by Mary Balogh
Lady Dunmore smiled graciously upon all three gentlemen when they passed along the receiving line, for they were all personable and single and prospective dancing partners for her daughter and the other young ladies present. No hostess wished to see even the least of her young female guests remain a wallflower all evening. But she showed a particular preference for Lord Hodges as she introduced him to her blushing daughter, smiling from one to the other of them as though picturing to herself how they would look together at the altar rail of a packed church on their wedding day.
Colin had expected it and took it all in stride. She was a pretty girl, Miss Lydia Dunmore, dark haired, very slender, with a delicate complexion that suggested she had spent most of her life so far in the schoolroom. She wore a white gown, as most very young ladies did during their first Season. She looked barely eighteen, even perhaps younger than that. He could not see the color of her eyes. She peeped only briefly at him through her eyelashes before directing her gaze at his dancing shoes.
“Dare I hope, Miss Dunmore,” he asked because her mother clearly expected it, “that your dancing card is not yet full and I can secure a set with you sometime this evening?”
“Oh,” her mother declared before the girl could do more than peep up at him again and open her mouth to speak, “apart from the opening set, which Lydia is to dance with Viscount Fettering, who is her cousin, she has promised no set to any gentleman. It would not have been fair to fill her card before the ball, as she could have done three times over, and so disappoint a number of her guests. Lydia, my love, Lord Hodges has asked you a question.” She beamed from one to the other of them.
“I would be happy to dance a set with you, my lord,” the girl said.
“The second,” Lady Dunmore said.
“I thank you for the honor,” Colin said to her daughter, and followed his friends into the ballroom.
It was crowded and buzzing with the collective sound of a few dozen conversations. The musicians were tuning their instruments, an indication that it must be almost time for the dancing to begin. Colin recognized people wherever he looked, as was to be expected when he had lived in London through every spring Season for the past five years. There were a few unfamiliar faces too, however, most of them belonging to young men newly down from university or up from the country without having furthered their education, or to young ladies recently released from the schoolroom and come to town to acquaint themselves with the ton and acquire husbands during their first Season if they should be so fortunate.
It was all much as usual, in fact.
“It looks as if there is a pretty decent crop this year,” John Croft said cheerfully and a bit disrespectfully, his quizzing glass in his hand though not held to his eye as he gazed upon all the young ladies.
“You are in love already, John?” Ross Parmiter asked, winking at Colin.
“Not quite,” John said with a laugh, dropping his glass on its ribbon. “But the brown-haired girl with the topknot is a looker, and she seems to be with Baker. She must be one of his sisters or cousins. There are said to be at least a dozen of them. Ha! A baker’s dozen. Funny, that. I believe I will take a stroll over there and get Baker to introduce me.”
The topknot, Colin guessed, had been constructed to give the girl some height. She was unusually small otherwise. But John was right about her looks. She had a pretty, animated face and, if he was not mistaken from this distance, dimples. Dimples were always appealing.
“I’ll come with you,” Ross said.
Colin would have gone too, but his glance had just alit upon Mrs. Westcott across the room, her hair plumes nodding as she talked with a group of older ladies. She spotted him at the same moment and smiled and inclined her head. Beside her, Elizabeth, Lady Overfield, was in conversation with a tall, stocky gentleman. She was neatly dressed in a primrose-colored gown with short, puffed sleeves, a modestly scooped neckline, a fashionably high waistline, and a scalloped hem. Her hair was dressed prettily but without any noticeable topknots or ringlets or excessive curls—or plumes. She had made no attempt, it seemed, to make herself look either glamorous or younger than she was. She never did, in fact. It was ironic, then, that the very simplicity of her dress gave her a youthful appearance. And beauty, though she did not need the dress to give her that.
She had not seen him. But her mother touched her arm even as he watched and said something to her, and she looked across the room until she saw him. He raised a hand in greeting, and she smiled. She looked like the springtime, or she made him feel like the springtime or some such poetic nonsense. The gentleman too turned his head. Colin knew him. He searched his mind for a name but could not immediately recall it. The man was a worthy citizen, however, one of a set of dull fellows who hung together at White’s and talked endlessly and knowledgeably about crops and drainage and livestock and other such farming subjects. Colin stayed out of earshot whenever he could. Was he by any chance the man whom she . . . ?
But surely not.
Oh, Elizabeth, no.
A couple of people had moved in front of them and Colin, looking away, spotted the stately figure of the Dowager Duchess of Netherby close by with Lady Jessica Archer, her daughter. He strolled toward them as they finished talking with another couple. Both ladies seemed pleased to see him, and he was able to secure Lady Jessica’s hand for the third set, the first having already been promised.
“Your cousins are not in town yet?” Colin asked her.
She made a face. “Nor will they be,” she said. “Abby remains irritatingly stubborn. Avery and Anna have offered to bring her out. Mama has offered. Alexander and Wren have offered, though they are not in town yet either. Even Uncle Thomas and Aunt Mildred have offered. And now she has the Marquess of Dorchester for a stepfather, and he has suggested bringing her out with Estelle. His own daughter, Lord Hodges! Abby’s stepsister. Estelle is eighteen years old and you would think, would you not, that she at least would be all eagerness to be here? But no such thing. She would rather postpone the pleasure until next year. She wants to enjoy one full year at home with her father and her new stepmother, if you please. It is all very provoking for me. Not that Abby would come anyway, I daresay, even if Estelle did. She is my dearest friend in the world, Lord Hodges, but sometimes I could shake her until her teeth rattle.”
Flushed and animated as she was, Lady Jessica Archer looked very pretty indeed. And she was no milk-and-water miss.
“I brought Jessica to London kicking and screaming, Lord Hodges,” the dowager told him, shaking her head as she regarded her daughter fondly.
“Hardly, Mama,” Lady Jessica said with a sigh. “I am nineteen years old. I cannot stay at home forever, can I? Yet forever it might turn out to be if I wait for Abby. Perhaps we could grow old together as sad spinsters in a remote country cottage somewhere.” She caught Colin smiling and laughed, a girlish peal of glee.
Yes. Very pretty indeed. And a duke’s daughter. But perhaps his own baron’s title would be considered too lowly . . .
They were interrupted by the arrival of her partner for the opening set, and Colin looked around the immediate vicinity for a partner of his own. There were invariably more ladies than gentlemen at such affairs, and it would be unmannerly to stand on the sidelines and thus doom one of them to stand there too. He saw Miss Cowley, a young lady with whom he had a slight acquaintance, nearby with her mama and smiled as he moved toward them. The girl smiled back with almost open relief.
John Croft was already out on the dance floor with the girl with the topknot, Colin saw as he led his partner to the line of ladies before taking his place in the line of gentlemen opposite. Ross had a partner too, a tall girl, who was giggling with the lady next to her.
The stocky gentleman was joining the end of the line with Elizabeth. She was going to dance the opening set, then. Colin was glad of that. She was far too young and attractive to spend the evening sitting o
r standing with the mothers and chaperones. He would solicit her hand for a waltz later in the evening—he assumed there would be a few on the program despite the presence of a number of very young ladies who would not be allowed to participate until they had been approved, probably later in the Season, by one of the patronesses of Almack’s.
He looked forward immensely to holding her to her promise. For the moment he felt that he had come this evening for no other purpose but that.
He had another partner now, however, and was neglecting her. He smiled reassuringly at her. This was not her first Season. He was not even sure it was her second—it seemed to him he might have known her longer than two years. She looked as though she was feeling some doubt, even some anxiety about her eligibility. Life could be cruel to girls who did not find husbands within a year or two of their release from the schoolroom. They could so easily be flung upon the shelf and left there to gather dust. And what a ghastly image that was. Perhaps . . . But, no. He felt no real attraction to Miss Cowley, and it would surely be a huge mistake to marry any woman just because he felt sorry for her and wished to save her from being doomed to go through life as a spinster, dependent upon her male relatives.
Now that he thought about it, he felt no real attraction to Lady Jessica Archer either, though she was a very pretty, lively girl and he really did like her. He felt a moment’s amusement as he remembered seeing her on Christmas Eve with Abigail Westcott and Lady Estelle Lamarr, their heads together as they looked him over self-consciously and giggled. He had liked all three. He had not felt the pull of any special attraction to any of them. And to be fair, he did not believe he had left any of them lovelorn and brokenhearted after Christmas.
He glanced along the line to catch Elizabeth looking at him. She raised her eyebrows, amusement in her eyes, and he realized he had been smiling at nothing—except the memories.
Miss Lydia Dunmore, looking both nervous and excited, joined the head of the line with Viscount Fettering, and the orchestra struck a chord. Miss Dunmore was an interesting prospect—very pretty and modest, if her behavior in the receiving line was an accurate indication of her character. He looked forward to dancing the second set with her.
He turned his attention back to Miss Cowley as he smiled and bowed to her and she curtsied to him.
The dancing began.
Seven
A short while earlier Sir Geoffrey Codaire had arrived at the Dunmore ball not long after Elizabeth and her mother. After passing the receiving line and looking purposefully about the room, he made his way directly toward them. He paid his respects and explained that he had arrived in London the day before yesterday and had come to the ball tonight when he discovered that they were to be here.
“But however did you find that out, Sir Geoffrey?” Elizabeth’s mother asked.
“Lady Dunmore is a second cousin, ma’am,” he explained. “I made a particular point when I called upon her yesterday of asking if you and Lady Overfield were to be among her guests tonight. She assured me you were.”
“That is very flattering, I am sure,” she said, and chatted amiably with him for a few minutes before resuming her interrupted conversation with her sister-in-law and a few other ladies of her acquaintance.
Elizabeth meanwhile looked critically at him. As she remembered, he was a fine figure of a man. She felt relieved to see him, though she could wish her mind had chosen a different word. It made her seem desperate. She was also pleased to learn that he had come just because she was to be here. His interest in her had not cooled since last spring, then.
“I was delighted to discover you were to be here this evening,” he said, turning his attention to Elizabeth. “I know you do not attend many balls. I hope I have not arrived too late to engage you for the first set.”
“You have not,” she assured him. She had not exactly been besieged by would-be partners since her arrival, and it looked as though she would not even have a waltzing partner this evening. Colin had not come.
“Then I beg you to consider the first set of dances mine,” Sir Geoffrey said—and at that very moment she caught sight of Colin in the receiving line with two other young gentlemen.
He had come.
It seemed absurd, watching him bowing to the very young and lovely Miss Lydia Dunmore while her mother glanced fondly and speculatively from one to the other of them, to imagine that he would even think of dancing with her, Elizabeth. The ballroom was full of very young ladies, more than usual, surely, for the beginning of a Season. In his black and white evening clothes, his fair hair almost golden in the candlelight, he looked youthful and really quite dazzlingly attractive. And, of course, hugely eligible.
“I will indeed,” she told Sir Geoffrey. “Thank you.”
He remained at her side. He asked after her brother and sister-in-law and the baby before telling her about some innovations he had implemented on his farms during the past summer despite contrary advice from his neighbors and even his own steward. The yield on his fields had increased significantly as a consequence while that on his neighbors’ had not. And his pastureland . . .
“There is Lord Hodges, Lizzie,” her mother said, nodding across the room, her hair plumes indicating the direction.
And Elizabeth saw him again. The two gentlemen with whom he had arrived were moving away from him, and for the moment he stood alone, looking across the room at her. She smiled at him and felt inexplicably breathless. And for some absurd reason she recalled telling him—as a joke—on Christmas Eve that when one looked across a crowded room and one’s eyes alit upon that certain someone, one instantly knew.
Knew what, for heaven’s sake?
“Hodges?” Sir Geoffrey said. “But, ah, yes. Lady Riverdale is his sister, is she not?”
“She is indeed,” Elizabeth said. “He spent Christmas at Brambledean with our family, and we were all very happy he did. He is a personable young man and good fun.” Even when he was hurling a wet snowball into one’s face—she had not for a moment believed his protestation that the first snowball had been intended for her shoulder.
Two ladies, strolling arm in arm about the outer edge of the dancing floor, stepped into her line of vision, and after they had passed he had turned away to join Cousin Louise and Jessica, who were both smiling at him with obvious pleasure. Poor Jessica. Last year she had cut short her very successful debut Season because she was upset that Abigail could not be with her. Yet this year Abby still refused to come to London even though Marcel, Marquess of Dorchester, her new stepfather, had assured her his influence would gain her entrée to all the most select entertainments of the Season. Jessica was going to have to learn to live for herself and not worry so much about the injustice life had dealt her very best friend, especially because at this point some of it seemed self-inflicted. Abby would find her own way, whatever it turned out to be.
Life could sometimes be cruel to the very young. And to the not-so-young too.
Perhaps Jessica and Colin . . .
But the dancing was about to begin. The members of the orchestra had finished tuning their instruments, lines were forming for the opening set, and the receiving line was breaking up. Lady Dunmore was presenting her daughter with her partner for this all-important first public dance of her young life.
“Shall we?” Sir Geoffrey extended a hand, and Elizabeth set her own on top of it. Colin had a partner—not Jessica. He had already led her to the line of ladies and taken his place opposite her. He was smiling, but not at his partner or anyone else, it seemed. It was not just a sociable smile. There was genuine amusement in it. Had she been close, Elizabeth would have posed the question she had asked when she joined him in the great hall on Christmas Eve—a penny for them.
He turned his head and caught her looking. She raised her eyebrows as though she really were asking the question, and his smile faded to leave him looking a bit sheepish. But Lydia Dunmore had reached
the head of the line with her partner, and a chord sounded to herald the start of the dancing.
Elizabeth curtsied to Sir Geoffrey Codaire.
* * *
• • •
There were to be only two waltzes, Colin discovered after the first set. It was understandable, of course. The evening was in honor of a young girl who would not be able to dance it for a while yet, and there were many other such young girls in attendance. Yet the ball would have been frowned upon if the program had not included any waltzes at all. The new dance had rapidly gained in popularity since being introduced to polite ballrooms not so long ago.
The first waltz was to be just before supper, the other sometime after. Colin thought about pushing the pleasure as far forward into the evening as possible and waiting until after supper. A few considerations made him decide otherwise. What if Elizabeth left early? Or what if he appeared at her side to claim her for the second waltz only to discover that someone else had got there ahead of him? And why waste the fact that the first waltz was also the supper dance? He would enjoy having Elizabeth’s company at supper. He hoped she would not dislike his company. But she had agreed to waltz with him at every ball they both attended.
He approached her as soon as the set before the waltz had ended and he had returned his partner to her mother’s side. He sensed that Codaire—the man’s name had popped into his head earlier when he was not even trying to recall it—was making his way toward her too and quickened his pace to reach her first. It occurred to him as he did so that she might be disappointed if it was indeed Codaire she hoped to marry. But he did not slow down. The man could waltz with her after supper.
She was looking flushed and bright-eyed.
“Lord Hodges,” Mrs. Westcott said. “You have not missed one set all evening. You must be the most sought-after young man here tonight.”
“I can only be thankful, ma’am,” he said, “that there are enough ladies here willing to dance with me.”