Giles harrumphed loudly. ‘You two remember that, do you? I thought my nerves had been entirely forgotten.’
‘Don’t be silly, darling.’ Kitty released Robert’s arm to squeeze both of hers around her husband’s waist. ‘You’ll be marvellous. And I promise not to say another word about Miss Holt until dinner.’
Chapter Five
Ianthe ran her hands over the satin bodice of her borrowed gown with a sigh of pleasure. Whoever Mr Felstone’s friend was, she had exquisite taste.
The design was beautiful in its very simplicity, plain but fashionable, with low sloping shoulders, short lace sleeves and a tight-fitting bodice that ended in a point at her waist. Below that, the material flared out like a silk waterfall, hemmed at the edges with white lace, though not enough to detract from the gorgeousness of the fabric itself. The whole thing fitted so perfectly that she could almost imagine it had been made specifically for her. If she’d been able to choose a gown for herself, she could hardly have done any better.
She gave an enthusiastic twirl in front of the mirror, the dress itself seeming to lift her spirits. After months of dressing in unrelenting black and dark grey, the lighter shade was a relief, the silvery tint perfectly complimenting the paler threads in her hair and giving them a vibrancy she wasn’t accustomed to. Under its heady influence, she’d actually been tempted to shun her usual severe hairstyle in favour of more fashionable ringlets, though she’d finally settled on a sensible loose chignon instead, held in place with a hairnet. After all, Sir Charles would be at the ball and she’d no wish to encourage him by seeming frivolous. Not to mention Mr Felstone...though he’d said that he liked sensible.
Would he like her appearance tonight? she wondered.
She caught her breath, recalling the sudden, unexpected and strangely thrilling sensation that had flared in her chest and then raced through her body as their fingers had touched. It had only been a few seconds, but her stomach had seemed to swoop and then dip alarmingly. Had he felt it, too? His expression had seemed to freeze for a moment, though he’d given no indication of any deeper feeling. If anything, he’d looked almost angry when he’d left. Probably she’d simply imagined it and he hadn’t felt anything, yet she had. She most definitely had.
That it had happened at all was disturbing. She’d entered her aunt’s parlour feeling one way towards him and come out again feeling another entirely. Not that she knew what it was. She was still too shocked by his proposal to know what she felt beside confused. She’d been grateful to him for staying when she’d asked, but surely the sudden connection between them hadn’t simply been gratitude? She’d never felt anything quite so disorienting before, not even with Albert...
Not that it mattered, she told herself firmly. She still had absolutely no intention of accepting his offer, especially not now. Whatever she’d felt when they’d touched, she had no intention of making a fool of herself by repeating the experience. It certainly wasn’t something a sensible, respectable woman ought to feel. It was more like one of the baser urges Albert’s mother had accused her of. The new Ianthe wouldn’t stoop to such urges—nor would Mr Felstone want her to. If it was sensible and respectable he wanted, then he ought to take the next train back to Whitby and leave her alone. If it hadn’t been for Albert, she might have considered his proposal, but now it was utterly out of the question. If she accepted his offer then she’d be honour-bound to tell him the whole humiliating truth about her past. And she had absolutely no intention of doing that.
In which case, she really ought not to be wearing his loaned gown, but it was impossible to resist. She’d never worn anything that looked and felt quite so gorgeous. And she was making a point to Sir Charles, she told herself. That was her real reason for wearing it—nothing to do with Mr Felstone at all. Whatever he thought of her was irrelevant. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—accept his offer and she’d tell him so tonight. She’d be calm and collected and not the least bit distracted. Just as long as he didn’t touch her... Her stomach flipped over again at the thought. Perhaps a ball wasn’t such a good idea after all.
‘You look beautiful, dear.’ Aunt Sophoria clasped her hands together admiringly as she entered the parlour. ‘Your Mr Felstone will be very impressed.’
Ianthe gave her a remonstrative look. ‘He’s not my Mr Felstone, Aunt.’
‘No? He doesn’t make calls on any other young ladies in Pickering as far as I know.’
‘Maybe he’s discreet.’
‘Good gracious,’ Aunt Sophoria chuckled. ‘You sound like me. And I thought you were a romantic like your mother.’
‘I used to be.’
She regretted the words the instant they were out of her mouth. Why had she said that? She didn’t want to think about who she used to be... Not to mention that Aunt Sophoria was now looking at her with a distinctly inquisitive expression.
‘Do we have to go tonight, Aunt?’ She turned her face away evasively.
‘Not if you don’t want to, dear. Is something the matter?’
‘No. It’s just...I haven’t danced in so long. Balls, dances, entertainments like that...they seem to belong to another life somehow.’
‘To when your parents were alive, you mean? Enjoying yourself doesn’t mean that you’ve forgotten them.’
‘I know, but it’s not who I am any more.’
‘Oh, my dear, you’ve been in mourning. It takes time to recover, but you’re too young to hide away from the world. You were always such a happy girl. You will be again.’
Ianthe smiled weakly, wishing that were true. For a while she’d thought that it might be, that she could find happiness again with Albert, but look at how that had turned out... She’d left Bournemouth more unhappy than ever. She wasn’t about to open herself up to that kind of hurt and humiliation again, not for anyone.
‘You won’t want to wear grey for ever, dear.’
‘I will!’ She pursed her lips tightly, trying to hold back the sudden onslaught of emotion. ‘When I wear grey, people leave me alone. Most people anyway. That’s all I want now, to be left alone.’
‘Oh, my dear, why don’t you tell me what happened?’
She stiffened at once. ‘My parents...’
‘Apart from that. There was a man, I suppose. There’s usually a man.’
‘I...’ Ianthe bit her lip, the words on the very tip of her tongue. Surely, if anyone would understand about Albert, it was her aunt. It would be a relief to tell someone, to let it all out and ask whether what they’d said about her was true. But she still couldn’t bear to talk about it, not yet.
‘No?’ Aunt Sophoria patted her cheek kindly. ‘Well, when you’re ready to talk, we can talk. In the meantime, we have a ball to attend.’
‘But you said we didn’t have to go!’
‘That was before. Now I think it’s the best thing for you. Besides...’ she patted her blonde curls with a coquettish wink ‘...I think I look rather fetching, don’t you?’
Ianthe smiled affectionately. Her aunt was wearing a white chiffon gown unsuitable for a woman half her age, yet somehow she carried it off.
‘I think you look lovely, Aunt.’
‘And we won’t let Sir Charles ruin your evening. Let him have one dance and that’s it. You won’t be short of partners, I’m sure.’
Ianthe nodded doubtfully. Personally, she thought that any evening with Sir Charles was ruined already, but there seemed to be no way of avoiding him. He’d stayed for another half hour after Mr Felstone had left—until Aunt Sophoria had finally shooed him and Percy away—his behaviour just as disconcerting and confusing as always. She’d hardly spoken to him, let alone offered any encouragement, yet the looks he’d given her had been more intense than ever.
But perhaps her aunt was right. She couldn’t simply hide from the world. And surely the new, sensible Ianthe could cope
with anything Sir Charles might throw at her, no matter how uncomfortable he made her. If she couldn’t avoid him, then she’d have to make her feelings clear once and for all.
She shook her head, wondering how it had happened, that she had two suitors, neither of whom she had any intention of marrying. If only Albert had shown half as much persistence as either! But it was no good. She couldn’t marry one and she definitely wouldn’t marry the other.
Whatever happened, she decided, she’d settle her future that night.
* * *
One hour later, Ianthe looked around the assembly hall with a gasp of delight. The room was fifty feet long, decorated with low-hanging Union Jack banners and baskets of cut flowers, the far wall entirely taken up with a giant papier-mâché model of a locomotive.
‘It’s lovely!’
‘Do you think so?’ Sir Charles sniffed haughtily. ‘I thought it somewhat provincial myself.’
She threw him a glare. He’d met her at the front door, insisting on waiting for her outside the cloakroom so that they entered the hall together. So much for avoiding him, she thought angrily. They looked like an engaged couple!
‘I don’t want you monopolising my niece all night, Charles.’ Aunt Sophoria gave him a stern look as she headed towards the chaperons’ chairs. ‘Or I’ll make you dance with me instead.’
Ianthe put on a fake smile, wondering how to extricate herself as the Baronet escorted her around the edge of the hall, craning her neck as she searched for a glimpse of black hair in the crowd. Not that she wanted to see Mr Felstone, she told herself, but since she had to be there, she might at least talk to him. It would be infinitely preferable to being introduced to yet another of Sir Charles’s acquaintances. His possessive behaviour was bad enough, but the way people were looking at her, as if she were some kind of rare bird, was even worse. What was going on? She felt as though everyone else in the room were in on some secret she herself was excluded from.
‘Care to join us in a game, Mr Holt?’
She spun around in alarm as she heard one of the Baronet’s friends address Percy. That was the last thing she needed. Her brother had been gambling too much over the past year, usually with little success. The man propositioning him looked older, more experienced and decidedly richer.
‘Won’t you dance with me first?’ She put a restraining hand on Percy’s arm.
He looked incredulous and she laughed, hooking her arm through his playfully. ‘Why not? We haven’t danced together in years. Please?’
‘Oh, all right. One dance.’
She smiled with relief, making a brief curtsy to Sir Charles before pulling her brother away.
‘Don’t you have a dance card?’ Percy looked at her quizzically as the orchestra struck up a waltz.
‘Yes.’ She tapped her reticule. Not that anyone had put their names in it yet. A few of Sir Charles’s friends had seemed on the verge of asking for a dance, before a look from him had seemed to dissuade them.
‘No takers, eh?’ Percy shrugged. ‘Not that it matters. You’ve already hooked Charles.’
‘Mmm...’ She tried to sound nonchalant. ‘Speaking of Charles, perhaps you shouldn’t play tonight.’
‘What, you mean cards? Oh, I won’t, not much, though it’s good of his friends to invite me.’
‘Do you have enough money?’
‘Charles will spot me if I run short.’
‘I thought you already owed him money.’
‘Is this why you wanted to dance?’ Percy’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘So you could lecture me?’
‘I just don’t want you to get into trouble.’
‘Well, I won’t.’ He spun her away from him roughly. ‘And I don’t need my sister nagging me about money either.’
Ianthe glanced around nervously. As usual, Percy was doing nothing to moderate his opinions and his raised voice was already starting to attract attention. ‘I only want to help.’
‘If you really want to help, then you know what to do.’
‘That’s not fair!’
‘I’m serious. Charles is going to ask you to marry him tonight.’
‘Tonight?’ She almost tripped over his feet.
‘Yes, and I expect you to be sensible. If you refuse him then I wash my hands of you.’
‘Percy!’ She gasped aloud, heedless of the heads now turned towards them. ‘You don’t mean that!’
‘Don’t I?’ He turned on his heel, throwing her a petulant look before stalking angrily away, leaving her stranded and partnerless in the middle of the dance floor.
Ianthe stood frozen with shock, feeling as though she were caught in a trap. Surely Percy didn’t mean it, wouldn’t really disown her? But then she’d never have thought that he’d deliberately embarrass her in public either. People were already staring, some sympathetically, others nudging each other and smirking. She clenched her fists, resisting the urge to sink down in a heap and start crying. Percy might have humiliated her, but she wasn’t going to show everyone how much he’d upset her, not here in front of an audience. At the very least, she had to get off the dance floor.
She took a step forward and then stopped. Sir Charles was standing straight ahead on the very edge of the dance floor as if he were simply waiting for her to come to him, thin lips curving in a smile that sent chills down her spine. This was the real trap. And there was nowhere to run, no other option, none except...
Strong fingers closed over hers suddenly, spinning her around as another hand clasped her waist.
‘What...?’ She looked up in panic, pulse quickening as she met a pair of familiar grey eyes.
‘I saw that your brother was indisposed.’ Mr Felstone gave her a dazzling, white-toothed smile before throwing a withering glance at a particularly inquisitive couple beside them, enough to make all the other dancers lower their eyes at once. ‘If you’ll permit me the honour of a dance, that is?’
She nodded mutely, too surprised to answer, feet moving instinctively to the music as her mind struggled to keep up. Where had he come from? In her turn around the room, she hadn’t caught so much as a glimpse of him, however much she’d told herself she hadn’t been looking. Now the very touch of his hand seemed to steal her breath away—not to mention his appearance, starkly handsome in elegant black-and-white evening clothes. The swooping sensation in her stomach was back with a vengeance, as if her insides were dancing along to the music as well. She wouldn’t have believed such a feeling was possible, not with Percy’s threat to disown her still fresh in her mind, and yet the sensation was even more powerful than before. How could she feel so upset and so giddy at the same time?
‘Thank you.’ She managed to croak out the words at last.
‘It’s my pleasure. As I said earlier, I’m glad to be of service.’
She made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. ‘I didn’t think I’d need your help again so soon.’
‘Miss Holt?’ He looked genuinely concerned. ‘Are you upset? Shall I escort you to the cloakroom?’
‘No.’ She shook her head firmly. If she started to cry, she didn’t know whether she’d be able to stop. ‘I’d rather stay here.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it.’
He smiled gallantly, and she dropped her gaze at once. She’d forgotten quite how handsome he was when he smiled. The effect was quite disconcerting. Never mind that the way he said the words was almost tender, his deep voice curling around each syllable like a caress. She was seized by the irrational thought that he ought to read poetry. He’d be good at it.
She cleared her throat awkwardly. ‘I ought to thank you for earlier, too, for staying when I asked. I’m indebted.’
‘There’s no debt. Considering my behaviour yesterday, it was the least I could do.’ He nodded his head to where the Baronet was still standing on the
edge of the dance floor, watching them with an enraged expression. ‘I see we were half-successful. We made him jealous, though not enough to chase him away completely. He won’t take his eyes off you.’
‘No.’ She shivered. ‘He does that.’
‘Watches you?’ He frowned thoughtfully. ‘He doesn’t look very happy with either of us. You say he was friends with your parents?’
‘My father really. Though he knew my mother first, from when they were young. Not that she liked him.’ She hesitated for a moment, before deciding to go on. ‘I heard my parents argue about him once. My mother didn’t want him to visit any more, but my father said she was imagining things. I didn’t hear what, but the words stayed with me.’ She gave a small shudder. ‘Sir Charles used to stare at her like that, too.’
‘If I didn’t know better I’d have thought you were already engaged.’
‘What?’ She tensed at once. ‘What do you mean?’
‘He seems very possessive.’
‘And you think I’m to blame?’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘You think I’ve encouraged him?’
‘Not at all.’ His brows knit together sternly. ‘I was commenting on his behaviour, Miss Holt, not yours.’
‘I think I’d remember agreeing to marry someone!’
She clenched her jaw, fuming inwardly. Even if he hadn’t meant to imply anything about her behaviour, the very idea was enraging. Everyone else in the room was likely thinking the same thing, too. That was probably the reason why no one else had asked her for a dance. Mr Felstone was the only one willing to risk the Baronet’s displeasure.
Perhaps she was venting her anger on the wrong man after all...
‘You’ve done a wonderful job here.’ She gestured around the room, shifting the subject back to more neutral territory. ‘It’s so inventive.’
‘I’m glad you think so.’ He was still frowning. ‘Though my involvement was mainly financial. I’m afraid my flower-arranging skills are sadly lacking.’
The Convenient Felstone Marriage Page 7