey in the carriage had her wishing they could forego the ball altogether and just drive around the city for the next three hours, not looking out the windows once. However, there was something to be gained from bringing her new beau to the society event, her first since the divorce.
She was well aware of the gossip about her and Franklin that was still making the rounds, even two months after the fact when the fickleness of rumor had usually moved on to newer, juicier, topics. Whenever she saw any of those she had once counted as friends, she was painfully aware of their barely veiled looks of pity and disdain. Not that she hadn’t expected it. Those very attitudes had been a large part of what had kept her from leaving her philandering, money-grubbing cad of a husband years before.
In spite of their scorn, however, she was happier than she’d been for a long time. And now, on George’s arm, she would show everyone that she wasn’t the wretched, distraught woman most of them thought her.
They would all see how glad she was to be free of Franklin, how very far from wretched she was, and that she was with the most handsome, charming, exciting man in the place.
“I ought to go and thank Electa and Frederick for their invitation,” she said as they entered the sumptuous ballroom. “It would be the height of bad manners not to. I promise I’ll try to make it as brief as possible.”
George snorted a laugh. “I reckon I can endure a few introductions. Just don’t leave me alone with them.”
“Don’t worry, I have no plans to leave your side.”
He gave her a smile that made her stomach shiver. “Glad to hear it.”
Frederick and Electa Ellis occupied the upper echelons of New York society, and their functions were attended by all manner of the city’s elite. They even attracted English nobility. Lord and Lady Wetherington’s youngest son, Aaron, had been a regular at the Ellis house. A match between him and the eldest Ellis daughter had been rumored, until recently when talk of a scandal involving the wayward young Wetherington had surfaced and he’d apparently withdrawn from all his former hedonistic pursuits.
Thanks to Millie’s father being a very well-respected man, not to mention wealthy, Millie was counted among those who were invited to the occasional Ellis event. Although those invitations had vanished with Franklin’s incarceration and their subsequent divorce. She had no doubt the only reason that she was there now was due to Sophronia’s intervention and the novelty of having a man from the wild west there. Millie wasn’t sure that was such a good thing, but there wasn’t much she could do about it.
Electa and Frederick weren’t hard to find, surrounded by a permanent gaggle of hangers-on as they were, and Millie and George made their way through the group to their hosts.
“Millicent, how lovely to see you,” Electa said, her slightly pinched expression saying the opposite. “We’re so glad you could come. We’ve so missed you these past weeks.”
The word ‘liar’ drifted across Millie’s mind, but she smiled anyway. Lies and fake smiles were the norm in her world. Except when it came to George.
“I’m honored you’ve thought of me,” she lied back.
Frederick glanced at her from where he was talking to another man beyond his wife, nodded a disinterested greeting, and returned to his conversation.
Electa’s face became the epitome of unconcerned concern. “I was so distressed to hear about your… troubles. Franklin was such a dear man. It’s simply shocking the things that have been said about him.”
Feeling George tense beside her, Millie squeezed his arm in warning. Knowing him as she did, she had no doubt he would be eager to leap to her defense. She drew courage from that.
“Yes, well, it seems Franklin fooled many people, including me.”
Electa’s eyes widened at the blatant challenge to her views and there was an audible gasp from someone in the gathering of sycophants around them. Three months ago, Millie wouldn’t even have considered the idea of standing up for herself in such company. But George had shown her a different way, where people could be honest and genuine with one another, and she wasn’t in a hurry to give that up. There was also something satisfying about seeing Electa, the self-appointed leader of her social circle, floundering.
“Yes, um… quite.” She rallied, her expression hardening. “Such a terrible business. I do hope you are recovering from it all.”
Millie glanced at George. She couldn’t help it. “I’m recovering wonderfully, thank you. May I introduce Mr. George Parsons?”
Electa’s gaze moved to George and her lips pursed in an appreciative smile. “Mr. Parsons, I’ve heard so much about you. Welcome to New York, and our humble abode.”
She extended her hand, palm down.
George considered the gesture for a moment before taking the offered hand and shaking it rather than kissing the back. “It’s a real pleasure to be here, ma’am. Thank you for inviting us to your lovely home.”
Millie blinked at him, having to work hard to keep the astonishment from her face. It was the first lie she’d ever heard him tell, and it sounded perfectly convincing.
Electa laughed. “Oh, you are perfectly charming. I do hope you are enjoying your stay in our city. It must be such a relief to be in civilization, away from those awful savages in the west.”
He paused for a moment before replying. “Oh, yes, ma’am, it surely is.”
Was it Millie’s imagination, or had his accent broadened?
“I’m having such a time of it,” he went on, “with all these new fangled things like running water and indoor privies. And just not having to fight off Injuns bent on scalping me every day. I’m right pleased that load’s off my mind, I can tell you. Tuckers a man clean out, it does.”
Millie slapped a hand over her mouth, coughing to disguise her snort of laughter.
Electa stared at him, clearly trying to decide if she was being made fun of. George stared right back, a smile of utmost innocence curving his lips.
“Yes, well, I’m glad you’re enjoying your stay.” Electa nodded to Millie and turned away to a woman beside her, their cue to leave.
“Injuns?” Millie said, once they were out of earshot.
“What, too much?” George replied.
She erupted into giggles. “Possibly, but so very entertaining.”
His brow narrowed into a frown. “I didn’t like the way she spoke down to you.”
She knew he didn’t, and she adored him for it. “I was expecting it. It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
The intensity of his gaze made her heart leap. “Let’s not dwell on it.” The small orchestra seated up on the minstrel’s gallery at the far end of the room launched into a new piece and she smiled. “Well, fancy that, it’s a waltz.”
The corners of his lips quirked up. “So it is.”
“Perhaps you should take this opportunity to demonstrate your dancing skills.”
“Will it mean I can avoid talking to anyone else but you?”
“I imagine it would help, although I think you’re going to have to talk to someone at some point.”
He led her towards the other dancing couples in the center of the room. “Then I hope you’re wearing comfortable shoes, because I intend on dancing with you for the whole rest of the evening.”
Her laughter faded as he drew her close and placed both hands onto her waist, gazing into her eyes.
She had to lick her lips before speaking. “I… I think your hand is supposed to be in mine.”
/>
His lips twitched ever so slightly. “Is it? I must be more out of practice than I thought.” His right hand slid deliciously slowly up her side and along her arm, sending shivers all the way to her toes. It finally settled around her palm. “Better?”
“That’s, uh…” She swallowed. “That’s the wrong hand.”
“Oh dear, is it? I do apologize.” His fingers sauntered back down to her waist before his left hand embarked upon the journey up her right side to wrap around her palm. “Like this?”
She wasn’t sure she could feel her knees. “Uh huh.”
“Are you ready?”
“I think so.”
“Good.”
Her eyes widened as he moved her back and to the side, leading her in a graceful circle. “You can dance!”
“Looks like it.”
She shouldn’t have been surprised, since he had told her he could, but nothing about the George Parsons she knew suggested he was the kind of man who engaged in such frivolous activities as dancing. And it wasn’t simply that he knew how. As they whirled across the floor, he revealed himself to be the perfect partner, guiding her skillfully with soft but firm hands.
“How long has it been since you waltzed?” she said, after several minutes of simply enjoying their dance.
“With a woman? Round about twenty-four years. On my own? Two hours or so. I’ve been practicing.”
“You haven’t waltzed with anyone since your wife died?”
“Never found anyone I wanted to, until now.”
All she could manage in response was a breathless, “Oh.” If she hadn’t already been in love, she would have fallen right then and there. She glanced around them. “You know that every other woman here is jealous of me.”
He didn’t take his eyes from hers. “What other women?”
Later on, she would marvel that it was possible to even stand, much less dance, with such weak knees. But at that moment all she could do was gaze, her heart melting, into the eyes of the most perfectly wonderful man on earth.
~ ~ ~
If he ignored everyone else in the room and focused on Millie, which wasn’t a hard thing to do, especially with her in that gown, George found he was actually enjoying himself.