by Candace Camp
She saw the handsome Gabriel Morecombe the evening before the wedding when she came down for supper, but of course at the table she had been placed far away from the heir to the Morecombe title, and she wouldn’t have dreamed of trying to catch his attention later in the evening when everyone mingled more freely in the music room and drawing room. No one in the village of Chesley, she knew, would have branded her shy, for she tended to take charge of matters, but the size and elegance of Fenstone Park, as well as the glittering sophistication of the people therein, intimidated her. Besides, Thea knew that when it came to social situations, she had little to offer. In the only area that counted among young women, beauty, she lagged behind the others. So she sat quietly beside Veronica, looking on as her pretty sister flirted with first one young man, then the other.
Once, when Veronica was for a moment free, Thea leaned in close to her sister, covering her mouth with her spread fan, and whispered, “Who is that young man? The one standing with Lord Wofford.” She nodded her head toward where the handsome young man stood with their second cousin Ian.
Her sister looked in the direction Thea indicated, raising her own fan to hide the smile that curved her lips. “Ooooh, him. He’s Gabriel Morecombe; he’ll be a lord when his father dies. He and Wofford have been friends forever. He’s a terribly good catch. Not only handsome as can be, but possessed of a nice inheritance, I hear.” Veronica released a soft sigh. “Quite above our touch, I’m afraid.”
“Oh.” Thea felt her cheeks warm, and she looked down, twisting the fan in her hand. “I didn’t mean—I never considered that. I just thought … I wondered who he was.”
She raised her eyes again, unable to keep them from returning to Gabriel. He was flirting with two girls in satin evening gowns that Thea was sure cost more than her entire wardrobe at home. She watched, aware of an odd little clutch in her chest. She knew that her father would tell her she was being covetous, but right now Thea could not bring herself to care. For just a moment, she ached to be a fragile blonde with limpid blue eyes, dressed in satin and lace.
The next day Thea’s eyes found Gabriel Morecombe wherever he was—sitting six rows in front of her in the chapel during the wedding, laughing as he walked down the hall with another young man, sitting on a bench in the garden south of the house, the sun glinting off his black hair. Once he glanced over at her, and she quickly looked away, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment. Had he seen her staring? Did he realize that she could not keep from looking for him wherever she went?
That evening she went down to the ball wearing her best evening gown—well, it wasn’t hers, really, but the pale blue gown Veronica had worn to the County Assembly last month. Still, it was the nicest dress she had, and Veronica had given it up only because she was wearing one of the new dresses bought for her debut this year. Its blue color had been chosen with Veronica’s dark auburn hair and blue eyes in mind, but it was a flattering enough shade for Thea, as well. And Veronica had insisted on doing Thea’s hair herself, so that it hung in long curls from a knot at the crown of her head, and the soft, fine hairs that tended to pull out from their pins were twisted and tamed into feathery little wisps around her face. Thea had indulged in a final bit of vanity by removing her spectacles and leaving them on her dresser.
Without her glasses, she could see little more than a blur beyond a few feet in front of her, and at first, as she descended the stairs, she felt a little frightened by her lack of vision. However, when she followed Veronica into the ballroom and realized that the crowd spread out before her was nothing more than soft, fuzzy shapes and colors, she relaxed. It was quite pleasant, actually, not to see the people around her. She was, she thought with some amusement, rather like an ostrich sticking its head in the sand—unable to see anyone with clarity, she felt herself somehow invisible.
She took her usual place beside Veronica and her mother against the wall of the large ballroom. A small orchestra played at one end of the room, and couples danced in a haze of color and motion in front of her. Before long, Veronica was asked to dance, and Thea’s mother, blessed with the same sort of easy social grace Veronica possessed, was deep in conversation with the wife of Sir Joseph Symonds. Thea plied her fan gently in the warmth and wondered what Gabriel Morecombe was doing. At least she could not embarrass herself this evening by looking for him since she could see only a few feet past the end of her nose.
After some time she was roused from her reverie by her mother’s voice, saying, “Thea, dear, Lady Fenstone is here.”
“Hmm?” Thea turned, somewhat reluctantly letting go of the daydream about a dark-eyed man that she had been spinning in her head, and looked over at her mother. The Earl’s wife was standing in front of Mrs. Bainbridge, looking at Thea, and beside her stood Gabriel Morecombe.
It was all Thea could do to keep her mouth from dropping open in astonishment. “M … ma’am.” Thea shot to her feet, sending the fan that had been resting in her lap tumbling to the floor with a clatter. “Oh!”
She bent to retrieve the fan, but Morecombe had already scooped it up. He did not offer it to her, just smiled at her, his dark eyes sparking with laughter. Thea didn’t know whether to reach for the fan, so she just twisted her hands together awkwardly and turned once more toward the Countess. Remembering that she had not curtsied to the older woman as she should have, she did so now, thinking miserably that she must look even more gauche.
The corner of the Countess’s mouth twitched, whether from irritation or amusement Thea was not sure. She gave a small nod to Thea and said, “Allow me to introduce you to Mr. Morecombe.” The Countess turned toward the young man. “Mr. Morecombe, my cousins, Mrs. Latimer Bainbridge and Miss Althea Bainbridge.”
“Ma’am.” Gabriel executed a perfect bow over Thea’s mother’s extended hand, then turned to bow to Thea. “Miss Bainbridge. ’Tis a pleasure to meet you. May I ask for the honor of this dance?”
Thea gaped at him. “Me?”
She heard the Countess emit a little sigh, and Alice Bainbridge said quickly, “That sounds lovely. Go ahead, Althea, it was good of you to keep me company, but I shall be fine here by myself.”
A flush spread across Thea’s cheeks. She was being thoroughly graceless, and she knew that Mr. Morecombe was laughing at her. Though his smile could be mistaken for polite interest, the light in his eyes could be nothing but laughter. She supposed she should be grateful that he was reacting in such good humor. He could have been sullen about Lady Fenstone’s dragging him across the room to ask the wallflower cousin to dance—for Thea was well aware that that was what was going on here—but he did not betray even the slightest disdain. Still, Thea could not help but surge with resentment that he found her ineptness comical; it made her doubly irritated because she knew she did, indeed, look comical.
“Very well.” Thea knew her words came out grudgingly, but she could not manage to twist them into anything else.
Morecombe’s brows went up just a little, but he said nothing, only offered her his arm. Thea put her hand on his arm, praying that he would not feel the trembling in her fingers, and walked with him toward the dance floor. It made her a trifle breathless to be this close to him. She could feel the warmth of his body and smell the trace of cologne that clung to him, tinged with a hint of brandy and smoke. She imagined him in the smoking room with his friends, a glass of brandy in one hand, bringing a cigar to his lips with the other. Thea wondered if his lips would taste of tobacco and alcohol, too, and she blushed yet again at the wayward turn her thoughts had taken.
“You might give me back my fan,” she told him crossly.
He chuckled and flipped the fan in his hand, catching it neatly by the other end. “Oh, no, I think I shall hold it hostage.”
“Hostage! For what?” She glanced at him, frowning.
“A smile, I should think.” He cocked a brow impudently at her. “I fear that will be the only way I shall gain one from you.”
He was even more handsome up close, impossi
ble as it seemed. His lashes were thick and black, deepening those already dark eyes until they seemed fathomless, yet light glittered in them, making them spark with life. Something coiled deep inside Thea, warm and twisting, and she had to look away. “Don’t be absurd.”
“You see? Already I have offended you.” He let out a mock sigh as he handed back her fan.
“You haven’t offended me. You simply talk nonsense.”
“But isn’t that what we are supposed to talk?” Gabriel grinned. “Everyone does at a party.”
“I can’t imagine why anyone wishes to go to them, then.” Thea kept her voice tart even though his grin did even more peculiar things to her insides.
“I am sure we should not if we were all so serious. But a little nonsense can make the time pass pleasantly, especially if it can make a lady smile. Come, Miss Bainbridge, cannot I wrest even one small token of appreciation for saving your fan?”
“For saving me from the ignominy of being a wallflower, you mean.” She cast a sharp sideways glance at him and caught the surprise that flickered across his face. “Come, Mr. Morecombe, surely you don’t think I am naïve enough not to realize that you were pressed into service by Lady Fenstone to make sure all the young women had a chance to take to the floor.”
“Clearly you don’t know me well, Miss Bainbridge, for I am rarely pressed into anything. It is one of my many faults, as I’m sure a number of people would be happy to tell you.”
“You did not ask Lady Fenstone to introduce us,” Thea said flatly. She was not sure why she was pressing the matter, but somehow it was important to her pride to let him know that she was undeceived about his act of courtesy.
He cast a long look at her, then said, “No, I did not.” He paused. “But neither did I hesitate.”
Thea looked away, not sure what to say. Fortunately, they had reached the dance floor, making it unnecessary to speak. She took her place in line across from him, relieved to see that they would be participating in a country dance rather than one of the waltzes that had become all the rage in London. Veronica had learned the waltz, of course, and insisted on teaching it to her sister, but it was still considered a bit scandalous in the country, so Thea had never actually danced one before. At least she had stood up at a County Assembly a time or two in a country dance so she would hopefully not disgrace herself.
She was also grateful because the dance was both too active and too intricate to allow for conversation between her and her partner. Thea concentrated on executing the proper steps and tried to look at Morecombe as little as possible. Unlike her, he moved with ease through the steps, which Thea found irritating. What was even more annoying was that whenever she glanced over at him, she felt that same little flutter of excitement. And when they moved closer in their movements and their hands reached out to touch, palm to palm, it left her breathless, her heart pounding.
It was only the exertion of the dance, she told herself, that made her cheeks flush and her blood hammer in her veins. But, deep down, Thea was too honest to let herself believe such a lie. It was Gabriel Morecombe’s nearness that made her feel so strangely wobbly and fizzy, so hot and cold, all at once.
The dance ended, and they made their polite curtsy and bow to one another. Gabriel offered her his arm, his eyes sweeping over her flushed face, and as they walked off the floor, he guided her through the open French doors onto the stone walkway beyond. Startled, Thea could think of nothing to do except go with him. She glanced around and saw that a number of other couples were strolling out onto the terrace to escape the heat of the ballroom, so she supposed that it could not be a scandalous thing to do. Again tingling with that sense of unease and excitement that Gabriel seemed to call forth in her, Thea strolled with him along the terrace. The garden below was illuminated with lanterns placed strategically along the paths between the flowers. A few bold couples even walked there, at least as far as to the fountain.
“I—why are we out here?” Thea asked. It sounded graceless—again—but she could think of no other way to put it. Gabriel might have asked her to dance as a courtesy to his hostess, but she could see no reason why he would extend the experience by taking her for a stroll.
He glanced at her, the same expression of mingled surprise and amusement in his eyes that she had seen there several times since Lady Fenstone had introduced them. “It was warm in the ballroom. I thought the fresh air might be nice.” He stopped, half turning to her. “Would you rather return?”
Thea thought about going back to the chair beside her mother. “No.”
He smiled faintly. “Good. Neither would I.”
They continued past the steps down into the garden and stopped finally at the stone balustrade beyond. Thea looked out across the garden, very aware of Gabriel’s presence beside her. She played with her fan, not quite sure what to do with her hands. She was certain she should say something. Veronica would doubtless know what to say, but the only things that came to Thea’s mind were inane comments on the beauty of the garden or the refreshing quality of the evening breeze.
After a moment, she glanced over at Gabriel. He was leaning back against the balustrade, watching her. The muted light from inside the house slanted across his lower face, leaving his eyes in shadow, unreadable, and illuminating his chin and mouth. Her eyes flickered to the shallow dent in his chin, so curiously appealing, then moved up to the firm lips, which were, she had to admit, even more appealing. She should not be having such thoughts, she knew. She was not the sort, like Veronica, to daydream about husbands or wax rhapsodic over the handsome face of this man or the broad shoulders of that one. Veronica was a feminine girl, all ribbons and lace and smiles, like their mother. But Thea had always been more like their father, studious and well-read, a person who valued thought above emotion. A person’s brain was what interested her most, not the curve of a man’s lip.
She turned away, hoping the dim light hid the blush that she could feel flooding her cheeks. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? For what?” He straightened and moved a bit closer, sounding honestly puzzled.
“I am not much of a conversationalist, I’m afraid. I am not used to”—she made a vague gesture toward the rest of the terrace and house—”to any of this. You must find this terribly …”
“Terribly what?” he asked when she did not go on.
“Boring.” She faced him squarely then, for she refused to shy away from difficulties.
He let out a short bark of laughter. “Boring? My dear Miss Bainbridge, boring is definitely something you are not.”
“I don’t know how you can say that,” she retorted somewhat crossly. “There is really no need for you to be polite. I haven’t said any of the things I should. I have been blunt and no doubt impolite. I have never danced before with any man I haven’t known since I could toddle. And now I cannot even come up with the most commonplace remark.”
His chuckle was low and warm and made something curl deliciously deep within her abdomen. “It may surprise you to learn that I am happy not to hear the most commonplace remark.”
“Oh, you know what I mean.” Really, the man was maddening. “You shouldn’t laugh at someone who is admitting their grievous social ineptitude.”
“What else should I do?” His teeth glinted in the darkness. “Let me assure you that I have danced with a great many girls whom I have not known since childhood. And I have heard a great many commonplace remarks. It is, quite frankly, a relief to enjoy the quiet and cool of the garden without hearing that the weather is quite nice this evening or that the breeze is most refreshing or that the party is so enjoyable.”
“I thought of saying all those things, but I could not bring myself to do it.”
“And for that, I thank you.” He leaned forward, surprising her by taking her chin between his thumb and fingers. “How old are you, Miss Bainbridge? I daresay you haven’t made your come-out yet.”
“No.” Thea could barely get out the word. His movement was startling and, at th
e same time, thrilling. She was certain that this was not the sort of thing she should be doing, but she was not about to pull away. “I am seventeen.”
He smiled. “I think the bachelors of London are in for a surprise.”
It occurred to her that his statement could be taken in a way that was less than complimentary, but then all thought flew from her head as he bent and kissed her.
His kiss was neither long nor deep, but it was the only kiss she had ever received from a man, and Thea felt it all through her. Her lips tingled, and her heart thumped against her ribs. His mouth was soft and warm; his scent filled her nostrils. Thea was shocked to feel a sudden, strong desire to throw her arms around his neck and press her body up against his.
Gabriel raised his head and stepped back. Sketching a bow, he offered Thea his arm to lead her back to her mother. Thea could do nothing but accept. She had not seen Gabriel Morecombe since.
Until tonight—when he had not remembered her.
Thea reached up and realized for the first time that tears had trickled down her cheeks. Annoyed, she dashed them away with gloved fingers. Really, she told herself, it was beyond enough to be mooning about here in the dark, feeling sorry for herself because some rake from London thought her beneath his notice. A saving anger began to rise in Thea, pushing back the hurt that dwelled like a rock in her chest. She was clearly guilty of the sin of pride in thinking that Lord Morecombe would remember her from their meeting so long ago. But Gabriel Morecombe had been rude and arrogant. It was not just that he had not remembered her or that he had not even bothered to call her by the correct name a few seconds after Mrs. Cliffe introduced her. It was that he obviously found the people here quite beneath his touch. The man’s eyes had been glazed with boredom, his expression etched in lines of condescension. Clearly he wished himself somewhere else—no doubt off at the tavern drinking! Simply because he was an aristocrat, he thought that he was superior to the good, honest people of Chesley. It was no wonder Lord Morecombe had forgotten her; he had probably considered her not worth his interest even when he met her.