by Ella Edon
Merope knew what Sally was trying to do and refused to take the bait. "It is a lovely little estate," she said, with a shrug. "It is the Brookford family home, after all. But I never forget that we are guests here, I am quite appreciative of all that they do to show us hospitality."
"Oh, yes, very appreciative indeed!" Sally said with a laugh, and then began pulling on a pair of what looked like real silk stockings. "I am sure you are most appreciative of Mr. Brookford's kind hospitality."
Merope's eyes narrowed. She found that she was beginning to take a small, mean delight in refusing to engage Sally in the battle she so obviously wanted. "It is his parents that I appreciate most," Merope said innocently. "Especially his mother. She was so very kind to invite both of us. I do hope the ball is a success tonight."
"Oh, I am sure it will be," said Sally, in a low voice. "I should not be surprised if it is even more successful than they ever dreamed!"
Again, Merope refused to respond to her. For the rest of the afternoon, the two girls made the most careful preparations they had ever undertaken, as they got themselves ready for the Albany House ball.
Each of the girls arranged her own hair as they wished. While Merope knew that normally they would have assisted one another with their carefully pinned hairstyles, right now, both of them were determined not to ask for anything at all from the other. The lady’s maid sent up by Lady Albany was kept busy between them.
It would have struck Merope as funny, if the stakes had not been so very high. They both knew that James Brookford was ready to take a wife, and they would, of course, not be the only young women at the ball aware of this.
At last, the dresses went on, the final lacings of the gowns made, and the jewelry fastened. When they were finally ready, Merope and Sally started down the stairs to make their way to the large withdrawing room, which was now turned into a ballroom. Merope walked along the right-side bannister, while Sally walked along the left, each one still ignoring the presence of the other as they marched into battle in their fragile slippers.
A pretty figure, fair young skin, and a delicate silk dress were proving to be weapons as great – or greater – than any sword or cannon.
Chapter Twenty-Two
With one deep breath, Merope took the last step down from the staircase and entered the noisy crowd of people gathered waiting in the wide entryway before the open front doors. She thought she had spotted Mr. Brookford across the way, near the door, welcoming the many guests along with his mother and his father. As best as she could tell, he had not seen her or Sally come down.
There was quite a crush. It looked as though all those invited had decided to attend, and apparently, they had brought others with them in the belief it would be acceptable to bring a few extra guests.
Merope guessed that there must be at least twice as many in attendance as Lady Albany had expected. Her time at the inn had given her a good eye for estimating a crowd, and she was sure there were some eighty or more people here, not forty, all politely vying for position within the beautiful, but relatively modest Albany House.
It appeared to Merope that for some reason, the guests were not yet being allowed into the withdrawing room, where the dancing would be held, nor into the dining room for the refreshments. It was a bit of a mystery, but at least it would most likely be easier to avoid Sally in such a crowd.
With all the chattering conversations going on at once, there was no danger of anyone overhearing anything that they should not . . . unlike when one was inside a quiet, deserted millhouse and thought one was alone with a gentleman.
Merope began making her way slowly through the many people, right as Sally pushed her way towards the front doors, where Mr. Brookford and his parents stood, Merope soon lost the sight of her.
Sally did look quite fetching tonight, Merope had to admit, though she certainly should with what her gown must have cost. It was made of entirely of creamy white silk, almost as white as a high summer cloud, and the square neckline and short puffy sleeves were lavishly trimmed in silk ribbon of the palest blue.
On Sally's arms were new kid gloves in the same creamy white as the gown. On her feet were new half-boots in the same cream color. In her dark brown hair, was a large and fluffy white feather, pinned in place with a flashy diamond-like jewel.
The jewel was a match for her heavy, sparkling necklace, which appeared to be made of more large diamonds, but which Merope knew could not possibly have been real. There was no question that both the pin and the necklace were only paste, or perhaps even glass, for every farthing the Henson family could spare must surely have gone for all of Sally's very expensive silk dresses and stockings . . . as well as the many other new outfits in her trunks and cases.
The ensemble she was wearing tonight alone must have cost her father a year's profits from their chicken farm.
Merope continued to carefully edge her way through the crush, trying to be careful not to step on anyone's gown or polished boot. Though she had to admit that Sally's gown, by itself, was exquisitely beautiful, she privately held the opinion that being covered in bright white actually made a girl like Sally look even shorter and rounder than she was – and perhaps was actually not the best choice for her.
The glass necklace and hair pin were an odd combination with the fine materials that comprised her gown, gloves and half-boots. But, having been well taught by her mother over the years, Merope would keep such catty thoughts to herself. Besides, it was doubtful that the country gentlemen in attendance here tonight would care about such things. They would only find Miss Henson to be as beautifully dressed, and as glittering, as any young lady in London.
Yet even besides Sally's perfect finery, Merope was quite pleased with how her own turnout for the ball had come together. The pale pink silk of her own new gown brought out the pink in her cheeks beneath her blonde hair, while the wide maroon ribbon – made of cotton to save a few pounds from the slim profits of the inn – set off the neckline, sleeves and high waist very nicely.
And resting on her skin, just above the neckline of the gown, was her mother's small ruby pendant. It hung from a slender gold chain and glowed beautifully in the candlelight.
After just a little help from the lady's maid upstairs, Merope's blonde hair was pinned up with just a few long soft curls hanging down at the back. She had no decorated hairpins, the way Sally and most of the other girls did, but was content with just the curls to set off her gown and necklace. She had her own kid gloves and half-boots and felt as well dressed as any of the other women as she walked through the crowd towards the drawing room.
"Miss – " she thought she heard, over the clamor of the entryway. The voice was distant but seemed to be speaking to her. "Miss Robbins!"
She turned, and there he was. Mr. Brookford stood before her in the tiny space that was left to them within the crowd, perfectly dressed in black coat and snowy white shirt and cravat, with shining black boots up to his knees. He bowed to her and she curtsied in return, careful not to brush against anyone else. He quickly offered her his arm and then led to the wall near the entrance to the withdrawing room.
"An amazing crush! I thought I was back in London," he said, chuckling.
"Indeed," Merope agreed, smiling. "The ball seems to be a great success already."
Mr. Brookford laughed again. He looked around with shining hazel eyes and seemed quite happy about the state of his house. "Very much a success, I should say! We have had several arrivals who bear their own invitations, but then beg to be allowed to bring in this neighbor or that friend or relation. Again, quite different from the city!"
Merope nodded. "I cannot say that I am too shocked. Country folk can only be less formal than what you would expect to see in London. Everyone knows everyone here, and of course, they all want to experience special occasions together. And they will, if given half a chance!"
"My parents have no heart to refuse any of them," said Mr. Brookford, nodding towards the front doors. "Their daughters esp
ecially, are so very happy to be here. So here they are! Not to be turned away from Albany House!" he said with a wink.
"That is indeed very kind of you," she said. "I think it will prove to be a very exciting evening for all who are here. But – "
She glanced around at the ever-increasing crowd and moved a little closer to the wall until she could move no further. "Would it not be better to let everyone inside the drawing room and allow everyone a bit more space? I fear for the paintings on the walls and the sculptures on the tables, with everyone pressed so very close to them!"
He grinned. "Soon, soon, Miss Robbins. As you might expect, we are running a little late because of so many unexpected guests. The servants are frantically setting up extra chairs along the walls in the drawing room, as well as extra tables in the dining room to accommodate the refreshments. I promise you— it will be done very soon!"
"Of course," Merope answered. "I am sure it will be worth it." She smiled politely but found herself thinking that she would be glad when the rooms opened up for the entryway was growing quite warm, the air was very still.
Mr. Brookford said something to her again, but in the noise all around them she did not quite hear him. He leaned down close to her, brushing back a tendril of her blonde hair from her cheek. "You do look very beautiful tonight, Miss Robbins," he said, close to her ear. "I would be very pleased to have you as my partner for as many dances as I may?"
Merope drew back a little, startled, but could not move for she was directly against the wall. All she could do was look up at him, at his sparkling eyes focused directly on her, and watch his slow smile as he spoke again. "This evening will not be quite so intimate as our time at the mill today, but I am sure we can still take pleasure in the dancing and light conversation."
He was grinning down at her and looking very mischievous, as though all that had happened at the mill was simply a great joke to him. Blinking, Merope tried to think of some retort to take the edge off of his words – and then it suddenly dawned on her as to what was really happening here.
Quickly, she turned her face away from him. Her eyes flicked over the guests and all around the crowded entry as she looked at everyone and everything except Mr. Brookford's face.
Even in the close and stuffy warmth of the entryway, Merope began to feel cold, while Mr. Brookford was still laughing amusedly. Her encounter with him at the millhouse today was the first time she had come so close to being kissed, which was certainly not the case for him.
She had no doubt that Mr. Brookford had done this many times before. He had been away from home for many years, living first at university and then in London. The realization sank in that now, after his embrace in the millhouse, she was simply another face in a crowd of women that he must have known from his time in London and many other places . . . a crowd that meant very little to him, even though he meant everything to her.
Merope tried to meet his gaze again, but it was difficult. All she saw now were the imagined faces of all of the other women that he surely must have looked at in just the same way.
"Ah! There they are with the extra table from the library. That's what we are waiting for! Please wait here, Miss Robbins, while I see to it." He bowed quickly and was off, even before she had a chance to curtsy to him in return.
She moved a few steps over and stood leaning against the door frame, just able to see inside the drawing room. It was a wonderful sight; the chairs for the musicians were already waiting at the far end of the room. The candles were glowing in the chandeliers and it was all quite lovely.
Merope wished that she could enjoy this beautiful, exciting situation. She was surrounded by many handsome gentlemen, including James Brookford, who were all here to show the young ladies a wonderful time at the ball.
But the occasion was chilled somewhat by her growing feelings of humiliation at having been so foolish all afternoon. She had walked down the stairs feeling so very special and had been looking forward with delight to dancing with James Brookford, the heir to this entire estate.
Now, though, she wanted nothing more than to flee back upstairs and hide for the rest of the night. As she stood against the doorway, she remembered her mother remarking on how she had a tendency to run whenever something became difficult, and the truth was that Merope had never been so tempted to do so before. The crush, the anticipation of having to watch Sally stay at Mr. Brookford's elbow all evening long, the memory of how she had nearly wept in front of him out at the millhouse . . . nothing was worth the humiliation she was sure the night would bring.
Mr. Brookford walked into the nearly empty ballroom from the next room, followed by a couple of servants carrying even more chairs. It seemed that they had raided every room in the entire house for every chair, bench, and stool. Mr. Brookford began directing the servants as to where to place them all in the withdrawing room, which was, of course, now the ballroom for the evening.
Momentarily, he glanced up and looked right at her, and in that instant, his face lit up and he nodded to her. Then he was back to directing the servants and finishing getting the room ready for the ball as promptly as possible.
Merope raised her chin and decided that perhaps she would not flee to her room after all. No, for once, she would make her mother proud and see this evening through to the very end.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Merope stood with the rest of the crowd at the open ballroom doors, waiting to be invited inside. Suddenly, she was forced to step back a pace as someone slipped past her and went striding out alone into the ballroom.
Pushing her way to the front again, Merope was shocked – but not surprised – to see it was Sally, as the small figure in white walked straight over to Mr. Brookford. Her heavy glass jewels caught the candlelight and the big white feather in her dark brown hair bobbed up and down as she walked.
It should have been unthinkable for guests to enter the ballroom before being invited by the host to do so, but as Merope had witnessed several times before, Miss Henson was determined to ignore social convention whenever it suited her and simply do as she pleased.
Mr. Brookford did not see Sally approach at first. He was still busy directing the servants and she walked up behind him. She placed her hand on his arm and pulled at his sleeve.
Merope just shook her head. Sally seemed to have no concern at all with the formalities of social behavior.
Mr. Brookford quickly turned, a little startled, but snapped a small bow to her. She bobbed down and up in a curtsy and then instantly began talking, smiling, and giggling. Merope could not hear what Sally said, however, it was clearly nothing but flirtation.
To her surprise, Merope saw Mr. Brookford glance in her own direction. For a heartbeat, their gazes locked and instantly she turned away, fleeing back into the crowd, so that he would not see her. She could not get far, and neither could she resist looking back at Mr. Brookford.
She saw that he was doing the same – looking for her through the crowd – and all the while trying to pretend to Sally that he wasn't.
This time, with a deep breath, Merope turned and walked far enough into the crowd to be well out of sight for anyone inside the ballroom. She managed to get back to the staircase and find an open window to stand beside. She gathered her composure and took a deep breath of the cool, fresh air.
Her head began to clear. Sally was so forward, bursting into the ballroom uninvited as if she were the mistress of the estate. She had been acting like this since they had left Birdwell and Merope knew that it would only get worse from here. This was the final battle ground, and it seemed like Sally meant to settle this war tonight.
She sighed in frustration. What on earth could she do to stop this? She did not want to have to spend her evening at this beautiful ball watching Sally clinging to Mr. Brookford's arm and making a fool of herself in front of everyone. Surely, there was some way to keep this from happening!
Just then, she thought she saw Mr. Brookford come out of the ballroom and into the crow
ded entryway – and right behind him was the big white feather that was pinned to Sally's hair. He seemed to be telling all the guests that they could go inside now, and she thought she heard the musicians starting to play as well.
Mr. Brookford moved down towards the front door, speaking to more of his guests, and everywhere he went, that white feather went bobbing along right beside him.
Merope stepped back and closed her eyes. Very firmly, she told herself that if Mr. Brookford could be so easily stolen away from her by someone like Sally, then it was better to find out about it now before this went any further.
She remembered the picnic at Worthington, where she had first met him. She remembered having coffee at the inn . . . and the tour of the town . . . the wild ride on the wicked little pony . . . riding pillion close behind him… Mr. Brookford on his very tall horse . . . journeying all the way to Albany House . . . and then standing alone with him in the millhouse, hearing nothing but the wind in the trees and the river running past and the soft sound of his voice in her ear.