The emerald eyes flew to his, but just what she would have said in response they never knew, for at that moment Marjorie Darent approached them.
While the rest of the company had the good manners not to interrupt the conversation between Miss Darent and Lord Hazelmere, Lady Darent felt no such restriction. Seeing Dorothea being monopolised by a man she considered one step removed from a rake, she saw her duty clearly. Recently arrived, she had not yet spoken to Dorothea and, being short-sighted, it was not until she was within a few feet that the full effect of Dorothea’s gown struck her.
Favouring the Marquis with what she believed was a gracious smile, she spoke to Dorothea immediately. ‘My dear! Don’t you think a shawl would be more becoming over that gown?’
Hazelmere felt Dorothea stiffen and almost imperceptibly they drew closer together. ‘I think not, Cousin,’ replied Dorothea, holding her temper with a superhuman effort. ‘I’m hardly cold. And besides,’ she continued hurriedly, seeing that her cousin had missed the very large hint and was about to explain herself more fully, ‘I would hardly embarrass Grandmama by adopting so provincial a style of dress.’
Lady Darent stiffened.
Only just preventing himself from applauding, Hazelmere intervened. ‘Miss Darent, I believe my mother is trying to attract our attention. If Lady Darent will excuse us?’ With a nod to that outraged lady, he firmly removed Dorothea from her orbit.
As they moved away he glanced down at the beauty by his side. ‘Good girl! If you hadn’t said that I’m afraid I had something much worse in mind. Remind me that, despite the other…skills I’ve yet to teach you, I don’t need to teach you how to insult someone.’
A gurgle of laughter, quickly suppressed, greeted this sally, and Dorothea turned her sparkling eyes to his face. The Marquis’s mother, towards whom they were headed, viewed this exchange with a peculiar smile. She had never thought to see her son so obviously in love.
The conversation continued to hum and the heat in the drawing-room rose, until Mellow, resplendent in new long-tailed coat, announced dinner. Hazelmere, as the most senior of the peers present, would normally have led in Lady Merion, but Herbert Darent found that he was to perform this office, leaving the Marquis to attend Miss Darent. Cecily was squired by Lord Fanshawe, and the others obligingly took care of themselves.
The dinner was a resounding success and not a single incident occurred to mar Lady Merion’s pleasure. Conversation flowed on all sides, even Marjorie finding in the half-deaf admiral by her side someone with whom she shared some common ground. As all had expected, Hazelmere and Dorothea seemed oblivious to all others, as were Cecily and Fanshawe opposite. Due to Lady Merion’s strategic planning, no one was the least put out by this, except Lord and Lady Darent. Luckily those disapproving figures were too far removed to exert any dampening influence on the sparkling scene in the middle of the table.
With the removal of the last course, the ladies rose and departed for the drawing-room, leaving the gentlemen to their port. At a dinner preceding a ball the ritual separation was usually kept to a minimum. But Lady Merion was taking no chances. She had enlisted the aid of the Earl of Eglemont to ensure that Herbert did not prose on in his accustomed way and drive everyone else to distraction.
For this service Lord Eglemont was an inspired choice. He knew that none of the younger gentlemen present would have the least inclination to remain kicking his heels over the port. And who could blame them? In his view, a dinner and ball was the time for some fun, and even he would rather be back in the drawing-room, watching what devilment Marc and Tony, and even Lord Harcourt and Ferdie, could concoct, than listening to that pompous windbag Herbert Darent.
Herbert, therefore, found the discussion he instituted on the latest ideas of rotation farming taken out of his hands and wound up by Lord Eglemont, who then further usurped his role and led the gentlemen back to the drawing-room.
Lady Merion heaved a sigh of relief when she saw them return. The room was pleasantly a-hum with conversation generated by the groups of young and old scattered through it. Lords Hazelmere and Fanshawe, re-entering the room to find the Misses Darent chatting avidly with groups of friends, wisely made no attempt to disengage them, but made themselves as inconspicuous as possible.
Hazelmere strolled over to his mother. ‘Ah, Mama! I’d meant to ask earlier. Do you know if my esteemed elder sisters will be gracing the ball tonight?’
Lady Hazelmere’s strait-laced elder daughters were every bit as great a burden to her as they were to her son. ‘I fervently hope not, my dear!’ She turned and, leaning across Sally Jersey, addressed Lady Merion. ‘Hermione, you didn’t invite Maria and Susan, did you?’
To both mother and son’s dismay, Lady Merion nodded. ‘Yes. And both accepted.’
Lady Hazelmere turned back to her son, pulling a face.
He bent to whisper in her ear. ‘In that case, it would be wise if you dropped a word of warning in my loving sisters’ ears, regarding the wisdom of giving myself and Miss Darent a suitably wide berth tonight.’
Lady Hazelmere looked at him in surprise. He smiled down at her in his usual maddening way before moving off into the room. She spent some minutes trying to solve the riddle, finally deciding that he must mean to do something that would incense her elder daughters. What it could be she had no idea but, as she turned to Sally Jersey sitting beside her, she found she was not alone in suspecting her son of being up to something.
‘Anthea, what on earth is that boy of yours up to? He and Tony Fanshawe are behaving very coolly.’
‘I’ve really no idea, Sally. You should know mothers are always the last to be told anything. But I must say,’ she went on, ‘I do think you’re right. They’re certainly planning something.’
As the time for the ball approached Lady Merion moved her dinner guests up to the ballroom. The florists and decorators had excelled themselves, but the exclamations and congratulations of the ladies were soon drowned by the arrival of the ball guests. The chatter and talk as acquaintances met swept like a wave across the room as all the ton rolled up to Lady Merion’s ball.
Dorothea and Cecily were stationed at the head of the stairs with their grandmother to receive the guests. For the next half-hour they were completely absorbed in greeting and being presented to the ton at large. As the surge of arrivals started to ease and then reduced to a trickle the ballroom was close to overflowing, and all the glittering throng of the élite of London society were present. The room looked magnificent, and Lady Merion felt she had achieved the very pinnacle of success. Catching Mellow’s eye, she gave the signal to start the ball. As he moved majestically down the room the guests parted to clear an area for the first waltz.
Traditionally the first section of the first waltz was danced only by the young lady in whose honour the ball was held. Tonight Dorothea would go first down the room, followed by Cecily, before the rest of the guests joined in. If strictest protocol was followed Dorothea would be partnered by Herbert and Cecily by Lord Wigmore, Lady Merion’s cousin. However, when approached by her ladyship, Lord Wigmore had readily relinquished this task, chuckling when he heard who was to take his place. Herbert was simply informed that, as he did not waltz, a suitable replacement had been found. He was put out but did not have the gumption to cause a fuss. His grandmother wisely refrained from telling him who was to lead his ward out.
She had also, under orders, not told her granddaughters who their partners were for this all-important first dance. This had placed no strain on her inventiveness, as neither girl had thought to ask, both imagining that Herbert and Lord Wigmore were inescapable fixtures. So, with inward trepidation, Lady Merion, standing between the two girls at the top of the shallow steps leading down to her ballroom and, seeing the musicians preparing to strike the first chords, said, ‘Off you go, my loves! Your partners are arranged and will meet you at the bottom of the steps. And my very best wishes for a most wonderful ball for you both!’
The sisters moved d
own the stairs, Dorothea slightly in advance, carrying herself with that self-confident air that drew all eyes. Inwardly she was dreading this dance. She knew Herbert could not waltz to save himself. The next few minutes could be hideously embarrassing. Then her already huge and glittering eyes widened even further as, stepping on to the ballroom floor, she saw the Marquis of Hazelmere coming towards her, magnificent and smiling as ever.
He bowed to her and she automatically curtsied gracefully. He raised her and she went into his arms with her usual total abandon, her face radiant and her eyes sparkling with laughter. As they turned with the dance she cast a quick glance across to find Cecily had been met by Fanshawe. She sighed with relief, and said in heartfelt accents, ‘Oh! You have no idea how thankful I am that it’s you!’
Hazelmere smiled as they slowly went down the room. ‘Neither your grandmother nor I felt horrible Herbert was a suitable partner for you, nor that the not nearly so horrible but staid Lord Wigmore was quite right for Cecily.’
Alive to the silence around them, Dorothea, laughter in the big green eyes she did not dare take from his face, asked, ‘Are we making a scandalous spectacle of ourselves?’
Hazelmere, still smiling, murmured, ‘I rather suspect we are. But I doubt if it’s for the reason you suspect.’
She looked her question.
For a moment the hazel eyes glinted. He elected to answer only half of the query. ‘While my dancing the first waltz with you, and Tony with Cecily, is not precisely correct, it’s nevertheless acceptable in the circumstances of your having no near male relatives other than Herbert, who everyone knows can’t dance.’
‘So they may disapprove but they can’t condemn?’
‘Exactly so.’
They had reached the end of the ballroom and Hazelmere expertly executed a difficult turn, sending them back through the other couples now on the floor.
‘Incidentally,’ he continued, ‘this is also the one occasion when I can with impunity waltz twice with you. This dance is special and not listed on the programme and therefore doesn’t count. So, my dear Miss Darent, may I have the double pleasure of the supper waltz and of escorting you to supper?’
Thinking that that would ensure a most enjoyable evening, she laughingly agreed. As the last notes drifted down the room they glided to a halt and he led her back to Lady Merion’s side. Reluctantly relinquishing her, he kissed her hand and, with a peculiar smile that made her unruly heart somersault, disappeared into the gathering crowd of well-wishers.
Lady Hazelmere’s reaction to that first waltz was much the same as that of many in the watching crowd. When Hazelmere took Dorothea into his arms the entire company held its breath, usually the prelude to an outburst of censorious whispering. However, all the censorious minds simultaneously realised that there was nothing particularly scandalous after all. A minute’s reflection convinced the leading ladies that Lady Merion had pulled off a major coup. The gentlemen, almost to a man, found the incident highly entertaining.
What particularly tickled Lady Hazelmere’s quirkish sense of humour was the outrage engendered in a large number of the more staid female breasts by the way her son and the lovely Dorothea danced. The ton had thought they were accustomed to the sight of Miss Darent in Lord Hazelmere’s arms. But they had only seen them dancing in a crowd of other couples, not alone on a deserted ballroom floor. Tonight the first shock had come when Dorothea went so readily into his arms. But the way they moved together had really set the cat among the pigeons! So graceful, so completely attuned to each other that the intimacy which obviously existed between them was displayed for all to see. That performance had bordered on the indecent. Even more wonderful, thought the knowing Lady Hazelmere, was that not one word could be said of the matter. Not one single movement, not one flicker of an eyelash, had been in any way improper. The most censorious of the tabbies would not dare breathe a word for fear of being, quite justly, accused of having a mind of somewhat questionable taste. It was highly unlikely that her wicked son had not known how it would be. Equally certain that the lovely Dorothea was quite innocent in the matter. Well, no, perhaps not innocent, amended her ladyship, but Dorothea could certainly not have known how revealing that dance would be. No gently nurtured female could possibly have gone through with it.
At least I now know why Marc wanted me to warn off Maria and Susan, she thought. And, thinking just how scan-dalised her elder daughters were bound to be, she laughed and went to carry out his commission.
For both Darent sisters their coming-out ball was the most enjoyable night of the Season. They were fêted and saluted at every turn. Dorothea danced with every one of Hazelmere’s close friends, with whom she now enjoyed an easy acquaintance. She also danced with Herbert, but in a quadrille, which he performed adequately if not gracefully. It was more than halfway through the evening before she found herself once more in the Marquis’s arms, going down the floor in the supper waltz.
Guessing that she must have been making constant conversation, he did not press her to talk, merely murmuring, ‘Tired, my lovely Dorothea?’
For a moment his use of her name did not register. Then she looked up and found all inclination to question his right to use it evaporating. Meeting his eyes, she felt that deliciously warm feeling spread over her. So she assented to the question with a smile, her long lashes dropping to veil her large green eyes from his gaze in a manner he recognised only too well.
Smiling, he wondered if he dared tell her how she looked when she did that, or what the action commonly conveyed, but decided that after such an explanation she would in all likelihood not speak to him for a week.
Suppertime was hilarious. As Dorothea and Cecily were the twin foci of attention, they could not sit together. Instead, Dorothea and Hazelmere were surrounded by a reckless throng of his close friends. While he sat beside her, interpolating remarks only when the conversation threatened to get too deep for her ears, they entertained her with numerous anecdotes, many reflecting on Hazelmere himself. They knew he was perfectly capable of putting a stop to it any time he wished, so when he made no move to dampen their spirits their hilarity knew few bounds. In this way the half-hour devoted to supper whizzed past until Dorothea was claimed by Lord Desborough for the first of the last three dances of the evening.
At the end of the measure she was hailed by a small group of her grandmother’s acquaintances, older ladies whom she had not yet had time to talk to. Laughingly dismissing Desborough, she went to spend a few minutes in their company. Eventually excusing herself, Dorothea passed slowly through the crowd, stopping to chat here and there, dispensing just the right degree of notice at each halt. Turning from one such encounter, she was addressed by Miss Buntton, a blonde ice-maiden two years her junior. ‘My dear Miss Darent,’ said Miss Buntton in her normal frigid accents. ‘Your gown is really so superb! Truly esoteric! But I fear my mama would never permit me to wear such a gown. She always says it does no good to stand out in a crowd.’
Dorothea, long inured to Miss Buntton’s waspish jealousies-thought she really made it too easy. ‘I’m sure, my dear Miss Buntton, that you run no risk of displeasing your mama.’ With a smile of gentle malice, she was about to move on when another, older woman, whose name she could not recall, standing on the other side of the blonde beauty, intervened.
‘Miss Darent! I’ve been hoping to meet you. I’m Lady Susan Wilmot, Hazelmere’s sister.’
Dorothea touched the hand graciously held out to her and murmured something suitable. But Lady Susan was already speaking. ‘Yes, my dear. As I was just telling Miss Buntton, I was so pleased to see Hazelmere doing his duty by you tonight with that first waltz. He’s so lax in certain responsibilities, but, given that Lady Merion must have asked him, as a favour, to replace Herbert, I was pleasantly surprised to see him behave so acceptably. Perhaps it’s a sign that he’s contemplating settling down. Of course, the lady he marries must have all the qualities—as she’ll have to rule at Hazelmere. And naturally she can
only come from the finest of family. Wealth, of course, is necessary; Hazelmere after all is one of the wealthiest himself.’ Her ladyship smiled, gimlet-eyes, on Dorothea. ‘I dare say I’m not giving away any secrets in saying that all the family have high hopes of our dear Miss Buntton here.’
‘Oh?’ Unable to escape the net of her ladyship’s eloquence and feeling oddly depressed, Dorothea could not resist a glance at our Miss Buntton. Good lord! The girl was actually simpering!
At that moment a hand touched her arm. ‘Dorothea! Here you are! Come and meet my brother-in-law. I’ve promised to introduce you.’ Lady Alison Gisborne’s eyes met her older sister’s across the little group. Lady Susan coloured.
Missing the byplay, Dorothea, with relief, nodded to Lady Susan and Miss Buntton and gratefully departed to meet Andrew Gisborne.
As the closing strains of the last waltz drifted across the ballroom, and tired couples turned to find their parties, Dorothea found herself at the side of the ballroom on Lord Alvanley’s arm. His lordship was scanning the room, obviously looking for someone. ‘Ah, there he is!’ Looking down at Dorothea, he explained, ‘Marc asked me to return you to him after the dance.’
As they slowly made their way across the wide room, pausing to bid goodbye to departing guests, Dorothea saw Lady Alison pause by her brother, dragging on his arm to get his attention. For a moment Hazelmere listened as she spoke, clearly relating some message. Then she swiftly drew his head down to plant an affectionate kiss on his cheek and, with a cheerful wave, hurried to join her husband by the stairs.
By this time they had come up to the Marquis, who was conversing with an opulent beauty introduced earlier to Dorothea as Helen, Lady Walford. The four remained chatting for a few minutes as the company in the ballroom thinned. Then Lord Alvanley suavely offered Lady Walford his arm and, after taking their leave of Dorothea, they left.
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