by Megan Daniel
ing in to her aunt’s blandishments. But oh, it was lovely, and it made her feel like quite a different person. She very much liked feeling like a different person. She had long suspected that Saskia van Houten, with all her grave responsibility and her much-vaunted common sense, had become a dead bore. Tonight she didn’t feel the least bit boring.
The gown brushed gently across the toes of the lightest of Grecian sandals; a fine gold cord was wrapped thrice about the high waist. A small aigrette of green plumes, tipped with gold, adorned her head. Her hair had been burnished by her maid’s brushing to a rich mahogany, ready to glow in the candlelight of the Assembly Room’s massive chandeliers.
She gazed at the image reflected in the pier glass. One quick, tiny frown chased across her eyes as she wondered again if perhaps the total effect wasn’t just a bit too daring for Bath. But she had never felt so pretty, so desirable, in her life. She would savor the unaccustomed sensation while she could.
She picked up her gold filagree reticule and glided gracefully from the room.
Down came the chin, inch by tiny inch, pushing the cravat into perfect folds. Derek Rowbridge was pleased with the result and managed a grin for Pike, his new valet. Pike did not grin back, merely reaching out to tweak a fold into lying yet more perfectly. Being of a totally unprepossessing aspect himself—pale hair, bland features, and average height—Pike took great pride in his chosen profession. No one ever noticed him. Therefore, his delight was in seeing to it that his master was noticed.
He knew very well that this master would have been satisfied with something considerably less grand than the showy confection adorning his back, for the gentleman had a lamentably casual attitude toward adorning his person. Tme, his fine physique could show off a coat well, and his strong legs showed to advantage in either
pantaloons or knee breeches. But he had developed some remarkably bad habits and ideas about being comfortable in his years aboard those horrid, smelly, damp ships of his.
Tonight, though, the results of Pike’s efforts were not wholly to be despised. The dark blue, long-tailed coat set on the broad shoulders without so much as a suggestion of a wrinkle. The white marcella waistcoat and satin breeches were precisely right.
The valet would have been surprised had he been privy to his master’s thoughts as he gazed into the cheval glass. Casual about his dress Derek may have seemed, but the attitude had in large part been brought about by his perennially empty pockets. But this—this polished young gentleman gazing back at him—this was more like it. It passed through his mind that he and his Cousin Beatrix would make a pleasant sight for the opening dance. Not that many of the onlookers would have an eye for him when she was in the room. What a beauty the girl wasl And surprisingly sweet, too. Not the least like her sister.
He had to smile at thought of Saskia, remembering the absurd scene they had played out yesterday in Sydney Gardens and wondering if she was as worn out from this ridiculously unproductive day as he was. He hadn’t seen her today, but he knew precisely where she’d been and what she’d been doing. Their paths had been crossing and recrossing all day.
So exhausted was he that he’d nearly given up thought of attending the assembly—the York House’s best featherbed looked terribly inviting—but he promised Durrant that he would be there. He had asked his Cousin Beatrix for the first dance. And he admitted to himself that he really did wish to go though he wasn’t sure why. There had been an edge of excitement in him all day, as though tonight were to be of great moment.
He wondered idly how Saskia van Houten would appear at her first Bath Assembly. She had lately been looking a good deal less spinsterish, even if she still
looked always very neat and proper. Perhaps she would wear that bronze-green shade again, which gave her eyes so much life. Oh, well, it wasn’t as though he gave a fig what she wore, for a more disagreeable girl he’d never met. He sent for a carriage and set out up the hill to the Upper Rooms.
Every head in the octagon room turned as Lady Eccles and her two nieces entered the Upper Rooms. With the stars in her eyes rivaling the glittering candles in the great chandelier, Beatrix van Houten was a sight to take any man’s breath away. In a cloud of periwinkle-blue muslin and violet ribbons, a wreath of violets and white primroses in her hair, she looked like some fairy spirit. Saskia glowed with pride in her sister, not even noticing that more than one of the admiring glances were directed not at Beatrix but at her. With a slow, stately progress occasioned as much by Aunt Hester’s regal temperament as by her infirmity, the three of them made their entrance into the ballroom.
They were besieged as soon as they stepped through the double doors. So many friends and acquaintances had been made since their coming to Bath. Greetings, compliments, and requests for dances came from all sides. Saskia, beaming her hellos, scanned the room. She wondered if Captain Durrant had come. He would make a pleasant partner.
Her roving eye landed not on the pleasant face of the Captain, however. It was the distinctly unpleasant visage of Delbert Kneighley that interrupted her gaze. He was making a determined approach toward her to claim the first dance. A sigh escaped her; there was no getting out of it. She prayed that his unbending sense of propriety would stop him from asking her for a second dance, but she placed no great reliance on it. His mother would have poured him full of quite specific instructions regarding the wooing of Miss van Houten.
Thank goodness that Mrs. Kneighley’s zeal to get her only son a wife had stopped short of attending the fes-
tivities herself. As emissary she had sent her daughter to supervise operations. Miss Griselda Kneighley was most obviously less than pleased with her mother’s decision. She’d trussed herself up in stiff black levantine, unrelieved by so much as a frill of lace, and propped herself in a straight-backed chair below the orchestra from which vantage point she could survey the room with ill- concealed disdain.
Miss Kneighley had a trick of incessantly opening and shutting her eyelids, the speed of which exercise depended on the precise degree of her agitation. One could judge the level to a nicety, if one but had a good pocket watch, by carefully counting the number of bats per minute. It was clear that at the present moment she was very agitated indeed.
Mr. Kneighley shouldered his way through the crowds of admirers to reach Saskia. To her immense surprise and chagrin, he executed a jerky, flourishing bow over her hand, nearly pulling her off her feet in the process, and planted on it a noisy lass. His mama must be alarmed indeed to countenance such extreme action. He had certainly never thought of it on his own. So full of himself was he that he didn’t notice the smirks of amusement touching the lips of the other attendant swains.
Flushing a deep red—it seemed she was blushing an awful lot lately—she introduced Mr. Kneighley to her aunt, to whom the rector made a bow so low and so slow that all conversation in the group ceased until he could bring himself upright again.
Lady Eccles gave him two fingers to shake and studied him frankly, rudely even. He prattled on about “what an honor , . and, “been looking forward to ..and so on. She returned no answering smile.
“Kneighley,” she said when he had finished. “Yes. I believe I have heard the name somewhere or other.”
To complete Saskia’s discomfiture, Derek Rowbridge chose that moment to make his entrance. He looked magnificent, she noted. He headed straight for Beatrix, over whose hand he bowed with a casual grace to touch
it with the lightest of kisses, a teasing look in his eye. The comparison between the two gentlemen could not be avoided, and the poor rector definitely did not come out on the plus side of the conclusion.
“So, Rowbridge!” said Lady Eccles as she offered him her cheek to lass.
“So, Aunt Hester!” he returned with a grin.
“Pert!” She laughed. “Who dressed you? Never seen you look so well before.”
“My valet will be pleased to hear it, ma’am. You, as always, are magnificent.” She was, too, in a gold turban stud
ded with enormous rubies, an intricate gold-and- black shawl wrapped around her shoulders. He turned to study his two cousins, genuine admiration writ large in his eyes. Trix was an absolute treat, of course, but it was Saskia whom he studied with surprise. How could he have ever thought her “govemessy”? That gown had most certainly never graced a schoolroom, and it was clear that water-green became her even better than bronze. He smiled warmly and wondered why she was looking so uncomfortable.
He turned back to Beatrix. “Quite breathtaking, Trix. I see I was clever to get my request for a dance in early.”
She dimpled up at him prettily while her bevy of suitors complained. “Taking unfair advantage, Row- bridge,” said one. “Leave it the Navy,” complained a young army corporal, and “You’ll not get the jump on us a second time, old man,” exclaimed a third.
“I’m so awfully glad you did ask me, Cousin Derek,” said Beatrix softly. “I shan’t be nervous with you.” Any man in the room would have gladly given an hour of his life for the smile she bestowed on him. It was not lost on Saskia, and, inexplicably, a little of the joy went out of the evening.
Mr. Kneighley made a grave bow to Derek. “Good evening, Mr. Rowbridge. Kind of you to lend the child your countenance. Such inexperienced young ladies as ours are natural prey to ballroom beaux. But we shall
not leave them unprotected, shall we?” He turned his weaselly smile on Saskia. “My dear Miss van Houten. You are looking quite, uh, fashionable.” If he was shocked by her gown—and she could see to her great delight that he was—he was not quite fool enough to say so. He knew that young ladies must be humored in such matters. And then, she had no man to guide her judgment and shape her taste. After they were married, he would see that such mistakes were not allowed to happen. Such a gown would be sadly improper for a clergyman’s wife!
“Shall we join the set, my dear?” He belatedly remembered one of his mother’s lessons in wooing. Young ladies must be charmed with romantical allusions and fine speeches, she had said. Well, Delbert Kneighley was nothing if not a fine speaker. “The floor awaits, and I feel Terpsichore, in her benevolence, will smile kindly on the efforts of us, her would-be servants. The golden lyre to which the dancer’s step listens’ beckons us. Come, my dear.”
Saskia placed her gloved hand in his and walked onto the floor, not knowing whether to laugh or to die of embarrassment. Behind her she thought she heard a distinct “Humph!” from the direction of her aunt.
Terpsichore might tend to look kindly on her would- be servants, but after one glance she had obviously decided to have nothing whatever to do with Delbert Kneighley. Convinced that his partner would enjoy a show of spirit, he threw himself into the dance, intently moving in entirely the wrong direction so confidently and unambiguously that three shoes rosettes, one satin slipper, and a pair of pinchbeck buckles were rendered useless and any number of toes badly bruised before he could be got turned around again. And still, while apologizing to his victims with cold civility, he so thoroughly proclaimed by his demeanor that he was right and all the rest of the set wrong in their moves as to be ludicrous in the extreme. Saskia had never been so mortified.
After what seemed like hours, the dance ground to a
close, but Mr. Kneighley, instead of returning Saskia to her aunt, steered her in the direction of his sister. The stiff black presence was immobile as they approached except for the rapidly snapping eyes. Mr. Kneighley faded off to fetch some lemonade.
“Good evening, Miss Kneighley. I hope you are enjoying the assembly,” said Saskia with civility.
The eyes speeded up. When Miss Kneighley spoke, her voice came out high and thin, the lips set so tightly together they scarce moved enough for the thin, icy line of voice to push its way past them. “As I believe you are aware, Miss van Houten, I do not approve of dancing. It smacks of heathenism and shouts of immorality.” Saskia had never known it was possible to speak without moving one’s face, and she stared fascinated by the phenomenon.
“Yet you are here, ma’am,” she said at last.
“It is not by choice, I assure you! I was told to attend, just as I was told to be gracious to you. I attempt at all times to be obedient to the wishes of my sainted mother, as I hope you are aware, but I fear I am no good at prevarication.”
“You do not approve of me, do you, Miss Kneighley?”
“Of course I do not! You are not at all suited to be married to my brother, Miss van Houten. Why only look at that gown! Scandalous! Delbert has no need of you, nor of any other wife.”
“Doesn’t every man need a wife?”
“Every man needs a housekeeper, Miss van Houten! I am an excellent housekeeper.”
Oh dear, thought Saskia. Poor Griselda Kneighley is actually jealous of me. It was a diverting thought, considering the limited appeal of the gentleman in question. Saskia could only offer a meek, “I’m sure you are.”
It looked as though another attack was building—Miss Kneighley’s eyes were going furiously now—but luckily, Captain Durrant sailed up just then to save Saskia from the further slings and arrows of her particular outra-
geous fortune. He had come to beg a dance, and he was speedily and gratefully accepted.
“Tell me, Captain,” she said as they took their places on the floor. “Have you rescued many drowning sailors in your years at sea?”
“One or two, Miss van Houten. Why do you ask?”
“Because I was just about to go down for the third time in the flood of her disapproval.”
“Poor thing. I’m glad I was at hand.” He gave her a twinkling smile. "Was your entire life flashing before your eyes?”
“No. Does that really happen, do you think?”
“It does indeed.”
“You sound as if you spoke from experience, Captain.”
“I do. If it hadn’t been for Derek Rowbridge pulling me out, I wouldn’t now be dancing with his so charming cousin.”
“My cousin saved you?”
“That he did. In the Mediterranean. We were in heavy action against a French frigate that was trying to run the blockade. A cannon-burst took off most of the quarterdeck and knocked me clear over the taffrail. Broke both legs and took the wind out of me. I was sinking like a hundredweight of cargo. Derek was after me before I knew where I was, even though he’d taken a ball in the shoulder himself. Pulled me out more dead than alive, he did.”
Saskia gave an involuntary gasp. “He was wounded?” Her eyes flew to her cousin, dancing with Melissa Dur- rant. She had never pictured him amidst the thunder of battle, shells exploding all around him. It was a dreadful picture.
“He certainly was,” continued the Captain. “But he just threw his arm in a sling and took command of my ship all the same. I was as good as dead, completely useless. He brought her, and me, home safe. Finest man I’ve ever known, Derek Rowbridge.”
Her eyes still on her cousin, smiling at his partner as though he’d never had a worry, she tried to reconcile this new information with her personal knowledge of him. He was rude, arrogant, bad-tempered. And he was a hero.
Chapter Fifteen
As the evening wore on, Saskia was pleased to find herself moving from one partner to another. It didn’t appear as if she would sit out a single dance. A delightful notion, but there was a strange little hurt that her cousin had not asked her to stand up with him.
She found her eyes wandering to him more and more as the evening wore on. He made no move in her direction, though several times she surprised him looking at her. He danced very little, but did manage to gain three dances with Trix, quite a feat with such a bevy of suitors surrounding the girl. Saskia heard them laughing now. She took herself to task for not warning Trix that she must on no account dance with the same gentleman more than twice. Perhaps it was acceptable when one was related to the gentleman—Aunt Hester must have countenanced it—but Saskia could not like it all the same.
“The quadrille,” came Mr. Kneighley’s voice, interrupting her thoughts. Sas
kia jumped at the sound. “The queen of modem dances I conceive it to be, requiring grace and agility and a stateliness proper to the elegance of our time. Shall we attempt it, Miss van Houten?”
The quadrille! Saskia moaned inwardly. That most devilishly difficult of dances, calculated to make all but the most skilled and graceful look bumbling and awkward. And Mr. Kneighley was most definitely neither skilled nor graceful. Had she truly been so evil as to earn this punishment? She looked frantically about for some escape; her pleading eyes turned to her aunt.
“She would be delighted to stand up with you, Mr. Kneighley,” said Lady Eccles with unbelievable perversity.
It was then that Saskia noticed that her cousin had approached and stood behind their aunt’s chair. He looked at Saskia, then at Mr. Kneighley. One side of his mouth turned up; it was not a smile. Saskia felt herself flush, favored Lady Eccles with a glare, and followed Mr. Kneighley onto the floor.
Lady Eccles turned a pleased smile to her nephew. “Quite a hit the girls have made tonight.”
“Did you think they would not?” he asked.
"Well anyone with eyes in his head would know that Beatrix would take. But Saskia’s success is a pleasant surprise, III admit.”