by Edith Layton
Glancing down to her, seeing her brown eyes wide with wonder, the faint rose in her cheek accentuated by the excitement, her attention wandering with her gaze all about the vast ballroom, Warwick and Julian again exchanged nods and bemused smiles over her head. She would do, this would do, and as soon as the Swansons allowed the music to begin, they were sure she’d take her first little step into society, and eventually achieve her dream.
But as Julian’s own attention soon wandered again, and he could be seen to be studying the crowd and watching the door and practically jumping with anticipation each time the name of a new arrival was pronounced, Warwick doubted that Miss Logan would soon achieve her brother’s secret dream. Julian had become her good friend—that couldn’t be doubted. But still the idiot continued to treat her like a sister, Warwick thought in some exasperation, as he saw his friend restlessly searching the crowd for a glimpse of the Lady Marianna. He knew that was Julian’s quarry as well as if his friend had called her name aloud as clearly as he was so obviously hoping he’d soon hear it announced. But at least Susannah didn’t seem to notice this, she was so busy drinking in all that lay before her.
It was when Warwick realized with dismay that he had been gazing at her as nakedly and avidly as she surveyed the crowd that he determined it was almost time for him to go. There were few sights more lovely than watching her soft lips part in wonder, there was little in the room as pleasant to look upon as the awe in her bright eyes, and few visions as riveting as watching her white bosom rise and fall with every excited breath she drew. But he couldn’t continue to stare, with every passing moment making him wishful of doing far more in homage to her beauty. And since there was nothing and no one else in the entire room to interest him tonight, he decided he’d leave her to Julian’s care as soon as he made sure Lord Moredon was not in attendance. For he himself had, if not better, then at least more fulfilling things to do this night.
By the time the first fiddler scraped a tentative bow across his strings, the company was entirely assembled. As neither of the noble Moredons was in attendance, Warwick had a rueful smile for his friend Julian’s brave front in the face of defeat. Then he had a few private words with him, took Miss Logan’s hand and kissed it in farewell, bid the contessa good night, and after pleading his abject apologies at having to leave such a paradisiacal place so soon due to a previous commitment, took himself off gratefully into the night. The Swansons were momentarily grieved to see him go—he was youthful, of good family, and enormously wealthy. But then they contended themselves by reasoning he was an odd fellow and too antisocial for their Elizabeth, too old for little Sarah and Laurel, too tall for Helena, and far too clever for poor Cecile, whose come-out it was.
Susannah had her first dance with Julian, and as she stepped across the ballroom floor in the patterns of the set in time to the stately music, she wished that living moments could be captured, like pictures, on some sort of canvas or book, so that they could be taken out and lived through again. If there were one moment in which she wished to pass the rest of her life, it would be this one. All the graceful couples turned and spun around her, yet she was one with them as she touched hands with Julian now, and then again. She exchanged smiles with him and saw the approval in his light eyes as she stepped around him; surely this, she thought, was not only wonderful, it was even better than it had ever been in all her fancies.
But no joy was eternal save that in one’s creator, or so she’d been taught. And so it was, for when the music ended, Julian looked up to the stair and she swore she could see his breath stop. She looked up as well and understood on a sigh of acceptance, as the graceful young woman continued to descend the stair, that a fool’s paradise had been no place to expect to set up residence. Lady Marianna Moredon was every bit as lovely as Julian’s rapt face clearly, though mutely, said she was.
Her silken gown was blue as gentians or her own calm eyes, her midnight hair was parted simply in the middle and drawn back to form two ebony wings to either side of her pale and lovely face. She held her white neck like a swan as she breasted the crowd and her tall slender form moved to its own stately music. No wonder, Susannah thought, as Julian took an unconscious step forward, entirely forgetting whatever he’d been in the midst of speaking, no wonder at all, she thought sadly, recognizing defeat, and finding it bitter for all she knew it to be just.
Julian and Warwick had told her she looked beautiful tonight, Susannah thought bleakly, and she wasn’t blind and had seen admiration in other men’s eyes. But so they might enjoy ogling a barmaid, she thought in despair, for one glance at Lady Marianna reminded her that there was the true beauty of a true lady, of the sort that nature had seen to it that she could never aspire to. It was that which plagued Susannah even as it defined the other as a lady in her eyes equally as much as her name at birth had done. For Lady Marianna was tall and straight and slim—when she descended a stair, Susannah decided mournfully, she obviously never had to worry about things moving in the front of her frock in an unseemly fashion, and clearly she’d never have to fret for a moment that she’d ever leave viewers with a distasteful wobble to remember as she left them behind. Nature, and not just training, Susannah grieved, had seen to it that the lady could glide.
The Honorable Miss Merriman might be a raven-haired beauty too, but even she accepted defeat when the assembled company’s attention flew to the new arrival. Miss Merriman had also been named an Incomparable, but as they both were dark beauties, as was the current rage, they shared the Season’s laurels. However, Lady Moredon’s title was higher and her name older. So there was an instant stir among the chaperons and mamas at her entrance, and even the dashing widowed Countess of Keswick seemed dismayed. But there was no one to hold a candle to her, or so Susannah thought, for not only was there the evidence of her own eyes, so her escort obviously believed as well.
The musicians, having been quiet for so long, were eager to earn their wages and had begun the opening bars of a new set, a country dance, when Julian looked down to Susannah and said, although his gaze went past her to his lady, “I can’t dance with you two times in a row, Susannah. It isn’t done, you know. But here’s Lord Leith coming, he’s a very good chap, and you promised him a dance. I’ll see you after. Have no fear,” he said, joy suddenly ascendant in his handsome face, “you’ll do very well. And I’ll be here.”
Lord Leith was an extremely good-looking gentleman, tall and dark, and charming to boot. He danced with grace and Susannah enjoyed herself, the better perhaps because she couldn’t hear the whispering about her beginning on the sidelines. This was natural enough considering that the mamas, chaperons, and wallflowers had little else to do but gossip, and the object of their attention was an extraordinarily lovely young woman who’d come to the ball with two amazingly attractive gentlemen, and now was dancing with one of the Season’s greatest catches. Any one of these details would have made her an object of speculation. The fact that she was an unknown as well made her even more delectable to discuss than she was to see.
“Julian’s nowhere in sight,” her partner said when the dance was done, as he looked down at her with a gentle smile. “I’ll deliver you to your chaperon then, Miss Logan, for I see Warwick’s eloped as well. The fellows must have gone stony blind,” he murmured as he led her to the contessa, “leaving you alone.”
He stayed at her side and joked with her awhile, and when the next set struck up, left her, with a smile and bow, never to return to her side. This wasn’t because of the increasingly cruel tone of the gossip on the sidelines of the great ballroom, nor was it because he found her unattractive. But the gentleman was presently bedeviled by another miss he’d met, so Susannah could have been the embodiment of Venus herself and he’d not have been able to oblige her with his attentions.
The heat in the ballroom was increasing with the company. The press of people augmented the warmth given off by the tiers of hanging candles and blazing lamps and gaslights. But the Swansons kept the windows t
ightly latched, for they’d hopes of the Regent honoring them with a visit and knew how he detested drafts. The ladies scarcely minded; not only did they have gauzy gowns and fans, but they’d no choice if they wished to meet the gentlemen. But the gentlemen began to wilt in their high collars and tight jackets, and those without escorts or pressing interests in the party began to plan escape into the cool spring night. Thus, both the Marquess of Bessacarr and the Baron Bly, although noting Miss Logan’s charms, decided they could do without furthering their acquaintance with her this night since they had more interest in survival than in sociability. And since neither was remotely inclined to contemplate marriage at the moment, they also reasoned, as many other reckless single gentlemen did that night, that however charming she might be, they could find more obliging female companionship in a cooler place, such as a tavern or even the streets. In any case, they believed they’d be fools to remain in the Swansons’ stifling ballroom, and whatever else they were, they certainly were not that. So despite the interest they’d shown their friend Mr. Jones, they left as soon as they were able, without ever requesting a dance from the gloriously lovely young woman he’d pointed out to them.
Susannah scarcely noticed the damp pervasive warmth; actually she began to feel a sudden chill, for the dancing went on, the night went on, and not only did no other gentleman approach her, no other stranger of any gender did. She became painfully aware that she was entirely among strangers. She stood and talked with the contessa until she realized that she was speaking foolishness for the sake of appearing to be conversing, and then she subsided, hoping that her face was as impassive as her emotions were not. It seemed to her that everyone else was talking animatedly, and every other female present was laughing and gossiping and making merry, except for herself. This was true. Even the most insignificant debutante was in full spate, even little Miss Protherow, whose idea of a conversation was a review of the weather. This was also understandable, because all of them knew each other, had known each other from childhood upward, and would continue to associate with each other unless one of them died or made a dreadful misalliance by running off with a commoner, which would amount to the same thing. This was one circumstance that Susannah’s two usually astute benefactors had forgotten.
The other was that someone might know who she was. For the whispers from the sidelines soon had to do with the dread words “trade” and “cit” and “commoner.” It scarcely mattered whether the informant was some young woman who’d been at school with Miss Logan and resented the way her beau was eyeing the fair young woman, or whether it had been some papa who’d recognized the name and didn’t wish for anyone to talk to the beautiful girl long enough to discover that he did business with her family, or whether it had only been Miss Merriman, who’d heard a snippet of something and blew it into something larger with her trilling laughter, once she’d noticed the unknown was taking attention away from her. It was enough.
Susannah was left entirely alone. She felt embarrassment increase to shame and then turn to persecution, because although it had been hard enough to ignore being ignored, now she seemed to think every overheard bit of laughter was directed toward her, and believed every smile she saw was one of mockery. But she couldn’t leave. Because, as the contessa pointed out uneasily, Mr. Jones had already gone, and though she doubted the viscount had deserted them as well, he was nowhere in sight and they could scarcely leave without him.
The Viscount Hazelton was nowhere in plain sight, and he was overjoyed because of it. His lady had actually led him out of the ballroom, into the hall, and then through a side door to the back garden. In the sudden natural darkness he could barely see her before him, and could scarcely credit his good luck that she was there.
“I must be brief,” she said softly. “We don’t have much time—if we’re discovered, we must say you took me here to enjoy the cool of the garden because I felt faint.”
She breathed the words so quietly he leaned closer to her, delighted that her soft voice gave him the excuse to draw so near he could almost touch her with his own lips.
“You told me you’d be here tonight, and so I came too. But who is that girl you are with?” she asked curiously, and it took a moment before he remembered Miss Logan and replied, quickly so as to turn the subject so that they could talk about themselves as he wished. “No one, that is to say, a friend and a guest of my friend Warwick Jones. A very good sort of girl, actually,” he mused.
“Oh?” she replied. “She’s very beautiful.”
“Is she?” he asked with a smile she could hear in his voice, pleased that she’d noticed, thoroughly enchanted that she’d seemed a trifle piqued by it, and his answer made her emit a tiny satisfied chuckle before she said more seriously:
“My brother’s still not well,” and at that Julian was glad she couldn’t see his face, before she added, “Imagine—being set upon by thieves, poor fellow, shortly after you were. The city is becoming a jungle. But he’ll recover, though he must rest now. He let me come here tonight with Bridie, my chaperon, and she’s let me have some moments to myself, for she’s a good soul and willing to listen to good reason.” She paused, and decided not to mention that Miss Bridie listened especially to the jingle of good coins, and then said hurriedly, “But you asked if you might see me here tonight, and I said yes, and, Julian, it is of utmost importance that Robert doesn’t discover I’ve seen you, for he’s still adamant that I should not, but…Oh dear,” she whispered so close that he could feel each soft sigh against his cheek, “it’s so dark, so it would be no lie if I said I had not, for I can scarcely see you here, can I?”
“Can you now?” he whispered, and greatly daring, impelled by the darkness and her closeness and his longing, he took her into his arms and took her soft cool lips. He kissed her gently at first, and then, dazed by his good fortune, he drew her closer and opened his lips against hers and moved against her as though she were his lover, not his ideal. He realized his mistake soon enough when she pulled away from him, catching her breath in a shocked gasp.
“I’m so sorry,” he swore, almost stammering in his fury at himself and his clumsiness. “Forgive me, Marianna, I forgot myself, it’s only that I’ve wanted you for so long. Oh, my love,” he said in dismay when she didn’t answer, “I wish the time would pass so that I didn’t have to meet you like this to steal embraces. It’s the desperation of it that made me so crude, forgive me.”
“You mustn’t say that,” she said at once, and before his white smile could grow enough for her to see it in the dimness, she explained, killing it at its source, “because I’m not your love, and cannot be, since my brother has forbidden it.
“Now I really must get back to the ballroom,” she said curtly, and when he didn’t reply, she placed her lips against his cheek and gave him a soft, cool, chaste kiss as she breathed regretfully, “I shall dance with the Earl of Alford, Robert believes me to be permitting his courtship. But though I’m in his arms, believe that my eyes shall be seeking yours. More than that,” she said quickly, “I cannot say, don’t ask it of me.”
He did not. He only led her back to the ball, and stood to the side, by a potted palm, by himself, where she asked him to remain so that she could see him, and he kept his eyes only upon her as she danced by with the Earl of Alford and then a dozen other gentlemen. He noted, with the only joy he felt for the rest of the evening, that she kept to her promise, and whenever she danced, in whosoever’s arms she floated past him, her eyes frequently sought him out where he stood alone and longing for her. It was only when dinner was served at long last and she went off on the earl’s arm that he again allowed himself to feel such mundane things as hunger for food, and the excessive warmth of the room, and the lateness of the hour, and then at last he remembered Susannah Logan.
*
Warwick Jones had also forgotten the unexpected warmth of the evening. But then, he was in a far less crowded chamber and had a great many other things to do to keep his mind off the weather. Net
tie Fletcher had a pleasant, airy set of rooms, and knew that if she wanted to move further up the ladder of success she’d already climbed from out of obscurity, entertaining gentlemen like Warwick Jones in those rooms was most important. It was Nettie’s business to know what was important to her career, for her career was the business of pleasing wealthy gentlemen.
She was anxious to please, and at first that gratified Warwick. He’d met her at a soiree of a far less socially elevated sort than the one he’d lately left to keep his appointment with her, and this evening they’d arranged was the first one he’d passed entirely alone in her company. It was, both knew, though neither said, in the nature of a test, to see if they’d suit. Meaning: to see if the gentleman was willing to pay Nettie’s way in life for the next several months, or years, or days, or for whatever time he deemed possible and found her pleasurable, or she found profitable. For she too had some say in the matter; she wasn’t common street-ware, being young, newly arrived in town, almost educated, friend to Harriet Wilson and some other famous courtesans, and suddenly in fashion, and so she still had some choice in such matters. She wasn’t precisely beautiful; though she had a quantity of curly brown hair and a dimpled countenance, she was too ample and blunt-featured for such a designation, but she had a lively, if somewhat raucous wit, and that was more treasured in certain sets than mere beauty.