“Then she will look like a miserable little chit, not you, deary. I know, I know; that is cold comfort when you are trying to marry the girl off. But don’t concern yourself. If ever a girl knew how to behave to fool others into thinking she is a well-behaved young lady, it is Lady Rowena.”
“I wish I could be sure.” Amy sought out her charge in the crowd. She was dancing a second dance with Lord Newton-Shrewsbury and smiling up at him with a brilliance that had the young man looking dazzled. As her gaze traveled the perimeter of the ballroom, Amy saw more than one male gaze directed her way, including, she found, Lord Pierson’s, who stood off to one side and glared at the couple.
A second later there was a gasp around the ballroom, and dancing in one area stopped completely. Some commotion was taking place.
Lord Pierson was already in action and Amy bolted to her feet, wondering if anyone needed help. She started forward and the crowd, now completely stopped dancing, cleared just enough for her to see the center of the disturbance. Lady Rowena and Lord Newton-Shrewsbury were in a tangled heap on the floor. Amy, without conscious thought, started toward her, watching the panoply as it unfolded.
The gentleman scrambled to his feet first, his face red all the way up to his ears. Some of the ladies who had been dancing just moments before were trying their best to look concerned, but in truth, for all her vaunted perfection, not many of them liked Rowena, so there was more than one hastily concealed smirk. The gentlemen around them looked truly troubled, and a couple were reaching out to her to attempt to disentangle her from her skirts when Pierson struggled through the crowd and reached her.
With an aplomb that Newton-Shrewsbury was unfortunately lacking, Pierson reached down and pulled her gently to her feet and took her arm, escorting her off the floor, toward Amy.
“Are you all right?” Amy asked as the pair approached.
“I’m fine,” Rowena muttered.
Oh dear, Amy thought. She recognized the signs, the two hot scarlet patches high on Rowena’s alabaster cheeks and the grim set to her mouth. Her charge was in a towering rage and any minute would let loose in a stream of verbiage that would come as close to swearing as a lady ever could. Just then, Lord Bainbridge approached.
“What has happened?”
“Lady Rowena fell,” Pierson said.
“I didn’t fall, some dund—” Rowena stopped before she let loose a tirade, though, and clamped her mouth shut.
Amy, holding her breath, watched Rowena’s face as she took in a deep breath. The young lady then attempted a trembling smile as she sank into a chair.
“I don’t quite know what happened,” she said weakly, still clutching Lord Pierson’s hand. “One moment Lord Newton-Shrewsbury and I were dancing, and the next we were on the floor. It almost felt as though he had been blundered into by someone else.”
“Clumsy ox,” Bainbridge said. “Imagine anyone ungainly enough to stagger into someone on the ballroom floor.”
Amy let out her breath as she glanced up and caught the faintest trace of a smile on the marquess’s lips. But he returned her gaze with an innocent expression.
“It’s a good thing you weren’t hurt,” Pierson said, kneeling by Rowena and patting her hand. “You weren’t, were you?”
At that moment the duke strode toward them. “What is going on here? What is this unseemly fuss? Rowena, you misbehaving?”
Amy knew she must say or do something to stem the tide of the duke’s disapproval, or he would undo all of the good work already accomplished. “She just had a nasty spill, your Grace, but is better now.”
“Well, it is the supper dance now. She can recover with young Bainbridge here,” the duke said, pulling his daughter to her feet as if she were so much baggage and thrusting her into the marquess’s arms.
Disastrous. Completely and utterly disastrous; Amy fumed at the duke’s high-handed behavior. But how did one chastise a duke who was also one’s employer? One didn’t, one gritted one’s teeth and . . . Bainbridge dropped her a wink and whispered something to Rowena, whose bottom lip was beginning to jut alarmingly. Sulkily the girl nodded, and Bainbridge then whispered something to Pierson.
The viscount turned to Amy and bowed low. “Miss Corbett, would you do me the honor of allowing me this dance?”
“I . . . I . . .” Amy caught the marquess’s raised eyebrows and nod, and she muttered, “Certainly, my lord.” Anything to leave behind the duke.
As the music started, the two couples joined a set just forming. As they stood waiting, Pierson murmured, “Bain pointed out to me that if we all dance the supper dance, we may go together into the supper room, or walk on the terrace after.”
“Yes, I thought that might be his intent,” Amy said, gazing up at her escort. She supposed she should be grateful that the viscount seemed to have formed an attachment to Rowena in a remarkably short time. He had seen her that day on the steps of the dressmaker’s shop and appeared to have fallen head over ears in love, as ludicrous as that seemed to her. What did he know of her, after all? That she was pretty and well-dressed; that was it. But then, to be fair, what did she, herself, know of him, and yet right this moment, gazing up at him, his golden eyes glowing and his dark hair carelessly swept back, she felt her own heart sorely in danger.
Perhaps that was all there was to the game, then, mere animal attraction, male and female seeking mates. All thought fled as the music swept them away. They were waltzing and Amy was lost. It was a well-acknowledged fact that the grand sweeping movements of that dance were in direct opposition to the human animal’s ability to think and reason.
That is why so many fall in love waltzing, Amy thought, when conscious thought would again be heard.
Pierson’s hand was at her waist and she could feel the warmth seep through. His strong, straight jaw was just above her, and she could feel the flex and move of every sinewy muscle of his shoulder as he effortlessly directed her over the floor. What a lucky girl Rowena was, that such a man as this wanted her so badly.
Rowena! She had completely forgotten to even keep her eye on her charge. What a terrible thing for a chaperone to admit. But then most chaperones did not have to try to keep their mind on their charge while they themselves were being expertly guided over the dance floor in the waltz by the handsomest man present.
“My lord,” Amy said, realizing they had not spoken one word to each other since beginning. “Have you thought more, since our last conversation, about your estate in Kent?”
He gazed down at her. “I seem to be often thinking of my estate in Kent lately.” His tone was mournful, almost.
“I hope all is well with it?”
He shrugged and said, “Who can speak of estate business on the dance floor, Miss Corbett? Do you not enjoy the dance? Is it not intoxicating to you? I thought that was so with every young lady.”
“But it is my responsibility to not let myself be so carried away, my lord, that I forget my duty.” Amy caught sight of Rowena and Lord Bainbridge just then, nearby. They did not appear to be speaking at all, but that was not strange. What would two such different characters, thrust together by necessity, have to speak of?
Pierson had not answered her, and when she looked up it was to find him regarding her with a serious expression. “Did I . . . did I misspeak, my lord, or step on your toes?”
“You seem so very intent on duty, Miss Corbett, and yet you are a young and pretty lady yourself. Have you never had time to just enjoy yourself? Have you never let duty go for just a time?”
Her mouth was dry and Amy swallowed hard, trying to find her voice. It was difficult with his intent gaze and his focus solely on herself like that. “I have been on my own for a long time, my lord. I have found that when I forget about duty, that is the very moment when I will forget that my duty is also to myself. What good will it do me to forget about my obligations when that is the only thing that keeps me employed and able to fend for myself another day?”
“So serious,” he murmured. �
�You need a lesson in enjoyment.”
With that he whirled her and his steps became lighter, his movements more sweeping. Amy, light-headed, lost sight of everything but Lord Pierson, every other person on the dance floor disappearing into a blur of color and movement.
• • •
Pierson had never in his life wanted to make another forget their troubles, but Miss Corbett’s sad little speech about duty, and duty to herself, had made him realize that while he had spent his youth seeking pleasure for himself, she had likely never had a single day devoted to mindless joy and her own fulfillment. He swept her up in the grand movements of the dance and she was as light as a feather, her expression changing in a second from serious and concentrated to giddy and smiling.
Rapidly he swept her through the crowd, finding in his own almost-forgotten skill as a dancer a dizzy enjoyment. There had been a broad expanse of grass down a long slope to the stone-and-marble edifice that was his home, Delacorte. When he was very young he and his playmate, the land steward’s son, had raced down the slope, breathless, tumbling finally, falling and rolling and finally coming to a stop on the lush green grass. It had been such fun he and his friend would make the long climb to the top, just to do it again. The waltz was like that: exhilarating, sweeping, breathless.
He steered his partner through the crowd, aware that people were watching them, but he didn’t care. This was too much fun and Miss Corbett was laughing out loud now at the rapid movement, her head thrown back, her giddy giggles intoxicating to the ear.
But then, inevitably, the music stopped.
It was only then that he realized that his reckless enjoyment would have a price, and not one that he would have to pay this time.
Fifteen
Her heart throbbing wildly, Amy finally felt her dizziness start to subside. She glanced around to find that every eye in the crowd was on her and Lord Pierson where they had come to a stop by the chaperones’ chairs. As was the duke’s leaden gaze.
She dropped her hand from where it rested on Lord Pierson’s shoulder and stepped away from him, appalled at being the center of attention. She caught Mrs. Bower’s eye, but that lady just shrugged and sighed. Lord Bainbridge, at that very moment escorting Rowena, returned to the chaperone chairs and seemed to see what the problem was.
With a quick word to Pierson he turned and bowed to Amy and said, “Miss Corbett, my friend and I would be delighted to escort you ladies to the supper room.”
That broke the spell and the others around them returned to their whispered conversations. The duke grimly said, “Miss Corbett, we shall have a word when we get home.”
“Yes, your Grace,” she said, trembling. She took Lord Pierson’s arm and walked swiftly away.
The supper room, a long chamber with tables at one end laden with meats and breads and sweets, was overly warm, or so it felt to Amy. She sat at a small table with Rowena while the gentlemen went to fill their plates, her mind abuzz with fear and worry.
Rowena glared relentlessly in another direction. Amy had a feeling even her charge was furious with her for making a spectacle of herself, and more especially with the gentleman she had singled out as her current beau.
But that concern could not hold her attention when she thought about the duke’s thunderous expression and ominous pronouncement. Was this it, then? Her few moments of absolute enjoyment in Lord Pierson’s arms could be the end of all her hopes for the Season. The duke, as impetuous as his daughter and imperious in his own right, would let her go.
She would be released from her employment with no recommendation and nowhere to go, for no one would dare hire the Duke of Sylverton’s cast-off. If the duke chose to give her the wages owed her so far it would not keep her beyond a few weeks at the most, and then what? The workhouse? Her home parish and the poor list?
Or to become a burden on her poor Aunt Marabelle?
What had possessed Lord Pierson to suddenly whirl her like that in a wild dance the like of which those gathered had never seen?
Too many questions and no answers. Too much heat, too much noise. Amy felt the sickness well up in her and for a moment she thought she would compound the hideousness of the evening by fainting. All her careful plans for naught, only to become the cynosure of all eyes, the one thing a chaperone should never be.
She would need to make a plan for the future, but for the moment, all she could think of was—
Hadn’t it been grand for those few moments at least to be in Lord Pierson’s arms and to be recklessly joyous?
• • •
“What were you thinking, you idiot?” Bainbridge whispered fiercely to Pierson while they made up plates for the two ladies. “You’ve made that poor girl into a pariah and spectacle. The duke could ruin her, if he chooses.”
“I don’t know what I was thinking; I don’t know, I don’t know!” Pierson muttered as he wielded a pair of tongs to lift lobster patties onto a plate. He paused and thought back to the moment and the madness that had overtaken him. “I just know that we had been speaking, and I looked down into her eyes—very pretty eyes, really, if a little crossed—and I realized that the girl had probably never had a moment’s pure fun in her life without worrying. It’s damnable. She is rather lovely, and really very young yet. Younger than you and I, anyway. And so I thought, on an impulse . . . and she laughed, Bain.” Stricken, he looked up into his friend’s face. “She laughed aloud and I was right; I don’t think she’s ever had that before, just to let go and enjoy.”
“Yes, well, now, judging from the old duke’s look, she will certainly be ‘let go.’ He looked like thunder. You have to have known, Pierson, that it just isn’t the done thing. I mean, dancing is one thing; that, indeed, was stretching it, for not many of the chaperones dance. But in that wild manner, careening around the dance floor like the veriest hoyden—”
“I know,” Pierson said wearily, dropping the lobster patty onto the plate. “Leave off, Bain.” He glanced toward the table where Lady Rowena and Miss Corbett sat. “My impetuosity has had a heavy toll this time. Do you really think the duke will let her go?”
Bainbridge regarded them through the maze of tables. “I think there is every possibility, but if Lady Rowena should intercede, it may be all right. We don’t know what the duke is like but I have heard that he is a hard old piece of flint. And precipitate. But surely his daughter could turn his anger.”
They began back toward the table with the plates. Anger flooded Pierson’s heart as he caught sight of the two young ladies and saw the distress evident in Miss Corbett’s very posture, her shoulders slumped and her hands clenched in her lap. “I swear, Bain, if that ass, the duke, should toss Miss Corbett out, we must do something for her. I must do something for her. But damned if I know what. I haven’t an acquaintance in the world but the immoral type, not a one who could help the girl out with a position. But p’raps you, or your mother—”
“I can imagine explaining that to my mother,” Bain said grimly. “But I could try, I suppose. Harriet would help. She’s a good egg, and calm in a crisis.”
They reached the table and both men made a move to lay their plate in front of Lady Rowena.
“Pierson, you dolt,” Bainbridge muttered. “Yours is for Miss Corbett, your partner on the dance floor.”
“Oh, yes,” Pierson stammered. “I beg pardon, Miss Corbett.”
Her cheeks were pink and she would not meet his eyes. He regretted terribly making her the focus of censure and wished he could say so, but couldn’t think of a way without embarrassing her further. And yet he must find a way to tell her that if she suffered for his actions, he would move heaven and earth to make it right for her. Then he glanced at Lady Rowena and all further thought was lost from his head.
What a princess she looked, daintily picking through the delicacies on her plate. Poor dear, too, just recovering from that spill on the floor with that lout, Newton-Shrewsbury. At least the idiot had disappeared after his clumsiness, likely too embarrassed to be
seen by Lady Rowena. She glanced up at him and smiled, her tiny rosebud lips curving upward sweetly. She took up her glass of wine-colored ratafia and raised it to her lips, her every movement a seductive ballet.
And poured the whole glass down the front of her chin and dress.
“Damnation!” she shrieked, leaping to her feet, dark wine dribbling down her chin and the bodice of her lovely gown. “Who jogged my arm?”
Miss Corbett was at her side in a second and took her by the arm, murmuring soothing words. Bainbridge, concern on his handsome face, was on her other side.
“My lady, how terrible; your lovely gown!” He took the empty glass from her hand and set it on the table.
Lady Rowena, that brief outcry her only concession to the shock of the event, was taking deep and shuddering breaths, her cheeks mottled by two high red patches on her cheekbones. Miss Corbett was dabbing ineffectually at her chin and then her stained dress. Around them many at other tables were chuckling or laughing outright at the duke’s daughter’s continuing misfortune.
“I think it is best if we just go,” the chaperone said. “It has been a trying night all around.”
“I don’t wish to go,” Rowena said in her most stubborn and queenly accents.
Pierson gazed at her in admiration. She looked truly lovely with her bosom heaving and those two rosy patches on her cheeks.
“But, my lady,” Miss Corbett said, glancing around in alarm, “your gown is such that a trip to the repair room will not suffice, I fear.”
“I wish a walk on the terrace.”
“May I volunteer my services as your escort?” Pierson said hastily, as Bainbridge cleared his throat.
Lady Rowena dimpled as her cheeks lost some of their violent red. “That would be delightful.”
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