Unnoticed

by Amanda Deed

  The silence in the hall finally caught up to Price and he hurriedly continued with a stutter, mentioning other generous donors and thanking the public for their support in attending the ball. As he stepped down during a round of hearty applause, several folk approached him to compliment him on the speech.

  All too soon, the music started up again and Price watched in helpless wonder as Jane moved onto the floor with Napoleon. Would he even get the chance to dance with her, or speak to her for that matter? He had promised the next few dances to other women before Jane had ever entered the building. Price heaved an inward groan and went in search of his next dance partner.

  In the short break between one set of dances and the next, Price again edged around the room to get near his beloved Jane. Just as he was about to close in, Patrick stepped in front of him with Price’s next partner on his arm.

  ‘Good evening, Mr Moreland, sir. Are you enjoying yourself?’

  Price shoved his frustration aside and shook Patrick’s hand. ‘Well now, yes. It appears all the folk are having a grand time.’

  ‘Miss Anderson is rather dashing tonight, don’t you think?’

  Price’s eyes were drawn to Jane again and his heart skipped a beat. ‘An enchantress.’

  ‘And yet, you haven’t danced with her even once.’

  ‘No.’ Price let out a curt sigh.

  ‘Well, my sister Margaret here and I have been thinking. It doesn’t seem right. You have both given so much to this cause, she by a large sum of money, and you by that marvellous speech and dancing with so many of the girls. It doesn’t seem fair that you haven’t danced with your own fiancée.’

  In truth, Price just wanted to end the conversation and catch Jane before it was too late again. At this moment, she was nodding at a gentleman who was speaking to her. If he managed to get to her before the next set, he could find out if her card was full. ‘I’m sure we’ll find an occasion.’

  ‘Your occasion is now,’ Patrick declared with a grin.

  ‘Pardon?’ Price failed to understand.

  ‘Margaret thought she should relinquish this next dance with you to Miss Anderson, as a gesture of thanks, if you like.’

  Margaret nodded at her brother’s statement. ‘Shall I go and tell her now?’

  Price’s heart rate leapt up another notch. ‘Yes, please.’ He gave her hand a squeeze. ‘Thank you both.’

  Patrick offered a short bow. ‘Enjoy.’ The two went off toward Jane.

  What was the next dance? Price ran through the program in his head. A quadrille. That meant mixing around with another three couples during the movements. Oh well, it was better than nothing. He watched as Patrick and Margaret offered their proposal to Jane, who glanced back toward him and then nodded. Price let out his pent-up breath. She’d agreed to dance with him at least. That was the first step.

  The announcer called the quadrille and couples began to move onto the floor. Price’s hands were moist and his throat had gone dry. Would Jane accept him?

  ‘Off to dance with Miss Anderson, eh?’

  Price turned abruptly at yet another interruption. Mr O’Reilly stood beside him.

  ‘I thought you told me you weren’t betrothed to her?’

  Price was becoming impatient. If he didn’t get to Jane soon, someone else might cut in on him. Without taking his eyes off her, he answered O’Reilly. ‘No, I’m not betrothed to anyone yet. But Cleopatra over there, is not Miss Anderson.’

  He sensed rather than saw, Jane’s father turn to stare at the goddess who waited but a few yards away. ‘Not Miss Anderson? Then, who is she?’

  Price swivelled around to face him then. ‘Good heavens, sir. Don’t you recognise your own daughter?’ Without waiting for an answer, he took his leave and crossed the distance to stand before Jane.

  His heart was in his mouth. The pounding must be so loud that the whole ballroom could hear it. Her gaze did not drop, but met him squarely in the eye, although he was unable to read her expression, encased behind a mask as it was. Price dropped into a deep bow before her and held out his hand to lead her onto the dance floor. He didn’t trust himself to speak. Not yet, anyway.

  25

  Jane put her hand into Price’s as he wordlessly led her to the dance floor for the quadrille. His lack of greeting did not trouble her since her voice had deserted her and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. At the same time, her pulse throbbed in the back of her throat. The simple act of holding his hand sent thrills through her body. She still loved him as much as when he left town, if not more.

  The real Miss Anderson had not appeared at the ball, as far as she was aware. Jane stood as the tallest woman in the room, but for once she didn’t need to hide her height. Every eye looked at her with admiration. Except for Papa just now, who wore a startled, confused expression. Did he know it was she?

  And what about Price? He had been staring at her all evening. Every time she’d looked his way, he was watching her, and that was often. His presence constantly dragged her attention, even though most of the time little of his face was visible beneath his kerchief. Did he recognise her, or did he, too, think she was Miss Anderson?

  Jane had managed to navigate the evening with nods and monosyllabic answers. If she spoke a full sentence to anyone, they would guess right away that she was not the tall American beauty. But Jane wouldn’t avoid conversation with Price. If her voice worked despite her trembling, and if the steps of the dance allowed her to do so, she would speak.

  The quadrille challenged her in several ways. The movements were unfamiliar to her and she had to concentrate on the announcer to follow the steps. Thankfully it was not a high society ball, and those on the floor made mistakes aplenty, sending couples into reels of laughter. Mama’s training afforded her enough skill to bluff her way through the piece.

  ‘You look amazing tonight.’

  Jane drew a sharp breath as Price whispered in her ear on one pass, and then a few moments later as he passed on the other side, he added, ‘Staggeringly so.’

  Jane mouthed a thank you as she glanced at him across the square. His warm breath tickled her ears, raising goose bumps down her arms.

  For the next few moments she was with another dance partner from the square, until the steps required that he hand her back to Price. There, they joined their right hands together and turned in a circle. Price rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand during this movement and gazed, unrelenting, into her eyes. ‘It seems an eternity since I saw you. I’ve missed you, darling.’

  ‘Me too.’ Jane found it hard to breathe. It might be her anxiety over Price’s nearness, but it might have been the foreignness of wearing a tight corset, or the close warm air in the ballroom.

  They broke contact as the dance separated them once again. Jane began to wonder to whom Price thought he was speaking. She expected his first words to be apologies, or an explanation of sorts, or a declaration that Miss Anderson was not his betrothed. Instead, he was acting as though nothing had happened. Uncertainty made Jane falter in her steps and her current partner grasped her arm to stabilise her.

  Back with Price again, he whispered, ‘Are you all right?’

  Jane nodded.

  ‘You didn’t write to me.’

  What could she say to that? She didn’t want to make accusations in the middle of a public ball, or create a scene. And she did not intend to admit she hadn’t even read one of his letters to her. Besides, was he speaking of letters he wrote to her or to Miss Anderson? ‘I was too busy.’

  When Jane glanced into his eyes, a shadow flitted across them. He hadn’t liked that response. But they weren’t alone where they might talk properly—openly and honestly.

  And then they were in the waltz hold for several bars. This proximity took Jane back to that morning by the river, when they had kissed so passionately. Even now, every part of her body yearned
for him.

  Price leaned in close so that his cheek almost touched hers. ‘I never meant to hurt you, darling. I’m a fool. I ran away from home and I ran away from you. Can you ever forgive me?’

  Jane’s heart thudded so hard she was sure it might burst.

  ‘I do love you.’ He drew back and gazed into her eyes. ‘Come home to America with me.’

  America? Jane searched his eyes, her feet no longer complying with the required steps. Why would Price be asking her to come to America, unless he did think she was Miss Anderson? And he’d said he loved her. But he loved Miss Anderson. He was apologising for leaving her.

  The brutal truth drove into her heart with the force of a sword thrust. She drew back from Price, staring at him in shock and agony. Why did she even bother coming here tonight? The urge for flight took hold with overwhelming power. Jane stumbled away from him, then rushed across the dance floor and out of the ballroom. She didn’t even stop when the chill night air met her bare arms, or when one of her new shoes slipped off her foot. She ran and ran, never looking back until she met Old Darcy heading to town to collect her.

  ‘Woah.’ With a worried frown, he reined in the horse and leapt from the buggy. ‘Jane. What is it, love?’

  ‘Just … take me … home.’ She said between gulps of air, then pulled herself up before he had a chance to comply or assist her. Jane ripped the mask off and wiped at the wet streaks on her cheeks, then leaned forward with her head in her hands.

  Jane couldn’t, and wouldn’t, answer any of his questions. She was in the grip of full blown grief once again. When they arrived home, she climbed from the buggy before Old Darcy got around to her. Jane bolted for her room. She couldn’t get the costume off fast enough, and changed into her own, more suitable clothing. Then she bundled up the golden gown with the mask, wig and even the one remaining shoe, and strode toward the cookhouse.

  Inside, she dumped the bundle of clothes on the table. Why, oh, why had she let Aunt Ruby convince her to dare make an appearance tonight? She had been doing fine until she saw Price again. And now it was worse than ever. Humiliation burned in her cheeks and the pain of loss tore at her gut.

  Aunt Ruby came into the room from her sleeping quarters, wearing her night gown.

  ‘Why did you do this to me?’

  Her aunt’s shoulders fell as concern creased her face. ‘What happened, lovey?’

  Jane’s eyes burned with unshed tears that wanted to burst from her. ‘He thought I was Miss Anderson,’ her voice cracked. ‘He whispered devotion in my ear, thinking I was Miss Anderson.’

  Aunt Ruby moved towards her, arms outstretched to embrace her. ‘Oh, my dear girl.’

  ‘Don’t touch me.’ Jane backed away. ‘Don’t touch me.’ She turned and fled to her room on the veranda, throwing herself on the bed, where at last, she allowed her stricken sobs to flow in full.

  Price stood outside Tattersalls, gazing into the indigo night, wondering how everything went so wrong. He replayed the fateful dance in his mind again. What had he said that scared Jane off? Granted, he’d been clumsy with his words, as though there’d been a knot in his tongue or something. So enamoured had he been, so lost in her closeness, that he’d blurted out whatever entered his head. Price breathed out heavily. Perhaps it was asking her to go to America. That was too much. He hadn’t even proposed to her yet. Fool. Price shook his head and kicked at an imaginary stone.

  When he’d gone to call out after her, he’d cut his words off at ‘Miss …’ Price hadn’t wanted to expose her in front of everyone present. He’d followed her, trying not to appear in a desperate hurry, even though he was. He needed to learn what was wrong. But by the time he arrived at the front doors, she was out of sight. He’d called out into the darkness, but there was no reply.

  As he turned around to go back inside the hotel, a shadow in the middle of the street caught his attention. A small shadow against the dim light emanating from the hotel. Price strode over to it and bent to pick up the object.

  A shoe. And by the size of it, it was Jane’s shoe. Price creased his brows. Had she run home with a bare foot? To not stop and collect one’s shoe spoke of desperation and urgency. His heart constricted in a mixture of remorse for the words that caused her to run and compassion for Jane’s obvious distress.

  ‘What happened tonight?’ O’Reilly appeared at his side.

  ‘I wish I knew.’ Price tucked the shoe inside his coat before O’Reilly noticed it in his hand.

  ‘Did you offend Miss Anderson to make her storm off like that?’

  Price jerked his head back from the stars to eye Jane’s father. ‘As I informed you earlier, that was not Miss Anderson. I saw Violet board the steamer early this morning. She is likely half way to Wagga by now. If you don’t believe me, you may ask around at the docks.’ He didn’t want his impatience and frustration to show, but found it difficult to hide.

  O’Reilly shook his head. ‘But Jane was very definite about staying home. She did not have an Egyptian ensemble anywhere that I saw. And she would not behave like that woman did.’

  Price let out a long breath, the air hissing from his nostrils. ‘In my experience, short though it may be, Miss Jane is a very vulnerable woman. I sense she carries many hurts, which she tries very hard to cover. I must have said something to upset or scare her.’ He turned his gaze back to the heavens. ‘Though what conclusion she came to tonight is beyond me at present.’

  O’Reilly remained silent, which seemed to confirm Price’s summary of Jane’s character. After a few moments, he turned to face Jane’s father.

  ‘Does it surprise you how magnificent she looked tonight?’ Price’s smile refused to stay hidden as he remembered the way the gold satin revealed Jane’s tiny waist and lovely curves.

  ‘Not at all.’ O’Reilly was quick to respond. ‘That is, if she was indeed my daughter and I’m not convinced she was. But I have always known Jane to be growing into a beauty, the same as her mother. She is the perfect image of Maire.’ A shadow crossed his face and Price was not sure if it was shame or grief that he saw. He cleared his throat and shook his shoulders as if to throw off whatever entered his mind. ‘So, you insist that there is nothing between you and Miss Anderson?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘And you are still interested in my Jane?’

  ‘More than ever.’ Price’s heart leapt to attention, and led him to take a risk. ‘I know I disappeared at the very time I should have stayed to support her, and perhaps that is why she fled tonight. I’m sure I’ve hurt her. But I love her, Mr O’Reilly. In fact, if you would give your blessing, I would like to ask for her hand.’

  O’Reilly’s brows drew together. ‘I can’t entrust her to your care if you are the sort of man who runs away when times get hard.’ His gaze dropped to the ground in shame. ‘God knows she’s had enough of that in her lifetime.’

  ‘I realise that, sir, and I’ve learned my lesson. No more running away for me. In fact, I plan to go back to America to sort things out with my father.’

  O’Reilly sucked in a breath of air. ‘Do you mean to say, you’ll be taking my Jane back with you?’

  Price rested a hand on O’Reilly’s shoulder. ‘I know it’s a big sacrifice for you, but I can provide her with a life beyond her dreams there.’

  O’Reilly shifted on his feet and spent a few moments gazing at the stars. ‘She deserves that much at least.’

  ‘Yes, she does.’

  ‘Well then, provided you can win her over after the past few weeks, and tonight’s episode as well, I have no objection.’

  ‘I suspect Mrs O’Reilly might object, however.’ Price didn’t trust the woman.

  ‘Hmm.’ The same shadow passed over O’Reilly’s face. ‘Never mind Mrs O’Reilly. Jane is my daughter.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ He was so near to realising his dream to be with Jane that he al
most tasted it. ‘I wonder, might I call out to your farm early tomorrow?’

  ‘By all means.’ O’Reilly’s mouth split into a large grin.

  Jane found sleep elusive and it was past midnight when the rumble of cart wheels indicated Papa and the others’ return from the ball. Frequent fits of tears as the truth of Price’s rejection overwhelmed her anew, had left her eyes swollen. She should never have kissed him by the river. It had been desperation that led her to it. She’d so wanted Price to love her that she believed a kiss might bind him to her in some way. Now she regretted it. He’d probably kissed Miss Anderson as well. Maybe a kiss meant nothing to him, not like the promise it meant to her.

  Trying to forget that moment was near impossible. How would she ever get past this feeling? How could she ever look another man in the eye, without feeling the shame of giving her kisses away so freely? By what she had learnt from the Scriptures of late, she was worth more than stolen kisses and thin promises. If that’s all Price had to offer, then she was better off without him.

  The only problem was, Jane didn’t want to be without him. She loved him more than she had loved anyone. Price was the kindest, gentlest, most generous man she’d ever known—at least, before he went to Wagga. Had it been the disguise of a degenerate? Try as hard as she might, she couldn’t believe the worst of him, and the tears began again.

  Footsteps creaked on the veranda outside her door. Jane buried her face in her pillow. No one would hear her distress. She didn’t need her sisters’ ridicule, or her mother’s false compassion. The steps paused, as though listening at the door, and then the door squeaked as whoever hovered there opened it. Jane remained motionless, hoping the person would believe her asleep.