by Nerys Leigh
He’d forgotten how much he liked to dance. He and Clementine had danced often, most of the time on their own either with one of them humming a tune or simply in silence, just for the fun of it. After she died, he hadn’t thought he’d ever want to dance again.
Now, with music in his ears and Millie in his arms, he didn’t want to stop.
After what must have been close to an hour, Millie pulled him from the dance floor, panting for breath and laughing. Eyes sparkling with joy, she was a beautiful sight.
“I need a rest,” she said breathlessly. “I don’t think I’ve danced this much in… well, in ever.”
He pulled a chair out from a nearby empty table and she sank into it with a sigh.
“I’ll go get us something to eat.” He glanced around to get his bearings in the huge room. He’d seen a table of food when they’d arrived that looked like it was worth investigating.
She caught hold of his hand as he turned to leave. “I’m having so much fun.”
Flipping her hand over, he leaned down to press a lingering kiss to the back. “So am I.”
He made his way around the edge of the dancers, weaving his way past tables and groups of people he didn’t care to know. He’d noticed the glances he and Millie got while they were dancing and he saw more of them now, but none of it held any interest for him. He had two concerns – obtaining sustenance and returning to Millie as quickly as possible.
The table holding the veritable mountain of food was less a buffet and more an artistic endeavor. A pristine white tablecloth swathed the full twenty foot length, a blue and gold strip of cloth running down the center that matched swags of material draped along the sides.
Every five feet or so, huge centerpieces constructed of flowers and fruit and topped with a pineapple towered above the surrounding platters of food. George took a few moments to study the strange looking spiky fruit. He’d only ever seen pictures and he wondered what they tasted like. Not that he’d ever get to eat one. He’d read they cost a small fortune. The ones on the table may even have been hired for the occasion, so expensive were they to buy.
He mused briefly on what would happen if he took one of them down and had a taste. Probably bad things, but the idea brought a smile to his face. If Millie hadn’t been there, he might have been tempted to try, just to shock these people who would throw away money on something so ridiculously frivolous when others were starving not a mile from their overindulgent lives.
Several people drifted around the table, studying the food arrayed along its length. Each was accompanied by a footman who dutifully placed their choices onto china plates.
As George approached, a footman stepped forward, plate in hand.
“I’ll need two plates,” George said.
“Certainly, sir.” The footman took another from a pile on a separate table.
George reached out to take the dishes. He wasn’t about to imperiously point out food for another man to put on his plate, as if he was too feeble to do it for himself.
The footman subtly moved the plates out of George’s reach. “If you tell me what you’d like, sir, I’ll do it all for you.”
“That won’t be necessary, I can feed myself.” George held out his hand for the plates.
The footman didn’t move, other than the slight raising of one eyebrow. “Sir…”
George fixed him with a look. “Are we going to have a problem here?”
With the air of someone who knew he was socially superior and yet could do nothing about it, the footman said, “No, sir,” and relinquished the plates.
George nodded his thanks and headed for the table. He was giving up the right to behave like a normal human being for no one.
After a quick survey of the table, he figured he could confidently identify perhaps half of the fancy food on offer. Much of the rest was wrapped in pastry, disguising whatever was inside. Some labels would have been helpful. He could have asked the footman, but he wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.
Grateful for an excuse to remove his white gloves, he pushed them into his pocket and set about the task of guessing at what Millie would like. He’d reached the desserts at the end when women’s voices from the far side of one of the hulking centerpieces drew his attention.
“Franklin was a cad, everyone knew that.”
George looked up from the food, but he was hidden from the speaker on the other side of the table.
“Yes, but he was a refined cad. If he’d just been more discreet and not gone chasing after the servants, she would never have had to divorce him. Really, men need to have their fun, Millicent should know that. John has his liaisons all the time and I never complain.”
“That’s because you’re trysting with Robert Bradshaw.”
There was laughter. “True enough.”
“Well I say, good for her,” a new voice interjected. “She should have her fun with this cowboy before she finds a suitable husband. I think he’s rather fine-looking, in a rough sort of way.”
“Nothing wrong with rough, as long as you don’t marry it,” the first voice said, to more laughter.
“Goodness, yes. I mean, bringing him here is entertaining and everything, and if I’d found him in California, I would certainly take advantage. But she can’t possibly be desperate enough to be thinking of anything permanent.”
“Unless she hires him to work in her stables, of course. Then she could keep him around after she’s found another husband and indulge herself whenever she wishes.”
There was a gasp. “Ophelia, you’re a genius! We should all go to California and find ourselves handsome cowboys to bring home.”
As laughter erupted again, George turned away, frowning. It was only manners and the knowledge that his actions could embarrass Millie that stopped him from marching around the table to inform the women that neither he nor any other man was a pet to keep for their amusement.
Evidently he was still angry when he got back to where he’d left Millie, because the first thing she said was, “Are you all right?”
He placed the loaded plates he’d brought with him onto the table and took a seat beside her. “I’m fine.”
“Did something happen?” When he didn’t answer, she smiled a little. “Did someone try to talk to you?”
He snorted a laugh, his tension easing. “No, I managed to dodge that bullet.” He reached across the table to take her hand. “I’m all right, I promise.”
In truth, just being back with her made him feel better. What did it matter what any of those spoiled princesses thought? The only opinion he valued was Millie’s, and he knew she didn’t feel the same way they did.
“Good.” She looked down at the plate he’d brought her. “Are we expecting to have to share with an elephant?”
He smiled. “There was a lot of food. I wasn’t sure what you’d want, so I brought a bit of lots of things.”
She picked up a chocolate coated cherry and popped it into her mouth. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to eat all of it, but I’m willing to take on the challenge.”
The food was richer than George had been expecting and neither of them managed to clear their plates, but it was an interesting culinary adventure. All in all, though, he preferred the simpler fare he was used to. And nothing compared to anything Mrs. Goodwin could make back home. If she’d been in New York and charged people for her food, she would have been the wealthiest person in the whole city. Although he couldn’t imagine the good-natured, generous soul ever wanting to live there.
When they’d finished eating, they rose to head back amongst the dancing couples in the center of the room. One of the army of footmen, who had apparently been waiting for just such an opportunity, darted in to remove their abandoned plates from the table.
Before George and Millie could reach the dance floor, a gentleman in a ridiculously colorful necktie stepped into their path.
He gave a Millie small bow. “Mrs. Courtney, how delightful to see you here.” Alcohol-laced breath
drifted across the space between them. “Would you do me the honor of allowing me a dance? I’m sure Mr. Parsons wouldn’t mind.” He nodded to George.
George most certainly did mind. Something about the man made him wary. His eyes darted to the side for a split second and George followed the movement to a cluster of men a little way away. When his gaze fell on them, each of them suddenly found something else to look at.
“Good evening, Mr. Fitzgerald,” Millie said. “I go by Miss Ravensworth now. And how lovely of you to offer…”
“But she has a partner,” George interjected firmly.
Millie looked up at him, her expression a mixture of surprise and delight. His reasons for making the situation clear were only partly born out of jealousy, but it was nice to know she approved.
Fitzgerald’s tone was cold. “I think the lady can speak for herself, don’t you?”
Purposely ignoring him, George dipped his head to whisper into her ear. “Would you give us a moment?”
She whispered back, “Certainly not,” and didn’t move.
Although he always loved the way she stood up for herself, he hadn’t wanted her to be hurt by what he had to say. But there was nothing for it now.
Turning back to Fitzgerald, he said, “You won’t get a dance with Miss Ravensworth, so you can go back to your cronies over there and tell them you failed. I reckon you can afford to lose whatever wager you made with them.”
Millie drew in a sharp breath and whirled to look at the group of men. Their attempt at nonchalance was even more unconvincing than the first time.
She turned a glare on Fitzgerald. “I expected better from you, given your sister is a lovely person, but it seems I was wrong. So you can go back to your friends over there and inform them that I will not be the butt of your jokes. And you can furthermore give them this message.”
George’s jaw dropped as her hand flew up and struck a backhanded slap across Fitzgerald’s face. It wasn’t a weak slap either. She’d rotated her shoulders to get some power into it.
Fitzgerald’s head whipped around and he staggered backwards. The men watching them burst into laughter while those in the vicinity not privy to the situation stared in shock.
George wanted to applaud, but he didn’t get the chance before Millie wrapped her arm around his and marched him away.
Throwing a smirk back at Fitzgerald would have been childish and beneath him, but he did it anyway. Fitzgerald, his hand pressed to the cheek Millie had struck, looked far from happy.
“Would you like to leave?” George whispered to her.
“Absolutely not,” she replied, leading him to the dance floor. “I’m not giving them the satisfaction.”
They joined the dancing couples in the center of the room for a while, but it wasn’t the same as it had been before. All the joy seemed to have left her and it broke his heart. He wanted to find Fitzgerald and his ring of overgrown brats and punch each and every one of their smug faces.
“I don’t think you’re enjoying this much,” he remarked after she’d led him in a particularly aggressive polka.
She sighed and glanced around them. Prying eyes darted away. “No. I’m sorry, I’ve ruined the evening for you.”
He touched her chin, gently moving her gaze back to him. “You haven’t ruined anything. I’ll admit, I’m a mite shocked to be saying this, but I’ve enjoyed my first ball. The first half of it, anyway. Dancing with you could become one of my favorite ways to spend time.”
She gave him a small smile. “Mine too.”
If they’d been alone, he would have drawn her close and held her until the happy, bright smile that made his heart pound returned. “Let’s go home.”
Her smile grew a little at that. “Let’s.”
They made their way through the ballroom towards the entrance hall, ignoring the looks they got. From what he now knew of the people Millie socialized with, they’d be gossiped about for weeks. Although he didn’t care in the slightest, he knew that Millie did, and it made him angry.
As they approached the doorway leading out of the room, male voices drifted from the hall.
“I couldn’t believe it when she walked in with him. It seems what little taste and good sense she had left her when her husband did.” It was Fitzgerald who spoke. “I’m surprised Frederick allowed that ruffian in here. As if the Judge’s castoffs make him any better than he is. He’s nothing more than mutton dressed as lamb.”
“Shouldn’t that be beef dressed as veal?” someone else suggested.
There was a smattering of laughter.
“It’s a pity there are no farms nearby. We could have brought a cow in here and watched him rope it for entertainment.”
There was even more laughter.
“Or perhaps he could just rope Millicent.”
Her face a picture of fury, Millie released George’s arm and strode through the doors.
He rushed after her.
“How dare you!”
Fitzgerald and his mob looked round.
“Pardon me, Miss Ravensworth,” one of them said, his speech slurring a touch. “We didn’t know you were there. Nothing was meant by it, I can assure you. Just a bit of fun.” He glanced at George. “You understand, don’t you, Mr. Parsons?”
George pointedly turned away from him. “Let’s go, Millie.”
She threw a glare at them as they passed. George ignored the snickering that followed as soon as their backs were turned.
And then Fitzgerald made a loud mooing sound.
If it had just been him there, George would have kept walking. But mocking Millie went too far.
Whirling round, he marched up to the group of men, making a beeline for Fitzgerald.
The other men scattered as his target stumbled back against a blue velvet couch.
“Is there something you’d like to say to me?” George growled in a low voice.
Fitzgerald’s eyes flicked to his friends, none of whom seemed inclined to offer him any assistance. “Uh, I… don’t know what you mean.”
“It just seems like you’re trying to get my attention.” George leaned forward.
Fitzgerald leaned back. “I, um, n-no.”
“Because when you insult a woman, especially one I care about, you most definitely have my attention.”
Evidently only then realizing that he was cowering, Fitzgerald straightened, tugging at his lapels in an apparent attempt to not look scared out of his wits. “Now you look here, I don’t know how things are done where you’re from, but here in civilization…”
“No, you don’t know how things are done where I’m from,” George snapped. “So let me educate you. Where I’m from, men are shot for far less than what you’ve just done. And we never, ever, go anywhere without our guns.”
Fitzgerald swallowed and glanced down at George’s waist. “Are…” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “Are you carrying a gun now?”
“What do you think?” In actual fact, he wasn’t, but Fitzgerald didn’t need to know that.
As close as George was standing, he could see the sweat breaking out on the man’s forehead.
He swallowed again and looked around George at Millie. “Mrs… ah, Miss Ravensworth, I’m so very sorry about earlier. My behavior was reprehensible.”
“And?” George prompted.
“A-and I’m sorry for the cow sound. Very, very sorry.”
It was probably as good as George was going to get from the man so he stepped away and, without a word, walked back to Millie. A footman hurried up with her wrap and George took it to drape around her shoulders, wrapping one arm around her as he did so.
“Your carriage is on its way around,” the footman said. He eyes darted to the men and he gave George a hint of a nod, one corner of his mouth curling up the tiniest amount.
George gave him a small nod back.
Chapter 9
The carriage ride home was markedly different from their ride there.
Despite having spen
t the majority of the evening with Millie in his arms, George’s mood was darker than the night sky outside. Several times he opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again. He fidgeted on the seat, clenching and unclenching his fists as he stared out the window at the gas-lit streets, until he couldn’t stand it any longer.
“How can you spend your time with people like that?”
Millie started at his sudden outburst, jerking her gaze from the window on her side of the carriage. “They’re not always like that. Most of the time they’re… polite. Civil.”
“Decent folks aren’t just polite to your face,” he muttered, pulling off his necktie and tugging the buttons at his neck undone in an attempt to feel less like he was suffocating.
“They’re not all like that.”
“Oh, really? Just the ones at that ball then?”
She sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know they’d behave like that to you.”
“Didn’t you?” he snapped, more harshly than he’d intended.
Millie frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that it seems to me that you’d know how your friends would behave around me. But that wasn’t the problem. I don’t care what they say about me. I didn’t like how they treated you.”
Her brows drew together. “I didn’t think they’d be so rude.”
“Why do you even tolerate people like that? How can you stand the way they look down on everyone?”
“I know they aren’t the best people in the world…”
“Not even close.”
“…but they’re my friends.”
“I wouldn’t want friends like that.”
“Well they aren’t your friends, they’re mine!” She spun away from him and stared out the carriage window.
George clamped his teeth together to stop himself from saying anything more. He could have said plenty, but it wouldn’t have done any good. Angry as he was, he didn’t want to take it out on Millie.
She was right, they weren’t his friends.
He didn’t belong in her world, and he never would.