Georgianne peered into the mirror. Her pearly skin glowed against the silk gown, her hair shone like polished jet, her lips and cheeks did not need artificial colouring. “The diamond necklace, Elliot.”
“In a moment, madam. Please sit, while I arrange your headdress.”
The tip of Elliot’s tongue protruded from her prim mouth while she took care not to ruffle Georgianne’s pomaded curls. Without displacing a single hair, she positioned the silver tiara set with diamonds. After a small, self-satisfied smile, she slipped elbow length gloves up Georgianne’s arms before stepping back. She heaved a sigh.
“Is something wrong, Elliot?”
“No, madam.”
“Why did you sigh?”
“I’ll tell you, although I shouldn’t pay myself a compliment. I sighed with satisfaction. I’ve disguised many a lady’s imperfections so I must say it’s a pleasure to dress a lady of your perfect proportions. You do me credit, indeed you do.”
“Thank you, Elliot.” Georgianne blushed. In her own opinion, she was too petite for beauty. Amazed by her dresser’s praise, Georgianne hoped Tarrant would appreciate her carefully planned ensemble.
“Enter,” she called, in response to a knock on the door.
Bab and Helen came into the bedchamber.
“You look beautiful,” Bab said.
“So does Helen,” Georgianne replied with a smile, while admiring Helen’s pale cream silk gown, which flattered her complexion more than the stark white, which young girls usually wore.
“How fine you look, Georgianne,” Sarah said as she entered the bedchamber dressed in rose silk, worn under a silver lace tunic.
Georgianne smiled. “The honours are yours, Cousin.”
“Thank you for the compliment.” Sarah smiled at Helen. “You look charming, quite charming.” Sarah turned her attention to Georgianne. “You are perfect. The ladies will envy you. And when the gentlemen compliment you, I suspect Tarrant will be jealous.”
Georgianne’s eyes widened. Could it be…was it possible Tarrant looked cross when she said she liked Langley because he was jealous? Surely not. She gathered her wits. “Shush, Sarah.”
Someone, presumably Tarrant, knocked on the door. Elliot opened it a little.
“May I come in?” Tarrant asked.
“No, I will join you,” Georgianne said, desperate for a private moment with her husband.
Bab would have followed if Sarah had not restrained her. “Come—you too Helen—I daresay my husband is waiting for me in the grand salon where my parents will receive the guests invited to dine with us.”
“The grand salon?” Helen queried.
“Yes, did no one tell you the family is to assemble there and mingle with the guests?” Georgianne crossed the threshold into Tarrant’s dressing room closing the door behind her.
“A Princess!” Tarrant exclaimed, his eyes alight with admiration.
Georgianne curtsied playfully. “Thank you for the compliment. I feared all your admiration would be for fair-haired ladies such as Miss Carstairs.”
“You are mistaken, I prefer brunettes, particularly this brunette.” Tarrant stepped toward her. He bent his head as though he would kiss her. At the last moment he turned aside, but not before her heart beat faster in anticipation, and her stomach tightened in an unfamiliar manner, sending thrill after thrill through her.
Disappointed, she stared at Tarrant who stood, hands on slim hips, gorgeous in his champagne coloured tailcoat, knee breeches, and white silk stockings. “You look very elegant.”
How handsome he was. Tarrant’s features were regular, his eyes were large, fringed by thick lashes, and his eyebrows well shaped, endearingly tilted upward at the outer edges.. His fair hair shone in the light of candles. My husband, she thought, her heart beating faster than usual.
To hide a pang in her heart, she dipped a curtsy. “Do you think the mirror tells us we are a fine pair?”
Tarrant laughed. “More the case of Beauty and the Beast.”
“Sir, I do believe you are fishing for compliments. You have no need to, for you must know you are no such thing.”
He laughed. “Come, my beauty, Father will disapprove if we are late.”
In the drawing room, where a few people had gathered, they joined Langley, who was talking to Helen.
Before Georgianne could say more than a word or two to Langley, her aunt tapped Tarrant on the arm with her mother-of-pearl fan. “Tarrant, Langley, after dinner you are not to huddle with the gentlemen who will undoubtedly cross-question you about your experiences in Spain and Portugal. And,” she added with a steel hard look in her eyes, “do not disappear into the card room. I expect both of you to dance. I daresay the ladies will be particularly pleased to see the pair of you, for it is no secret that Lord Wellington expected the cavalry officers in your regiment to be as accomplished in the ballroom as they were in the saddle.”
“Lud, ma’am,” Langley said with an exaggerated drawl, “you will put us to the blush.”
What a handsome pair they were. Langley had hair as black as soot and was as tall and slim as Tarrant. Georgianne’s lips twitched with amusement. Most certainly, Langley’s appearance at the ball would cause many girlish hearts to flutter.
She glanced at Tarrant, who gazed into her eyes. As though sun broke through a dark sky and played on icy water, the depths in Tarrant’s eyes began to warm.
After they dined, Georgianne entered the ballroom in which a blaze of chandeliers, the throng of bejewelled ladies in elegant gowns, and gentlemen attired in coats of various hues, breeches, and white stockings, were reflected in countless gold-framed mirrors along the wall.
“May I have the honour of this dance?” Langley asked.
Georgianne stood up with him, conscious of acquitting herself well. The music ceased. Gentlemen besieged her with invitations to dance before she threaded her way around the ballroom to Tarrant. His heightened colour gave him the appearance of a man whose high, starched shirt collar was choking him.
“Langley seemed to enjoy his dance with you, Georgianne.”
“Dear Langley.” She sighed. “He is so very agreeable, is he not?”
“To be sure.” The musicians played the first bars of a waltz. “My dance, I think,” he said, the expression in his eyes stark.
“How cross you look. Do you not want to partner me?” Pride forced her to try to conceal her disappointment. “If so, it is of no significance, for I am already engaged for this dance.”
“Of course I want to dance with you. Are you not my partner in life?” He took her hand and led her onto the ballroom floor.
Georgianne abandoned herself to the joy of waltzing with Tarrant, in spite of the aggrieved young gentleman who had expected to stand up with her.
“I must count myself fortunate to have secured your hand for a dance, Mrs. Tarrant.”
She giggled. “Do not be foolish. Surely you are not jealous of my partners. After all, you may dance with me whenever you wish.”
Tarrant’s hand tightened around hers. “Have I reason to resent Langley or any other man?”
“Ouch, you are crushing my rings. What has come over you? Why on earth should you make such a remark about Langley or…indeed…anyone else?” she asked, remembering her earlier speculation concerning how her husband would react if she flirted—although she would never flirt with Langley. “Take care or I will think you are jealous of Langley whom we regard as an honorary brother.”
Tarrant relaxed his hold on her gloved hand. “In your own words, nothing has come over me. I hope you are enjoying the ball, but I hope that, if you make many conquests, I will not be obliged to fight innumerable duels to protect your virtue.”
“My virtue…whatever do you mean? Oh, you cannot think I would ever give you cause to doubt my—” she broke off unable to think of the right word.
This time her husband’s hand tightened but did not hurt. If convention permitted it, she would have drawn closer to him. She smiled up a
t Tarrant. It was heaven on earth to dance thus with him. Yet what did he really think of her? Tarrant had told her she looked like a princess, but did he see beyond her appearance?
Chapter Fifteen
When the music faded, Langley returned his partner to her mamma. Afterward he approached Sarah, who sat on Mrs. Bettismore’s right. Sarah inclined her head toward him. “Please be good enough to request my brother to wait upon me.”
“You should not command an earl’s son as though he is a servant,” said Mrs. Deane, who sat on Mrs. Bettismore’s left.
“Georgianne, pray tell Mrs. Deane that Langley, Tarrant, and I have been in and out of each other’s houses all our lives,” Sarah appealed to Georgianne who, at that moment, returned to sit next to her. “He is unlikely to take umbrage because I asked him to fetch my brother and his friend.”
Tarrant and Langley joined them, but not before Pennington came to pay his addresses to Mrs. Bettismore. Having done so, he smiled at Georgianne with an indescribable sweetness she knew was at odds with his true nature. “May I hope for the pleasure of a dance with you, Mrs. Tarrant?”
Despite her disgust, Georgianne held her chin high. “No, you may not, I am engaged for every dance,” she said, furious because her aunt and uncle had invited his lordship to the ball.
Pennington’s smile faded. His face transformed into a malicious mask of white powder and rouge, in which his dark eyes glinted.
Tarrant held out his hand to Georgianne. “My dance, I think.”
She turned and tucked her hand into the crook of her husband’s arm.
“Come.” Tarrant led her to a nearby set which had just formed.
Georgianne executed the curtsy that preceded the dance. “Why did my aunt and uncle invite Pennington?” she asked, still unaccustomed to referring to them as her mother and father-in-law.
“Although I asked my parents not to do so, they ignored my request. After all, Sarah’s husband is the earl’s heir and, through Pennington, she stands to inherit the title of countess.”
“I thought my sisters and I would be safe here.”
“I doubt Pennington will dare to cause trouble under my father’s roof. Besides, the wretch must know my patience is not inexhaustible.” Tarrant’s eyes laughed at hers. “Do not fret, Princess, the earl is no more than a made up milliner,” he scoffed, and then executed a figure of the dance that took her away from him.
“Maybe the earl is as you describe,” she said when the dance steps brought them together again.
“Although you are well guarded, one would think the fellow frightens you.”
The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. “Frightened? No, I am not,” she lied, for her courage failed her sometimes and she feared for her sisters.
“Good.” Her husband’s hand tightened on hers for a moment.
Georgianne concentrated on the intricate steps of the quadrille. As soon as it ended, her aunt approached them, simultaneously beckoning to Viscount Langley.
“My lord,” Lady Tarrant began when Langley reached them, “may I introduce you to Miss Carstairs?”
Langley chuckled. “You are very kind, ma’am. However, we were introduced in London. Moreover, if you wish me to dance with Miss Carstairs, I must decline for I am engaged to stand up with Mrs. Tarrant.”
* * * *
Amelia Carstairs tapped her feet. “Grandmamma, I ask you, what hope is there for any unattached lady when Mrs. Tarrant monopolises all the handsome gentlemen?”
Mrs. Bettismore narrowed her eyes and sniffed. “She’s about to stand up with Viscount Langley.”
“What is wrong, Grandmamma? Don’t you like the viscount?”
“I’ve nought against him. Oh, take no notice of me, child. My corns plague me and my stays hurt.” She stared at the viscount with deplorable vulgarity. “If you like his lordship, further your acquaintance with Mrs. Tarrant and ride in the park with her when we return to London. I hear she’s a notable horsewoman who rides regularly with her husband and the viscount.”
Amelia grinned. Her grandmother took a keen interest in society and all its doings.
Grandmamma gesticulated with her huge ostrich feather fan. “Mind you, if you ride with them, you must be escorted by a groom. But you’re not fond of horses. Do you really like the gentleman enough to ride for his sake?”
“Like him? I love him,” Amelia replied while she studied Langley, who had just executed a step with particular skill.
“Do you? What do you know of him? And what do you know about love, miss? Silly young ladies’ talk of romantic love is no more than nonsense. So are those novels about handsome heroes and beautiful heroines which you’re so fond of. Forget all that folly. Think of me. Although I was fond of my husbands, I never loved any of them. See where I have ended up—contented and wealthy enough to buy out most of the folk present this evening several times over. Well, I don’t care who you marry so long as he’s not a fortune hunter and is a gentleman. Then my poor old feet and I can retire to the country, where I’ll no longer torture myself wearing stays. So, if Viscount Langley’s taken your fancy, my girl, I daresay he’ll do well enough. Mind you, I don’t know why you’ve set your heart on a gentleman as dark as a gypsy.”
Amelia toyed with a fold of her white silk gown, trimmed with garlands of artificial daisies and a row of scalloped lace at the hem.
“Don’t smirk!” her grandmamma exclaimed somewhat loudly. “Now, out with it, lass, I haven’t bred you up to be a bread-and-butter miss who minces her words.”
With the hope no one overheard her grandmamma, Amelia preened. She wished Langley would appreciate her charms. After all, she was one of the most beautiful young ladies present, and probably the wealthiest heiress. She simpered. Thanks to providence, she did not need to resort to wax bosoms like those unfortunates whom nature failed to endow with feminine assets. What was more, she did not need any artificial aids other than her stays, which made the most of her shapely figure. She sighed. If only Grandmamma would allow her to dye her fair hair. Dark-haired ladies, such as Mrs. Tarrant, were all the rage.
“Out with it, girl,” Mrs. Bettismore repeated.
“I danced with Viscount Langley in London. He sat next to me at a picnic, and on one occasion, he rode by your barouche in Hyde Park. What’s more, he’s a brave soldier and a gallant gentleman mentioned several times in Lord Wellington’s dispatches.”
The dance ended. Amelia stared enviously at Georgianne’s black curls before she noticed her hostess guide Viscount Langley toward her.
Lady Tarrant smiled at her. “I am told there is no need to introduce you to his lordship.”
“That is so, my lady,” Amelia replied.
His lordship bowed with exquisite grace. “Mrs. Bettismore, with your permission, I shall ask Miss Carstairs for the honour of this dance.”
Grandmamma nodded.
With a deliberate air of false modesty, Amelia stood and curtsied. “Thank you, my lord.”
When they took up their positions, Amelia abandoned pretence. “At the York Assembly Rooms I never lack partners.” She would have said more if a figure of the cotillion had not separated them.
* * * *
The dance sequence returned his partner to Langley. He smiled, not impervious to her beauty, and admired her pearls, which glowed like her perfect skin. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, he would prefer to dance with rosy-cheeked Helen. Despite her youth, he was drawn to Tarrant’s sister-in-law although it was imprudent for him to be attracted to any young lady without fortune and whose social position would be unsuitable in his family’s eyes.
After his final bow at the end of the dance, Langley returned Amelia to Mrs. Bettismore’s side and retreated with his eyebrows drawn together. If Lady Tarrant had not requested him to do so, he would not have encouraged Miss Carstairs by dancing with her, for she always looked at him with admiration a shade too warm for his liking. Unfortunately, grandmother and granddaughter had somehow or other inveigled him into stan
ding up with the young lady for the supper dance. He sighed, hoping sharp-eyed mammas of marriageable daughters would not gossip about him and Miss Carstairs.
Langley shrugged. The odds were against Miss Carstairs accepting a proposal of marriage from him. His father would be pleased if he wedded her, for even if Miss Carstairs’ family was not equal to his own by birth, an heiress would be welcomed by all but the highest sticklers in his family. On the other hand, none of them would be pleased if he furthered his acquaintance with Miss Whitley, whom he liked very much. No, dash it, to be honest he more than liked her. He wished she had already made her debut so that she could attend the ball instead of being banished after they dined. Of course she was much younger than him, and he had no particular admiration for blue stockings, but he did admire intelligent young ladies such as Helen. He took no interest in shallow-minded females like Miss Carstairs, with heads most probably full of little more than fashion, flirtations, and beaux. He sighed. Viscounts were expected to marry to please their families.
From the other side of the ballroom, Tarrant threaded his way to his side. “Langley,” Tarrant murmured in his ear, “do you think we dare to escape and try our luck with the cards?”
He grinned. “Shall we chance it?”
Lady Tarrant swept around the perimeter of the ballroom advancing toward them. “Langley, come, there is a young lady I particularly wish you to meet.”
Aware of his friend’s amusement, Langley allowed himself to be dragooned into standing up with a very young, extremely shy girl. At the end of the country dance, he returned her to her watchful mamma and made his way across the ballroom floor toward Tarrant. Someone bumped into him. He looked down at the top of Miss Carstairs’ head.
“Oh, forgive me, my lord, how clumsy of me. I don’t know where my partner is. He should have escorted me to my grandmamma. Oh dear, I’m faint.” She tottered. “Some fresh air would revive me.” Miss Carstairs swayed and pointed at one of the double doors leading out onto a balcony.
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