“I believe this is the first time we’ve ever danced together,” he said. “And perhaps the last. I’m returning soon to London.”
Heavens, but Ayersley was a good dancer. Who would have guessed it? “I thought you planned to stay at least a few weeks longer.”
With her hand on his shoulder, she felt rather than saw his shrug. “My mother has largely recovered. I realized I was wasting my time here.” After a moment he added, “Except for this dance, of course.”
The remark surprised a laugh from her. “Why, Ayersley, that sounded almost like flirtation.”
“But only almost.” Before she could ask what he meant, he said, “How is Harry’s puppy faring?”
“Dinah?” She smiled the first unforced smile of the evening. “Oh, Ayersley, I can’t thank you enough! Harry adores her. Mama and I are so very grateful to you for giving him that puppy.”
“If Harry is happy, and you’re happy, then that’s all the thanks I could wish for.”
To Roxana’s surprise, she was enjoying their waltz. She secretly hoped George would notice she was dancing with the earl, and perhaps regret his earlier reluctance to lead her out. She checked for him from the corner of her eye.
“I believe he’s by the doors to the supper room,” Ayersley said, spinning her past the ballroom windows.
“Who?”
“Major Wyatt.”
“Oh.” She’d thought she was being subtle. “I’m sorry, I…”
“It’s all right,” Ayersley said quietly. “I know how you feel about him.”
The solemn note in his voice surprised her. In her experience, shy men usually either babbled and apologized their way through a dance, or concentrated on watching their own feet so as not to step on hers. Ayersley seemed to radiate—well, intensity.
“And what about you?” she asked. “You must be eager to get back to London to court that young lady you told my mother about.”
Though his steps never faltered, it seemed to Roxana his muscles went stiff for a moment. “Yes, I…I’ve been thinking about her a great deal lately.”
“How does she look? Pretty, I suppose.” Not the kind of gauche provincial who allowed men to paw her amid the tombs of his ancestors.
“Not merely pretty. Beautiful.” The earl’s face took on a wistful expression. “She has the most astonishing smile—’like sunshine after rain,’ to borrow a phrase from Shakespeare. But the most remarkable thing about her is that she seems completely unaware of how very lovely she is.”
It was the most heartfelt speech Roxana had ever heard him make about any topic not directly connected to politics. “You really admire this girl.”
“I love her.” He gave her a wan, faintly apologetic smile. “I’ve never loved anyone else.”
At the ring of sincerity in his voice, she could almost envy the earl’s mystery lady. “Well, I wish you every success. Perhaps the next time we meet, we’ll both be married.”
His blue gaze shifted to somewhere past the top of her head. “Yes. Perhaps.”
Around and around they went, the other couples a blur of color she could only glimpse as they swirled past. The rhythm of the music was dizzying—one-two-three, one-two-three. She caught sight of her mother, watching from the sidelines. She was wearing a smile that stretched from ear to ear.
How astonishing a man like Ayersley could dance this way, as smoothly and gracefully as if it came by instinct. After a time Roxana collected her wits enough to ask, “Is it just me, or has this waltz been going on an unusually long time?”
“There are certain advantages to hosting a ball,” the earl said with the ghost of a smile. “As the saying goes, he who pays the piper calls the tune.”
It was plain enough from the self-deprecating quirk of his mouth he was only joking, but this second instance of gallantry surprised another laugh from her. How could he have grown so civil to her at last, when she’d spent the past few weeks making a perfect cake of herself?
They whirled around again and again and then, finally, the tune did indeed come to an end. As the dance floor cleared, Ayersley led her, as properly as any chaperone could have wished, to where her mother sat with the other matrons. “Your servant, Miss Langley,” he said, withdrawing with a bow.
It had been one of the most polite waltzes Roxana had ever danced, yet for some reason it left her blushing like a ninny.
“You looked graceful, dancing with him,” her mother said. “You two would make a handsome couple.”
“Oh, Mama. The way you dote on Ayersley, you would say that even if he had tripped and fallen on me.” Roxana hoped the light was too dim in their corner of the ballroom for her mother to see her flushed cheeks. She didn’t know what had got into her, turning rosy over a single waltz, and one she had not even danced with George. All that turning in circles must have affected her more than she’d realized.
The evening wore on. Between sets Roxana giggled a little with Fanny, who had met the earl’s secretary and taken an instant liking to him. Fanny had not only shared one dance with Mr. Dean, but also promised him another. Roxana had another opportunity to speak with Lady Ayersley, too, longer than their brief exchange in the receiving line. She was a dear lady, a cheerful sprite of a woman, as different from her tall, dark-haired son as it was possible to be. Roxana told her how happy she was to see her up and about again after her accident, and commiserated with her on Ayersley’s impending departure. And old Mrs. Truitt asked about George, calling him a “wicked devil” and winking at Roxana—though she tempered this bit of raillery by adding, “A fine buck to cut your teeth on, Miss Langley, before hooking yourself a better prospect.”
As for George himself, for a man who’d expressed a desire to talk to her, he had a strange way of showing it. She caught his eye more than once, but whenever he saw she was talking with someone else his jaw would tighten and he’d turn away. At first Roxana hoped perhaps he was just being careful of appearances after that mortifying scene in the church. The longer the evening wore on, however, the more aggrieved his disregard left her. Couldn’t he pay her at least a little attention?
Her eyes alighted on Fanny’s brother Edward, an infantry captain who’d seen nearly as much action in the war as George. He was conversing with a mousey girl in a yellow dress. If George saw her talking to an attractive officer, perhaps it might spur him to show a little more interest. Besides, Captain Sherbourne wore a look of such ill-concealed boredom, Roxana sensed he would welcome the interruption.
She circled around behind him and said archly, “My, my, could that be the infamous Captain Sherbourne, the man who taught his poor delicately reared sister all those shocking army ballads?”
He wheeled around, a smile springing to his face. “Miss Langley! I saw you dancing earlier. My word, but you look well tonight.”
At his friendly greeting, Roxana broke into an answering smile—but when she glanced past him to the girl he’d been chatting with, she encountered a glare of naked dislike. “Forgive me if I’m intruding.”
The captain waved a dismissive hand. “Intruding? Nonsense. Miss Penn and I weren’t discussing anything of import.”
Behind him, the mousey girl’s face fell.
“Have you met Miss Penn?” he said, turning to her. “She and her mother are visiting us this week. Miss Penn, this is my sister’s particular friend, Miss Langley.” As Roxana and Miss Penn curtsied to each other, Captain Sherbourne reached for Roxana’s fan, where she’d penciled the names of her dancing partners on the sticks. “Is your next dance spoken for? Ah, I see it is not. Perhaps you would honor me…?”
He had seized her fan unceremoniously, with the familiarity of an old friend, and asked her to dance while Miss Penn stood forgotten at his side. The poor girl looked so disappointed Roxana’s heart went out to her. “You don’t mind, do you, Miss Penn? We engaged ladies must steal our partners wherever we can.”
Miss Penn brightened. “You’re engaged?”
“Yes, to Major Wyatt of the
Fifth Dragoon Guards. We’re to be married in October.”
“That great lumbering fellow over there,” Captain Sherbourne said, pointing George out to Miss Penn. “The cavalry get all the prettiest girls.”
Roxana laughed—he really was a darling man—and Miss Penn made the obligatory offer of best wishes. It appeared the girl was prepared to like her now that she knew Roxana was no competition for the captain. Her face betrayed only the faintest flicker of resentment when he led Roxana out onto the dance floor.
“I didn’t mean to offend Miss Penn,” Roxana told Captain Sherbourne in an undertone as they waited out their turn at the bottom of the set, “but you looked as if you wished for an excuse to make your escape.”
“It was that obvious, was it?” He smiled ruefully. “The poor girl doesn’t know anyone here, so she’s stuck to me like a burr all evening.”
“I have the feeling she’s taken more than just a friendly interest in you.”
“In me?” He lifted one eyebrow. “I’m sure you’re mistaken. I hardly know her.”
“Now, Captain, surely you’ve heard of love at first sight?”
“Do you really think she might be forming an attachment?” He glanced over his shoulder with a distracted expression. “Perhaps I’d better keep my distance. She’s a nice girl, but I wouldn’t want to raise her hopes—though how I’m to keep my distance when she’s staying with my family, I can’t think.”
Roxana smiled at him as their turn came to rejoin the dance. “You could always help her to fall out of love with you. Hint that you have some hidden physical deformity, something so repulsive it makes even seasoned medics turn away in disgust. Or mention your life’s ambition is to run a successful pig farm.”
Captain Sherbourne chuckled. “I might have known you’d be a dab hand at managing unwanted suitors.”
When the dance ended she thanked him, gave Miss Penn a warm smile and tried not to be too obvious about looking for George. He was supposed to partner her for the next dance, and then take her in to supper. At last she spied his solid figure—and he was coming through the crowd toward her.
Hoping it wasn’t obvious she’d been watching for him, she did her best to appear fascinated by the couples pairing up again for the next set. Across the dance floor, Ayersley was speaking to Miss Cole, one of the more adventuresome young ladies of the neighborhood. Miss Cole gave an enthusiastic nod, and he offered her his arm and led the girl out. It was all rather lowering, considering his mother had had to shame him into dancing with her.
As the orchestra prepared to strike up the tune, Roxana turned to George with a brittle smile. “Why, there you are, George, and just in time for the supper dance.”
But instead of giving her his arm, he frowned. “We need to talk. There’s something I’ve been working up to say all evening.”
He looked so grim, a stir of alarm went through her. “What is it?”
“Let’s find someplace more private.”
“The terrace?”
He nodded, and they made their way through the open French doors. Outside, the scent of woodbine was even stronger, and the moon shone brightly. There were a few guests on the terrace, mostly gentlemen smoking at the far end, but they had space and privacy enough to talk.
She faced him, taking in the grim set of his mouth. “What is it?”
He squared his shoulders. “Roxana, believe me, I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this, but…” His chin lifted. “I’m sorry, but I can’t marry you.”
“What!”
In her shock, she had raised her voice. At the other end of the terrace, several heads turned in their direction.
“You can’t marry me?” she repeated in an angry whisper. “What are you saying?”
George kept his voice low. “I know this must come as an unwelcome surprise, but it will be best for both of us.”
Any man delivering such a speech to the lady he had planned to marry—a lady who had waited faithfully for him—should have had the grace to appear remorseful, or at least apologetic. George just looked determined.
She gaped at him. “How can you say such a thing?”
His eyes slid away from hers. “My shoulder’s all but healed, and I mean to rejoin my regiment in Woodbridge. I’m asking you to release me.”
“Release you? But why? Just because you’re going to Suffolk? If you really want to rejoin your regiment we can move the wedding up. If we marry by license—”
“No. I don’t want to move the wedding up.”
“Very well, then, we’ll marry in October as planned. I don’t mind waiting through another—”
“No. No more waiting. No more separations. And we’re not moving the wedding up. I can’t marry you.”
Rising panic made her heart pound. “But—why? What have I done?”
“Nothing. You haven’t done anything. Roxana, try to understand—”
“Understand? We’ve been planning our wedding since the day I turned eighteen. I waited five years for you. We announced our engagement only last month. And now you want to call it off?”
“I’m sorry. This is as difficult for me as it is for you.”
“Then why? At least give me a reason!”
He flushed. “It’s not you, it’s me. I can’t go through with it.”
“What kind of reason is that?” She put a hand to her forehead and struggled for composure. “George, let’s not talk about this right now. Please, let’s discuss this tomorrow, when we’ve both had a chance to sleep on it.”
“No. I need this settled between us tonight.”
He couldn’t really be casting her aside, not when they were supposed to live the rest of their lives together. “I know it’s felt strange, being together again after such a long separation. And we haven’t spent as much time in each other’s company as I’d hoped. But when you’ve thought it over, you’ll see—”
“I have thought it over. Devil take it, I’ve thought of little else for days. I don’t want to hurt you, Roxana, but I’ve made up my mind.”
“But you can’t just abandon an engagement. I love you!”
A look of inner struggle crossed his face but quickly faded. “I’m sorry. I can’t marry you.”
She couldn’t believe it. Surely in a moment he would take it back and tell her he was joking. Why was he just standing there, waiting for her to answer? What did he expect her to say?
She swallowed down her panic. “George, the whole neighborhood knew we were only waiting for peacetime. If you cry off now, what will they think?”
“I’ll put it about that you called it off. It’s the least I can do.”
She looked back through the French doors to the dance floor inside. The set they’d missed was ending. As the strains of the music died away, couples left the dance floor together, smiling at each other with glowing faces. And there was George, telling her it was over between them. What had she done wrong, that he should reject her so matter-of-factly after all her years of devotion?
“Is it your career?” she asked. “Are you worried I wouldn’t fit in as an army wife? You think I would embarrass you?”
He frowned. “No. Not at all. This isn’t about you.”
“Is it cold feet, then? I’ve had second thoughts, too, I confess, but everyone feels those things.”
He slashed the air with his hand in a gesture of frustration. “Devil take it, Roxana, it’s not cold feet. Do you have to have a reason? Why can’t you just take my word for it this is for the best?”
“Because I can’t believe you’d really do this.” Choked with distress, she set a staying hand on his sleeve. “George, please. Can’t we pretend this conversation never happened?”
Even her tearful pleading didn’t move him. He simply shook off her hand. “I can’t. I wish I could, but…no. This is the way it has to be.”
She searched his eyes and saw only resolve. The last thread of her control snapped. With a stifled cry, she turned and fled.
Her eyes stung as s
he plunged through the crowd, swimming against the tide of guests moving toward the supper room. She could scarcely grasp what had just happened. My God. George had jilted her. She loved him and he didn’t love her. She would look ridiculous—a girl who had waited years for a man who didn’t even want her.
Or perhaps worse than ridiculous. What if everyone thought she’d done something to deserve such rejection? And what on earth was she supposed to do now, when she’d built all her dreams around becoming George’s wife?
She couldn’t go in to supper, not after what had just happened. She could barely hold back the tears. Without really knowing where she was going, she hurried blindly past the ballroom and down the first quiet corridor that presented itself. She needed somewhere she could regain her composure.
The library was empty. When she closed the door behind her, it blocked out all but the faint strains of music from the ballroom. She drifted mechanically to the middle of the room, her thoughts in turmoil, her forlorn figure mirrored in the windows that overlooked the garden.
How could George do this to her? She’d waited for him, she’d adored him, she’d forgiven his affairs in Spain—
She’d frozen inside every time he kissed her. Was that why he’d thrown her over? Had she been too cold, too unfeeling?
Behind her, the music swelled again as the library door opened. Roxana spun around.
It was Ayersley. Not George, come to take back everything he’d said. She let out a long, shaking breath.
Propriety demanded the door remain ajar. Something in her reaction, however, must have made the earl think better of it. He reached back and quietly closed the door behind him.
“You may as well know that Major Wyatt has broken off our engagement,” Roxana said. She had no idea why she was telling Ayersley a piece of news so personal and so painful she was barely able to accept it herself.
A strange look—a flash of surprise and something else—flickered across his face. “Ah.”
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