Timeless Regency Collection: A Midwinter Ball

by Heidi Ashworth

  She wanted nothing more than to afford him some comfort, to insist that he had indeed changed, that she did like him better than she had in days past. However, in the end, there was nothing she could say that would not wound as much as enlighten. She bent her head to hide the tears that sprang to her eyes, and when she again looked up, he was gone.

  Chapter Four

  Fouette—A Series of Turns

  Analisa waited a moment before opening the door to peek into the passage. She neither saw nor heard anything of Lord Northrup and found that the knowledge restored her equilibrium. She dried her eyes and plumped her cheeks as she made her way up the stairs and into the salon where she supposed the girls were deep into their etiquette lesson. Contrary to the excitement and lively chatter she expected, Analisa encountered a scene of orderly calm. The girls were quietly seated, hands in their laps, their pretty ankles crossed beneath their chairs. They watched someone in the center of the room with a degree of attention she had believed to be beyond their capacities.

  To her astonishment, it was Lord Northrup. Next to him stood Emily, her hands clasped in his. Analisa felt her mouth fall open; she had thought him to have quit the premises altogether. As for Emily, the glazed expression of adoration on her face prompted in Analisa the avid desire to scratch out the eyes of her dearest friend.

  “Mrs. Smith,” Analisa said in a voice that wavered. “Pray, pardon my tardiness.”

  Mrs. Smith nodded, indicating that Analisa should find an empty chair and be seated. Such a task proved difficult in light of the fact that her legs had turned to water.

  “I do hope you are feeling more the thing, my dear,” Mrs. Smith empathized, prompting the girls, as one, to finally drag their attentions from Lord Northrup to stare at Analisa. She knew not where to look—certainly not at Lord Northrup, who gazed at her with what she supposed to be an unbearable pity. Neither could she bear the sight of Emily, who continued to look at the earl as if he were the only man in England.

  “Here we are,” Mrs. Smith said as she studied a piece of parchment through a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles. “We have just touched on the rule that proclaims a lady must always rest her hands palms up. We have also gone over when and how and which length gloves to wear. However, we shall not retrace our steps, Miss Lloyd-Jones, on your account; I am persuaded you have much experience in these matters.”

  Audible whispers, many of them full of mirth, leaped across the room like a flame to oil, in spite of Mrs. Smith’s bewildered disapproval. Analisa, however, was not in any doubt as to the cause of their laughter. Her cheeks burned; it would be more charitable if Mrs. Smith refrained from continually alluding to the fact that Analisa was not a chit fresh from the schoolroom. Though she knew that her lack of masculine admiration was due to Lord Northrup’s instructions, the others did not. Clearly, they thought her an object of fun.

  “Now then, ladies.” Mrs. Smith clapped her hands, and the girls returned their attentions to their hostess. “We are now to discuss what is to be done if a gentleman were to take you by the hands, as demonstrated by Lord Northrup. He does it very well, does he not?” she asked, her face beaming. “Why I have never thought to invite a gentleman to the etiquette class before now, I do not know.”

  The young ladies in the room came undone at this, and it was more than a few moments before Mrs. Smith regained order. Meanwhile, Lord Northrup continued to clutch Emily’s hands with a tenacity Analisa felt to be entirely needless. Her thoughts dwelt on the notion that, if he did not take care, one might suppose he had feelings for Emily. The very idea was absurd, silly, and entirely impossible. Why it made Analisa wish to take a pair of scissors to every one of Emily’s gowns, she could not begin to fathom.

  With a start, Analisa realized she had long depended on Lord Northrup’s feelings for her. When she had bemoaned her lot as the least admired young lady in all of England, she comforted herself with the knowledge that he admired her, and above all others. Now, as he smiled into the eyes of her erstwhile, dearest friend, Analisa felt as if the last vestiges of wind had been lost from her sails.

  “I commend you, ladies, on your attentiveness,” Mrs. Smith pronounced. “Lord Northrup, do proceed.”

  Exactly what it was the earl was meant to do, over and above smiling at Emily like a loon, Analisa could not discern. For this, she need must get closer. “Mrs. Smith,” she called, throwing her hand aloft. “I should like to assist.”

  Her hostess looked a bit taken aback, but she soon recovered. “Of course, Miss Lloyd-Jones, how have I not thought of it?”

  Analisa rose, the weakness in her knees banished, and briskly made her way to the center of the room. “You may sit down now, Emily,” she hissed.

  “Not at all, Miss Everitt, you shall remain just as you are,” Mrs. Smith proclaimed.

  Analisa thought Lord Northrup’s smile grew broader at the words, but she was unable to see properly what was happening as Mrs. Smith had taken her by the hand and dragged her in the opposite direction. Once Analisa was placed a few feet from the one she had hoped to replace, their hostess addressed the company at large.

  “I must enlist the services of another.” As there was no lack of volunteers, the time it took to choose one and have her situated next to Analisa seemed a short eternity, one in which she imagined Emily and Lord Northrup stared into one another’s eyes.

  “Now, Lord Northrup,” Mrs. Smith adjured, “please carry on if you will.”

  Analisa could not help but feel that he and Emily excelled at their commission, whatever that might be, and required no prompting. However, she dared not say so.

  “Miss Lloyd-Jones, you shall take Miss Gibbons by the hands just as the earl has done.” Mrs. Smith took hold of one of Analisa’s hands in preparation to mold it into the desired shape.

  “Mrs. Smith!” Analisa said in low tones. “I am hardly an infant.”

  “There, there, dear, you shall get it right in no time, you shall see.”

  With a determined smile, one to replace the roll of the eyes she would have dearly loved to execute, Analisa grasped Miss Gibbons’s hands in her own and stood exactly as she supposed Lord Northrup and Emily, now behind her and out of her line of vision, were so doing.

  “Exceptional!” Mrs. Smith smiled her pleasure. “Now, young ladies, I wish you to imagine this as you with the young man of your choice. I dare say your thoughts have all alighted on a gentleman; you shall require no assistance in so doing, I am persuaded. If there are two or more of you thinking of the same man, it matters not; you shall keep his identity a secret. There are many to choose from, though I daresay it should prove difficult to think of any but our very own Lord Northrup, so handsome and pleasing is he in his manner as well as his appearance.”

  Another chorus of giggles rose into the air.

  “Mrs. Smith, shall we not proceed?” Analisa whispered.

  “What is that, dear?” her hostess asked. “Do speak up!”

  Analisa suppressed a groan. “I am concerned for Emily. Her arms must be growing fatigued,” she hedged, “being as high in the air as they are.”

  “As they are being held in such strong, masculine hands, I do doubt it. Now, Lord Northrup and Miss Lloyd-Jones, who shall play the gentleman in this sketch, I wish you both to behave as if you are whispering sweet nothings into the ear of your young lady.”

  Analisa immediately heard a slight rustle as the earl leaned closer to Emily. Analisa knew she was expected to do the same, but she stayed rooted to the spot upon overhearing his words. They were in Italian, but having been instructed in a number of foreign languages, she translated the words with little difficulty: To live without loving is not truly living. She burned with indignation; it was patently unfair of Lord Northrup to encourage Emily when he hadn’t the slightest intention of pursuing her hand.

  “Miss Lloyd-Jones,” Mrs. Smith chirped. “We are waiting!”

  With a start, Analisa dipped forward and muttered some nonsense into Miss Gibbons’s ear.
r />   “What was that?” Miss Gibbons said with a gasp. “I couldn’t make it out.”

  “Miss Gibbons, your actions are the very picture of what one must not do when presented with just this predicament,” Mrs. Smith pointed out. “As we can see, Miss Everitt is the very essence of proper comportment. See how her eyes shine and her cheeks blush so prettily? Now, it would not be de rigueur to signify that one has heard the words of one’s admirer. No, no, no, that would not be maidenly in the least. One might even choose to turn one’s face away and gaze at the ground, taking care that one’s profile is displayed to full advantage, just so.” She put her fingers to Miss Gibbons’s pallid face and turned it to the side. “And yet, one does not wish to discourage one’s amour if one wishes him to approach one’s father with an offer of marriage. It is a matter most delicate.”

  “Shall we make another attempt, Mrs. Smith?” Lord Northrup asked.

  “Yes! The very thing! We shall look to both of you young ladies to demonstrate the correct response this time, shall we not?” Mrs. Smith warned.

  Once again, Analisa found it impossible to obey before she heard Lord Northrup’s compliment. He spoke in a louder voice than previously. As such, she could only assume it was his wish to be overheard making love to Emily.

  “Today I touched a rose and knew it had been created in imitation of your silken cheek.”

  Analisa longed to verify her suspicion—that Emily’s “silken cheek” blushed as prettily as before. It was the slight intake of breath, executed to perfection by Emily, that caused Analisa’s blood to boil. In a miff, she leaned forward to whisper her message into the ear of Miss Gibbons and said what first came to mind: “You go too far.”

  “What was that?” Miss Gibbons gasped. “How can I have done?” she wailed, wringing her hands. “I have done nothing that might shame any creature!”

  “That will do, Miss Gibbons.” Mrs. Smith fairly pushed her into the nearest chair, taking no care to determine whether or not it was already occupied. It was, and Mary Arthur, Miss Gibbons splayed across her lap, was having none of it.

  “You are crushing me, Yvette!” Mary ground out. “You would do well to avoid sweets in future.”

  Miss Gibbons burst into tears upon this pronouncement, and the recurrent babble rose into the air.

  “Do find your own seat, Miss Gibbons!” Mrs. Smith called out above the commotion exactly as if she was not the cause of this particular fracas.

  Just as Analisa resolved to step forward and assist in restoring order to the room, she felt a presence at her side.

  “It is said,” came the voice of Lord Northrup, husky in her ear, “that silk was born of man’s desire to recreate the touch of his lover’s lips.”

  Analisa felt her eyes grow wide as she restrained the urge to confront him; it should only prove to place her lips, silken or otherwise, in alarming proximity to his. Unaccountably, all of her hostess’s admonitions fled, and she turned her face as far from Lord Northrup as possible, her chin held high.

  “Tut-tut, Miss Lloyd-Jones,” he said, his voice low. “Mrs. Smith would not approve. You are merely in need of further practice. Never fear, I have saved my favorite till the end. God,” he murmured as he stepped so close that his chin grazed the top of her ear, “made the rose as a rehearsal for his final masterpiece; that of Woman.”

  Each puff of air from his lips sent tendrils of her hair aquiver followed by a renewed weakness in her knees. However, she refused to afford him another excuse to find her lacking and looked down in as demure a fashion as even Mrs. Smith could wish. It spared her the humiliation she might have endured if she had indulged her impulse to look up into his eyes.

  “Ladies! That is quite enough!” Mrs. Smith insisted, but it seemed to Analisa as if the words came from a faraway place and time. The reality of Miss Analisa Lloyd-Jones consisted only of herself and one other—the man who stood so near that a sigh too deeply taken should prove sufficient movement to throw them together. There was naught to feel but the heat of his chest at her shoulder; to smell but his heady cologne; to hear but the flow of his breath against her hair.

  She felt she should faint if her gown should as much as brush against him. Her body began to tremble as her muscles tired of their rigid state. When she felt the earl’s hand at her wrist, his touch so light she first thought it but a feather, she nearly jumped in alarm. Slowly, as if not to cause her any dismay, he moved his hand until it covered hers. She could not recall when a man other than her brother or father had touched her ungloved hand, and she trembled anew.

  When he stepped away, the air that rushed in at his absence was like a burst of winter on her skin. The voices of the others in the room suddenly made their way to her ears and, somehow, she, the earl, and Emily all stood in their former positions.

  “Let us resume our lesson, ladies,” Mrs. Smith admonished. “Miss Arthur, you shall demonstrate to us the manner in which a proper young lady offers an apology to another young lady. And Miss Gibbons, you shall do the same. Be warned, it needs must be contrite!”

  Analisa attempted to attend to Mrs. Smith’s instruction to no avail. Instead, Analisa marveled at how Emily felt a mere shadow, one that did little to fill the space between Analisa and Lord Northrup. It was if he yet stood by her side, his breath warm on her skin, his hand caressing hers. Measuring the distance from the corner of her eye, she determined that to feel his presence was quite impossible, and yet she was assailed with sensations she had only felt when he was in her orbit.

  Without warning, she somehow became aware that the room had once again broken out into chaos, and that Mrs. Smith was greatly distressed.

  “I have never been so ashamed of the rackety manners of a group of girls at one of my house parties,” their hostess proclaimed. “I am sorry to say that I regret allowing Lord Northrup to join our lesson; his presence is surely the catalyst of this bickering and weeping.” She paused for breath and more than one sob was heard to hang in the air. “Well!” Mrs. Smith huffed. “That is quite enough! Each and every one of you, upstairs, now!”

  Farthest from the door, Analisa lingered as the others departed. Each dipped a curtsy for the earl, and he favored them with a courtly bow in return. Emily stood at his side, hands clasped regally as if she were his countess bidding their guests good night. Mrs. Smith hovered at the door to offer a bit of advice or praise to each girl as she departed and so was not availed of this piece of nonsense.

  Finally, Emily was the only young lady in the room other than Analisa. Lord Northrup offered her the very same circumspect bow he gave the others, but she would not be discouraged.

  “Lord Northrup,” she said in breathy tones, “I am persuaded you should make a most satisfactory dancing partner at lesson on the morrow.”

  “Is there a dancing lesson tomorrow to which the gentlemen are invited?” He smiled in genuine pleasure.

  Analisa’s thoughts divided into several themes at the sight: one as to how blue were his eyes when pleased, and two, what manner of cad could encourage the attentions of a girl not five minutes after secretly making love to another.

  Convinced that her father must learn of the earl’s perfidy, she resolved to write him a letter at her first opportunity. Still, she lingered even after Emily had finally removed herself from the room. Analisa refused, however, to grant the earl anything more than the curtsy required by Mrs. Smith. Lord Northrup bowed in return, his back to his hostess. This action left him free to hold out his hand in quest of Analisa’s.

  She hesitated to oblige, but when he lifted his gaze to hers, she found she could not deny him. With a genuine show of reluctance, she placed her hand within his reach. He did not kiss it as she both hoped and feared but clung to it a bit longer than was seemly. Apparently, his store of sweet nothings was exhausted for he said nothing before he turned away to bid farewell to Mrs. Smith.

  Analisa watched him walk through the door and down the hall to the head of the staircase. Once he descended the first few steps
, the last sign of his dark red curls disappeared from view. Only then did she notice the gift he had left her; in the center of her palm lay the velvet-soft petal of a red rose.

  Chapter Five

  A la Seconde—Second Position

  In the morning after breakfast, Analisa read and approved the letter she had written the night prior. She affixed a seal to the parchment, blew on the red wax until it hardened, and turned to her abigail. “Ruby, take this below stairs and arrange for it to be delivered to Father at once. Tell the messenger that he should wait for Mr. Lloyd-Jones’s reply.”

  “Yes, miss.” Ruby curtsied. “Have you asked that your papa should send you the earl’s letters, then?”

  Analisa gave the girl a warning look, softened by an indulgent smile. “The contents of my letter are entirely my affair.”

  “Yes, miss, o’ course, but I was only hoping that you should finally read them.”

  “I agree, Ruby, but only because I do so despise being ignorant of what I am expected to know.” She did not add that she had also informed her father of the earl’s weakened stance as to their betrothal contract. “Additionally, I have hinted at the possibility of a proposal from a gentleman other than the earl.”

  “Oh, miss!” Ruby exclaimed. “I do hope you told him about the particular attentions of Mr. Wainwright and Mr. Callerton. I should be pleased to take up residence in the home of either gentleman.”

  “Whosoever would not?” Analisa stood in hopes it would hasten Ruby in the execution of her task. “I do believe either should make me a most comfortable husband. I have told Father as much.”

  “Certainly your papa should have no objections to Mr. Wainwright,” Ruby said eagerly. “But Mr. Callerton is a bit of a mystery, is he not?”