When she finally lifted the curtain she found herself alone in a little lobby and looked around, confused for a moment. Then she heard his voice, unmistakably Giles’s voice. Deep, lazily amused, caressing her senses like warm honey over a spoon. She stepped forward and saw into the next room where Giles was standing…smiling down into the upturned face of the exquisite young lady clasped in his arms.
‘So you will talk to Papa, Giles darling? Promise?’ she was saying, her blue eyes wide on his face.
‘Yes, Suzy, my angel, I promise I will talk to him tomorrow.’ Giles’s voice was indulgent, warm, loving. Joanna’s hand grasped the curtain without her realising it; her eyes, her every sense, were fixed on the couple in the candlelit chamber.
‘Oh, Giles, I do love you.’ The young lady suddenly laughed up at him and Joanna’s numbed mind realised who she was. Lady Suzanne Hall was the loveliest, the most eligible, the wealthiest débutante of that Season. Niece of her Grace the Duchess of Bridlington, eldest and most indulged daughter of the Marquis of Olney, blonde, petite, spirited and the most outrageous flirt, she had a fortune that turned heads, but, even penniless, she would have drawn men after her like iron filings to a magnet.
Why does she want Giles? Joanna screamed inwardly. He is mine!
‘Oh, it is such an age since I have seen you! Do you truly love me, Giles, my darling?’ Suzanne said, her arms entwined round his neck, his hands linked behind her tiny waist.
‘You know I do, Suzy,’ he replied, smiling down at her. ‘You are my first, my only, my special love.’ And then he bent his head and kissed her.
The world went black, yet Joanna found she was still on her feet, clutching the curtain. Vision closed in until all she could see was a tiny image of the entwined lovers as though spied down the wrong end of a telescope. Blindly she turned and walked out. By some miracle she was still on her feet although she could see nothing now: it was as though she had fainted, yet retained every sense but sight.
Outside the archway she remembered there had been chairs, fragile affairs of gilt wood. Joanna put out a hand and found one, thankfully unoccupied. She sat, clasped her hands in her lap and managed to smile brightly. Would anyone notice?
Gradually sight returned, although her head spun. No one was sitting next to her, no one had noticed. She tried to make sense of what had happened. Giles was here, and Giles was in love with Lady Suzanne.
She had read—for she read everything that she could find on military matters—that it was possible to receive a mortal wound and yet feel no pain, to continue for some time until suddenly one dropped dead of it. Shock, the doctors called it, a far more serious and deadly thing than the everyday shocks of ordinary life. Perhaps that was what she was feeling: shock.
Joanna was conscious of a swirl of bluebell skirts by her shoulder and Lady Suzanne appeared, hesitated for a moment and plunged into the throng. Her voice came back clearly. ‘Freddie! I would love to waltz with you, but I have not got a single dance on my card left. No, I am not teasing you, look…’
Joanna found she could not manage to keep the smile on her lips. Her hands began to tremble and she clasped them together in her lap. Any minute now someone was going to notice her and start to fuss. She had to get herself under control.
‘Madam, are you unwell?’ The deep voice came from close beside her. Joanna started violently, dropping her fan, and instantly Colonel Gregory was on one knee before her. ‘Here, I do not think it is damaged.’
She began to stammer a word of thanks, then their eyes met and he exclaimed, ‘But it is Miss Joanna Fulgrave, is it not?’ Joanna nodded mutely, taking the fan from his outstretched fingers, using exaggerated care not to touch him. ‘May I sit down?’ Taking her silence for assent, he took the chair next to her, his big frame absurdly out of place on the fragile-looking object.
‘Thank you, Colonel.’ She had managed a coherent sentence, but it was not enough to convince him that all was well with her. Joanna fixed her gaze on her clasped hands, yet she utterly aware of him beside her, his body turned to her, his eyes on her face.
‘You are not well, Miss Fulgrave. May I fetch someone to you? Is your mother here, perhaps?’
‘I need no one, I thank you,’ she managed to whisper. ‘I am quite well, Colonel.’
‘I beg leave to differ, Miss Fulgrave. You are as white as a sheet.’
‘I…I have had an unexpected and unwelcome encounter, that is all.’ Her voice sounded a little stronger, and emboldened she added, ‘It was a shock: I will be better presently, Colonel.’ Please leave me, she prayed, please go before I break down and turn sobbing into your arms in front of all these people.
Giles Gregory was on his feet, but not in answer to her silent pleas. ‘Has a gentleman here offered you some insult?’ he asked, keeping his voice low and his body between her and the throng around the dance floor.
‘Oh, no, nothing like that,’ Joanna assured him. She forced herself to look up. The grey eyes with their intriguing black flecks regarded her seriously, and, she realised, with some disbelief at her protestations.
‘I will fetch you something to drink Miss Fulgrave; I will not be long, just try and rest quietly.’
Joanna sat back in the chair, wishing she had the strength to get up and hide herself away, but her legs felt as though they were made out of blanc manger. Her mind would not let her think about the disaster that had befallen her; she tried to make herself realise what had happened, but somehow she just could not concentrate.
‘Here. Now, sip this and do not try to talk.’ He was back already, two glasses in his hands. How had he managed to get through the press of people? she wondered hazily, not having observed the Colonel striding straight across the dance floor between the couples performing a boulanger to accost the footmen who were setting out the champagne glasses.
The liquid fizzed down her throat, making her cough. She had expected orgeat or lemonade and had taken far too deep a draught.
‘I would have given you brandy, but I do not have a hip flask on me. Go on, drink it, Miss Fulgrave. You have obviously had a shock, even if you are not prepared to tell me about it. The wine will help calm your nerves.’ He sat down again, turning the chair slightly so his broad shoulders shielded her. He watched her face and apparently was reassured by what he saw.
‘That is better. Now, let us talk of other things. How are your parents? Well, I trust? And your sister is married by now, I expect?’ He seemed happy to continue in the face of her silent nods. ‘And William—how old is he? Twelve, I should imagine. And still army mad?’
‘No.’ Joanna managed a wan smile. ‘Not any longer. He is resolved to become a natural philosopher.’
Giles Gregory’s eyebrows rose, but he did not seem offended that his disciple had abandoned his military enthusiasms. ‘Indeed? Well, I do recall he always had an unfortunate frog or snail in his pocket.’
‘That is nothing to the things he keeps in his room.’ Joanna began to relax. It was like having the old Major Gregory back again: she could not feel self-conscious with him and the last few minutes seemed increasingly unreal. She took another long sip of champagne. ‘And he conducts experiments which cause Mama to worry that the house will burn down. Papa even takes him to occasional lectures if they are not too late in the evening.’
‘And your father is not anxious about this choice of career?’
‘I think he is resigned.’ Despite herself Joanna smiled, fondly recalling her father’s expression at the sight of the kitchen when Cook had indignantly summoned him to view the results of Master William’s experiment with the kettle, some yards of piping and a heavy weight. She took another sip and realised her glass was empty.
Giles removed it from her hand and gave her his untouched glass. ‘Very small glasses, Miss Fulgrave,’ he murmured.
‘Have you heard from the Earl of Tasborough lately?’ she asked. It must be the shock still, for she was feeling even more light-headed, although the awful numbness was receding to
be replaced by a sense of unreality. She was having this conversation with Giles as though the past three years had not been and as though she had not just seen him kissing Lady Suzanne and declaring his love for her.
‘Not for a week or so. My correspondence is probably chasing me around the continent.’ He looked at her sharply. ‘Why do you ask? Is Hebe well?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Joanna hastened to reassure him. ‘You know she is…er…in an—’
‘Interesting condition?’ the Colonel finished for her. ‘Yes, I did know. I had a letter from Alex some months ago, unbearably pleased with himself over the prospect of another little Beresford to join Hugh in the nursery. I will visit them this week, I hope.’
Joanna drank some more champagne to cover her confusion at his frank reference to Hebe’s pregnancy. Mama always managed to ignore entirely the fact that ladies of her acquaintance were expecting. Joanna had wondered if everyone secretly felt as she did, that it was ridiculous to pretend in the face of ever-expanding waistlines that nothing was occurring. The Colonel obviously shared her opinion. ‘You are home on leave, then?’
‘Yes.’ He frowned. ‘It is a long time since I was in England.’
‘Almost a year, and then it was only for a week or two, was it not?’ Joanna supplied, then realised from his expression that this revealed remarkable knowledge about his activities. ‘I think Lord Tasborough said something to that effect,’ she added, crossing her fingers.
‘I am a little concerned about my father. My mother’s letters have expressed anxiety about his health, so when the chance arose to come home I took it.’ He hesitated, ‘I have many decisions to make on this furlough: one at least will entail a vast change to my life.’
His marriage, Joanna thought bleakly. That would certainly be a vast change to a man who had lived a single life up to the age of thirty, and a life moreover which had sent him around the continent with only himself to worry about.
‘Shall I take your glass?’ Joanna realised with surprise that the second champagne glass was empty. Goodness, what a fuss people made about it! She had only ever had a sip or two before and Mama was always warning about the dangers of it, but now she had drunk two entire glasses, and was really feeling much better. She gave Giles the glass, aware that he was studying her face.
‘You seem a little restored, Miss Fulgrave. Would you care to dance? There is a waltz next if I am not mistaken.’
Joanna took a shaky breath. Mama did not like her to waltz at large balls and permitted it only reluctantly at Almack’s or smaller dancing parties. But the temptation of being in Giles’s arms, perhaps for the first and only time, was too much.
‘Yes, please, Colonel Gregory. I would very much like to waltz.’
Chapter Two
Joanna let Giles take her hand and lead her out on to the dance floor, trying not to remember what had just happened, forcing herself not to think about how she would feel when this dance was over and he was gone. Time must stand still: this was all there was.
She let her hand rest lightly on his shoulder and shut her eyes briefly as his fingers touched her waist. This was another memory to be added to the precious store of recollections of Giles, the most vivid being the fleeting kiss which she had snatched in the flurry of farewells when Hebe and her new husband had driven off after the wedding. Everyone had been kissing the bride and groom: what more natural in the confusion than that she should accidentally kiss the groomsman? Giles had laughed at her blushes and returned the kiss with a swift pressure of his lips on hers: Joanna could still close her eyes and conjure up the exact sensation, the scent of Russian leather cologne…
‘Miss Fulgrave?’
‘Oh, I am sorry! I was daydreaming, thinking about my steps,’ she improvised hurriedly to cover up her complete abstraction. She must not waste a moment in his arms by thinking of the past: only this moment mattered.
The music struck up and they were dancing, dancing, Joanna realised, as if they had been practising together for years. Giles Gregory was a tall man, but her height made them well-matched partners and his strength and co-ordination meant that their bodies moved together with an easy elegance which took her breath away.
‘You dance very well, Miss Fulgrave,’ he remarked, looking down and meeting browny-green, sparkling eyes. He had thought her much improved on the bouncing schoolroom miss he remembered; in fact, he had hardly recognised her at first sight, but now with the colour back in her face and animation enhancing those unusual eyes, he realised that he had a very lovely young woman in his arms. Who or what had so overset her? he wondered, conscious of a chivalrous urge to land whoever it was a facer for his pains.
‘Thank you, Colonel, but I think I must owe that to you. Do you have the opportunity to attend many dances whilst you are with the army?’ Joanna realised she must take every opportunity to converse, as while they were talking she could be expected to look into his face. She tried to garner every impression, commit each detail to memory: the darkness of his lashes, the small mole just in front of his left ear, the way his mouth quirked when he was amused, that scent of Russian Leather again…
He swept her round a tight corner, catching her in close to avoid another couple who were making erratic progress down the floor. Joanna was very aware of the heat of his body as she was suddenly pressed against him, then they were dancing once more with the conventional distance between them.
‘Dances?’ He had been considering her question. ‘Surprisingly, yes. We take whatever opportunities present themselves, and as not a few officers have their wives with them whenever circumstances allow—and certainly when we were wintering in Portugal—there is often an impromptu ball.’
‘And the Duke encourages such activities, I believe?’ Joanna asked. As they whirled through another ambitious turn she caught a glimpse of her mama’s face, a look of surprise upon it. She felt wonderfully light-headed. This was reality, the music would never stop. Giles would never leave her.
‘Yes. Wellington enjoys a party and he thinks it does us good,’ Giles smiled reminiscently.
‘His family, he calls his officers, does he not?’
‘You know a lot about old Nosey, Miss Fulgrave. Are you another of his ardent admirers? I have never known such a man—unless it were that fellow Byron—for attracting the adulation of the ladies. None of the rest of us ever stood a chance of the lightest flirtation while Wellington was around.’
‘Why, no, not in that way, for I have never seen him.’ Better not to think of Giles wanting to flirt. ‘But he is a fine tactician, is he not?’
She saw she had taken Giles aback, for he gave her a quizzical look. ‘Indeed, yes, but that is a question I would have expected from Master William, not from a young lady.’
‘I take an interest, that is all,’ she said lightly, wishing she dared ask about his life with his regiment, but knowing she could never keep the conversation impersonal.
And then, with a flourish of strings, the music came to an end, Giles released her and they were clapping politely and walking off the floor. Joanna felt as though the places where his hands had touched her must be branded on her skin, it felt so sensitive. Her hands began to tremble again.
‘Miss Fulgrave, might I hope that the next dance is free on your card?’ It was Freddie Sutton looking hopeful. ‘And now that I know you have changed your mind about waltzing tonight, may I also hope for one a little later?’
‘Miss Fulgrave.’ Giles Gregory was bowing to her, nodding to Freddie. ‘Sutton.’ He smiled at her, and she read a look of reassurance in his eyes and guessed that she must be looking better. ‘Thank you for the dance.’
Then he was gone, swallowed up in the crowd. She looked after him, catching a glimpse of the back of his head and slowly realising that with the ending of that dance the entire purpose for which she had been living for the past three years, and her every hope for the future, had crumbled into dust.
‘Thank you, Lord Sutton.’ She turned back to him, her smile glitter
ing. ‘I would love to dance the next waltz with you, but just now what I would really like is a glass of champagne.’
To the chagrin and rising dismay of her mama, to the censure of the flock of chaperons and to the horrified and jealous admiration of her friends, Joanna proceeded to stand up for every waltz and most of the other dances as well. She did refuse some, but only to drink three more glasses of champagne, to be escorted into supper by Lord Maxton, a hardened rake and fortune hunter, and to crown the evening by being discovered by the Dowager Countess of Wigham alone with Mr Paul Hadrell on the terrace.
‘I felt I must tell you at once,’ that formidable matron informed an appalled Mrs Fulgrave, who had been looking anxiously for her daughter for the past fifteen minutes. ‘I could not believe my eyes at first,’ she continued, barely managing to conceal her enjoyment at having found the paragon of deportment engaged in such an activity with one of the worst male flirts in town. ‘I am sure I do not have to tell you, Mrs Fulgrave, that Mr Hadrell is the last man I would want a daughter of mine to be alone with!’
This final observation was addressed to Mrs Fulgrave’s retreating back, for Joanna’s harassed mother lost no time in hurrying to the doors that led to the terrace. It had never occurred to her for a moment that Joanna might be out there, but there indeed she was, leaning against the balustrade in the moonlight, laughing up at the saturnine Mr Hadrell, who was standing far too close and, even as Mrs Fulgrave approached, was leaning down to—
‘Joanna!’ Her errant daughter moved away from her beau with her usual grace and no appearance of guilt. He, however, took one look at her chaperon’s expression and took himself off with a bow and an insouciant,
‘Your servant, Miss Fulgrave. Mrs Fulgrave, ma’am!’
‘Joanna!’ Emily Fulgrave repeated, in the voice of a woman who could not believe what she was seeing. ‘What is the meaning of this? You have been flirting, waltzing—and, to crown it all, I find you out here with such a man! And to make things even worse, I was told where I could find you, and with whom, by Lady Wigham.’
The Society Catch (Harlequin Historical) Page 2