Timeless Regency Collection: A Midwinter Ball

by Heidi Ashworth

  Analisa laughed as merrily as the others, even as she contemplated the mortification she most certainly should have felt if Mr. Wainwright had behaved in such a fashion. Instead, he calmly stepped to the chair he desired and laid his hand upon it. When the chaos had sufficiently died out enough to allow him to pull out the chair, he seated himself with grace and aplomb.

  It was only when the uproar had descended to a low rumble that Analisa became aware of a curious deflation of her emotions. It took but a moment for her to discover the reason: Lord Northrup had not come. How his failure to appear should have the power to darken her mood, she could not say. To her chagrin, it could neither be denied.

  Chapter Two

  Pas de duex—A Dance of Two

  Analisa had never enjoyed such a meal. More to the point, she had never before been so openly admired by a man whose favor she returned so precisely. In spite of the lackadaisical rules, one could hardly shout words of affection for all to hear; it was Mr. Wainwright’s cleverly worded messages that made the meal the most delicious she had yet known.

  “I have chosen my seat well,” he confessed whilst the fish was being served. “The view is excellent.”

  “Oh? I hadn’t realized there were any windows on this side of the room.” She turned to behold naught but a footman bearing a platter of carp.

  “Have I claimed the presence of a window?” Mr. Wainwright quizzed with a lift of his well-shaped brow.

  Analisa smiled. “No, I suppose you have not.”

  Upon the appearance of the fruit and sweets, Mr. Wainwright was once again in fine form. “I do so enjoy dancing, do you not, Miss Lloyd-Jones?”

  “Why yes, immensely.” He did not immediately reply and remained silent for so long she began to babble. “Mrs. Smith is adamant that her dancing lessons are the foundation of her successful house parties. She is so confident of this that she dubbed her home Dance Hall upon the death of her husband.”

  “In light of such passion,” Mr. Wainwright remarked in earnest, “I intend to dance as many sets as possible.” The manner in which he then turned his gaze down table provoked Analisa’s heart to sink. To her delight, he turned his gaze to her again and said, “I daresay there is one who shall agree to dance them all with me.”

  Stunned at the soaring of her spirits, she felt almost giddy. “I am persuaded there are many in the room willing to be the one.” Privately, she wondered how one, whomsoever she might be, was to know whether or not it was herself to whom he referred.

  When all had been consumed, the company trooped from the room, each arm in arm with his or her current amour. As the couple farthest from the door, Analisa and Mr. Wainwright were last to depart. With a smile, he once again held out his arm, and she took it with a heart full of anticipation.

  As they moved up the stairs and down the passage towards the ballroom, she was again very aware of how he seemed to tower over her. Yet, unlike before, she felt perfectly well. What she was now experiencing was not a dream but a beautiful reality brimming with delights for all of the senses. Strains of sweet music drifted through the air above the mingled sounds of intimate chatter and sumptuous fabrics brushed against limbs. The walls, covered in peacock blue moiré silk beckoned her into a world of beauteous frivolity. The floor they walked along was of gray-streaked marble, polished to an impossible shine, and the chandeliers overhead bore crystals of such clarity they might have been drops of pure water.

  Against this backdrop was the square jaw and dimpled chin of her escort who smiled down at her with affection. Analisa felt a long denied sensation—that of having been finally restored to her former self: a poised, assured, and desirable young woman. In turn, the anger she had felt when she learned of the prohibition Lord Northrup enacted upon his departure was mollified; she was not unwanted and despised after all.

  Finally, they entered the ballroom, one of the most elaborately embellished she had ever beheld. It had been redecorated since the prior year’s house party, and Analisa was positively overcome by the plethora of peacock-inspired flourishes. Her gaze was filled with feathered figures in every variation of blue, green, and lavender one could possibly imagine. Then her gaze fell to the two and twenty people who did little to fill the vast room.

  She was delighted to see that Emily and Mary each basked in the glow of their mutual admirers and that there was nearly an equal number of gentlemen as ladies in attendance. So, it was with some astonishment that, as she and Mr. Wainwright promenaded down the length of the ballroom, Analisa noted two gentlemen standing together in the far corner of the room. One was turned to face her; he seemed older than most of the assemblage and bore a shrewd gleam in his eyes she found rather alluring. He was handsome as well—fair of hair with full lips and large eyes. To her surprise, they seemed to widen when his gaze met hers.

  He stared at her with recognition, of that she felt certain though she knew him to be, without a doubt, a stranger. Or perhaps what she deemed recognition was mere admiration, an expression from which she had benefited far too little as of late. She knew that to respond would mark her as fast, but a smile sprang to her lips in spite of her wishes.

  Without taking his eyes from her, he leaned into his companion and spoke a word or two into his ear. The other man, taller than the first and broader in the shoulder, turned his head, somewhat hesitantly, to look where he was bid.

  Analisa was persuaded she did not see correctly. She knew this man, and yet she did not. His formerly freckled skin was slightly bronzed, he had grown at least an inch, and what had been a shock of ginger atop his head had grown into a mop of russet locks that cascaded along his brow most becomingly. The rich blue of his coat was echoed in the hue of his eyes, and for the first time since she had known the young Lord Northrup, his arms and legs appeared to be in perfect proportion with the remainder of his frame.

  There was something of his initial expression that she supposed to be pure wonder, but she knew it could not be so; surely he had come to Dance Hall expressly to find her. He turned fully round, and she was struck with the elegance of his deportment, one that implied an assurance not echoed in his eyes. However, the manner in which his jaw was gripped tightly with suppressed emotion was just as she remembered.

  To her dismay, she realized Mr. Wainwright had never ceased his advance into the room. As such, she stood face-to-face with the Earl of Northrup and his companion long before she felt inclined to do so. Now that she was upon him, Analisa could see there was more flesh on his bones than she had believed possible. Silently, she owned that it flattered him. If only there were a way to signify that he should resist looking at her with a gaze that burned holes into her very soul.

  “Callerton, Northrup,” Mr. Wainwright said with a nod for each. “I am persuaded Miss Lloyd-Jones is known to you, Laurie, but I take delight in presenting her anew.” Her escort favored her with a glowing smile. “This is Mr. Callerton and, as I am persuaded you are aware, this is Lord Northrup.”

  As Mr. Wainwright’s gaze vacillated between her face and the earl’s, she felt somewhat perplexed. Her beau’s manner lacked the covetousness she would have preferred to his show of triumph. Unable to fathom what it could mean, she began to feel no small amount of apprehension.

  “Mr. Callerton, I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” she forced herself to say exactly as she ought. “I expect you are a friend of Lord Northrup’s,” she added with a fleeting glance for the earl at her side. “As Mr. Wainwright has said, Lord Northrup and I are somewhat known to one another.”

  This statement prompted smiles in Misters Wainwright and Callerton so broad one might accuse them of smirking. In dismay, she looked to ascertain the breadth of Lord Northrup’s smile only to find that his expression was positively grim.

  She gasped as the truth dawned upon her. “I fear I have been somewhat dull-witted. I now comprehend that you see me as an object of scorn.” She felt her face flame with the humiliation that scorched her breast. “And to think I was foolish enough to
believe you sincere in your attentions, Mr. Wainwright.”

  “I could never scorn such as you! And I am most sincere in my admiration,” he said with an inclination of his head. “But, alas, you have been deemed sacrosanct for years. I confess, I regret it, but I must leave you to your earl as his claim is a prior one.” With a sweeping bow, he took himself in the direction of the others.

  Lord Northrup cast Analisa a look of regret. “Allow me to beg your pardon on Mr. Wainwright’s behalf. He shall soon have reason to repent of such audacity,” he promised in a voice that rumbled deeply.

  Analisa felt it a vast improvement over the high-pitched whine in which he spoke the last time they had conversed. However, she hadn’t a moment to further examine her feelings regarding his threat before Mr. Callerton attempted to desert her as well.

  “I find I must cry off,” he said with an expression too woeful to be fully genuine. “It is a long way to a warm bed for me.”

  “Not at all,” Lord Northrup replied. “The Lloyd-Joneses shall be best pleased to put you up at Dun Hafan together with myself.”

  Analisa quickly considered. Mr. Callerton was very pleasant and if he proved to have money besides, her papa might favor him over the earl. “Do say yes,” she insisted. “It is true, my father shall be delighted to serve as your host, and tonight is the most frolicsome of balls, I do assure you.” She gave him a bright smile, one she hoped hid the apprehension she feared showed in her eyes as she risked a glance up at Lord Northrup. He turned his head away before she could read his expression, but the very air between them felt heavy with dread.

  Mr. Callerton’s countenance bore a more natural smile than previously. “You are most kind. I find I am happy to remain, after all. I would be honored to bespeak a dance, should Laurie approve.”

  “I am certain he shall,” she replied in hopes that her bewilderment did not show in her face. She had thought Mr. Callerton to be the Laurie mentioned by Mr. Wainwright. “Though, at present, I cannot comprehend how the composition of my evening should be any concern of Laurie’s,” she added firmly.

  Mr. Callerton’s eyes grew wide, and he turned his gaze to Lord Northrup. Analisa would dearly have loved to gather the courage to verify what she saw in Mr. Callerton’s expression but found it far more comfortable to avert her gaze and bite her lip in apprehension. Lord Northrup was infamous for his temper, but what had caused it to flare at this moment, she could not guess.

  Mr. Callerton was clearly in little doubt as he quickly murmured his apologies, turned on his heel, and fled.

  In years past, Analisa had found that an angry Lord Northrup was one she could twist round her finger with ease. “Shall we dance, then?” she suggested as she whirled about to face him.

  To her chagrin, his response was not at all what she had anticipated. In days of old, he would have complied though his anger would have yet been palpable, his manner grudging, his words explosive. Then, as they danced, his fury would subside, and his customary admiration of her would resume. Instead, she encountered a cool expression that indicated an unwillingness to comply. When he grasped her elbow to draw her into the shadows, no words of rage followed, though his earlier open admiration had vanished.

  “I had hoped our first exchange should consist of words far more pleasant,” he said. “However, I find I cannot refrain from informing you of my meeting with your father.” He spoke with a calm that belied the apprehension he seemed at pains to conceal. “He has agreed there is neither a reason nor the need to breach our marriage contract.”

  “Has he?” A white-hot rage threatened to overwhelm her. “You may speak of contracts all you wish, but I doubt there was ever any such document.”

  “Nothing in writing,” he admitted, a bit ruffled but all the bolder for it. “A contract spoken between two gentlemen is as worthy as any that is written.” He stared at her intently as if he expected an immediate reply. When none was forthcoming, he released her arm and stepped back a pace. “Do pardon my outburst.”

  If he deemed this an outburst, he had, indeed, changed. Sensing a weakening of his self-possession, she straightened her spine. “He informed me that you asked for my hand. However, my brother interceded on my behalf. Papa must have had his doubts, as he allowed Colin time to find me a more suitable match.”

  “And has he done?” Lord Northrup asked with an aplomb that indicated he well knew the answer.

  “No,” she said as she attempted to look away. She found that she could not; there was something terribly compelling about this new Lord Northrup that bade her look on. “Colin found himself a wife, instead. He was then consumed with wedding preparations and everything that follows. Almost directly after the baby arrived, they sailed for India to meet his other grandparents.”

  “Then there are none who would take my place.” It was a statement of fact.

  Words of censure rose to her lips. They vanished when she noted the softening of his expression as he gazed at her.

  “Fools, they, each and every one.”

  Startled, Analisa forgot her qualms and dared to see what dwelt in his eyes. The look they shared was not in the least discomfiting, despite the seeming disappearance of the musicians, the room, and everyone in it. He did not speak, and yet, as he chained her gaze in his, he conveyed a message, one she failed to comprehend. She knew her eyes spoke of nothing in return, and when he looked away and down at the floor, she realized he knew it too.

  The spell broken, the words she had previously called up spilled, unbidden, from her mouth. “Lord Northrup, I have remained unwed for reasons of which you are very well aware. Your actions towards me have been monstrously unfair.”

  He made no reply, but a crease appeared between his brows as he continued to stare steadfastly at the floor.

  “I have always known you to believe yourself undeniably worthy of whatsoever you desire.”

  The crease deepened, but he made no attempt to mount a defense.

  “In light of such, you thought it perfectly unexceptionable to warn away all of my potential suitors. It seems, at the risk of inviting your wrath, they have complied.”

  He lifted his head, and his gaze flew to her face. To her surprise, there was something in his eyes she had never before seen—uncertainty or perhaps even remorse. No, it was something softer yet—hurt. The mere notion squeezed her heart with such force that she gasped in pure astonishment.

  The crease between his brows reappeared. “Pray, do not pity me.”

  “For what should I pity you?” she asked, astounded. “Indeed, why should any pity a man with youth, money, and power in his grasp? With but the lift of a finger you might have nearly any girl in the room and beyond to wife. What I cannot comprehend is why you should wish to shackle yourself to the one who cannot like you.”

  He looked, for a moment, as if he had been struck, and the scalding across his face that she had long expected finally appeared. Then he laughed, ruefully, a small smile curving one corner of his mouth. “I have long admired you for your unrestrained conviviality. I had not thought there could be an end to it.” The humor drained from his face. “Am I so despicable, then?”

  His words shamed her, but her anger would not be denied. “Not at all.” She was astonished to find she spoke the truth. “As I have said, there are none here who would despise you in the least. And yet, they have not suffered at your hands as have I.” She disguised her words with a brittle smile. “You have made me the unwitting subject of a joke between who knows how many gentlemen of my acquaintance. You have created a state of affairs that has made it undesirable, if not impossible, for any man to deign to so much as invite me to dance. For nigh on two years I have suffered this indignity.”

  He opened his mouth to utter what she feared would be a hateful retort, but he snapped it shut again, his eyes dark against his drained-white skin. She knew by the staccato of his breath that he labored under the effects of an intense emotion, but still he said nothing.

  Thoroughly alarmed, she looke
d about the room for a source of aid. None seemed aware of her peril and, as each couple waltzed by, she saw how each delighted in the company of the other. Their happiness prompted in Analisa such a profound sense of sorrow that her eyes filled with tears. She struggled to regain her composure, but the tears only came faster and, mortified, she turned to flee. To her astonishment, she felt her hand caught in another’s, and she was whirled expertly into the dance.

  Blinded by tears, it was a few moments before she knew of a certainty in whose arms she was held. That it was Lord Northrup who had taken pity on her should have been a humiliation past bearing. Instead, her heart filled with gratitude; she had wished to dance with anyone save her father for ever so long. Her grief drifted away to be replaced with sheer happiness, and a bubble of laughter rose into her throat, such that she could not contain it. Heads turned at the sound, and she laughed again.

  She took in the expressions of those who passed by, all of them smiling, even the gentlemen who had reason to fear Lord Northrup’s wrath. She felt as if she were flying in his arms and realized he had become a most accomplished dancer. She had no objections when he, refusing to release her, bespoke the next set. It was the Quadrille, the steps of which allowed her to dance with other gentlemen as well. It was if the desolation of nearly two years melted away, little by little, until it disappeared altogether.

  Just as she decided that she was perfectly content to dance with Lord Northrup all night, the set came to an end. To her bemusement, he escorted her to a chair in a corner of the room and indicated she should sit.

  “You no longer wish to dance, my lord?” she asked in full expectation that he would insist she rest whilst he procured her some refreshment.

  “I have had my fill of dancing,” he said, not unkindly. “I trust you shall enjoy the remainder of your evening.” He gave her a deep bow, then turned and walked out of the door.