Timeless Regency Collection: A Midwinter Ball

by Heidi Ashworth

  Copyright © 2015 Mirror Press

  E-book edition

  All rights reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form whatsoever without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief passages embodied in critical reviews and articles. These novels are works of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialog are products of the authors’ imaginations and are not to be construed as real.

  Interior Design by Heather Justesen

  Edited by Donna Hatch, Heather B. Moore, Jennie Stevens, and Lisa Shepherd

  Cover design by Rachael Anderson

  Cover Photo Credit: Owen Benson, Photographer

  Published by Mirror Press, LLC

  eISBN-10: 1941145582

  eISBN-13: 978-1-941145-58-6

  Autumn Masquerade

  Spring in Hyde Park

  Summer House Party

  A Country Christmas

  Much Ado About Dancing by Heidi Ashworth

  Other works by Heidi Ashworth

  About Heidi Ashworth

  Sweeter Than Any Dream by Annette Lyon

  Other works by Annette Lyon

  About Annette Lyon

  An Invitation to Dance by Michele Paige Holmes

  Other Works by Michele Paige Holmes

  About Michele Paige Holmes

  For my much loved

  maîtresse de danse

  ~Marie-José Rebboah~

  Chapter One

  Enrosque—A Twist

  England, Midwinter 1817

  “All the county knows my annual house party to be among the most anticipated of the year,” Mrs. Smith of Dance Hall announced to those within the reach of her voice. “What’s more,” she said with an airy wave, “within months of everyone’s departure, there are a greater number of marriages announced in the newspapers than is usual. I am wrong to crow,” she said with a finger to her nose, “but I am persuaded it is on account of my most excellent dancing lessons.”

  Miss Analisa Lloyd-Jones favored her hostess with an indulgent smile. “I shall be astonished if even your incomparable lessons have the power to procure a husband for an old maid such as myself.”

  “Old maid!” her hostess countered, her eyes round with what Analisa surmised to be as much apprehension as incredulity. “You can’t be more than eighteen. Never fear, we shall marry you off this year, see if we don’t.”

  “I shall be twenty come the fall,” Analisa replied brightly. “Though, I confess I am not in the least sorry to have remained a spinster. Now that Colin has gone to India with his wife and baby, Papa and Mama are not entirely on their own.” She stood and walked to the side of her friend, Miss Emily Everitt, who busied herself with a piece of embroidery.

  “Analisa, you mustn’t sacrifice so for your parents,” Emily said as she jabbed her needle into the canvas she held before her. “I am determined that I shall not.”

  A chorus of “Nor I,” was sung out by the girls seated on the various chairs and sofas scattered about the first-floor salon. Such a noisy utterance proved to be too much for Mrs. Smith, who shook her head in protest as she moved briskly from the room.

  “Come now, ladies,” Analisa said with a laugh. “We all know for what we long. We shall be churlish and ill-humored until we retire to our rooms and dress for the evening’s enticements. Let us begin.”

  Miss Mary Arthur’s embroidery hoop clattered to the floor as she rose to her feet with alacrity. “I feared I should be expected to squander the entire afternoon stitching brown reeds around a lake,” she said with her matter-of-course panache.

  “Either that or be forced to primp through our supper,” Emily murmured. “I am persuaded Mrs. Smith has forgotten what it is to be young. She may don a wig if it pleases her,” she said with a sniff, “but the creation of my near-best coiffure requires a great deal of time to achieve.”

  “Then come,” Analisa insisted as she drew Emily to her feet. “Let us make our way above stairs before Mrs. Smith returns and insists on inventing something else with which to keep us occupied.”

  With cries of appreciation, the remaining young ladies sprang to their feet and allowed themselves to be ushered through the door and up the stairs to their bedchambers. As the eldest among them, Analisa imagined herself a hen gathering her chicks. Immediately, she banished the image from her mind; she knew it would only lead to peevishness if she pictured herself a spinster amidst so many fresh-faced maidens. Indeed, it was best not to dwell on the fact that if she did not marry soon, she would, come May, be expected to embark on her fourth Season. It was a humiliation not to be borne with any grace.

  She released the sigh she refused to air in the company of the others and made her way to her chamber door. Though an accommodation of many charms, its beauty failed to distract from the folded piece of parchment lying on her dressing table. It bore her name scrawled in the self-same hand as had the monthly missives Lord Northrup had sent her for nigh on two years. Why her Papa had seen fit to have this one forwarded to Dance Hall, she could not fathom. He was well aware that she had long given up on reading the earl’s letters; they always proved to sink her into a black mood. She was tempted to ignore this one as she had most of the others, but a quiver of misgiving caused her some hesitation. With a shaking hand, she took up the folded parchment and broke the seal.

  Miss Lloyd-Jones, to Whom I Have Remained True,

  I have longed for even a line from you during my months abroad but have received not one. Perhaps your neglect for my comfort is fit punishment for the wrong I have done you in warning away your previous suitors, as well any who might have made their intentions known after my departure. What more can I do than to most humbly beg your pardon? It is my intention to call on you in the very near future. I anticipate our meeting with delight and pray that I find you in good health.

  Yours, As Ever,

  Northrup

  It was as she feared; the earl had returned to England. Analisa sank onto the bed as the parchment fluttered from her hand. Dance Hall was a matter of miles from her country home; if Lord Northrup had done as intended, he had surely been informed of her whereabouts. A deep and abiding hope for a substantial storm filled her heart. She went to the window, and her heart sank at the sight of a cloudless, blue sky.

  Suddenly faint, she sank into a chair before her legs entirely failed her. She was strengthened by the thought that followed; if the weather held, Mr. Charles Wainwright would surely attend the practice ball, known as the Folly Bally, to be held directly after supper. She suspected that he admired her, a sentiment that was steadfastly returned. His rich brown locks and eyes so dark they appeared to be black haunted even her dreams. For the past year, she had whiled away the hours imagining every detail of the gown she would don for their wedding or conjuring the possible appearance of their sure-to-be numerous children. And yet, despite long looks of admiration too numerous to count, he never had so much as bespoken a dance.

  She entertained hopes that a house party would encourage his attentions, all of which she was determined to receive with as much wit and charm as was at her disposal. The very notion caused her spirits to soar until, with a groan, she discerned why he had failed to so much as engage her in conversation in all the time she had known him: Lord Northrup had forbidden it.

  Visions of the far too many balls she had endured from her chair as she hid her humiliation behind her fan rose into her mind. She supposed Lord Northrup was responsible, as well, for the lack of gentlemen callers, gifts of flowers, and invitations to ride in the park, all
of which had dried up like the Red Sea at parting these last two London Seasons.

  An incipient rage threatened to overtake the last shreds of her equanimity as she contemplated all she might say to Lord Northrup, and at the first opportunity. She rose to her feet and paced the floor as she worked out each insult, only to cast aside one after the other. It would never do for her to be overheard speaking with such animosity. She would be most distressed if, as a result of her loose tongue, Mr. Wainwright were to form an unfavorable opinion of her.

  She took a deep breath and examined her reflection in the glass; she mustn’t allow her secrets to be revealed in her face. She was distracted from her scrutiny when her abigail, Ruby, scratched at the door. Analisa bade her enter, and together they began the process of doing up her hair for the evening’s Folly Bally.

  “Miss,” Ruby said as she took up a lock of mahogany hair and twisted it this way and that. “Beggin’ yer pardon, but are the fine gentlemen to stay the night elsewhere as they did during last year’s house party?”

  “But of course. Mrs. Smith is nothing if not an eccentric hostess,” Analisa said with a fond smile. “She does not approve of young ladies and unwed men sharing a roof. She feels certain this can lead to no good. I must, however, give her credit for her many successes; her parties result in a veritable crop of marriages.”

  “If only the weather hadn’t been so dreary this Christmas, she might o’ held the party anyway, and mayhap a storm might have come out of nowhere and snowed in the boys and girls together for the duration. Ain’t that the fun of a house party?”

  “I, for one, Ruby, am grateful she waited; more of the guests can make use of the roads now that the weather is so fine. The men shall also be able to find shelter nearby after tonight’s Folly Bally as well as after the Grand Ball.”

  Ruby took up a brush and sighed. “It’s not only the swells who enjoy a bit o’ fun during a house party, miss. I should have liked it better gettin’ snowed in, with, case in point,” she said grandly, in imitation of her mistress, “Mr. Wainwright’s valet tucked up under the eaves. He is so very handsome. And,” she added with a sharp look for Analisa in the mirror, “we all know how you admire Mr. Wainwright, and it ain’t only that he is a younger son of a duke and was a hero in the Peninsular war!”

  “I am more than familiar with the charms of Mr. Wainwright, Ruby, and, what’s more, you forget yourself in saying such things.” Analisa refused to reply to Ruby’s ensuing comments. Instead, she watched as the girl gathered a portion of Analisa’s rich, dark hair at the crown of her head and coaxed a row of ringlets to fall on either side of her brow. A cunning arrangement of flowers and feathers was secured to the back; Analisa thought it perfectly charming. All that remained was to don her best white muslin gown and a simple strand of pearls. Her newly created silk gown that even now lay between sheets of silver tissue was in reserve for the true ball that was the culmination of the house party.

  “You look a gem of the first water,” Ruby said with a sigh of pleasure.

  “Let us hope the gentlemen share your opinion.” Analisa noted her wry smile as it beckoned to her from the glass. “I have managed to elude their compliments for nigh on two years.”

  The girl furrowed her brow. “That is just modesty talkin’, miss, for it can’t be true! Even so, you have never looked more beautiful.”

  Analisa smiled and bade Ruby quit the room to rest; she would be required in the wee hours of the morning to help her mistress out of her finery. Once the girl had gone, Analisa again studied her reflection in the mirror. She hoped she was not vain, but she was more than pleased by what she saw. The new hairstyle lent her a regal air, and the ringlets along her brow brought out the gray in her fine, almond-shaped eyes to perfection.

  Satisfied she looked her best, she collected her fan and crossed the room. The gaze that met hers when she opened the door was as surprising as it was wished for. Mr. Wainwright, in his chocolate brown coat and froth of white cravat, was never a more welcome sight. It was all Analisa could do to prevent herself from throwing herself into his arms.

  “Mr. Wainwright, how unexpected! What are you doing up here?” Her heart beat hard in anticipation of his reply.

  “I could not resist the chance to have you to myself for a moment before the pandemonium sets in. But, shhh,” he added as he put a finger to his lips. “You and I are both aware that I shall be tossed out on my ear should I be discovered.”

  “Well,” she managed to say in spite of the breathlessness his proximity induced, “I should be most sorry were that to happen. That is to say, all of the ladies,” she stammered, “shall, quite naturally, be regretful should they not have the opportunity to dance with you.”

  He made no reply except to flash a dazzling smile composed of brilliant white teeth and hold out his arm. She took it, feeling as if she were in a dream, one in which his pure masculinity was deeply impressed upon her. The blood that beat in her ears drowned out all other sounds as they moved down the hall to the top of the staircase. In her excitement, she felt incapable of observing a thing past the tip of her nose. Meanwhile, said article was treated to the pleasant aromas of cologne and starch that wafted from the linen at his throat.

  They made their way along the staircase to the first floor. As they peered down at the ground floor passage, he put his finger again to his lips and indicated she should descend to the front hall where the young ladies awaited the gong to announce supper. Analisa found it took a mighty force of will to move away from him. After only a few paces, she could not refrain from turning to look over her shoulder. She saw that he had already made his way nearly to the door of the ballroom where the men were made to wait until they were allowed into the dining room.

  She realized she could now breathe quite naturally but somewhat mourned the disorder of her sensibilities caused by the presence of Mr. Wainwright. Perhaps, if she had had the opportunity to stand so near him at any point in the past, she might have kept herself better in hand.

  She achieved the front hall to find she had dallied too long and was quite alone. The footman opened the door to the dining room, and she entered to find a sea of girlish faces. Each was stamped with a curve of the lips that led her to fear they knew her secret. “Good evening,” she said in astonishingly unexceptional tones. “You all look so beautiful! Perhaps it shall be best if I return to my chamber directly after supper as I haven’t the slightest chance of catching the eye of a single gentleman.”

  Analisa was gratified by the number of smiles that broke out at her words; she supposed the sole incidence of muffled laughter must have been expressed by one of the younger girls who had never known Analisa to have been favored by any gentleman. It led her to realize just how old and hopeless she must appear to them, and she felt the smile slip from her face.

  She forgot all of her discomfort, however, once she was seated in a chair that faced the door in anticipation of the appearance of the men. She owned it was an unconventional means of courting, but the stir of emotions it created was intoxicating. Finally, after some unexplained delay, the footmen flung wide the doors, and the men began to file into the room. There were unrestrained sighs of approval from the young ladies as each gentleman paused to be momentarily framed in the doorway. More than one young man blushed at the intense scrutiny with which he was met, and all appeared to be somewhat dazzled by the high tide of emotion.

  One gentleman, however, seemed untouched by the panoply, a circumstance not the least surprising to Analisa. He entered the room with a confident air and strode to stand as close as he was able to a chair directly across the table from where she was disposed. He looked even finer in his brown suit coat than before, his locks curling about his face and his black eyes shining.

  “Gentlemen,” Mrs. Smith pronounced with a ringing clap of her hands. “Tonight there are very few rules and even fewer strictures. Sit by whomsoever you choose; whether it be across the table from the lady of your admiration or right beside her is of no
consequence. As long as you are under my watchful eye, you may spend as much time with your lady as you choose. You may even dance with her as often as she accepts your invitation to do so.”

  A chorus of approval went around the room at this last pronouncement. However, her decree that all of the gentlemen must depart in their various conveyances the moment the ball drew to a close was met with an equal number of masculine groans.

  “Now, gentlemen,” Mrs. Smith cried over the objections, “if you have cherished hopes of staying the night under this roof, you shall be sorely disappointed.”

  A renewed babble of discontent rose into the air, but Mrs. Smith was not to be denied. “The rules,” she rebuked, “were clearly printed on your invitations. Do not attempt to do other than follow them to the letter! This is not my first house party, I do assure you. However, you must all be silent before we may begin,” she added with an arch look that appeared to be the old woman’s feeble attempt at severity.

  As Analisa turned to hide her mirth, her eye was caught by Mr. Wainwright, who seemed to be every bit as amused. When his gaze fell in a pointed manner to the chair in which he intended to seat himself, she felt her delight swallowed up by the self-conscious flush that rose in her face. She nodded, none too gravely, in return, pleased that he had not chosen an unseemly dash round the table to take a seat at her side.

  “Are we all at readiness?” Mrs. Smith asked. “Very well, then. When I arrive at the count of three, you may take your seats. One, two, three!”

  The room erupted into mayhem, prompting the footmen to cower in the corner as men dashed to and fro. So consumed were some in the pursuit of chairs closest to those they most admired, they narrowly avoiding knocking heads with another. Two unfortunate fellows found themselves chest to chest, the buttons of their coats caught together as their owners did their utmost to charge off in opposite directions.