The Saint of Seven Dials: Collector's Edition

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The Saint of Seven Dials: Collector's Edition Page 63

by Brenda Hiatt


  Rowena fought down a sudden stab of panic. "Ah, quite some time, actually." Not since her last lesson with the dancing master, some four years since, in fact. "But surely there will be no need for me to do so?"

  "No need to dance—at a ball?" Pearl's delicate eyebrows arched in amusement. "Of course there is a need. It is the whole point of a ball. I won't have you playing the wallflower or disappearing into a corner to discuss politics. Not at your very first ball."

  Swallowing, Rowena nodded, though she had hoped to do just that. "Then I suppose you are right that I will need a bit of practice first. I don't wish to embarrass you, after all." She was acutely aware of Mr. Paxton witnessing this humiliating exchange.

  "I have no fear of that whatsoever," Pearl assured her warmly. "It's settled, then. We'll start directly after breakfast. I believe we should run over some of the more popular card games as well, as I've planned a card party for Saturday."

  Lord Hardwyck joined them then, and Rowena was glad to no longer be the focus of attention. As the others talked, she was aware of a rebellious thrill at the thought of Mr. Paxton standing up to dance with her. His hand would touch hers, she would look into his eyes . . .

  And then step on his foot. Oh, this was going to be terrible! She sat in barely-concealed agitation while Lord Hardwyck and Mr. Paxton discussed the unusually cool weather.

  As soon as all had eaten, Pearl directed them to the ballroom. Servants were already polishing sconces and hanging brackets for the flowers for tomorrow night's ball.

  "We will make do with humming for music for now," Pearl said after a quick check of the preparations. "If you will oblige me, my lord, I thought we might model a waltz."

  "Very well, my love, one waltz," Lord Hardwyck replied. "But then I must leave you to your protegée's lessons. I have several appointments today."

  Pearl pouted prettily, but nodded. "All right, Rowena, watch how I place my hands. The style has changed slightly since last year."

  "Not that that matters, as I never learned to waltz at all," Rowena muttered to herself, watching the effortless way Pearl and her husband moved about the floor.

  "It's not as hard as it looks," came an answering murmur from just behind her. She hadn't realized Mr. Paxton was standing so close. "We'll have you waltzing beautifully in no time."

  She half-turned, to look up at him gratefully. "I'm sure this wasn't what you had planned for this morning, sir. I appreciate your sacrificing your time on my behalf. And I do hope you're right, though I take leave to doubt it."

  "You've clearly spent your time on more useful pursuits than dancing and flirting. You shouldn't be penalized for that," he responded with a warmth that startled her. "My plans were not so urgent that they can't wait for such a cause."

  He understood! Rowena started to thank him again, but found herself caught in his gaze, his eyes darkening to a deep green as they seemed to probe hers for secrets.

  "Rowena, you're not watching!" came Pearl's admonishing voice, snapping her back to her surroundings.

  Embarrassed by the direction her thoughts had been tending, she quickly swung back around. "I . . . I have been," she stammered. "But I fear I'll have to begin at a more basic level. You've committed to more than you know, Pearl, with your insistence on making me fit for a ball by tomorrow night."

  Though Rowena was quite serious, Pearl only laughed. "You know how I love a challenge, dear. But I'm convinced you only need some pointers. I know from experience what a quick study you are."

  Rowena was spared from replying by Lord Hardwyck, who took his leave of them then. With a glance at Mr. Paxton that might have been pitying, he said, "I'll see you this afternoon at White's, as we discussed?"

  Mr. Paxton nodded. "I'm quite looking forward to it."

  "Don't plan on us for dinner then, my love," Lord Hardwyck said to Pearl. He gave her a quick but undeniably passionate kiss, then was gone.

  Pearl turned back to the others, her cheeks a bit pink. "Now, where were we? Mr. Paxton, if you are willing, I will play a simple waltz on the pianoforte and you may partner Rowena. Half-time, to start."

  Accordingly, she moved to the instrument in the corner of the large room and struck up a tune at a dirge-like pace. Rowena, her heart hammering wildly, turned to face Mr. Paxton.

  "You really don't have to—"

  "Nonsense. We have our instructions." With a smile that soothed one set of fears while creating another, he held out his hand.

  Tentatively, she placed her own in it, while he set his other hand at her waist. He was even taller than she'd realized, her face on a level with his shirtfront. "I . . . I'll try not to tread on your feet," she promised breathlessly.

  "No matter if you do. My shoes are quite sturdy. Now." Slowly, in time with the music, he moved her across the floor. "A waltz is simply a count of three, repeated. One, two, three, one, two, three. No, the other foot. That's right."

  Though his touch was hugely distracting, Rowena concentrated with all her might on his words and his feet, trying to match her steps to his. All the while he spoke calmly, patiently, correcting her in gentle, matter-of-fact tones whenever she made a mistake —which she did frequently, at first.

  Gradually, she was able to relax. As she became less stiff, her mistakes grew fewer, and by the end of the piece, she felt she had the basic movements fairly well mastered. Her partner reinforced her satisfaction.

  "I told you it wasn't hard," he said. "You're doing excellently. Another, I think, Lady Hardwyck, this time at full tempo."

  Pearl began another waltz at twice the speed as the last, and Rowena had to concentrate all over again. This time her progress was faster, partly because Mr. Paxton seemed adept at anticipating her errors and correcting for them in advance.

  The music ended with a flourish and Rowena, flush with her success, tried a small flourish of her own. Unfortunately, her left foot came down squarely on Mr. Paxton's right.

  "Oops!" she exclaimed, quickly taking her weight off that foot. Too quickly. She lost her balance, and was saved from falling only by his superior reflexes.

  "I'm . . . I'm terribly sorry." The feel of his arms around her, like warm, supple steel bands, made it hard to think. She hadn't realized he would be so strong.

  Gently, he set her upright. "No harm done. Shall we try the minuet? Balls traditionally open with that one."

  Rowena nodded mutely, still exceedingly flustered.

  Pearl obliged with a sprightly minuet. Without the disturbing distraction of constant contact, Rowena was able to think again. Automatically, she went through the motions of the familiar, old-fashioned dance —not perfectly, but at least no one's feet were endangered by her occasional missteps.

  She had already recognized Mr. Paxton's superior intelligence, but now she had to credit him with an unusual degree of kindness, as well. Despite her best efforts to keep her gaze under control, she repeatedly caught herself staring at him as they danced. The line of his jaw fascinated her with its masculine strength, so dissimilar from the feminine profile. A mere anthropological observation, of course.

  "Without more people, we cannot attempt any of the country dances or the quadrille," Pearl commented at the close of the minuet. "You know enough of those to get by, do you not, Rowena?"

  "I hope so," she replied doubtfully. She now regretted never practicing once her dancing lessons had ended when she was seventeen. At the time, she had seen it as a blessed release from weekly hours of torture.

  "We will watch out for you, Miss Riverstone, and come to your rescue should you find yourself out of your depth," Mr. Paxton said with a smile that served to make him even more handsome.

  Though she felt herself pinkening with embarrassment that such measures should be necessary, she thanked him. "I fear I shall never be a proficient, but I do feel less nervous now than I did when we began."

  "Good!" Pearl's tone was bracing. "I have no doubt you will do quite well. You need not dance every dance, after all. And you, sir," she said to M
r. Paxton, her eyes twinkling, "had best not promise her too many dances yourself, or it will give rise to expectations among those assembled."

  Rowena turned away quickly to hide her mortification, but not before she saw the startled look in Mr. Paxton's eyes. Why must Pearl tease so? She was greatly relieved when the butler chose that moment to interrupt them to announce morning callers.

  * * *

  Noel watched Miss Riverstone as he followed the two ladies to the parlor where the visitors awaited. Not only did the girl have one of the sharpest minds he'd encountered, she possessed a humorous awareness of her own limitations that he found quite appealing. Too appealing.

  There was courage there as well, for it was clear she was dreading tomorrow night's ball but meant to see it through anyway. He presumed an unwillingness to disappoint Lady Hardwyck was her primary motivation, and that spoke well of her loyalty, too.

  That same loyalty would likely make it more difficult to get to her brother through her, but he had no choice. He'd noticed her choice of reading material at breakfast, though he hadn't let on. That she read the Political Register was one more bit of evidence that her brother might be the mysterious essayist.

  At first opportunity, he would have to deftly question her about her brother, to see if he fit the profile of the Black Bishop. He would create such an opportunity soon —for of course that must be his only real interest in Miss Riverstone.

  "Lady Mountheath, how good to see you," Pearl exclaimed as she entered the parlor. "I apologize again that I was unable to come for tea on Tuesday. This is Miss Riverstone, the friend I mentioned. Rowena, Mr. Paxton, may I present Lady Mountheath and her daughters, Miss Lucy Mountheath and Miss Fanny Mountheath."

  All of the proper greetings were exchanged. Noel moved to sit next to Miss Riverstone, thinking to put his plan into effect at once, but was forestalled by the younger Miss Mountheath, who beckoned him to sit by her.

  "Lucy and I met you at Lady Jeller's Venetian Breakfast two weeks ago," she reminded him with a giggle. "I'm delighted to find you are still in Town, Mr. Paxton, it has become so thin of late." She giggled again.

  Noel smiled blandly, remembering all too well the tedious half hour he had spent in company with the sisters on that occasion. Again he was trapped, listening to their fatuous chatter while his hope of more interesting conversation, Miss Riverstone, was out of reach on the far side of their gimlet-eyed mother.

  It was a distinct relief when more callers were announced. He rose and greeted Mr. Galloway, Mr. Orrin and Lady Minerva Chatham with enthusiasm. The newcomers dispersed themselves about the room and he took that opportunity to move closer to Miss Riverstone.

  "I just received the invitation to your house party, and I am so distraught," Lady Minerva was saying to Lady Hardwyck. "Mother and I leave tomorrow to join Father in the country, so we will not be able to attend. It sounds like such fun!"

  "I'm sorry to give so little notice, Minnie. It was one of my starts, thrown together at the last moment. You've heard me mention my friend, Rowena Riverstone?" Lady Hardwyck made the introductions.

  While Lady Minerva greeted Miss Riverstone pleasantly, Noel noticed that the two gentlemen gave her only the most cursory nod before turning their attention back to the other ladies present. He frowned at their rudeness, surprised that Lady Hardwyck did not call them to task for it— then realized he had reacted precisely the same way on first meeting Miss Riverstone.

  What a difference a few hours in her company had made. Now he scarcely noticed her nondescript attire and unfashionable hairstyle, knowing the keen intelligence and wry humor that lurked beneath.

  "So you are Bow Street's new hope to catch the Saint, are you, Mr. Paxton?" Lady Minerva interrupted his thoughts —which was just as well. "I can't say I wish you success, but I should love to hear any stories you know of our local hero."

  Noel had to smile at her eagerness. "Most of what there is to know has already found its way into the papers. It seems he is a master of disguise, able to act the nobleman as easily as the servant, making him quite difficult to track."

  Miss Riverstone turned to listen, as did Lady Mountheath. The latter said, "I do hope you will manage it, however, Mr. Paxton. The villain stole jewels and plate from my home some months since, and they were never recovered. The Runners surmised that he masqueraded as a footman, hired on for the evening."

  "A risky practice, hiring men off the street, Lady Mountheath," Lady Minerva commented. "I should be afraid to do so myself, much as I might like to have the Saint in my own house." She winked at the other ladies, drawing a general chuckle.

  Miss Riverstone spoke for the first time since entering the parlor. "If everyone shared your caution, Lady Minerva, think how much harder it would be for those in difficult straits to earn enough to feed their families."

  Lady Mountheath sniffed audibly, cutting off any reply Lady Minerva might have made. "Such men work cheaply, so will always find those willing to hire them. For my part, I now make certain that any chance hires are closely supervised, and carefully searched before leaving my employ."

  Miss Riverstone frowned and opened her mouth, no doubt to protest such demeaning treatment.

  "A wise precaution, my lady," said Noel quickly, before Miss Riverstone could draw the censure of the others. "I'd recommend requesting references as well, whenever possible."

  All but Miss Riverstone murmured their agreement. The conversation moved on to the topic of Lady Hardwyck's upcoming house party, the Misses Mountheath and the two gentlemen clearly looking forward to such a novel amusement so late in the Season.

  Noel glanced at Miss Riverstone to find her frowning at him, no doubt irritated by his implicit agreement with Lady Mountheath's methods. Though he could not explain, he smiled and shrugged to show he understood. He could not afford to lose her good opinion —not yet.

  She raised one brow, as though trying to decipher his meaning, then looked away. Lady Hardwyck caught his eye then and smiled approvingly. She, at least, realized what he had done for her friend.

  The Mountheath ladies took their leave and other callers arrived. Over the next hour, it seemed that half the important personages still in London stopped by to congratulate Lady Hardwyck on her clever idea. Given Lord Hardwyck's influence, that was to be expected, Noel thought cynically.

  Lady Hardwyck dutifully introduced Miss Riverstone to each visitor, and almost without exception they greeted, then ignored her. Miss Riverstone appeared not to care, but Noel couldn't quite suppress his own irritation, hypocritical though it was.

  He made a point of exchanging a few words with each visitor, memorizing names and mentally placing each one in relation to those he wished to cultivate. The groundwork for his investigation was being laid nicely.

  When the last callers finally took their leave, Lady Hardwyck rose with a sigh. "Dear me, what a lot of curious people remain in Town! But it bodes well for tomorrow night's attendance. Dare I hope you will remember any names, Rowena?"

  Miss Riverstone nodded. "I made a point of it, as it seemed one of the few things that might help me show to advantage. People are flattered to be remembered, or so I have read."

  "Very true," Lady Hardwyck agreed with a laugh. "I suppose if you can plan a chess strategy ten moves in advance, a few dozen names should present little challenge. But now, let us continue our lessons. I thought we would move on to card games, as few people are likely to want to play chess."

  Accordingly, she rang for decks of cards and the three of them sat down to go over the rules of whist, faro, piquet and vingt-un. Not at all to Noel's surprise, Miss Riverstone proved a quick study, particularly in those games involving more strategy than luck.

  "You should have no trouble holding your own in this arena," Lady Hardwyck declared after less than an hour. "How are you with a fan?"

  Miss Riverstone stared at her, reminding Noel forcibly of a deer cornered by a hound. "A fan? Gesturing or, ah, flirting with one, do you mean?" She shot a quick, al
armed glance at Noel, then quickly looked away, her cheeks pinkening.

  He stifled a smile. "Will that really be necessary, Lady Hardwyck?" he asked.

  Somehow he couldn't imagine direct, unadorned Miss Riverstone intentionally flirting, fan or no fan. Flirting smacked of intrigue —one reason he'd made a point of learning to do it well himself —and her honesty was one of her more attractive traits.

  "Only the basics, for now," Lady Hardwyck assured them. "Let me ring for a fan."

  Noel hastily stood. "I'm certain you won't need me for this enterprise. Surely these are mysteries of which my sex is supposed to remain ignorant? Besides, it's getting late and I did promise to meet Lord Hardwyck."

  "Coward," Lady Hardwyck teased. "Very well, run along then. You've been most patient and helpful, and I do thank you."

  "As do I," echoed Miss Riverstone. "Without your help— both of you— I'd have been sure to embarrass myself. Now, perhaps, there is less certainty of that."

  Again, Noel was charmed by her subtle, self-deprecating humor. "Fitting in is simply a matter of following the lead of those around you, Miss Riverstone," he said with a reassuring smile. "I have no doubt you will do splendidly. Ladies."

  Bowing, he took his leave of them, trying not to notice the lingering anxiety in Miss Riverstone's eyes, or the effect that anxiety had upon him. She was simply a means to an end, not one of his sisters, that he should feel protective of her.

  Not that his feelings for her were precisely brotherly . . .

  Perhaps it was just as well other gentlemen tended to overlook her. He had a vague suspicion he might not react particularly well should they do otherwise. Thankfully, her unfashionable appearance made it unlikely he would be put to any such test.

  CHAPTER 5

  "Ringlets? Are you certain? They seem so . . . frivolous." Rowena frowned at the sketch Pearl's coiffeuse showed her.

  After a disastrous hour playing with fans, Pearl had given up on teaching her that particular skill and had led her upstairs to begin her transformation.

 

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