by Laura Locke
“My lady,” he said. His voice sounded a little hoarse, and Pauline cleared her own throat, aware of a lump forming.
“Lieutenant.”
The dance began, a slow sarabande that set the couples gliding across marble tiles. Pauline moved through the steps with the effortless grace of long practice. She could have performed this particular dance in her sleep, which was a good thing. Her thoughts were not on the motions, nor the couples who drifted elegantly past, but on the man she danced with.
It seems as if he likes me as well as I do him!
Pauline was surprised that she found that so unexpected, but it was. In her imagination, a man so attractive would either be wed or too arrogant to let his feelings show like this.
He is a mere lieutenant. She reminded herself of that sternly. Yet, the way he danced, with such fluid, practiced grace, made her wonder. He dances better than many lords I know.
As they passed each other in a turn, hands lifting to meet, palm-to-palm, Pauline felt as if she had strayed into a dream. He was Romeo, she Juliet and they were in an enchanted place in which no other but themselves could penetrate. The other couples were shadows only. His eyes were the only truth.
He was staring into her eyes, too; a half-smile on those thin, perfectly-formed lips that seemed to echo her thoughts. She felt her heart thump as she met his gaze. He smiled at her and she smiled back, hesitantly, feeling as if day broke within her, warm and melting her.
“Pauline?”
A small voice in her ear shook her attention. Pauline turned, dreamily, to find Cornelia at her elbow, frowning earnestly.
“What, cousin? Oh...”
As she looked about, Pauline realized that the dance had ended. The other couples were softly drifting from the dance-floor, leaving she and the lieutenant stranded there, staring into each others' eyes.
“We should join Aunt over by the refreshments,” Cornelia observed.
Pauline flushed, following her gaze. Her mother was standing at the refreshments table, fanning herself. She had a vexed expression on her face, and Pauline sighed, expecting the torrent of rebuke that would be poured on her. “Indeed, Cornelia.”
“My lady,” the lieutenant said earnestly, turning to her with that soft, melting smile. “I will escort you..?”
“No, I'll go myself,” Pauline said quickly, not wanting to expose the poor man to her mother's scathing glance. “It shouldn't be long.”
“Well, I shall wait for you to return, before I dance again.”
Pauline flushed and bobbed a curtsey, her heart aching as she turned away. “Thank you, sir.”
I would do best not to dance another with him.
Still feeling flushed and warm, she followed Cornelia across the marble floor.
“...and did you see Lieutenant Westcote? He dances like a virtuoso!”
Pauline smiled distractedly. “I think you mean a proficient,” she suggested. Cornelia looked at her with a little frown. “Virtuoso is for musicians, usually,” Pauline explained.
Cornelia laughed. “Well, whatever he is! He's got me all flustered, you see?”
Pauline chuckled, letting her cousin's playful outlook calm her down before she met with her mother's outburst.
“Pauline,” Mother said, the moment she approached her. “I see you've been dancing already?”
“Yes, mother.” Pauline said lightly. “It is what one's meant to do, not so?”
Her mother laughed. “Indeed so. Well, be sure to save room on your card. I understand from Lady Houghton that Lord Stanmore might have been delayed.”
“Oh.” Relief flowed through Pauline at the mildness of her mother's comment. “Well, I shall reserve space for Lord Stanmore, of course...”
“...who has been waiting for your attentions this while,” a voice spoke from behind her, making her whip round.
“Oh! Lord Stanmore,” she said, dropping into a curtsey to hide her consternation. How long had he been here? Did he see her with Lieutenant Harrington?
“My lady,” he said. His voice was uncharacteristically cool as he bowed to her politely.
He saw me. Pauline met his gaze steadily, ignoring the sense of foreboding in her heart. “You were held up in Braxley?” she asked instead.
“I came on time. My business concluded faster than I expected.” His voice was cool.
“Oh. Good,” Pauline observed faintly. He's angry with me. I can feel it. But why? It is a ball, for Heaven's sake! She surprised herself by feeling annoyed.
“If I could reserve the Polonaise?” Cornelius asked.
“Of course,” Pauline replied. “Is it up next?” she frowned at her dance-card.
“The one after next,” he noted. “It's another slow one next. I do hate these dreary slow dance things. Give me something jolly, please! Hunts and balls, now they are the stuff of life...I can't be doing with all this dreepy sentimentality.” he snorted.
Pauline schooled her face to neutrality. It's no wonder I don't like him. He's as romantic as a doorstop. “You have a sanguine outlook.” she said mildly.
“Sanguine?” he snorted. “Now there's another fancy word. I'm hot-blooded, yes! Unashamedly. I can't do with all these bookish sorts, with all their fancy words.”
Pauline felt her brows raise and tried to stifle her rising temper. “Reading is not a sin, my lord.”
“It is in my opinion!” he said loudly. “A man must hunt and ride! That's the way! Not all this indoor nonsense. Reading, poetry...It's for weeping women and old ladies.”
That was it. Possessive and demanding was one thing, but to insult her was another. Pauline read more often than anything else, and often wrote poetry. That was too much. She looked at him frostily. “I think, sir, I would like to take the air. It's overly warm in here.” She turned and walked away, back straight, dark-haired head held high.
Unthinking, boorish, primitive...Her mind ran out of words as she crossed the room, steps crisp with anger. She stood on the other side of the hall from him, opposite the window, breathing in long, full breaths of clean air. Outside, the summer dusk was just settling on the garden, the cool greens and shadowy blues calming her thoughts.
“My lady?”
She turned, recognizing the voice. Her heart danced. “Yes, Lieutenant?”
“If I may ask what makes you so lost in thought?” he smiled. His blue eyes were gentle and a little hesitant, as if expecting her to turn away from him.
“Nothing, really,” she sighed. “Just too many choices.” She could not tell him what.
“Oh, I hate choices,” he noted ruefully. “I always think too much about the possible drawbacks to every choice. Then I can't decide!” he laughed.
“Me too!” Pauline said, surprised; feeling her somber mood melt to laughter.
“Well, we are a sorry pair!” he smiled ruefully. “No way between us of making up our minds. Though, there is one choice which I find easy. If you would dance the next dance with me, my lady?”
Pauline smiled, her heart thawing; joy, tremulous and soft, returning to it. “Indeed, my lord.” she paused. “The one before the Polonaise?”
“As you wish.” he raised a shoulder. “I am open all evening.”
“I am pleased, Lieutenant,” Pauline said warmly. “I find my choices easier, this evening at least.”
He frowned, then understood her meaning. He flushed. “Thank you, my lady. I would ask for the whole card of dances, were it not impolite to dance too long with one partner.”
Pauline felt her heart flip over. She smiled.
“Lieutenant, I feel the same.”
As they twirled through the graceful, slow steps of the rondo together, Pauline felt her nervous worries resurfacing. She should not be doing this. Her mother wanted her to dance with Cornelius; to aim at wedding him. They drifted past the watching guests in slow motion and she felt a pair of eyes upon her. She looked up to see Cornelius, blue eyes frosty and, as they looked at Lieutenant Harrington, narrowed with a look of hate.
Why? P
auline frowned. Yes, she was dancing with him. But he was, after all, only a lieutenant. He was unlikely to be a man her parents would support as a husband. Why would Cornelius hate him? He was, after all, no threat.
As the evening wore on and she danced, woodenly, with Cornelius, and then with Captain Bensfield, a family friend, she could not shake that narrow gaze of hate from her mind.
Why would Cornelius hate him?
The more she tried to answer the question, the more it plagued her and, in the end, Pauline set it from her mind. As she sat down with her mother and cousin to take some refreshments, listening to the light, witty chatter around her, she allowed her thoughts to revisit the moments of the dance with Lieutenant Harrington.
There is a man I could come to love.
It was a tragedy – a terrible one – that he was not in her social sphere.
Chapter 4
The next day, Lady Braxton declared that it was high time the family did some entertaining.
“This place is feeling like a museum!2 she declaimed loudly over breakfast that morning. “No-one comes in, everything stays just where we put it...horrible!”
“I think museums are more characterized by having artifacts inside,” Lord Braxton opined. She glared at him and they both laughed.
“You know what I mean, husband,” she said, with mock exasperation. “It's high time we had a tea party.”
“I won't argue, my dear,” he nodded slowly. “Well, what say you to this afternoon? Never too soon, eh?”
“Well! That sounds perfect!” Lady Braxton exclaimed, setting aside her teacup. “Girls? What say you?”
Pauline looked up from her embroidery. “I don't see why not, Mama,” she agreed. She had been lost in thought. The ball and her dance with Lieutenant Harrington played round her head.
It's just a pity Lieutenant Harrington cannot attend also.
Always a stickler for propriety, her mother was unlikely to invite the local gentry to share tea time with a cavalry lieutenant who – as far as anyone knew – had risen there by merit, not because he was a noble man. It shows how silly propriety can sometimes be.
“Can I wear my white gown?” Cornelia asked. “The new one? It's my first time trying it!” she looked excited.
Lady Braxton grinned. “Well, it's nice to see someone excited! I'll see if Mrs. Franklin downstairs can make a tea with what we have in the larder.” she stood and, brushing her hands down long ocher-brown skirts, headed to the kitchen to talk with the cook.
Pauline and Cornelia looked at each other, surprised.
“Well, I didn't expect to be attending a party this afternoon,” Pauline mused.
“Nor I!” Cornelia said. “Our gowns still need another fitting, don't they, Cousin?”
“Well, we could call Mrs. Pearson to finish them now.”
“Yes! That's perfect!”
Pauline most of the morning in the drawing-room, Mrs. Pearson making fine adjustments to her new gown. Also white, it had puffed sleeves and the neck was square-cut.
“It's so lovely, Pauline,” Cornelia gushed. “I wish I had your neck!” She looked at Pauline's long, elegant neck wistfully.
“You're beautiful, Cornelia,” Pauline assured her. “And one day I hope you meet someone who tells you so often that you cannot possibly ignore it.”
Cornelia smiled happily and hugged her cousin. “Oh, thank you, cousin! I pray the same for you.”
Pauline smiled fondly. “That's very sweet of you.”
They went down to the downstairs parlor, where Lady Braxton had the tea laid out. She was there herself, resplendent in a saffron gown that made a delightful contrast with her reddish hair.
“Oh, Pauline, thank goodness,” she said, relieved. “You can help me get the tables positioned properly. I thought to open the doors to the terrace – it's so warm out we can spill out onto the lawns...what say you?”
Pauline nodded. “Yes. Let's do that.”
She advised servants and arranged a vase of summery flowers while her mother ordered the tables carried out onto the terrace and supervised the layout of the tea things.
Mother would have been an excellent officer, had they been taking women into the army. She smiled. Her mother was a born organizer. She thrived in the busy environment. As she watched her, she noticed the housekeeper heading her way.
“Miss Pauline?”
“Yes, Mrs. Marwell?”
“The guests are starting to arrive.”
“Oh! Heavens...” Pauline glanced sideways at Cornelia, who nodded and followed her out into the hallway. “I'm just going to welcome the guests,” she said.
“I'll tell you what. You start welcoming; I'll fetch your mama.” Cornelia hurried away even as Pauline nodded gratefully.
Here they come. She scraped a stray curl off her brow and turned to face the guests, a smile plastered onto her face.
“Oh! Good afternoon, Lady Houghton,” Pauline said effusively. “May I say how lovely you look?”
“Oh, thank you, Pauline. You always look pretty.”
“Thank you. Did you see how beautifully the lilies are flowering?” she asked. “I'm so glad you sent your gardener round with them. They're such a lovely border for the summer season...”
She gushed on, talking about anything she could think of. She was playing for time so her mother could set the place in order before they all arrived. As she finally released the last guest from her net of conversation, she noticed someone waiting hesitantly in the drive.
Who is that?
She narrowed her eyes. Whoever he was, he was tall and dressed in a grayish blue coat white trousers, a hat under his arm. Something about his posture, so hunched and uncertain, made her think he wasn't sure of a welcome.
“Mr. Hargrave?” she said to a passing footman.
“Yes, milady?”
“Would you show that man to the front door, please?”
“Very good, milady.”
Pauline watched as the footman led him to the steps. She stared as his face came into focus. It was him. Lieutenant Harrington.
“Pauline? Auntie says that...” Cornelia began behind her. Pauline turned quickly.
“Cornelia? Could you take over?” she asked. “I'll come right back.” Lifting her skirts out of the way, she climbed quickly down the stairs and reached where the footman remonstrated with the tall officer.
“What is the trouble?” she asked, looking from one to the other. Her heart was pounding with nerves – what would her mother say if she saw here here?
“My lady,” Lieutenant Harrington began, bowing low.
“He says he's not invited, my lady,” the footman said at the same time. Pauline frowned.
“Well, he's right. But...could you let me handle this?” she asked.
“Very good, my lady.”
The footman hurried off, leaving them alone together. Pauline looked up into the blue eyes of the handsome officer. He smiled, hesitantly, turning his blue hat in his hands.
“I heard you...”
“Did you see...”
They spoke together and then both grinned.
“I'm sorry, my lady,” Lieutenant Harrington said, lean face flushed at the cheeks. “Please, continue. My manners are terrible.”
Pauline grinned at him. “They are not bad,” she said naughtily. “What I wished to say was that we are having a tea-party here. I wondered if you saw.”
“Well, yes,” he nodded. “In fact, I'm here to convey the apologies of my captain. He said he would have come today, but he's got a message from London and he has to start training new recruits. Absolutely true, I assure you,” he nodded, grin broadening. “I saw the dispatch with these my eyes.”
Pauline felt her grin broaden. “I'm pleased it wasn't an excuse,” she chuckled. “But lieutenant! Since your captain cannot attend, then...”
“Yes?” he asked, eyes bright.
“Well, I see no reason why you should not come.” She said it softly, not quite believing her
own daring. She was Pauline, sensible elder sister. Since when did she take such risks? She felt her cheeks flush pink and looked up.
He was smiling at her. “My lady, I accept.”
Pauline grinned. “But we shall have to avoid Mama seeing you,” she noted. “Though I think she wouldn't know you in your everyday things.”
Valerian smiled broadly. “Mayhap not. Well, we shall try it. Does she know my name?”
“I don't think so,” she commented.
“Well then,” he said, eyes sparkling. “I shall be Valerian, Lord Harrington. Do you think it's work?” he teased.
Pauline giggled. “You could try. But no, Valerian, tell them your proper name. I don't want her to be vexed with me.”
He looked crestfallen for an instant and she felt guilty. Then he smiled again. “Very well. I shall tell her what I told you. I'll also say that I'd be happy to make up for the lack of guests from the militia. Will that do it, you think?”
Pauline beamed. “Yes! I'll come too in case you fluff your lines.”
He grinned at her and suddenly they were co-conspirators in a delicious bit of mischief. Heart thumping in her chest, Pauline hurried into place with Cornelia on the stairs.
“Ah! Hello, Lord Beresford. Lovely you and your wife could join us.”
“Charmed, Lady Pauline. Ah! My lady.” He bowed to Lady Braxton, who had just arrived. Pauline slipped into line beside her mother.
She watched as another couple she vaguely knew approached up the steps, then caught her breath. Valerian was next.
“Ah,” her mother said, frowning. “Good afternoon, um..?”
“My lady.” He bowed low over her hand. “I am Lieutenant Harrington from the First Cavalry Regiment. Forgive me, but I bring excuses from my captain, Captain Cartwright. He cannot attend today.”
“Oh.” Lady Braxton frowned. Pauline knew she was likely disappointed – Captain Cartwright was a good friend of her father's. The fact that he was also brother of a baronet made him welcome at such gatherings.
“My apologies,” he continued. He caught Pauline's eye and the corner of his mouth lifted up. She had to stifle a giggle as he launched into an exact copy of the speech from earlier. “I'd be happy to make up for the lack of guests from the militia.” he said.