“I see,” she said aloofly, as if she had been forced to take part in the conversation. “Dear brother, it is time to open the dancing and I do believe you promised the first dance to Miss Caroline Kingston. She is such an amiable girl and handsome.”
She said this to Georgiana as if warning her. Emily had a horse face, long and not suited for the human form. It gave her the right to be haughty and disagreeable, she supposed.
Nicholas bowed and then allowed his sister to lead him away. He was barely turned away when two gentlemen arrived at her side asking for the first dance. They did it together, using the same words, and Georgiana laughed, causing Nicholas to pause and glance back at her. He was no longer smiling, his face set in a frown.
She turned her back on him, deciding to forget about him and enjoy herself. It was why she had come. The gentlemen worked it out amongst each other who would dance with her first, then the leading lady called out the order and steps, the music started and she found herself in line to dance the cotillion.
The lively music and champagne created in her a great need for fun and laughter and even Nicholas could not dampen her mood. She ignored his presence even when his hand was in hers for the brief moments required according to the steps. She kept her gaze from his and focused on her partner. He had introduced himself but she had already forgotten his name. He was a good dancer as was her next partner and the one after that.
She never sat out a dance and soon two hours had passed and she was exhausted. She refused the next dance, and taking a glass of champagne she avoided the small gathered circles of people talking. They watched her pass, openly curious, and she heard snippets of gossip about herself. She smiled. Let them talk. She was enjoying herself.
The doors out onto the terrace stood open and she ducked out, suddenly hoping no one had observed her fast exit. The air outside was cool and she sighed in relief, her body hot and sweaty from the dancing. She sipped her champagne and looked at the stars, giddy with happiness.
Her father had allowed her to attend her first season but had been constantly at her side. He drove suitors away, saying none were good enough, acting more like a jealous lover than her father.
A touch on her bare shoulder made her jump, spilling her champagne.
“Forgive me,” a voice said as she turned to face him. “I could not but help myself. Your dress glows in the moonlight and your skin shone with light. I had to touch you to see if you were real.”
“I assure you, I am flesh and bone,” she said icily and turned her back on him. It was Mr. Gordon and she wanted to do nothing but run away before he knew it was she.
He was not so easily put off, however, and he moved to stand beside her, watching her.
“We have met before,” he said.
“I don’t think so.”
“Then allow me to introduce myself. I am Reverend Marcus Gordon,” he said and made her a formal bow, but kept his gaze on her as he did.
“A man of God,” she said, wondering if he too was playing a part or if he was really not aware of her true identity.
He smiled and she could not help but find her gaze drop to his lips.
“You will not give me your name?”
“No,” she said simply.
“Am I to presume that you are here alone?” The comment, seemingly harmless, sounded to her ears anything but.
He had been watching her, she supposed, like many of the other curious. She decided making no response would be the better choice.
“Rather mysterious. All other young ladies here tonight seem to have someone else they return to after a dance: family or friends. But you, you dance, speak to no one, and when finally you can dance no more, you choose to come out here by yourself.”
“My husband, I believe, is playing whist upstairs. I have no love of the game,” she said, sounding bored and dismissive.
“Your husband?” he asked and taking hold of her hand, his fingers found the ring on her finger under her white gloves. “You are married.”
She pulled her hand away. “For a vicar, you are too forward.”
“I apologize, for I have no wish to offend you,” he said, contrite, a smile still on his face but not looking one bit sorry. “Your beauty has reduced me to an imbecile. Perhaps you are perfectly unaware that for several hours now every eye has been on your person. Yet with one word from you, I will be silenced, for I see how you are discomforted by this news.”
A young woman in yellow floated through the doors onto the terrace and she paused, catching sight of them. A look of distress crossed her face at seeing them standing so close together. She turned away and went back inside. It was Lydia. Georgiana wondered if she had followed the vicar out.
“Are you really a vicar?” she asked, deciding that perhaps going on the attack would be the best way of getting rid of him.
“I would pull my Bible from my coat but alas the pockets are not deep enough to hold such a thing as a holy book.”
“I don’t think you are a vicar at all,” she said haughtily and made the best imitation of Emily. “Your coat is of too fine a material, the cut perfect. It is a garment that comes from the best shops of London, I warrant. It is not the sort of luxury a mere vicar would allow himself or be able to find the money for. Your arrogance and presumptuous character also speak of a man more suited to the gutter than genteel society. You may have mastered the way we speak and dress but your forward manners give you away.”
He was not disturbed in the least by her words. Rather, the fiend was even more intrigued and his gaze seemed only more heated. He stepped closer to her and she forced herself to stand still. Giving up ground in front of this man would mean her defeat.
“To be so cleverly seen through is a disadvantage to me, but speaks of your intelligence,” he said softly. “Beauty and wit, a rare combination in this society. I will take your comments as compliments. ”
He was not to be so easily put off. She decided on another, more feminine tactic. “My glass is empty,” she said, holding it up to him and smiling. “Would you be so kind?”
He unlaced the glass from her fingers, his own lingering on hers. He knew she would disappear but he also knew he had no choice but to do as she asked, or give himself away by confirming her words. She counted on his needing to keep up whatever charade he was playing.
“You will save me a dance?” he asked.
“Perhaps,” she lied.
He left then, giving her one last regretful glance before going on his futile errand.
From the shadows of the terrace, a figure stepped out into the light and she inhaled sharply. Major Price, dressed in full uniform, walked slowly toward her, a smile on his face.
“You played that well,” he said admiringly.
He had heard everything then. She had not known he would be here tonight and she wondered if she would still have come had she known. The hair on her arms rose and she shivered.
She walked a few steps toward the light, feeling as if she was escaping the devil himself.
“One moment please,” he said, the words clipped and precise. “Who are you exactly?”
She paused and turned back to him and said angrily, “You do not endeavor at civility.”
“And you do not endeavor at modesty.”
“You have an evident need to insult me but I am a married women who will call her husband to her side should she be bothered by one more insolent man who thinks to take advantage of her.”
“You will do no such thing for you have no husband,” he said easily. “Not here tonight anyway; you arrived alone.”
He had seen her arrive. She had not counted on that. She decided that she best leave now and did so, slipping into the crowd, not turning to see if he would follow. She found her way up to the dining hall on the second floor and even though she was not hungry, she forced herself to select some refreshment from the many dishes displayed.
There was soup and pigeon pie, veal, oysters, trifles and cake. With a plate and a glass
of wine, she found a window seat hidden slightly by a velvet curtain and sat behind it. She ate slowly, trying to think.
She needed to leave. That would be the wise thing. A fox scenting a predator on his heels would make haste. Only the part in her that refused to be dictated to by a man stubbornly rose up and convinced her that she should not be so easily frightened off by Major Price or even Mr. Gordon. Damn them. She had a right to be here.
She ate the pigeon and realized she had been hungry. Dancing had been grand fun and she wanted only an hour more, then she would leave. Major Price could not interrogate her on the dance floor. Small pieces of conversation floated toward her and she caught the name Markham. She turned her head to hear.
“He has danced with her more than twice already,” a female voice said.
“They are engaged,” someone answered. “I am sure of it.”
“You only have to see her face to know the truth of it. Why, she is fairly aglow with happiness and she so hangs on his every word, it is almost embarrassing.”
“I rather wonder why he seems so out of sorts tonight?” asked a male voice. “He has had a frown on his face almost the entire night and his gaze is not on Miss Caroline Kingston but on a far more pleasing form and one mysterious, indeed.”
“Who do you think she is?” someone asked as if they all knew about whom he was talking.
“Perhaps she is his mistress.”
“He would not dare.”
“Perhaps she came without his knowing?”
“Oh, this is exciting.”
“He will announce his engagement tonight, I’m sure, and she will try to stop him because she is madly in love with him.”
Georgiana laughed, the sound travelling easily to the group who stood beside the dining table.
“I say, who is that?” asked the man, annoyed.
She emerged from her hiding place to a round of gasps.
“You are most amusing in your wild speculation and to be pitied I am sure,” she said sweetly. She placed her empty plate on the table, and left them standing there whispering to each other, no doubt about her obvious lack of decorum. On the balcony above the ballroom floor, she scanned the crowd but could not find Major Price.
Mr. Gordon, however, had already spotted her and he met her gaze with a sardonic smile and raised his glass to her. Dorothea, who stood next to him, scowled at her and, touching his arm, regained his attention. The group from the dining room walked past her, their expressions set in haughty disdain. She waved to them, but they ignored her.
Then the orchestra finished its last note. Instead of another set starting, Lord Kingston took the stage and everyone quieted down. His voice boomed through the ballroom as he announced the engagement between Sir Nicholas Markham and his daughter, Miss Caroline Kingston. A round of applause followed as Nicholas escorted Caroline to the dance floor. Taking her hand in his, he kissed it.
Then the music started again and people rushed forward to congratulate the couple. She caught the stares of those she had overheard in the dining room. They looked triumphant, their looks implying they knew all about her, and she smiled at them even though, strangely, she felt anything but happy. Her evening had suddenly turned dark but she didn’t want to think of the reasons why.
When the dancing began again, she was in line and she forced herself into the steps even though all her enjoyment in the night had gone. Her partner asked her questions about her dress, and she answered, hoping she said something that would satisfy because her mind was elsewhere.
She knew that he would become engaged this night. What she had not counted on was her reaction to it. It was as if someone had opened a valve inside her, and she was filled suddenly with an overwhelming feeling of loss. She was astonished with her sudden lack of enjoyment in all she saw, heard, and felt.
What did it matter to her that he was engaged? He deserved happiness and a life filled with children and laughter. He was a good man. No. He was the best of men. It was only her vanity that was crushed, she decided. He had shifted his feelings from her to someone else, and she was upset for no longer being the one he loved. It was absurd since she did not even love him. Curse vanity. He was engaged and she would be happy for him.
Her eyes caught his as she danced past where he stood with Caroline at his side. A crowd stood around them, wishing them happiness. It was as it should be, she told herself, and looked away. Then why did she feel so wretched? She missed a step and her partner caught her. She apologized and they returned to the line.
Nicholas was watching her. She could feel him looking at her and when she passed him, their eyes met again. She smiled at him but she wanted to cry, and she knew she had to leave soon. Dear Nicholas, she thought, and wished suddenly only to see him smile at her again as he used to.
She laughed aloud but it sounded more like a cry of despair and her partner watched her strangely. He was a tall, thin gentleman with a kind face and seemed genuinely concerned when she stumbled again, catching her arm to steady her.
“Perhaps we should retire this dance,” he said.
She nodded and he led her off the floor, then bowed, and left her standing there. It was a snub, a mean and public one.
Mr. Gordon materialized at her side and led her to a table of refreshments and handed her a glass of lemonade. She drank it greedily, trying hard not to fall apart. People were watching her and their glances had become more hostile as the night wore on, she realized. Rumors of her identity had spread and it seemed they had not come out favorably for her.
“Why are people so willing to inflict pain on others?” she wondered aloud.
Mr. Gordon smiled sadly. “They are all silly and ignorant. Don’t let it affect you so.”
It was kind of him.
“You don’t pay them any attention,” she said.
“I assure you that I am to be envied for at this moment I stand with the most beautiful and mysterious young lady here. Every gentleman wishes to be in my shoes and every woman in yours. I am nothing but content and so should you be.”
She studied him, wanting to understand the man who had surprised her so often already and continued to do so. He was the enigma, not her.
“Tell me, Mr. Gordon,” she said. “Why did you feel the inclination to become a man of God?”
“Why, indeed. Then you believe me to be a man of God despite my arrogance and fine clothes,” he asked, teasing her.
“I believe it to be only a part of who you are,” she said. “Will you answer?”
“Where shall I begin,” he said and led her across the room to a more secluded spot. “I believe it was something my dear father imparted to me that influenced the decision greatly.”
“Well, what was this chief inducement?” she asked curiously.
“He said to me,” as he lowered his voice to imitate his father, “‘Son, you will join the church and become a minister.’”
“You mock me,” she laughed.
“I have made you smile again,” he said, pleased. “I feel an inclination to hold you to your promise of a dance.”
She danced two more reels, both with Mr. Gordon, who paid as little attention to the gossip surrounding them as she did. Dancing with the same partner twice was to call attention to oneself. Doing it one after the other was to flaunt convention entirely, and leave one open to ridicule, but she was beyond caring. She still held the upper hand because they did not know whose name to attach to their small-minded grievances.
She was aware that the time was fast approaching when all masks would be removed. At the end of their second dance, Mr. Gordon led her from the dance floor and sighed as Dorothea approached them.
“She looks concerned,” he said to her softly.
“No, indeed,” Georgiana replied. “It seems we are to be reprimanded.”
“I would take a thousand reprimands to be by your side,” he smiled.
Dorothea frowned at Mr. Gordon. “I believe you are forgetting yourself, Reverend.”
She
emphasized the word “Reverend” and Georgiana had the idea that Dorothea was more annoyed that he was forgetting her, not himself. Dorothea dropped her fan, on purpose, and Mr. Gordon bent to pick it up and in so doing, let go of Georgiana’s hand. By the time he had risen, Dorothea had insinuated herself between them with her back to Georgiana, who could not help but admire the maneuver and thank her, for it gave her the chance to slip into the throng and disappear to the next room.
From there, she made her way to the great foyer and, reclaiming her cloak, she walked quickly out the front door, and down the stairs, forcing herself to walk and not run. At two minutes to midnight, her slippers found the gravel of the drive, and she made her way down the line of coaches waiting for their owners. Peter and Harry would be at the end as they had agreed. She heard footsteps behind her, and turned to see Major Price at the bottom of the stairs walking toward her, his face set with determination.
Blast the man. She also saw Mr. Gordon’s figure appear at the top of the stairs, and she turned and picked up her skirts and ran. Harry saw her coming first and also noticed the men following her. He sat up suddenly and taking up the reins, he slapped them hard, almost unseating Peter who slumped next to him. The horses jumped forward, and she lunged for the door as it passed her, yanked it open, and jumped in.
“Faster,” she yelled and glanced out the window to see Major Price catching them up. He jumped onto the back of the fast moving coach, and she heard Peter scramble across the roof. There was a struggle, then Major Price fell to the ground, and they were free, the horses galloping down the drive and out into the road. She sat back in relief, trying to still her racing heart, and removed her mask. That had been entirely too close, she thought, then laughed.
When they arrived back at Ravenstone, she thanked Peter and Harry, then made her way back through the kitchen and up the back stairs. She opened her door and fumbled her way in the dark to her dresser where she had left her candle. She lit it from the glowing embers in her fireplace. She straightened and turned around, only to stop short. Lying on her bed, his coat discarded next to him, his hands behind his head and his ankles crossed, was Nicholas Markham.
Ravenstone (Book 1, The Ravenstone Chronicles) Page 28