by Jane Ashford
“I bought this coat in Paris,” he protested.
“And I said it was well enough. But the color is all wrong. You should always wear blue, or buff or black, but never olive.”
“But it was—”
“Christopher! You promised you would do as I say.”
Their very similar eyes met. “Very well,” he muttered.
“Good.” Amelia smiled. “We must get you a new haircut, of course. And your cravat will never do. Oh, Christopher, we shall have such fun!” She clapped her hands gleefully. Her brother grimaced again. “Are you still at Claridge’s? I will send someone for your things.” Seeing him start to speak, she added, “You must stay here, naturally. It is one thing to claim you will give me too much trouble on a one-night visit to town—which is ridiculous, as I have always told you. But if we are to carry through your plan, you cannot be so far off. You can have the blue bedchamber. It’s all ready.”
Hanford watched her animated features as she set forth an arduous program of shopping for the next several days. He had rarely seen his sister so pleased. It made him glad he had sought her help, though he knew he would not enjoy much of it. If anyone could prepare him to compete with Norbury, it was Amelia, and he was determined to do everything in his power to win in this unforeseen contest.
* * *
The first major event of the season was the Duchess of Rutland’s ball the following week. Amelia had no trouble securing an invitation for her brother, and she hounded his tailors so mercilessly that he was completely reoutfitted in plenty of time. As he came into the drawing room that evening both Lanforths turned to look at him, Amelia with a professional’s critical eye and her husband, George, with a combination of fellow feeling and curiosity. He, too, had been a victim of his brother-in-law’s mockery of the ton. Christopher felt ridiculous. His new clothes seemed outlandishly exaggerated, despite his sister’s assurances that both cut and fabric were very plain. His hair, cut and brushed into a Brutus by a fellow he had found intolerable, seemed stiff and strange. And he was almost frightened of the valet Amelia had made him hire to care for his new finery. “Here I am,” he declared, stopping beside them. “Complete with cap and bells.”
“You look splendid,” encouraged George. “Top of the trees.”
“You have left off your quizzing glass,” objected Amelia. “I told you, it is to hang—”
“I could not,” he interrupted. “I have tried my best to be docile, Amelia, but I simply could not.”
Meeting his gaze, she smiled a little. “Oh, very well. You do look splendid, Christopher. Even I did not imagine that you could look so polished.” She eyed his black evening coat and knee breeches, his snowy cravat tied in an Osbaldeston, his silver-shot waistcoat. “Indeed, I would hardly have known you for my country-squire brother.”
“I hardly know myself,” he replied ruefully. “I glance into a mirror and start to nod to the overdressed stranger.”
“Nonsense. You are not the least overdressed. Shall we go in to dinner? We do not want to be late.”
“Do we not?” murmured Christopher. But he took her proffered arm and led her into the dining room.
Only a few streets away, the ladies of the Goring household were putting the finishing touches on ball gowns and toilettes before also sitting down to dinner. Anabel, surveying her reflection in a full-length glass, was very pleased with the effect of the ball gown that had arrived yesterday from her dressmaker. It was of deep blue satin with an overskirt of creamy Mechlin lace. The bodice and short puffed sleeves were also overlaid with lace, and it was belted with a matching blue velvet ribbon. She had got out the sapphire pendant Ralph had bought her in Paris, with its companion earrings, and her soft brown hair had been done in a cloud of curls. The overall impression was of exquisite fragility, and she smiled a little before going along to the nursery, as she had promised to show the children her gown.
Georgina’s feelings were far different. She, too, had a new dress, of fine pink muslin trimmed with knots of darker pink ribbons. But her silhouette was anything but fragile, and as Lady Goring’s maid applied the hot curling tongs to her pale blond hair, she frowned at her pudgy features in the dressing-table mirror. Everyone would laugh, Georgina thought. It was silly to fuss over her hair and to buy new gowns. She would be miserable at the ball, as always. She wished that she dared get out her box of chocolates in front of the maid. Dinner was late tonight, and she was hungry.
When Lady Goring, splendidly dressed in purple satin and amethysts, met her two charges in the drawing room some minutes later, her thoughts echoed theirs. She reveled in her daughter’s beauty and despaired at Georgina’s bulk. But she said merely, “We must hurry. What have you been doing, Anabel? You are late.”
“The children kept me, admiring my lace.” Anabel smiled. “Susan wants a gown exactly like this one for her birthday in September.”
“And doubtless she will get it,” answered her mother dryly. “I shudder to think what that child will be like at her come-out if she is demanding quite unsuitable dresses at the age of six.”
“Susan will be a belle, of course. She is already pretty enough.”
“And capricious enough,” countered Lady Goring. “Come in to dinner.”
* * *
The line of carriages beneath the glittering windows of the Rutland town house stretched far down the street as each halted briefly to deposit its elegantly dressed passengers, then moved on to make way for the next. The Goring party arrived in good time and, after greeting their hosts on the landing, made their way up to the half-filled ballroom. “Look at the flowers!” exclaimed Anabel at once.
“Very beautiful,” responded her mother, surveying the great garlands of pink roses and greenery that festooned the walls. A trellis had been erected in one corner, and it looked remarkably natural.
“I have never seen so many roses in my life. Isn’t it wonderful, Georgina?”
The younger girl nodded, but her eyes were on the other guests. Several were looking in their direction, probably talking of who they were and how dreadful she looked.
“I wish I had worn pink, as you did,” added Anabel in an effort to cheer her.
Georgina merely looked disgusted.
“There is Jane Danvers,” said Lady Goring. “Let us go and join her.”
The room filled rapidly, and in a very short time the duchess gave the signal to begin the dancing. Anabel was asked at once, but Lady Goring had to summon a partner for Georgina, who accepted him with as little grace as he had showed at the command. When the first set ended, she escaped to the supper room, ignoring all frowns cast her way and hiding when Lady Goring came to search for her. Anabel, glowing from the country-dance, was delighted when the orchestra struck up a waltz, and more so when Sir Charles Norbury came up to claim her hand. She hadn’t seen him arrive.
They moved onto the floor as the music began, and Norbury pulled her into a quick turn, making her very aware of the strength of his arm around her waist and the closeness of his body to hers. She felt small beside him, irresistibly guided by his whim. It was a new sensation, and uncertainty mixed with pleasure as they moved around the ballroom. Sir Charles remained an enigma to her. The men in her life had been very different—her father, a genial, uncomplicated creature extremely fond of his only daughter; Ralph, a bluff and hearty squire, pleased to have found such a wife; Christopher, a reliable, amusing friend. Norbury was none of these things, except perhaps amusing. In his polished looks, his assured, almost arrogant manner, and in the feeling of trembling excitement he engendered in her, he was unique in Anabel’s life. She found him fascinating.
Norbury’s thoughts were similar as they turned in the waltz and chatted. He had never encountered a woman precisely like Anabel. Most of those he knew had been schooled for years in the rituals of the haut ton, and the one or two countrywomen he had met had shown none of Anabel’s e
asy understanding or quick wit. She was a curious mixture of naïveté and wisdom, and very pretty besides. He had had serious reservations about continuing his acquaintance with her when he discovered the existence of three tiresome children and their attendants. But Anabel’s charm on their drive together had slowly disarmed his doubts. He enjoyed her company, he realized, more than that of any other female he could name, including his current inamorata. This was an odd circumstance, and one he wished to explore.
“Isn’t that the lady you pointed out to me in the park?” asked Anabel then.
“Which?”
“There, in the puce satin. Did you not say that she has four daughters out at once?”
“I did indeed. The Marsden ensemble, each uglier than the next. There they are, sitting in a row on that blue sofa.”
“Where? Oh.”
“Remarkably like a row of gargoyles on a cathedral porch, aren’t they? Just as avaricious and terrifying.”
“How can you?” But she couldn’t help but laugh. There was something grotesque in the Marsden sisters’ expressions.
“Easily. I have endured too many pretensions and too much fustian to be impressed by my fellow man any longer. Most of the people here, Lady Wyndham, are masterpieces of falsity and pettiness.”
“Well, at least they are good at it, then.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“If they are masterpieces, they must do it very well. That’s something.” She smiled up at him.
Sir Charles laughed. “Indeed, we certainly have the best of everything in London—the most single-minded greed, the greatest hypocrisy, the most refined cruelty.”
“You are very severe.”
“I have learned to be, watching this spectacle through the years.” He gestured around them.
Anabel looked thoughtful. “I suppose you are very fond of Byron’s poetry?”
“What?” Sir Charles was startled.
“Are you not? I said so only because that sounded very like some of it I have read.” She didn’t smile this time, but her eyes danced.
Her partner was speechless for several moments, then he laughed again. “You are astonishing,” he said. “I don’t believe anyone has ever spoken to me so.”
“I suppose they are afraid of you.”
“Afraid?”
“Knowing your low opinion of mankind. I am quite terrified myself. What will you say of me during the next set?”
He gazed down at her, shaking his head. “Nothing! I should not dare, for fear your wit would grow even sharper. Where, my dear Lady Wyndham, did you learn it?”
She shrugged, smiling again, and their eyes held as he spun her in a final turn to the conclusion of the music. Bowing over her hand, he said, “I believe they have shortened the length of the sets tonight. I never knew one to go so fast. Will you honor me again later?”
“Perhaps. If you ask me.”
“You sound as if you do not think I will.”
“I have been hearing a great deal about your reputation, Sir Charles. It seems that a woman mustn’t set her heart on your promises.”
“Ah. That depends on the woman.” Another acquaintance had come up to ask Anabel for the set just forming, and Norbury stepped back. “I will see you later.”
Anabel merely smiled, moving off on her new partner’s arm. Norbury, watching her go, was surprised by the strength of emotion she had aroused in him in one short dance. She really was extraordinary.
From the doorway, another pair of eyes also followed her. Christopher Hanford had arrived in time to see Anabel dancing with Norbury, and apparently enjoying herself very much, and to observe their parting. It made him frown.
“That must be Anabel,” murmured his sister. “She is very pretty, but what is she doing with Norbury? He is…” Christopher’s frown had deepened at the name, and Amelia saw it. “Oh. I begin to understand. But, my word, Christopher—Norbury! A new coat is one thing; rivaling a noted Corinthian is quite another.”
“No doubt,” he said between clenched jaws.
His sister looked sidelong at him, then out over the ballroom. “Well, you cannot dance with her now. Come, I will present you to some of my friends.”
She did so, including a number of the season’s most charming debutantes. Hanford planned to flirt mildly with any who would respond, to see what Anabel made of that. But he found the girls very tiresome, and even before the set had ended, he was bored and irritated.
He looked around the room, his eyes lingering on Anabel before passing on. Lady Goring was surrounded by a group of her friends; he would greet her later. The few others he knew were dancing. His gaze came to the archway leading into the supper room, moved on, paused, and returned, recognizing a solid figure half visible there. “I am going to speak to someone, Amelia,” he said.
“Who?”
“Anabel’s cousin, Miss Goring. She is over there.”
“That very large girl? But, Christopher, you mustn’t be seen with a creature like that. Everyone will think you—”
“I may have put on the clothes of a popinjay, Amelia, but I refuse to take on their manner as well. Miss Goring is an intelligent girl, unlike those you have presented to me, and she is obviously having a very unpleasant time. It is simple kindness to speak to her.”
Amelia acknowledged the truth of this with a sigh. Her brother would never change, and what was more, she was not sure she wanted him to.
Christopher grinned. “She is extremely fond of novels, Amelia. I imagine you have a great deal in common.”
“I shall ask her to tea,” replied his sister firmly. “But, Christopher…are you going to dance with her?”
He hadn’t thought of it, but her tone made him rebellious. “Why, yes.”
Georgina had disappeared when he turned to walk across the floor, but he found her inside the supper room, holding an ample plate of delicacies from the buffet and watching the entrance uneasily. When she saw him, she looked surprised, then cautiously pleased.
“Good evening, Miss Goring,” he said. “I thought I saw you come this way.”
Georgina’s smile faded, and she lowered the plate a little while keeping a firm grip on it.
“Would you do me the honor of dancing this next set?” he continued.
The girl’s mouth dropped open a little, and she stared at him.
“You do remember me? Christopher Hanford? I dined at Lady Goring’s last week.” Her stupefaction made him wonder if he had misjudged her intelligence.
“Yes. Yes, of course.” Georgina was overcome. No gentleman had ever voluntarily asked her to dance in her life.
“Shall we?” He offered his arm.
Thrusting the plate aside without even looking at the table, Georgina took it, and they walked into the ballroom together. A country-dance was just forming.
“Thank God it is not a quadrille,” said Hanford. “I should quite disgrace you if it were.”
“The steps are so complicated,” agreed Georgina shyly. “I have never learned them properly.”
Hanford smiled down at her as they took their places, and Georgina’s heart turned over. A whole new world seemed to open out before her.
Conversation was difficult as they moved through the figures, and Hanford simply maintained his pleasant smile. Georgina smiled tremulously back throughout. He let his gaze wander about the room, discovering Anabel dancing on the other side and Amelia not far away. He would approach Anabel for the next waltz, he decided.
But Norbury was before him, and led Anabel onto the floor. A wave of anger so strong it made his hands clench sent Hanford to the prettiest deb his sister had presented to him. He secured her company for the waltz and concentrated all his faculties on amusing her, keeping the girl laughing throughout the set and the supper interval, which followed. He did not look at Anabel or at anyone else, dist
rusting his control if he had to watch her with Norbury. Thus, he saw neither her surprised glances nor Georgina Goring’s woebegone expression.
When the dancing began again, he solicited another of the season’s belles and then another. He ignored the Goring party and scarcely spoke to his sister, single-mindedly bent on showing Anabel that he, too, was attractive to the haut ton.
He succeeded very well. When he cared to exert it, Christopher Hanford had a quiet charm and humorous warmth that few women could resist. One girl after another came away from a dance thinking he was well worth cultivating, and determined to tell her mother to invite him at the first opportunity.
Anabel was also dancing during this time, but her eyes often strayed from her partner to follow Hanford. Sir Charles had left the ball for another gathering after supper, begging her pardon for the prior engagement, and as she had noticed Christopher’s arrival some time before, she did not really mind. She was eager to talk with him and compare impressions of London. Too, he was looking more elegant than she had ever seen him, and she longed to tell him so and rally him about the change. She had consulted her mother about procuring invitations for Christopher, since he had decided to stay in town, and was prepared to surprise him with a number of them. She could not understand why he did not approach her. At first she had been merely puzzled, but as the ball continued and he devoted himself to one lovely eighteen-year-old after another, her bewilderment shifted to hurt, then anger.
The last dance of the evening was a waltz. Hanford, who had been carefully calculating his movements, joined Anabel at precisely the proper time to secure her hand for it. They walked onto the floor in silence, her chin high, and swung smoothly into step together. They had danced with each other many times, at private balls at home and at country assemblies, and they moved in perfect harmony. But Anabel’s expression remained sulky, and Christopher, still angry at her for giving Norbury two waltzes, did not try to alter it.