From her place in the corner, Ginny watched the proceedings with interest. “Why, that woman pushed aside that poor girl!” she gasped. “I believe she is crying!”
“No, it is but laughter,” Grandaunt said with a grimace. `But that is neither here nor there. Kazzy is kin to my dear Mrs. Hadley, and `that woman’ is none other than Lady Derby. She was never one to sit by and watch while others, er, danced” She pursed her lips in a show of disapproval. “I wonder what she has planned for my grandson and how very put out she will be once she gets a glimpse of you”
Ginny felt a rush of affection for her grandaunt but could not agree. “I can only assume she will find me no threat whatsoever.” She regarded Lady Derby closely. With her thick hair arranged in a wondrously intricate style atop her head, her dark, flashing eyes, her flawless skin and pleasingly curved figure, she was easily the most beautiful woman in the room. Her title and fortune were more closely aligned with Anthony’s than those of any other woman in the room, as well.
Ginny narrowed her gaze at Anthony and Lady Derby as they danced and conversed and even smiled into each other’s eyes, then turned to her grandaunt. “I think I shall go look for something to drink in the supper room” She sailed away without another glance but knew Anthony watched her go. She could feel his gaze hot on her back and suspected Lady Derby might be as interested in every detail of her person as Ginny was in hers.
She raised her chin just a fraction. After all, a duchess did not let her knees go out from under her when faced with the mere hint of trouble. Nevertheless, she found a chair to sink into the moment she was beyond Lady Derby’s scope and burst into tears. She was grateful Grandaunt had stayed behind and would never know how she fell so completely to pieces. It would not do for anyone to see her otherwise but in total possession of her emotions. A duchess did not cry in public. Perhaps not even in private. She tried to imagine her grandaunt undone by tears and could not.
The clapping and stamping of the contra dance going on in the next room came to a halt before Ginny could stem the flow of tears. She had just stood and stepped to the sideboard to ladle out a cup of punch when she heard a much-loved voice from the doorway.
“Allow me,” Anthony said. Before she could utter a word, he had stepped to her side, poured the punch, taken her hand in his, and placed the cup gently in her grasp. “I am told the next set is to be a waltz, and I have it on very good authority you are a dab hand at waltzing. Will you so honor me, Miss Delacourt?”
Ginny felt the blush rise in her face and hastily looked around the room to determine if any of the people milling about had noticed their exchange. She knew their betrothal had not yet been announced, even if she did not know the reason why, and she felt the importance of being discreet. However, there could be nothing exceptionable with regard to their dancing together. It was why she had come.
“My lord, I should be delighted.” Abandoning the cup of punch after only one sip, she put her hand in his and allowed herself to be led to the queue of couples lining up to dance. She tried not to think of how she would be thoroughly inspected in just the same way she had Lady Derby-indeed, the way every woman Anthony partnered that night would be-but it was to no avail. Her mouth went suddenly dry, and her legs once again threatened to give out beneath her.
“Come, Miss Delacourt,” Anthony said. “I’m not going to eat you!” Then, soft and low, so no one but she could hear, he added, “I must confess, when I saw you first tonight, it was all I could do to keep from rushing to your side and soundly kissing you”
“Anthony!” she hissed. “Have a care. Everyone will see my blushes and wonder what you are saying to cause them”
His reply was lost, for just then a chord was struck, and the waltzing began. “I’m sorry, you were saying?” She dared to glance up and was bathed in the brilliance of his smile, one she hadn’t seen but a handful of times in all the days she had known him. The real him.
“I said, let them see your blushes!” he replied with a squeeze of her hand in his. “They will only think how splendid you look in them”
“You wicked man,” she said in a playful air, one totally at odds with the glow of gratitude she felt, bathed in the warmth of his approval. “Why, they shall have much opportunity to decide how I look in them now!” She glanced away to gain some composure-a hopeless endeavor, considering the heat of his hand at her waist and the proximity of his lips to her own.
“Now that I have you somewhat to myself, pray tell what you thought of my poem”
Ginny glanced up at him in surprise. How could she have forgotten? She saw a spark of something bordering on uncertainty in his eyes and owned she was surprised by that, as well. “I thought it perfectly glorious! And not only because it was written with myself in mind.”
“Oh?” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “Are you so sure of yourself? It is rather presumptuous, is it not?”
“Do go on, Lord Crenshaw,” Ginny said with a fond smile. “I am persuaded the entire room, including Lady Derby, are all agog to know what is causing this uncharacteristic liveliness of expression in your face.”
He looked away. “Let us not speak of Lady Derby. Instead I shall dwell on your words of admiration for my freshman attempt at Shakespeare-like eclat”
Ginny knew it her most heartfelt desire to admire him excessively in every way, but she could hardly say so. “I have many more such words of praise, but first I believe we must, at the very least, sanction our attachment with a betrothal.” Ginny paused and bit her lip. She did not wish to be seen as a tiresome faultfinder and so sought to temper her words. “If I heard aright, there was some talk of the duke and his reaction to news of our betrothal rising above the babble of my weeping this afternoon. You must think me the most abominable blubberer. When I am a duchess, I promise I shall never weep”
“When you are duchess, you shall do as you very well please!” he admonished her with a frown.
Ginny gasped. “You did not glare so at Lady Derby when you danced with her. Indeed, you were smiling.”
Anthony smiled. “Yes, I was, just as I am now, but I was not in the least happy.”
“As you are now unhappy?” she asked with an arched eyebrow. “And I suppose I am to admire you for your talent for speaking while displaying every one of your teeth? Might you lessen your grimace a trifle in order to answer my question with regard to the duke?” It would be senseless in the extreme to add another query on top of that, one having to do with why he had scolded her and yet another having to do with whether or not he had ever known a duchess to cry.
He had the grace to look a bit discomfited by her words; then he pulled her tightly against his chest, preventing her a view of his face. “As for the duke, I had meant to speak with you upon that very subject when I called this afternoon”
Ginny, her ear pressed to his cravat, which smelled of shaving cream, fresh linen, and something warm and heady and unique to him, could feel his words rumbling in his chest as much as hear them. “I only wish my time had not been so wholly taken up by the Averys,” she replied, whereupon he bent his head to hers as if to better perceive her words.
Perhaps it was the deft ease with which he moved, as if there were no constraints between them, or perhaps it was how comfortable he seemed with his head poised so close to hers, but it was a particularly intimate gesture, too intimate for a pair who did not wish to give the impression they had spent much time in each other’s company. She shivered, both with delight and apprehension.
“Mayhap our conversation is better left until we are no longer dancing. People are beginning to take notice.” Lady Derby, in particular, was staring at them over the shoulder of her dancing partner at every opportunity, and it was clear from the glint in her eyes that she did not like what she saw. The way Anthony suddenly stiffened made Ginny think perhaps he had noticed, as well.
“Forgive me, Ginny, but I feel it would be best if I depart when this dance is over,” he said very low but loudly enough for her to h
ear without his head being but a hairbreadth away. “Might we continue this conversation tomorrow? Say, in the morning? But only if you are fully recovered from your late evening of dancing with every man in the room, as surely you shall, my darling girl.”
Ginny nodded when she would have preferred to throw herself into his arms and beg him to stay, to dance every dance with her. What use did she have for any other man in the room but he? Besides, there was Lady Derby with whom to be reckoned. She, no doubt, would have something unpleasant to say as soon as Ginny was no longer safe in his arms.
As it was, she hadn’t even that long to wait.
“Why, this must be the country mouse to whom you have given your heart!” Lady Derby quipped the moment the music had ceased. She was still clasped in the arms of her dancing partner, whose goggle-eyed look implied he was as discommoded by her pronouncement as if he were the intended target of her malice.
“Er, pardon me, Lady Derby,” the man murmured, and he jerked his hands from her as if from a scorching fire. “I will just see about a glass of, of, of..
And then he was gone, vanishing through the crowd of dancers turned statues. Very attentive statues, Ginny could not help but notice.
She stole a glance at Anthony from the corner of her eye. She could see he was angry and waited with bated breath to see which version of himself would make an appearance: the polite yet sometimes cruel Sir Anthony-of-the-mask she once knew, or the true-speaking man behind the mask she had come to love.
“Lady Derby, might I have the pleasure of introducing Miss Delacourt, lately of Bedfordshire, and my affianced bride?”
Ginny heard Grandaunt Regina’s gasp of disapproval above the instant chatter that rose like the crackle of fire in a field of stubble. It seemed she was as anxious to keep the engagement a secret as was her son, the duke. The thought gave Ginny no comfort. Meanwhile, the glares of disapprobation from many a mother intent on one day seeing her daughter as Duchess of Marcross were unsettling in the extreme.
“Anthony,” she said in as small a voice as possible, “I think we should leave.”
“I wouldn’t hear of it!” cried Lady Derby, who, it would seem, was as sharp in her hearing as in her observations. “Why, it would behoove you to stay and enjoy yourself. I daresay we might even persuade one or two gentlemen to stand up with you for a dance while you glean from present company just how things are done in London. No doubt your time shut up in the country has not availed you of the ways of Society.”
Ginny opened her mouth to give vent to the blistering reply on her tongue, but Lady Derby had so accurately fingered each of Ginny’s doubts, her lungs were frozen in anxious fear. It was just as well. If she had spoken, she would certainly have made matters far worse. As it was, the thought of Lady Derby and Anthony’s mother chatting about this disastrous turn of events over tea and biscuits made her long for the power to sink through the floor.
Anthony gave her a look of puzzled concern before stepping forward and putting out an arm as if to shield her from the company at large. “It’s a pity, Lady Derby, that your late husband’s country seat is in Derbyshire. Why, that’s as near to Wales as could be-a practical wilderness! You have no doubt forgotten our ways here in town. I believe it has always been considered beyond the pale to insult a lady, whether the insult is delivered by a lady or not”
Grandaunt’s gasp was much louder this time. Ginny thought perhaps she had gasped, as well, but couldn’t be sure, as all sound was swallowed up in the roar of stampeding guests making a horrified dash for the refreshment parlor. Only Lady Derby seemed utterly unaffected by Anthony’s defense. Her smile was pleasant, her alabaster skin as unblemished by emotion as ever, her stance perfectly poised and gracious. In short, she behaved exactly as a duchess should behave in the face of hideous scandal. Ginny thought she had never felt more naive, ignorant, nor decidedly unlike a duchess than she did at that moment.
When Anthony took her tenderly by the arm to be fussed over by Grandaunt, she felt defeated. When he ignored Lady Derby’s unnerving proximity and whispered into Ginny’s ear, “It doesn’t matter-all will be well,” she felt miserable. When he turned to give her one last glance before finding his hostess and begging her pardon for departing so soon, she felt completely abandoned. He had done everything an attentive and loving future husband should. So why did she feel so betrayed?
Numb with the prospect of impending doom, Ginny allowed herself to be wrapped up in her cloak, prodded down the stairs, out the door, and into the carriage without a word passing her lips. There was nothing to say, nothing to think of but her inapprehensible plight. For the first time in her life, she wished she had a mask to hide behind, a mask that hid her less-than-admirable thoughts and actions, one that prompted her to always say and do what was proper. It was ironic that she, who had never cared for the shallow ways of Society, should be teeming with desire to be admitted into their ranks. How laughably implausible! Had she allowed herself to occupy so untenable a position that she actually feared being ruined in the eyes of Society?
“Oh, Grandaunt Regina!” she said, daring to lay her head on the duchess’ shoulder in the confines of the ink-dark carriage. “What a woman won’t do for love!”
“Yes, my dear,” said the duchess with an uncharacteristic pat to Ginny’s cheek. “Indeed!”
Everything always looks better in the morning.” Those had been Grandaunt’s last words to Ginny after seeing her tucked snugly into bed and blowing out the candles with her very own regal lips. Now, in the morning light, its rays reflected in the silky counterpane spread across her bed, Ginny thought perhaps Grandaunt was right. Surely the situation was not as bad as she’d feared last night. In fact, now that their engagement had been made somewhat public, perhaps Anthony would be willing to choose a date for their wedding.
Remembering he had promised to arrive early to discuss their impending marriage, she pushed aside her niggling doubts about the duke’s disapproval and hurried through her morning ablutions in hopes Anthony planned to join her and Grandaunt in time for breakfast. Looking around, she noticed it was earlier than she supposed; Nan had not appeared to help her dress, and the maid hadn’t yet been in to light the fires.
Shivering, she pulled her warmest dress from the clothespress, a linsey-woolsey in soft gray she hadn’t worn since winter. It was a favorite, as it was a bit too long, leaving plenty of skirt in which to wrap her bare feet when she curled up by the fire with a book. She had forgotten the hem was both a bit stretched out and falling down as a result of the abuse she had given it, but since it was the easiest of her gowns to don herself, she decided it was her quickest option. The quicker the better. She had waited long enough to learn exactly what it was the duke had had to say about Anthony’s attachment to her, and there were the events of last night to mull over, as well. Mostly she wanted to sit by his side and merely look at him, hear his voice, breathe his scent, and wait for the kiss he always managed to arrange even while under Grandaunt’s watchful eye.
Sighing, she began to hunt for shoes. Her dancing slippers were the closest to hand, but she rejected them for the blue kid ones she wore about the house. After donning them, there was nothing left to do but tie a ribbon around her unruly curls. It was a green one that clashed with everything but her eyes, but no matter; she knew Anthony would not think it too loud against the more demure coloring of her gown.
Finally she was dressed and with not a moment to lose. She could hear the opening and closing of the front door and the murmur of voices raised in greeting as she hurried down the hall. Taking the stairs at a brisk pace, she caught her toe in the damaged hem of her skirt and tumbled nearly the entire way down to land in an undignified heap at the bottom. The picture she presented when she had righted herself was only slightly less undignified. Her hem torn, her hair falling down with the ribbon trailing down her back, and one blue kid slipper in her hand, she looked up to bid good morning to her guest, only to be greeted with a loud “Harrumph!” from her f
uture mother-in-law.
“Oh! Lady Crenshaw. I had not expected it to be you” Ginny thrust the hand holding the shoe behind her and attempted to get it reunited with her foot without anyone the wiser. “That is to say, I had not expected you! At least, not so early in the morning.” Oh, dear! She was making mice feet of the whole affair, and just when she most needed to be all that was irreproachable.
“You were doubtless expecting my son,” Lady Crenshaw announced as she sailed down the hall to the parlor without the aid of the butler, who had wisely decamped. “However, after the debacle of last night, he has once again been summoned to the duke’s side.”
Ginny, feeling her boat was well and truly sunk, followed sedately along behind. In a no doubt fruitless bid at decorum, she pulled the green ribbon from her hair and left it on the hall table as she passed. Anthony, should he ever arrive, would have to admire the gray-green of her eyes without it.
“Well!” Lady Crenshaw exclaimed upon pushing open the door and glancing around the parlor, “I can see she has done nothing to improve this room since last I was here” She sat gingerly on the edge of the sofa, almost as if its being a few years past the crack of fashion were contagious. “I generously informed her how this gold brocade would never do, but she isn’t one who cherishes the opinions of others, do you not agree?”
Ginny most assuredly did. She felt Anthony’s mother was cut from the same bolt of cloth as Grandaunt but knew it would not help her case to open her budget on the subject.
“Lady Crenshaw, I am so surprised, ah, honored at your visit. Have you breakfasted?” Ginny would be shocked to learn that she had. In London, no one who was anyone rose much before noon during the season, Grandaunt included, and it was still early for even those who were meant to wait on their betters.
Miss Delacourt Has Her Day Page 5