by Mary Balogh
"I have failed you." Arabella's voice had dwindled almost to a whisper.
"That is undoubtedly an exaggeration," he had said, smiling for the first time. "I am merely concerned for your reputation, Arabella. I would not want you to be known as fast when you are not at all so in reality."
"I am sorry, my lord." She had stood mute and miserable before him, feeling the full force of her failure to behave as a well-bred and experienced lady of the ton should behave.
He had put a hand beneath her chin and kept it there for a moment. "We will not make a major issue of it," he had said. "You need not look as if you expect me to beat you at any moment, Arabella. Will you be ready to ride in about two hours' time after I have taken care of some business here?"
But the joy had gone out of her day. She had ridden Emily later and mingled with the crowds of riders, strollers, and carriage passengers who had come out to take the air after a week of wet weather. Her husband had been at her side, conversing with her, greeting acquaintances. But she had felt dull and unattractive and inadequate to the life she was expected to lead. She had looked about her with some apprehension, expecting to see everywhere fingers pointing her way, dreading that her indiscretion might have caused a great scandal. And she had felt an unreasonable resentment against the handsome man at her side who had taken her from an environment that was familiar to her and now expected her to behave with perfect decorum in his world.
"Arabella." Lord Astor's hand on hers awoke Arabella from her unhappy reverie. "Shall we join the set?"
She smiled and placed her hand on his sleeve.
"And what is your first impression of your first ball?" he asked as he led her forward.
"That everyone is remarkably civil and even friendly," Arabella replied.
"But of course," he said. "Did you think that the new Lady Astor would be left in a corner unnoticed?"
She thought for a moment as they joined a set and waited for the music to begin. "Yes," she said at last, "I believe I did."
He laughed. "I do not think I have ever known anyone with your modesty," he said. "You look remarkably pretty, Arabella, in your yellow silk."
"Perhaps people have taken notice of me," she said, looking up earnestly into his face, "because I have had Frances standing next to me all the time. She looks very lovely, does she not, my lord? I think she is lovelier than any other lady here. I am not being partial, am I? Do you not agree with me?"
"If any other lady asked me that question, Arabella," Lord Astor said, "I would know quite certainly that she was fishing for a compliment. But you are perfectly serious, are you not? Yes, Frances looks beautiful, and I can see that she will take very well. But for all that, there is one lady I would prefer to look at."
The music began before Arabella could do more than glance up at him with wide, startled eyes. They were soon caught up in the intricate and energetic steps of a country dance.
* * *
Frances had danced with five gentlemen before her brother-in-law came to claim her hand for the quadrille. Two of them were titled. She was flushed with triumph. She had been told for several years, of course, that she was beautiful, and she had come to believe it, though she was not unduly vain. But none of her admirers at home—not even Theodore—had paid her such polished and courtly compliments as the gentlemen with whom she had danced. She had certainly been right to come to London.
Viscount Shenley complimented her on the dancing master she had never had, and Mr. Kershaw complimented himself on having the loveliest lady in the room as a dancing partner.
But Frances was most smitten by her third partner, Sir John Charlton, to whom Bella had had the good fortune to be presented that morning. He looked rather as Theodore would appear if one could remake him to perfection—tall and slim, with thick blond hair and aquiline features. He was impeccably dressed.
"You are Lady Astor's sister?" he asked as they began to dance. "How very fortunate that Lord Astor has recently made her his bride. You might not have come to town else, and I might not have had the honor of making your acquaintance and dancing with you this evening."
Frances blushed. He had a way of looking at her along the length of his nose that was very impressive.
"Bella has been fortunate, sir," she said. "She has married well. But she deserves her good fortune. She is very dear to her family."
"And she is fortunate to have such a loyal and very lovely sister, I am sure," he said.
Frances blushed again. "Thank you, sir," she said.
"Do not thank me, Miss Wilson," he said. "I did not make you lovely."
He did not ever smile, Frances noticed. He looked very distinguished.
"I have only recently arrived in town too," he said. "I have been visiting my elderly uncle, the Earl of Haig. I am his heir, you know. He is fond of me and was unwilling to see me leave. But at this precise moment, I am glad I did." He regarded her steadily.
Frances looked at him, confused, and noted in some disappointment that the set was drawing to an end. But the next was to be danced with her brother-in-law, who was surely the best-looking of all the gentlemen in the ballroom, with the possible exception of Sir John. She could still look at Lord Astor and feel a pang of envy of Bella. But she always loyally quelled the feeling and rejoiced in her younger sister's good fortune.
"Perhaps I might do myself the honor of calling on you one afternoon?" Sir John said as he escorted her from the floor.
Frances smiled at him.
Arabella too was pleased with her partners. Even the first set she had enjoyed. It was, of course, her very first dance at her very first ball. And she danced it with the most handsome gentleman in the room—she had seen several female eyes turn his way. And he was her husband. She forgot about her inadequacy. She was wearing one of her new gowns, and her maid had curled her hair prettily, and she had lost three pounds of weight, she was sure. Best of all, she did not have to converse with his lordship while dancing with him, so did not have to face the ordeal of feeling tongue-tied.
She danced with Lord Farraday and relaxed to his easy manner and humorous stories about his sisters. She laughed when he told her he had lost his mother and grandmother again on Bond Street that morning. And she danced too with Sir John Charlton. That was perhaps the only set she did not fully enjoy. She felt uncomfortable with him. Was it just because he was undeniably good-looking? she asked herself. But she thought not. He was not nearly so handsome as his lordship.
"You have recently married, ma'am?" he asked. "Is it to your marriage that we owe the pleasure of your presence in town?"
"My husband has brought me here, sir," she said. "I go wherever he chooses to go, of course."
"Then I owe Lord Astor a debt of gratitude," he said, "for bringing such a lovely lady to participate in the activities of the Season."
Arabella noted with some misgiving that he did not smile or name Frances. He was looking full at her.
"I am fortunate to be here myself," he said, "since I have just left the house of my aged uncle, the Earl of Haig. I am his heir, you know. He is fond of me and hated to see me leave. But I am very glad now that I did."
"I hope you left him in good health," Arabella said politely.
She was glad when the dance came to an end.
7
Lord Astor had returned Frances to his aunt's side after the quadrille, spent a few minutes talking to a group of acquaintances, and was now standing watching the dancers. He had spent some time in the card room earlier, but he had not played. He had stood and watched. And he had wandered back into the ballroom and not danced, except the first set with his wife and the previous one with his sister-in-law. He was bored.
No, not bored exactly. Restless. He was not particularly enjoying his marriage. It was not nearly what he had expected. He had planned it with great nonchalance, expecting that once the business of the wedding and settling his wife in his home was done, he would be able to carry on with his life as it had been for the previous six
years. The only difference would be that there would be a wife to dine with occasionally and bed at night, and children in his nursery eventually.
His marriage was not developing at all like that. He watched Arabella gloomily as she danced the steps of the Roger de Coverley with a gangly youth who looked as if he had never seen a dancing master in his life. Arabella was smiling dazzlingly up into his long, pale face, and succeeding in dancing gracefully despite his clumsiness.
She appeared to be doing well enough at the ball. Indeed, when he had asked her at the end of the opening set to write his name in her card next to the supper dance, she had told him first that that dance was taken, and then that there were no dances left for him to have. Except the waltzes that she was unable to do, of course.
It had been the perfect excuse for him. He should have been able to take himself off to the card room and become involved in playing for the rest of the evening. He should have been able to enjoy himself without either a concern for his wife or a thought to his married state for several blissful hours.
But he had found himself unable to do so. What if one of her partners failed to claim his dance? She would be left partnerless, feeling like a wallflower at her first ball. He could not allow such a thing to happen to Arabella. And what if there were some gossip about her indiscretion of the morning? He must be there to turn it off carelessly, mentioning the fact that her ladyship had sent her maid home ahead of her from the park for some reason.
It was quite absurd, of course. Not only was Arabella clearly enjoying herself, but she was also well-supplied with company. When he had returned her sister to Aunt Hermione a few minutes before, Arabella had been there too, but she had been deep in animated conversation with a group of two ladies and three gentlemen, two of them men he did not know himself. He only hoped that she had been properly presented to them. He was pleasantly surprised by the ease with which she seemed to fit into the society around her.
Really, Lord Astor thought, looking critically at his wife as she continued to smile and talk to the gangly youth, she did look good. His compliment to her earlier had been largely designed to set her at her ease, but there was truth in it too. If he were seeing her for the first time tonight, he might even call her pretty. The simple design and pale shade of her yellow silk gown showed off the pleasing feminine curves of her tiny body. Her short hair became her and looked pretty with yellow ribbon threaded through the curls. He had dissuaded her from buying plumes, which she had thought would give her some needed height and which even his aunt had thought would make her look more distinguished. Although the majority of ladies at the ball wore them, they would have looked ludicrous on Arabella.
Lord Astor caught the eye of an elderly matron who sat nearby with another lady of his acquaintance. He inclined his head and strolled over to exchange civilities with them. A few minutes passed before he turned away again, his ears having been assailed with congratulations on his recent marriage and compliments on the looks and vivacity of his wife.
It was not just this evening that he was having difficulty forgetting his marriage and his responsibilities, he thought, singling out Arabella from the dancing throngs again. It seemed to happen constantly. He could enjoy his clubs, his visits to Tattersall’s, the occasional attendance at the races, his frequent mornings at Jackson's. But he found himself often hesitating over joining his friends at any activity that would keep him from home for any long period of time. There had been the boxing mill, for example, that would have taken him from home for one night. There was no reason whatsoever why he should not have gone, since Arabella had her sister for company, and anyway, the two of them had been invited to join a theater party that evening that did not include him. But he had not gone.
He was annoyed with himself. Worst of all was the fact that he was beginning not to enjoy his afternoons with Ginny as much as he had used to do. He had been remarkably contented with her for a year, although there had been other females too on occasion, and he was certainly the envy of many men of his acquaintance. She was beautiful and very desirable to the eye, in addition to being a cut above the average kept mistress. Ginny was a singer much in demand at private parties.
He tried to put his wife from his mind whenever he crossed the threshold of Ginny's lavish establishment, which he had provided for her. Certainly he needed her. No robust male could be expected to satisfy his appetites with the restrained and respectable beddings that were all he would allow himself with his wife. And Ginny was enough to make any man forget even his own name when she was aroused to passion—a state that was not difficult to induce in her.
Why was it, then, that the last time he had been with her he had caught himself at the most energetic and usually most mindless moment of his performance wondering if Arabella were as attached to the scuffed leather saddle she used as she was to the horse beneath it, or if she would like a new one. And after his second effort with Ginny, in which he had succeeded a little better in blanking his mind to his wife, he had lain awake when he had wanted to sleep, picturing in his mind that upward-curving lip of Arabella's and the white, even teeth beneath it, and wondering idly if there would be any pleasure in kissing her mouth. He had never done so.
The set was ending. Both Lord Astor and his wife seemed to be surprised when the gangly youth escorted her to him rather than to Lady Berry and Frances, who were a little way off.
Lord Astor clasped his hands behind him. "You dance very well, Arabella," he said. "Are you enjoying yourself?"
"Thank you, my lord," she said. "Yes, I am. I expected that everyone here would be very grand and would dance divinely. But really, some people are quite ordinary. Poor Mr. Browning was very apologetic when he led me into the last set. In fact, he suggested that we sit out because he claims to have two left feet. But that is silly, as I told him. In a room that is so crowded, no one is going to single him out to notice that he does not dance quite as well as some of the other gentlemen. And he did not once step on my feet as he was afraid of doing. And I am no expert myself, as I was willing to tell him."
Lord Astor was amused. He enjoyed his wife's occasional bursts of speech in his presence. She was usually so quiet with him. He waited for the now-familiar blush and return to silence.
"The next set is a waltz," he said. "Would you care to stroll with me out on the balcony, Arabella?"
"Oh," she said, her head to one side. "I have promised to sit with Mr. Lincoln because he cannot dance at all. There is something wrong with his leg, though I do not know what. He limps."
"He had an illness as a child," Lord Astor said. "It has left him permanently lame."
"Poor man," she said. "Though he seems quite cheerful. With some people a handicap is not a thing to be pitied, is it? Some people rise above it. But I am sorry, my lord, about the walk. Do you mind?"
"Not at all," he said with a bow. "I was merely concerned that you not be alone during the waltz. Frances, I see, is in company with several other young ladies who are not yet allowed to waltz."
Arabella's face brightened as she looked at her sister. "Frances is a great success, is she not?" she said. "But then, I knew she would be. She is so lovely. She has always been the beauty of the family, you know. I am very proud of her. You must wish..." She smiled quickly up at him, and the expected blush and look of confusion came at last.
"I wish you had learned to waltz or that I had known earlier and could have taught you," he said, "so that I might take you away from Mr. Lincoln, Arabella." He took her gloved hand and laid it on the brocaded sleeve of his evening coat. "Do you see him? I shall take you to him."
Arabella was trying to write a letter to her mother before Frances joined her in the morning room the next day. It was not easy to do when there was all the excitement of the previous evening to convey in writing. She had enjoyed herself enormously and really had not had a spare moment in which to dwell upon the fact that she must look very much plainer and plumper and more childish than all the other ladies. She had danced e
very set she was able, and had had company for each of the waltzes. Lady Berry had even presented her to Lady Jersey, one of the patronesses of Almack's, and that lady had condescended to incline her head to her and congratulate her on her recent marriage to Lord Astor.
How was she to write it all down on paper, so that Mama and Jemima might almost see the ballroom and all the splendor of its occupants? How would she convey all the triumph she and Frances had felt at being so noticed by ladies and gentlemen alike? How could she describe just how very beautiful Frances had looked?
When the subject of her thoughts entered the room, Arabella put her quill pen down with care and gave up even the attempt to write. Frances had agreed the day before that they would both write to Mama this morning, but she had that dreamy look in her eyes that Arabella knew of old. There would be no writing for either of them for a while.
"How can you possibly be up early every morning even after such a late night, Bella?" Frances asked, yawning delicately behind her hand.
"I cannot waste the best part of the day," Arabella said. "I had to take George for a walk." She flushed. "His lordship came with me this morning."
"Dear Bella." Frances' eyes had their familiar brightness, a look that was usually a prelude to tears. "I never fail to marvel and to thank heaven for your sake that his lordship turned out to be the son of the man we expected. He is very attentive, is he not? I am so pleased for you. I cannot think of anyone who deserves happiness more than you. I shall never forget the sacrifice you made for me."
"Well, it turned out to be no sacrifice after all, did it not?" Arabella said briskly, noting that Frances was pulling a handkerchief out of her pocket. She recalled the discomfort she had felt earlier that morning, knowing that his lordship had accompanied her to the park only to give her respectability when he would doubtless have preferred to be at the breakfast table with his daily paper. And he had called George bad-mannered and had insisted on taking the lead in his own hand just because the poor dog could not get to the park fast enough and was threatening to pull her arm from its socket.