The pain intensified, but she made the effort. “Are you sure you would not like to quarrel in public?”
“Quite sure. Now, would you care to dance? I believe it is to be a waltz.” He paused as though a thought had just struck him. “You can dance, can’t you?”
“Oh, yes. Crabby taught me.” She frowned. “Though I suppose I don’t know how accurately. She is a little vague on the social graces.”
A breath of laughter escaped him, encouraging her to smile back. She would enjoy the evening.
As the country dance neared its end, Jess was astonished and flattered to be besieged by young men asking her to waltz. Among them was George Francis and a couple of charming officers from the local regiment whom she’d met before. To all of them, Jon held firm his claim with lazy humor, and when the waltz struck up, he seemed to cut a swathe through her admirers to the dance floor.
Something made Jess glance to the right as they went. Mary sat beside her mother, watching her. Claude stood resolutely by her side. None of them looked particularly happy.
“After the waltz,” Jess said, “we should talk to Mary.”
“Why?” Jon asked, taking her in his arms. “Her observation resembles a glare, and you have done nothing whatever to earn her ire.”
Overwhelmed by his nearness, by the steely arm at her waist, she took a moment to answer. “No, but she doesn’t realize that. She only knows I wrote to him. And she must remember how close he and I were before I moved away.”
“Exactly. And she still engaged herself to him without a word to you. Some might call you the injured party.”
She blinked. “I don’t feel injured.”
“And that, my sweet,” he said, swaying her backward as the dance began, “is the difference between you. Mary will always be injured.”
She thought about it for a little, distracting herself from the novel, pleasurable sensations of dancing in his embrace—which was nothing at all like waltzing with Crabby.
“Actually, she was like that as a child, too,” Jess recalled. “She was always going home in a miff for no reason that I could ever see. Even the day I fell out of the tree, it was she who had to be carried home. From the shock.”
He laughed. “Did you mind?”
“I don’t think I was very interested. Neither was Claud. But looking back, she didn’t speak to either of us for a week. We didn’t notice that either at the time.”
“Well, from the look of Claud, he notices now,” Jon said wryly.
“I suppose it serves him right for his affaire with that—” She broke off, casting him a quick, apologetic look.
“Antonia?” he suggested.
“Sorry.”
“For what?”
“Speaking of her like that to you.”
His eyes narrowed very slightly. “You may say anything you like to me.”
“Yes, but I don’t wish to insult your…friends.”
He held her gaze. “Is this based on her presence the night we met? Or has Claude been speaking out of turn?”
“Both,” Jess admitted, “though, of course, it’s none of my business!”
His smile was lopsided. “The business is largely Antonia’s. If you care, our liaison was brief during one shore leave last year, and it was over before I even went back to sea.”
“Why?” she asked curiously.
His lips twitched.
“I’m not supposed to ask that, am I?” she said with an apologetic smile.
“No, but I’ll answer you anyway. I was not looking for emotion in our arrangement, but Antonia’s complete lack of it repelled me.”
“She only wanted your money?” Jess said, shocked.
“Apparently we both prefer if I simply give it to her.”
“As you did in the gaming club? But why would you do so at all?”
“I don’t know. There was always a desperation about her, a neediness I’ve only just begun to understand. But if she has a heart, it was given long ago.”
“To another man?”
“Or to duty. I don’t really know.”
“She likes you, though. She spoke of you to Claud.”
“Did she? You know, I don’t really want to be holding you in my arms and talking of other women? Your Crabby taught you well. You waltz delightfully.”
She flushed with pleasure. “So do you. Where did you learn?”
“To waltz? In Italy, I think. Though this version is somewhat staider.”
“I would love to go to Italy,” she said wistfully.
“I’ll take you,” he offered at once.
Her smile of pleasure died quickly. “No, you won’t.”
His arm tightened. His dancing eyes coaxed a response. “Yes, I will. Tonight, anything is possible.”
There had already been much that evening that seemed unreal. It seemed quite natural to knowingly make believe that she would truly marry him and travel with him to Italy among many other places. That she would see the wonders and treasures of the world in his intoxicating company. The pretense—even knowing it was pretense—gave her delicious little tingles of pleasure that would eventually turn to pain. But she chose to live in the moment, in the warmth and laughter of his eyes, in the thrill of his embrace and the heady, rhythmic excitement of the dance.
Even when it ended, the echo stayed with her, wrapped around her like a gossamer shawl as she took his arm and walked with him toward Mary and Mrs. Francis.
Being a stickler for propriety, Mrs. Francis did not make conversation with people to whom she had not been introduced. And having just arrived in town, she really knew nobody present except Claude, Jess, and Jon. As a result, the pair sat in a bubble of isolation while conversations and introductions and promises to dance went on all around them. Even Claud had vanished, though whether to round up some friends or to seek relief from Mary’s disapproval, wasn’t clear.
“Please ask Mary to dance,” Jess breathed.
“I’d rather dance with you.”
She couldn’t deny she liked to hear it, whether or not it was true. “You’ve already danced with me,” she scolded. “Poor Mary doesn’t know anyone.”
That much was clear almost as soon as they joined her when she said baldly to Jess. “I thought you were coming with the vicar’s wife.”
Jess followed her gaze to where Kate was walking onto the dance floor with a dashing army officer. “Mrs. Grant, yes.”
“Truly?” Mrs. Francis said, torn between startlement and disapproval. “Well! She’s very fashionable for a vicar’s wife. And a little flirtatious, to be frank. I wonder the vicar allows it.”
“I expect he dotes on her,” Mary said with a faint air of disparagement.
“I’d be surprised if he didn’t,” Jon said mildly. “Mrs. Francis, may I ask your daughter to dance?”
Permission was given with some surprise that turned quickly into gratification. Jon, after all, was the heir to a viscount.
“You don’t mind, do you, Jess?” Mary asked.
Jess laughed. “Why, of course not. It’s a ball. Everyone must dance.”
In fact, despite invitations, she sat the dance out to keep Mrs. Francis company, even introducing her to the gentlemen who sought her out, and to a few other female acquaintances who paused to greet Jess.
Civilly, Jess asked Mrs. Francis about the village and surrounding area she had once thought of as home. But although Mrs. Francis answered readily enough, her attention was clearly distracted. Jess frequently followed her gaze to the dance floor, where Mary and Jon danced.
It was a country dance, so they were frequently separated. Secretly, Jess loved to watch him. She liked the way his long, lean body moved, easy and graceful, and yet almost a prowl. He did not seem to be remotely bored. On the contrary, he smiled frequently and talked to his partner whenever they came together. An unworthy twinge of jealousy tried to surface, and that was before she glanced at Mary and received a nastier shock.
Mary was flirting. Being Mary, she was ha
rdly outrageous about it. But she was smiling, coquetting with her eyelashes, and when she allowed her gaze to focus on Jon, she looked almost…adoring.
Is that how I look at him, too?
Appalled, she dragged her gaze back to Mrs. Francis, trying to follow the thread of the conversation neither of them really cared about. What on earth was Mary playing at? She hadn’t behaved so dancing with Claud. Was she punishing Claud for his friendship with Jess, by flirting with another man?
Another covert glance told her that Jon did not appear to mind. He seemed entertained in a tolerant kind of way.
Is that how he looks at me, too?
Her stomach tightened with distress. And yet, it shouldn’t really matter to her. Her engagement to Jon was not real. She had no cause, no right to feel this…jealousy.
But Mary didn’t know that. Mary was punishing Jess.
The realization hit her like a bucketful of cold water, shocking her that anyone, any adult, could behave so.
If that is not Mary all over! Jess thought furiously, remembering several childish slights barely noticed at the time, but forming now into an understanding she did not like at all.
George Francis plonked himself down beside Jess toward the end of the dance, but fortunately, Claud appeared soon afterward, all but muscling him out of the way to claim her attention.
“Good evening, Jess,” he said cheerfully. “How very lovely you are looking.” And almost immediately, he added below his breath, “Mary read your note saying the devil was in it that she had arrived in Blackhaven. Now I am in the basket. What on earth were you thinking of?”
She stared at him. “I? Saving you from your own folly. If you wish, I shall tell her exactly what I meant!”
Claud paled. “You wouldn’t!”
“No, probably not,” she said crossly, “but don’t tempt me. It’s not my fault she saw the letter. Besides, it’s better than the alternative, that she discovered you as I did.”
He shuddered. “You’re right, of course, but now she’s threatening to break off our engagement.”
Leaving her free to pursue a viscount’s heir…
It could be the perfect solution, she realized miserably, freeing her and Jon from their own false engagement. Providing Jon liked Mary, of course. He appeared to, but he didn’t really seem to want to marry again. He wanted to be free.
“I’m sure she’ll come around soon,” Jess said, trying to focus on Claud’s problems rather than hers. “Tell her you were planning a special gift for her—with my help—and she arrived before you had acquired it.”
He seemed struck by that. “What sort of a gift?”
“Oh, think of something for yourself, Claud,” she said. “I’ve told all the lies I mean to!”
Chapter Twelve
Now that Mrs. Francis had other company, Jess stood up, meaning to seek refuge with Kate before her own chaotic feelings overwhelmed her, but she hadn’t been paying attention, and the dance had already ended. Jon and Mary were coming directly toward her, and she refused to run away.
“What an interesting man the captain is,” Mary exclaimed. “You are so lucky, Jess.”
Jess forced a smile. She was becoming good at it. “Yes, I know.”
“Of course, you must know each other very well, being cousins,” Mary reflected.
“Distant cousins,” Jon said mildly.
“Of course! I only meant you must be so comfortable with each other. Like an old married couple already.” Mary smiled. “So much easier than the excitement of new love.”
“My daughter is a romantic,” Mrs. Francis said in disapproving tones.
Mary laughed and looked boldly into Jon’s eyes. “Oh, I am sure we are all romantics here.”
“I’m not,” said her brother, clearly revolted.
Jon was holding Mary’s gaze, a faint, enigmatic smile on his lips. “I suspect we all have different definitions,” he said at last. “For now, I have come to claim my betrothed for the supper dance.”
“Supper dance?” Jess repeated, startled. “Already?”
“Well, we were a little late arriving,” he pointed out. “With one thing and another.”
Somehow, they took their leave civilly and moved toward the dance floor.
“Let’s sit it out,” Jess said, “and take a turn around the room instead. I think it might be hard to talk privately in a country dance.”
“You want to talk privately?”
“Well, yes, it just struck me that Mary’s flirting with you is a perfect reason for me to throw you over.”
He blinked. “So that I can become engaged to Mary instead?”
“Well, no. I have a good deal of faith in your ability to avoid that if you wish to. Besides, I wouldn’t like you to step on Claud’s toes.”
“I’ll happily step on more than his toes. I tell you frankly, I have had more than my fill of that pair. If you ask me, they deserve each other.”
She was about to deny that Claud deserved anyone as mean as Mary when she remembered Antonia and his accusation that his quarrel with Mary was Jess’s fault. She closed her mouth and swallowed. “Perhaps you’re right.”
He picked up two glasses of champagne from the table they were passing, and gave her one. “Jess. We don’t need to give the world a reason for anything we do. It’s your business and mine, no one else’s.” He clinked his glass against hers. “To following your own path.”
After an instant, she laughed, stupidly revived simply by being in his company once more. “And yours,” she agreed cordially and sipped the bubbles. “I had forgotten I liked champagne.”
“I thought you didn’t.”
“I did by the time I finished it,” she confessed, and he grinned.
She was back in her sweet unreality and perfectly happy to stroll around on his arm, sipping champagne and talking of everything until it was time to go in to supper, and then they continued their discussion while they ate. Although some topics they touched were serious, and they didn’t always agree, laughter was never far away. Mr. and Mrs. Grant joined them in the supper room, but seemed happy enough to converse with each other and such of their friends as were nearby. Chaperonage was much lighter for a young, engaged lady.
Which was, she acknowledged, one of the things she would miss.
*
For the first dance after supper, she was promised to one of the local officers, Captain Grantham. She took a moment to visit the ladies’ cloakroom and refresh herself first. Repositioning a loose pin to hold the threaded pearls in her hair, she glanced at herself in the mirror and paused.
Her cheeks were becomingly flushed, her eyes large and brilliant. It was undoubtedly her face, and yet, she looked unfamiliar. Her heart was pounding with constant excitement.
What is the matter with me?
Nothing. I am…happy! Smiling at her own reflection, she dropped her arms and tripped out of the room.
The foyer was quiet at that moment, with just the doorman in attendance at one end, and a working man of some kind standing near him for a gossip. Or simply sheltering from the rain. But suddenly, the man moved, turning his face away from her. He shifted awkwardly, dragging his leg.
Her breath caught. Her foot faltered, and then she sped back to the ballroom as fast as she could. Every hair on her neck seemed to be standing up with alarm. The orchestra was tuning up for the next waltz, and for a moment, she feared she would not get to Jon in time. But there he was by the cardroom door, talking to acquaintances. Catching sight of her, he excused himself and immediately came to meet her.
“What is it?” he demanded.
“That man,” she gasped. “The lame man who followed you, who was there when we got into the coach tonight—he’s here now! In the foyer!”
His shoulders relaxed. “I know,” he said. “I told him to be.”
As she stared at him, stunned, Captain Grantham materialized on her other side. “Miss Fordyce, I believe I have the honor…”
“I’ll intro
duce you,” Jon said to her. “After your dance.”
Jess had almost to shake herself to focus on the dance and her partner. It was another waltz, and Captain Grantham was both amiable and entertaining. He was also handsome and possessed all the cachet of having fought under Wellington in the late Peninsular War. But when he held her, her heart did not flutter. Her body did not melt and thrill to his nearness. Perhaps she was simply used to being this close to a man.
Perhaps.
In any case, while part of her enjoyed dancing, the other part was desperate to finish so that Jon would explain the lame man’s presence.
But, of course, it was never going to be so simple. By the time Captain Grantham escorted her toward Mrs. Grant, her chaperone was surrounded by young men.
“Clamoring for the next dance,” Grantham explained.
“Oh dear! Flattering as it is, I’m not sure I care to be swarmed.”
“Then stay with me and have a glass of champagne instead,” Grantham suggested.
“Muscling in, Grantham?” said an amiable voice on his other side.
Grantham sighed. “Trying to, but I see I shall get nowhere. Miss Fordyce, your servant! Thank you for the waltz. Tallon, you are a lucky man.”
“I am,” Jon agreed with a quick grin as Jess primly transferred her hand from Grantham’s arm to his.
“Now,” Jess demanded, all but tugging him to the door. “Who is this wretched man, and why is he always nearby?”
“His name is Masters. He was a Royal Navy seaman, badly injured in an engagement a few years ago and left ashore. He and his shipmate, Horne, returned to their hometown of Whalen and got occasional work on the docks and warehouses. I came in contact with them when I…”
He broke off as they walked out of the ballroom and into the foyer. The lame man still stood there, but now the door was open, and he was paying no attention to Jess or Jon. There was a huddle surrounding the door, outside and in, excited voices raised in a way that filled Jess with sudden dread.
“…when I was investigating some minor thefts from our cargo,” Jon continued, walking with a little more purpose across the foyer. Jess almost trotted to keep up. “They were skimming off small amounts to support their families, but have agreed to pay it back by working for me.”
The Wicked Heir (Blackhaven Brides Book 12) Page 14