by Joyce Alec
Ellen’s shoulders slumped. “Oh.”
“You do not understand, of course,” Charlotte said, with a broad smile. “You see, Lord Hartley is well known to have men all over London chasing after him, determined that he is to pay them what he owes. He claims that he simply forgets, but the ton have been whispering that he is, in fact, entirely out of funds. We have thought him as poor as a church mouse for some time, but now, it seems, he truly did forget to pay them his dues.”
“Or he enjoyed the chase,” Ellen suggested, with a small sigh. “I do not think this is so great an achievement as you think, Charlotte. A gentleman ought to pay his debts in a timely manner.”
Charlotte laughed, linking arms with Ellen. “But that is precisely what I mean,” she replied with a smile. “He has never been considered a true gentleman before now, and here he is, doing just what he should have done in order to try and make amends. I believe his transformation is almost complete – and who would have thought that such a rogue would have changed in such an astonishing way!”
Ellen chewed her lip thoughtfully, her gaze drifting around the park as more of the ton came to walk along the paths. “I am not so sure that I believe him,” she admitted quietly. “What if he is not as he seems? What if this is all some kind of ruse?”
“Ruse?” Charlotte repeated with a frown. “What would he gain from doing such a thing?”
Ellen could not answer, giving a slight shake of her head. “I do not precisely know, but something does not sit well with me about all this, Charlotte.”
Charlotte frowned and tossed her head. “I think you are being much too severe with him, Ellen. I, for one, am delighted to see him consider his life and his future with a great deal more severity than he has ever done before. I think it best for his title and his extended family.”
“Of course,” Ellen said soothingly. “I suppose I am a little less trusting than you, Charlotte, simply because I have not been within society for as long as you.” It was a poor excuse, but one that her friend seemed to accept, her frown fading away.
“Then I think you may have to express your doubts about his character to him in person,” Charlotte said, after a few minutes of silence. “Look, is that not him coming this way?”
Ellen’s whole body tensed at once, as she saw him striding toward them, although he did not immediately look in their direction. He was gazing at someone – or something – across the park and, when his gaze returned toward them, she saw him hesitate for a moment before smiling broadly, coming to a stop just in front of them.
“Good afternoon, Lady Charlotte. Good afternoon, Lady Ellen.”
Ellen curtsied, surprised that she felt a little disappointment in that he did not allow his gaze to linger on her.
“Are you out to take the air?” Charlotte asked, with a bright smile. “I confess that I enjoy the sunshine, although I am always careful to hide my face from its light.”
He chuckled. “Freckles are not to be borne, I understand.”
“No, indeed,” Charlotte replied firmly.
Lord Hartley smiled. “You would be just as beautiful with freckles, I daresay, Lady Charlotte.”
She returned his smile, shooting a sharp glance toward Ellen, as though proving to her that Lord Hartley was, in fact, now a true gentleman.
“Might I walk with you for a time?” he asked, glancing from one to the next.
“You do not wish to continue on your way?” Ellen asked, aware that he had been walking in quite the opposite direction.
A flash of hurt crossed his face, but he immediately smiled to hide it, leaving Ellen feeling rather guilty.
“It was just an acquaintance I wished to talk to,” he explained, “but from how slowly they are walking, I would guess that they will be here for some time.”
“Then you are most welcome to join us,” Charlotte replied, with a sharp look toward Ellen. “We were just talking about what truly makes a gentleman. Perhaps you might give us your thoughts?”
Ellen felt her face burn, as he fell into step beside her, Charlotte’s frankness bringing her nothing more than embarrassment. Would he guess that they had been talking of him?
He cleared his throat, shrugging his shoulders. “I confess that I cannot say much about what a gentleman should be, since I have been failing to live up to such standards for some time.”
“But you are making amends now,” Charlotte protested brightly. “Everyone is aware of it.”
“Are they?” He sounded surprised, making Ellen frown. “I would have thought that such a thing would have been glossed over by another piece of gossip.”
“Maybe there has been nothing juicier,” Charlotte said and laughed, making him chuckle. “However, I must say that I think it a very good thing, my lord. You have surprised us all, and I am quite sure you do not intend to return to your previous way of living.”
He shook his head, his expression and words firm and sure. “Certainly, I do not,” he declared, his voice ringing with truth. “I have seen the error of my ways and turned my back on them forever.”
Charlotte and Lord Hartley continued their conversation for some time, leaving Ellen to walk alongside, remaining utterly silent. She was not quite sure what to make of Lord Hartley, and especially what to do with Charlotte’s warmth toward him. Her friend had no doubt of his intentions, believing him to be honest and true when he stated clearly that he had seen the error of his way. And yet, she could not find the same belief.
“Oh, there is Lady Martha!” Charlotte exclaimed suddenly, turning to face Ellen. “You will not mind if I hurry ahead to catch her?”
“No,” Ellen replied automatically, suddenly realizing she would be left to walk with Lord Hartley alone. “I will follow behind until you are ready to return home.”
Charlotte grinned and bid Lord Hartley good day, before hurrying up the path toward a resplendent young lady in a sapphire walking dress.
“You do not know Lady Martha?” Lord Hartley asked, as Ellen continued to walk slowly.
She shook her head. “No, not yet. I am sure I will be acquainted with her soon, however. Charlotte sometimes forgets that I do not know all those she does.”
“I see,” he said quietly. “To be truthful, Lady Ellen, I am glad to have you alone for a moment.”
“Oh?” Her heart quelled in fright for a moment, wondering if he would either berate her for her distinct lack of belief in him – although she did not know how he would be aware of such a thing – or if he might try to press his attentions on her again.
He cleared his throat and gave her a sidelong glance. “I am throwing a ball in a few days’ time,” he began quietly. “I have an invitation for you here.” He patted his breast pocket but did not remove it. “I was not sure whether or not you would be pleased with such an invitation, and so I have kept it with me in the hope that I might speak to you about it and decipher your feelings on the matter. I did not want to offend you.”
Ellen blinked, trying to make sense of what he had said. He thought she would be offended to receive an invitation from him? Was she truly appearing to be that callous, that cold hearted, when it was clear that he was making as much effort as he could to change?
“I would not be offended with such an invitation,” she said, after a minute or two. “It is very kind of you to think of me.”
“Your friend, Lady Charlotte, has an invitation too, of course,” he continued, sounding quite relieved. “I would be very glad to have you both join me at the ball – along with your mothers, of course.”
“Of course,” Ellen echoed, realizing that she had just accepted his invitation. They walked in silence for a few minutes, with Ellen scrambling to think of something to say, something to ask. For whatever reason, she found herself confused by his presence, struggling to align her thoughts into coherent order. To be asked to his ball was one thing, but to consider attending was quite another – and yet, somehow, she had managed to accept.
“I am very glad that you appear
to have forgiven me for my past misdemeanors,” he said after a time. “Your kindness and compassion I do not deserve.”
“You need not continue to mention it, Lord Hartley,” Ellen replied, with a touch more firmness than she had intended. “That is all in the past, and as you can see, I have just accepted an invitation from you, which should inform you that I have quite forgotten the matter.”
He paused in his steps and looked up at her, making her come to a sudden stop. She turned to face him, seeing the uncertainty in his expression.
“Might I hope that you will be willing to dance with me at the ball?” he asked softly. “Just one dance, of course. It would truly mean the world to me.”
Her throat closed up. She could not think of a response. Her heart was hammering, her thoughts loud and clamoring to be heard.
“I will give you time to think about it,” he said, evidently seeing her struggle. “Thank you, Lady Ellen. I bid you good day, and I very much look forward to seeing you at my ball in a few days’ time.” So saying, he took the invitation from his breast pocket and handed it to her, bowed, and then without another word, took his leave.
7
George looked down at the ballroom miserably.
This was his own ball, his very own event, and here he was, filled with melancholy.
She had not come.
Cursing under his breath, Georg threw back the rest of his champagne and set the glass down on the small table to his left. By rights, he ought to be down there, filing up as many dance cards as he could and making as much of the night as he could.
And yet, all he had hoped for was for Lady Ellen to appear.
Passing one hand over his eyes, George tried not to berate himself for his foolishness, reminding himself that this was all to achieve his aim of being proven right and so that he would not have to pay for Lord Morton’s tab at White’s, which, he was sure, was quite substantial. The money, of course, mattered not a jot to him, but it was his name, his standing, his reputation as a man who could have any lady he wished, that he desired to secure.
Or was it?
Hating the sudden question in his mind, George tried to find pleasure in the things he usually did – the beautiful, innocent debutantes, the shy smiles, the fluttering of their fans – but nothing made him smile. All he wanted was to see Lady Ellen.
She had not come to his ball.
Why did that bring him such a degree of pain? He felt almost hurt by her absence, as though she had not yet forgiven him even though she had promised him she had. But given that his apology and all of his actions since then had merely been a ruse in order to get her into his arms, why should he mind if her acceptance of his apology had been nothing more than a lie of her own?
Groaning, George leaned heavily on the rail and drew in a few long breaths. It was as though he were changing from the outside in, although his mind was unwilling to accept such a change. His fine clothes, cut and styled to the latest fashions, had merely been an attempt to show that he was now much more serious, much less ridiculous, but it appeared to have had more of an influence on him than he had expected. He did not want to change and certainly did not want to have any kind of sentiment for Lady Ellen. Once he had kissed her, once the bet had been won, then George had planned to return to his former life. He had no intention of continuing with this façade of a sensible, boring gentleman.
The way Lady Ellen had looked at him, as he had handed her his invitation came to his mind. She was tremendously beautiful, with a gentle vibrancy that had caught his eye. The stunned look in her eyes, the tremor of her mouth, as she had struggled to think of what to say in response to his invitation, had made her appear vulnerable and soft. Not the hard-hearted, brutally spoken Lady Ellen he had once known. George had often found himself thinking of her in a tender light, as he had made the final preparations for the ball, but each time he had shaken his head and tried to rid her from his thoughts.
Mayhap it would be best to admit to Lord Morton that he could not do as he had said. The bet would be lost, his money due to White’s, and Lord Morton would, of course, laugh himself silly before telling anyone he could what had passed between them. It would mean a little embarrassment for a time, but at least then he would not have to continue thinking of Lady Ellen. His mind would be emptied of her, his thoughts entirely fixed on where he might find his next card game or which lady he hoped to press his attentions on. He could return to things as he liked them, with no concern for his foolish heart any longer.
Lifting his chin, George stared out across the ballroom, his eyes lifting above the guests to linger on the candles lit all across the room. Could he bring himself to be that kind of man? To lose the bet, to have his reputation spoiled, his friends and acquaintances laughing at his inability to steal a single kiss from a young lady?
“I shall tell Lord Morton tonight,” he muttered to himself, his hands loosening on the rail as his resolve grew. “Once the ball is over, I shall find him out and speak plainly.” Hurrying toward the staircase that would lead him to the ballroom, George descended quickly, his jaw firm. Tonight would be an end to all of his games. His old life beckoned him, and he was not about to ignore its call any longer.
And then, she was there.
George stood still on the steps, his hand frozen on the handrail. She was descending carefully with her mother by her side, a pale green gown adorning her figure. Her hair had been piled up onto the top of her head, with her deep red curls cascading down her shoulders. Her long, white gloves added to the perfect picture she made, every inch the proper, correct young woman.
George felt his heart turn over.
Unaccustomed to any kind of feeling entering his heart, George remained exactly where he was for a moment, his mouth going dry, as his eyes followed her into the ballroom. She was, of course, immediately accosted by a few gentlemen all seeking a dance with her – and it was this that had George moving with a sudden, quick pace.
He came to stand beside them both, bowing carefully to the Countess of Fancot. He wanted to appear every inch the gentleman.
“Lady Fancot, Lady Ellen,” he said, with a warm smile. “I am delighted that you were both able to attend this evening.”
“But of course,” the countess replied, with no smile touching her lips. “We would not have ignored your invitation, Lord Hartley.”
“Thank you, you are very kind,” George replied, aware of how much scrutiny he was under from the countess. “And Lady Ellen, might I ask if you have any room left in your dance card?”
Her cheeks filled with color. “My lord, I have not yet been in the ballroom for more than ten minutes. You cannot think that I would have all the dances filled by this point in the evening.”
George inclined his head. “My dear Lady Ellen, I think you much too beautiful and much too delightful a lady to be in any way ignored by the other gentlemen at my ball. It would not surprise me in the least had you already given all your dances away.”
Apparently, he had said something that brought the countess some happiness, for she gave him a warm smile – the first he had received from her.
“You are too kind, Lord Hartley,” Lady Ellen murmured, looking away from him.
George drew in a breath, hoping that Lady Ellen would not refuse him. All thoughts of telling Lord Morton that he conceded defeat had gone from his mind the moment he had laid eyes on her. This was the moment he would know if she had truly forgiven him, and if she had honestly begun to believe that he had changed his character for the better.
“Lady Ellen, might I secure a dance with you?” he asked quietly, keeping his eyes fixed on her. “It would be an honor to have you as my partner.” He did not ask for two dances and certainly did not suggest the waltz, knowing that this was not the time to ask for any kind of intimacy.
She hesitated for a moment, shooting a quick glance up toward her mother, who gave the tiniest of nods.
“I believe I have a few dances that have remained open,” she said, hold
ing out her dance card to him. “You may choose whichever you wish.”
Buoyed by the relief and happiness he felt, George took her dance card and put his name down for the quadrille.
“Thank you, Lady Ellen,” he said, handing her the card back. “You do me a great honor in accepting this.”
She gave him a small smile but did not say another word. Seeing that there were other gentlemen seeking her company for a dance, George gave a short bow and stepped aside, registering the small measure of surprise on her face as he did so. What had she been expecting? Did she think that he would have put his name down for two dances, demanded a waltz, and then held her much too close? He would have done just that, had he not been trying so hard to convince her that he was not the rogue she thought him.
It was difficult, however, for George to avoid the other ladies who sought out his company – particularly those for whom he had made himself available on previous occasions. There were plenty of fluttering fans and warm smiles sent his way, but George did his utmost to ignore them. He nodded but did not pursue, seeing the disappointment, and on occasion, annoyance, that he did not turn toward them as they had expected. He had to do this for Lady Ellen’s sake, to prove to her that he was no longer the rake. That meant pushing away all vices, no longer allowing them to have the same hold over him that they once had.
It was a trial, but one that he declared himself the victor of. As he strode toward Lady Ellen, aware that it was his turn to take her as his dance partner, he saw her eyes linger on him for a moment, as though confused by what she had seen. He hoped she had witnessed how he had turned away from the other ladies, how he had ignored the batting of their eyelashes, the coyness of their smiles.
“Lady Ellen,” he murmured, bowing low. “I believe it is to be our dance.”
“Indeed, it is,” she replied, with no hint of a smile. “Thank you, Lord Hartley.”
Feeling rather confident, George held out his arm to her, and with only a second of hesitation, she took it. The warmth of her gloved hand seeped through and onto his skin, and something in his heart broke open.