A Dance of Manners

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  She finally admitted to herself that she could toy with the idea of marriage to such an individual and actually tolerate it. In fact, most of the upper echelons of society could tolerate the idea better than she. And now, when she could finally accept that fact, Roderick was as far out of reach as he could be. Showing preference for another woman, perhaps even engaged to her—to Ellen's own best friend—he could not be easily disentangled.

  Nor had Ellen the heart to steal him back with her wiles. Even were he not in love with her friend, Ellen had treated him abominably. Shamefully, she recalled her hot-headed response to his proposal. Who would want her after such abuse? Surely, if he had ever loved her as he had avowed that day, her fiery, scornful tongue had eradicated such love.

  Miserable, she looked up to see Charles Findley emerging from a shop. She would know his blond curls anywhere, from farther range, too. He didn't see her, and she had a sudden, irrational wish that he wouldn't. She lowered her head, shrinking into the shelter of a deep bonnet, and a high-collared Spencer jacket. The fashion of anonymity, so effectively satirized in the papers, served her well now.

  Unless she missed her mark, the shop he was leaving was a jeweler's. Her interest piqued, she spied a small parcel that he tucked into the inner pocket of his jacket. It could only be something for her—it had to be! Perhaps this meant his proposal would be coming soon. Yet, something in his furtive glance up the street as he turned and strolled away gave her a vague disquiet. Curious, Ellen bit her lower lip.

  She should stay with Aunt Susan. There was probably no reason for alarm. Yet as Charles slipped through a little alley, Ellen knew she must follow. Taking advantage of her aunt's momentary distraction over a fine-sprigged muslin, she made good her escape.

  He walked for some time, and Ellen's disquiet settled more firmly as the upright neighborhood changed to something less virtuous. She kept to the shadows in the lee of the buildings, creeping along with a pounding heart. After a time, Charles stopped with determined purpose at a nondescript residence, and Ellen only needed the proof of her eyes to confirm the doubts in her heart. Charles, once her shining example of a gentleman, now stepped up to an ornately carved door nestled in a discreet alcove and knocked. It wasn't discreet enough that Ellen couldn't clearly see Charles glance around behind him, then warmly greet the young woman who opened the door.

  She was clad in a scarlet, low-necked gown, her hair dressed in front, but trailing over her shoulders in back like a small girl's. The woman's appearance removed any doubt of her respectability. Charles, laughing intimately, pulled the parcel from his pocket and placed it in her hands to a laugh of delight, and disappeared within, leaving Ellen standing across the street, tears starting, and fists clenching in impotent, silent, seething rage.

  As she stood, helpless, a hand closed over her shoulder and she shrieked. She whirled in the strong grasp, about to swing her reticule at her assailant and mentally berating herself for leaving her aunt, when she realized who it was. Roderick Benton stood there, his face grave with sympathy. So he had seen. Despite herself, she crumpled against his chest and began to weep.

  Oh, how wrong she had been. All along, that paragon of a man she had sought after had been the blackest villain within. And the one she'd thought base and ignorant, he was the gallant knight, the pinnacle of virtue, and now beyond reach.

  Remembering herself, Ellen pulled away and reached into her reticule for a handkerchief. Her hand brushed the card he had left, now creased and dog-eared, and she felt a flood of guilt. How terribly she had treated him! She wiped away the tears—tears as much for her disillusionment as for Charles's betrayal. How could she have been so wrong?

  “What is a lady like you doing here, Miss Spencer?” asked Roderick, sounding almost angry. Immediately, Ellen put up her defenses.

  “I lost my way,” she said, defying him to challenge her. “And what, pray tell, is a gentleman like you doing here?” She could hardly help it, being snide to him. Here she was regretting the way she'd treated him, and she was still doing it.

  “I saw you in Bond Street.” Suddenly his eyes revealed all the concern he felt for her well-being. “I followed to be sure you were safe.” He stood and gazed at her for a moment, and Ellen felt rooted to the spot under such regard. Could it be possible that he still felt something for her? Then the spell was broken, and he spoke. “Let us get you home, before anyone sees you here. Least of all, your Charles Findley.”

  Ellen was silent for a long while as Roderick led her surreptitiously down twisting alleys and secret ways back to her own neighborhood. Your Charles Findley. Did Roderick honestly think she could marry that man, after what he was revealed to be? It showed what he thought of her character, that he considered her shallow enough to overlook this betrayal in favor of high social standing. Yet, what other impression had she ever given him?

  Once they had reached familiar territory again, Roderick ventured to speak.

  “I am sorry you had to see what you did.” He avoided her eyes.

  “You saw,” she said, more a statement than a question. “You knew? Before?”

  He nodded.

  “Why did you say nothing?”

  “To slander a gentleman like that—what could I stand to gain from it? Do you know how many London gentlemen enjoy similar pursuits? No, I suppose you would not know. You are not meant to know.” Roderick spoke through his teeth, and Ellen could sense the righteous anger that seethed beneath the surface.

  “I might have benefitted from the knowing,” Ellen said softly, and Roderick looked down at her sharply.

  “Would you? Does it make anything easier now that you know?”

  “Yes ... I don't know,” she turned away. Certainly she would never marry Charles. But with Roderick out of reach, who else could she consider marrying? Especially now, given this seed of distrust. How many others behaved as Charles did? Whom could she trust?

  She had no time to ask, for Roderick had delivered her safe to her front step.

  “My thanks,” she said with genuine gratitude. Then she added, though it was painful, “And I wish you all happiness with Kate.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Roderick blinked. All innocence. Oh, so it was that way, was it?

  “Miss Wintercroft,” she prompted.

  “Oh, uh, yes,” he said, still feigning confusion. “Thank you.”

  Ellen went inside, then watched from the windows as Roderick walked away. She missed him already—his enigmatic gaze, his unfashionably long hair, even that foolish pet name he had called her once. She sighed deeply, and turned just in time to see her father watching her quizzically. He came to the window and looked out with a frown.

  “I think it would be safe,” said Ellen stiffly, dashing a tear from her eye, “to strike Mr. Charles Findley from our guest list.”

  * * * *

  “I am of half a mind to tell your father what you have been up to, young lady,” Aunt Susan fussed, pacing the length of Ellen's room.

  Susan was a mere five years her elder, but under the circumstances, Ellen denied herself the pleasure of pointing that out. She did respect her aunt's opinion. She had married very advantageously, an example to which Ellen had aspired for some time. And after all, she had been in the wrong to leave her aunt's side—it could have been, and almost was, dangerous. She could only imagine it would grieve her father to know.

  “You won't, will you?” Ellen pleaded, then proceeded to unburden herself of the morning's folly and heartbreak.

  “Oh, pet,” Susan said, taking Ellen's hand with a sad smile and drawing her closer. “I know it hurts to know it, but this is one of those things. You must not let it interfere with a secure future.”

  “Do you mean me to marry Charles Findley even knowing...?” Incredulous, she pulled from her aunt's comfort.

  “Charles Findley, another man—it will likely not make a difference, my dear,” she said. “They all—I should say most—do it. Now your father, he is the only one I have never had occasi
on to doubt. He truly loved your mother. But the others, they have their mistresses. It keeps them from bringing their baser nature home with them.”

  “Really?” Ellen asked in shock. “Even Uncle Robert?”

  “Especially him,” Susan said with a sigh. “It has been thus since time immemorial. Who are we to object? It is the price we pay for a comfortable life.”

  Ellen thought on that for a long time after Aunt Susan left. Could she honestly overlook Charles's betrayal? Could she marry any man and turn a blind eye to his activities as payment for money and prestige? Perhaps Susan could, but Ellen was far too headstrong. She knew her own mind, and she would have a husband who would love her only.

  Roderick would have been such a man, she thought bleakly. And now, because of her snobbery, she had lost him in favor of a world of illusion. The only thing left was to heal the breaches she had made and hope it was not too late to live in a world of love.

  * * * *

  Kate's house loomed ominously above her. Ellen almost turned away and headed back home. No one would have been the wiser. But Ellen felt the call of duty—of more than that—of recompense. Was Kate watching out one of those windows, as they had once done together? Gathering her resolve around her, Ellen climbed the steps and knocked at the door. The butler answered and ushered her in. If he felt any surprise at her sudden reappearance, he gave no sign.

  Ellen stood in the hall as the butler went to find Kate. There was a time when she would have been sent without question into Kate's rooms, whatever the day or time. Now she would have to wait, like any visitor. Would Kate even see her? Ellen, ashamed, recalled sending Kate away. Would her dearest friend return the insult?

  The butler returned, and Ellen held her breath until he beckoned her. It was the drawing room to which he led her—the formal meeting room rather than Kate's own personal rooms where they had passed most of their time together. So, this was how it was to be.

  Ellen was left alone for a time, and she stood by the window, watching but not seeing the people pass. At last, the door opened and Kate stood there. She stood aloof, broadcasting her displeasure more by her formal stance than she would by railing against Ellen's ill treatment.

  “Kate,” Ellen said, not giving her friend a chance for harsh words. “I have behaved abominably toward you. It was foolish of me, and I should never have let anything come between us.” Now that Ellen had begun to speak her heart, she found the words came out like water through a breached dam. “I bear you no ill will, now, even if you bear it for me. And I wish you all happiness with Mr. Benton. I was wrong about him, Kate. You were right and I was blind. I am so sorry. Please forgive me.”

  Kate had brought her hand to her mouth during this speech, and it took a moment for Ellen to realize she was laughing, not weeping.

  “What is it?” asked Ellen, feeling the sting of injured pride. “What is so funny?”

  “Oh, Nell.” Kate laughed, and closed the gap between them to embrace her friend. “I could never be angry with you, not for a second!”

  “Then you forgive me?”

  “Of course,” Kate said, still laughing. “Oh, Nell, you are such a silly creature.”

  Ellen frowned at her friend's amusement. “Will you not tell me what is so funny?”

  “I did it! I knew it would work.”

  “What would work?” Ellen scowled.

  “Jealousy, my dear Nell, jealousy,” Kate crowed. “I knew you loved Mr. Benton the moment I saw that calling card in your hand. Charles Findley was never right for you. That much was clear. And the moment I met Mr. Benton, I realized what I must do. It was up to me to prove to your mind what your heart had already accepted without reserve. Roderick Benton is the only man you could ever marry. Admit it, Nell.”

  Ellen stared at her friend in disbelief, her eyes stinging with tears.

  “Then ... you do not want him?” she asked, unwilling yet to hold this fragile hope.

  “Of course not, Nell, though he is quite a catch. No, he was yours before I ever laid eyes on him. He still is, if you want him.”

  “I do not understand,” Ellen stammered. “Does he know this? That you were just toying with him?”

  “I did nothing of the sort! We both knew you were the desired prize from the first moment. We conspired at that ball, Mr. Roderick and I.”

  “You did not!” Ellen said, flushing in embarrassment. “Oh, Kate!”

  Kate smiled impishly and folded her arms. “Well, it worked, did it not?”

  “It could not have worked better had Cupid himself planned it.” Ellen smiled. Cupid was very likely involved. “Thank you, Kate. You are a dear friend, much better than I have proven to be.”

  “All is forgiven, dear Nell,” Kate said. “But mind, you must marry Mr. Benton or it will all have been in vain!”

  * * * *

  Ellen was met by her father on her return home. He was just on his way out as she arrived, his face cheerful. He was even whistling a merry tune.

  “Good morning, Father,” she said, frowning. “You are in good spirits this morning.”

  “I have just had a most enjoyable visit,” he said, then winked at her. “It seems a certain gentleman's card had been misplaced, but the slight was remedied with no trouble.”

  Before Ellen could muster a word in reply, her father had kissed her on the cheek and dashed out the door, leaving her standing like an imbecile in the hall. A misplaced card? It could only mean Roderick had been here. And what could he have been speaking with her father about? She hardly dared hope.

  She untied her bonnet ribbons and reached to hang it by the door, and that was when she noticed the gentlemen's silk hat and wool cape hanging there. At first, she had thought them her father's, but upon closer inspection...

  With a gasp, she turned and ran up the stairs. Her father's study was open and unoccupied, as was the morning room. But the drawing room? The door was closed. Pressing her ear up against it, Ellen listened. There was no sound. Cautiously, she opened the door.

  Her heart nearly stopped when she saw the tall figure by the windows, even though she had hoped to find him here. He turned slowly, as though he had expected her. Of course, he had expected her—he had watched her through these very windows as she'd entered the house.

  “Miss Spencer,” he said slowly, and his very voice melted her.

  “Mr. Benton.” Her voice shook as she performed a curtsy in response to his crisp bow. She stepped toward him tentatively. Did she dare draw close to him? Did Kate tell the truth, or was she horribly mistaken in Roderick's intentions? “It is a pleasure to find you here.” She held her breath as she waited for his response.

  “Is it, really?” There was no trace of sarcasm now, only hope.

  “Yes,” she said, breathless, and stepped a little closer.

  “Can I believe, after all this time, that you have come to accept me as part of your society?” he asked, a little twinkle of sport in his eye.

  “As more than that, I hope.” Though tempted to look away, she met his gaze, hoping to convey her sincerity. “I have been wrong, and I am sorry. I beg your forgiveness, and I assure you, it is most unlike me to beg forgiveness of two people in one day.”

  “I shall attribute that to virtue more than stubbornness,” Roderick said, reaching out a hand. It hovered in the air for a moment, cupped and inviting, before Ellen slipped her own hand into his grasp. His fingers tightened firmly and gently, warm even through her glove. The feel of his hand was at once exciting and comfortable.

  “Miss Spencer,” he said, and Ellen held up a hand to forestall him.

  “Nelly,” she said with a smile. “Call me Nelly.”

  * * * *

  The wedding of Miss Ellen Spencer to Mr. Roderick Benton did not take place in St. George's Chapel, as she had once hoped, but the company was as fine as she could have wished. Father was there, of course, in the little chapel near Alderfield, and Kate, and Mr. and Mrs. Benton, Aunt Susan and Uncle Robert, Nan and Ned, Prue, and var
ious other well-wishers from Fairbrook. Ellen thought she had never known a more joyous day, nor dearer friends.

  The wedding breakfast was as lavish as anyone present had ever seen, and many compliments were paid to Ellen and her father on the style of the occasion. Ellen merely shrugged them away, thinking as she looked up at Roderick how little these things meant to her now. How much she had changed in a scant year.

  Before long, she was bidding her father farewell at the side of Roderick's fine carriage. They were off to Bath for a fortnight of honeymooning.

  “I shall miss you, Father,” she said, embracing him.

  “And I more than you, I reckon,” he said with a laugh, “for you shall have company, and I none.”

  “I will return soon, and I never need be far. Call upon the Bentons,” she added. “They would be good company.”

  “I never thought to hear you say that, my girl,” Father teased. “But I am glad you changed your mind.”

  Ellen smiled ruefully, then turned to let her husband help her up into the seat. Husband. It felt good to call him that. She met Roderick's eyes and saw that he too was testing out her new style in his thoughts. Wife.

  Amid an uproar of shouted blessings, the couple embarked on their new life together.

  * * * *

  Sometime later, in a comfortable lodging room, Ellen lay dressed in her shift before the fire, her hair unbound. Roderick lay beside her, his arm around her. As she lay, listening to the joyous clamor of thoughts, she pondered that this moment was very like her dream. And yet, reality was more vibrant, far more pleasant than a dream could aspire to be.

  With a deep sigh, Roderick rolled up onto his elbow so his face was above hers, his dark hair hanging down around her.

  “Did you ever dream such a thing?” he asked languorously.

  “Never.” She blushed, remembering very well her vivid dreams. “Did you?”

  “Why, do you think...?” He frowned. “Why Nelly Benton, do you think just because I am a man I must needs be like yon Charles Findley?”

  “You said many men...” she let her voice trail away tentatively.

 

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