The Last Chance Christmas Ball

by Mary Jo Putney

  The truth was, Allie Fenton had knocked him for a six and he wanted a little time apart from her in which to examine his feelings. The few days they’d spent together were like something out of a fairy tale, and he needed a cold blast of everyday reality to test his feelings against.

  Not that Lady Holly’s annual Christmas ball was exactly cold hard reality.

  His sister’s voice pierced his reverie. “Have you got the note Allie gave you for Lady Holly?”

  “Yes,” John patted his pocket. “It’s safe here.” It was an odd thing to ask of him—to give a note to Lady Holly before the ball started when Allie was attending herself, but it was probably some female thing—a reminder or something. His mother and grandmother were constantly forgetting things and wanting reminders.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  On the evening of the ball, just before they went in to dinner, John handed Lady Holly the note. “Miss Fenton asked me to give you this.”

  He went to leave so she could read it in private, but she seized his coat sleeve in a clawlike grip, staring past him at Lucilla coming down the stairs. “Where the devil did your sister get that dress? As if I didn’t know! You, sir, will stay while I see what the wretched gel has got to say for herself!”

  She broke open the seal, read the note, and made a disgusted sound. “No idea of how to act in her own best interest, that gel.” She glared at John. “Heart as soft as butter!”

  He frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  “No, I don’t suppose you do. It’s all in here.” She thrust the note into his hand and stalked off to tend to her other guests.

  John read the note.

  Dear Lady Holly, please accept my heartfelt apologies for missing your ball. Please don’t be angry with me. I’m sure you have dozens of eligible gentlemen lined up for me, but truly, I am so much happier to let Lucilla wear the beautiful gown you gave me. It will make her first ball an occasion to treasure, when she would otherwise have been miserable. She and her brother have given me a wonderful last Christmas at home and memories to cherish the rest of my life. The gift of my lovely dress is but small recompense for that.

  With love and apologies, Alice Fenton

  John crushed the note in his hand, then smoothed it out, folded it, and slipped it into his pocket. Dammit, she’d given up her chance to go to the ball so that his sister might have a happy time.

  Throughout dinner, he brooded over the contents of the note. Eligible gentlemen lined up for her? Be damned to that. But he’d been looking forward to dancing with her.

  During the third course, he hatched a plan. The moment dinner was over, he approached Lady Holly again. She was standing with her son.

  “Lady Holly, could I ask you to keep an eye on my sister, please? I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave the ball.”

  The old lady raised an eyebrow. “Leaving, are you? Anything to do with that note from Allie Fenton?”

  He didn’t answer but turned to her son. “Lord Holbourne, may I borrow a horse, please?”

  “Take a carriage,” the old lady said before her son could respond. “And ask Cook to make you up a basket of delicacies. Mrs. Meadows is a good plain cook, but if you’re going a-wooing, you’ll want something special. And take some champagne. Nothing like champagne for setting a mood.”

  Lord Holbourne, well used to his mother’s autocratic ways, added with a smile, “Help yourself to whatever you need, Kelsey. One of the grooms can drive you. And don’t worry, my wife and I will look after Lucilla.”

  John hurried to make the arrangements. So much for that dose of cold hard reality. It seemed he was going “a-wooing.”

  He arrived at The Oakes shortly after ten, and was relieved to see lights still burning in some of the windows. The journey had only taken an hour, but the night was cold and John was starting to have second thoughts about his impulsive action.

  But a good soldier knew better than to change his mind once an action was begun. The thing was to make your decision, then do your utmost to ensure the result was a success.

  And while he might doubt the wisdom of coming unannounced so late at night, he had no doubts at all about his feelings toward Allie Fenton.

  Cloth-covered basket in hand, he rang the front doorbell and waited. After a few minutes, a bemused-looking Meadows opened the door.

  “Lord Kelsey?”

  “Is Miss Fenton still up?”

  “Yes, but—”

  John stepped inside and handed the basket to the butler. “Cinderella did not go to the ball, so I’ve brought the ball—or a small portion of it—to her. Lady Holly said I must bring champagne and a few delicacies if I were to, er, go a-wooing.”

  Meadows took the basket with a fatherly grin. “Indeed, m’lord. Miss Fenton is in the sitting room, I’ll just annou—”

  “I’ll announce myself, if you don’t mind.” He strode down the hall and knocked on the sitting room door. He opened it to find Allie sitting curled up with a book by the fire, wrapped in his cashmere shawl. Her hair was down, falling in curls around her face. She was so lovely.

  She gasped at his entrance and scrambled to her feet. “What—has something happened? The ball—”

  “Is proceeding as expected,” he said smoothly. “My sister is in seventh heaven, looking very beautiful in your dress—though you would have looked even lovelier in it.”

  “Then why—”

  “I missed you,” he said simply. “And I couldn’t enjoy myself knowing you’d given up your chance to attend the ball so that my sister could enjoy it instead. It was foolish and generous and apparently—according to Lady Holly—typical of you.”

  She blushed. “Well, I—”

  “So I thought I’d come and keep you company and bring you a small taste of the ball.” At that moment the door opened and Meadows entered with a tray laden with delicacies, an open and gently fizzing bottle of champagne, and two elegant flutes. He must have been listening at the door to have timed things so well. He set out the supper, and reached for the bottle.

  “I’ll pour,” John told him, and Meadows bowed and silently exited.

  John poured two glasses and held one out to Allie. She didn’t move.

  “Don’t you like champagne?”

  “It’s not that, it’s . . . What about Miss Courtenay?”

  “Miss Courtenay? What abou—oh, I detect the fell, clumsy hand of my little sister in this. I suppose she told you Julia Courtenay and I are on the verge of becoming betrothed.” He rolled his eyes. “The truth is my mother and the Courtenays have been hoping for such an alliance ever since Julia was born.”

  She opened her mouth to say something, but he held up his hand and continued. “First they hoped she would marry my brother, though Julia was still a child when he was killed. Then they expected me to step into his shoes—in all ways. But the truth is, neither Julia nor I have the slightest interest in marrying each other.”

  “But isn’t she at Lady Holly’s ball? Lucilla said your mother had asked Lady Holly to invite her.”

  “Good lord, did she? Well, at least Julia had more sense than to accept. She’s not there. And even if she were, there would be no announcement. Not for Julia and me—not ever. I have other plans.” He held out the champagne glass to her, and this time she took it.

  He held up his glass. “To 1816. May it bring us all our hearts desire.”

  From her expression she didn’t seem to expect much from 1816, but she accepted the toast and drank. “Now what have you brought me from the ball? Oh, my goodness—it’s a feast!”

  It was a feast indeed; fluted pastry shells filled with mushrooms in a creamy sauce, slivers of smoked salmon on rounds of buttered bread, crab cakes encased in toasted breadcrumbs, quails’ eggs in caper sauce, sliced roast duck, wafer-thin slices of ham, spears of asparagus, tiny medallions of preserved fruit—quince, oranges, cherries—gleaming like jewels in the lamplight, sugared violets, star-shaped ginger biscuits, and to finish, a whipped-cream confection layered
with berries and cake and served in long, elegant glasses.

  She laughed. “We can’t possibly eat all that.”

  “Then let us work up an appetite first.” Setting down his glass, he held out his hand to her. “Miss Fenton, you owe me a dance, I believe.”

  She laughed. “Here? With me in my old gown and slippers?”

  “Why not? We are at a ball, are we not?”

  “Without music?” But she put down her glass and came into his arms.

  “Can you not hear the music? A waltz, I think.” And he took her in his arms and began a slow, silent waltz. She was supple and soft and she nestled in his arms as if she was born to be there. And she was, he thought. Their steps slowed and as he bent to kiss her, a musical chord sounded.

  “What the—?” he exclaimed, and then, from the hallway, a violin began to play a slow waltz.

  Allie gave a soft, delighted laugh. “It’s Albert, Albert Meadows—he plays the fiddle at every village celebration.”

  The whole blasted Meadows family must have been listening at the door, John decided, but he had no quarrel with the result. Albert played on, and they danced and danced, waltz after waltz, twirling around the sitting room, avoiding chairs and other furniture, pretending they were other couples, dancing and laughing until they were breathless.

  “Thank you, Albert, that’s enough,” John called out and the music stopped.

  “Time for feasting,” he said. “Sit down and I’ll bring you your supper as a good partner should.”

  But instead of a chair, she sat down on the rug in front of the fire. He brought the dishes over and placed them on the floor around her like a picnic. Then, bringing the champagne and glasses, he joined her in front of the fire.

  They ate, talking in soft voices, tasting each dish, talking about everything . . . and nothing while the fire hissed and crackled gently and the wind nibbled at the eaves.

  And when the dishes had all been tasted and the champagne drunk, another feast began as John pulled her into his arms.

  She tasted of wine and sweetness and warmth and . . . everything he’d ever dreamed of in a woman.

  John might have gotten carried away—the intoxication of the woman in his arms, the way she returned his kisses with such sweet, unpracticed passion—he almost forgot who he was, forget he had claims to be a gentleman.

  But the clock in the hall chimed loud and sonorous, and there was a knock on the door and Meadows called through it, “It’s midnight, Miss Allie. Lord Kelsey, do you want me to tell Lord Holbourne’s driver to wait? Only he’s been told to be ready to drive some of Lady Holly’s local guests home from one o’clock onward.”

  John groaned and forced himself to sit up. “Five minutes, Meadows.”

  He looked at Allie, so sweetly mussed and flushed and rumpled, and gazing up at him with an expression that just . . . shattered him. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her again, a long, slow promise of a kiss. “I have to go, love, or else your reputation will be in shreds—and for good reason. Go to bed now and dream of me. I’ll come back tomorrow.” He rose and, mustering all his resolve, left the room and the house without looking back.

  The ball was still in progress when he returned, but he wasn’t in the mood. He glanced in, saw his sister, as merry as a grig in a noisy group of young people her own age, and quietly took himself up to his bed.

  He slept lightly that night, full of plans and dreams and possibilities.

  But at breakfast an urgent message arrived from his mother: John and Lucilla must return home immediately. Grandmamma was dying.

  Lord Holbourne offered them the use of his carriage to the nearest town, and sent a rider ahead to arrange the hire of a post chaise for the remainder of the journey.

  John just had time to scrawl a note to Allie. He gave it to a footman, and paid him a guinea to deliver it as soon as possible. The man, busy sorting luggage for a variety of guests all leaving at the same time, pocketed the note and promised.

  But as the carriage passed through the gates of Holbourne Abbey, the footman, carrying a lady’s highly perfumed luggage, began to sneeze. As he pulled out a handkerchief to blow his nose, Lord Kelsey’s note fluttered to the ground and landed in a puddle. It melted into the muddy water unnoticed, and was soon forgotten.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Miss Minchin’s Seminary for Young Ladies, Bath

  She’d forgotten all about him, Allie told herself. Lord Kelsey? Who was that? Nobody she thought about—or wanted to think about.

  But she couldn’t help herself.

  Go to bed now, and dream of me. I’ll be back tomorrow.

  Why say that if he didn’t mean it? But clearly he hadn’t. She had gone to bed and dreamed of him. And she’d waited—all day she’d waited, until it was time to go to bed, and dream of him again.

  He was busy, she told herself that first day. He couldn’t get away. Lady Holly had organized her guests into some kind of activity and he had obligations as a guest. He had to look after Lucilla.

  She’d waited all the next day, too, and the next. But still there was no sign of him, and no word of any kind. Eventually, she’d stopped making excuses, and decided she’d read too much into the events of that evening . . . magical and wondrous as it had been for her. But only for her, it seemed.

  Like the mistletoe kisses, they’d been an amusement—she’d been an amusement for a sophisticated gentleman.

  She’d burned the Christmas greenery and packed her possessions—her precious keepsakes, her favorite books, and her beloved Christmas box into a large trunk. She kept one sprig of mistletoe pressed carefully between the pages of an old book— whether as a keepsake or a symbol of a lesson learned, she wasn’t yet clear.

  After a tearful farewell to the Meadows family, and a surprising number of other local people who called to say good-bye and wish her well, Allie left The Oakes on the second of January, two days before Cousin Howard and his family were due to arrive. It wasn’t polite, she knew, but she didn’t want to see him or his wife and children take possession of her home. She just wanted to be gone.

  She reached Bath more than a week later, and despite being exhausted by the long and arduous journey, she started teaching the very next morning. And it was good, she told herself. She liked the girls, liked the work, and if she was kept so busy from morning to night that she barely had time to think, let alone sleep, well, that was good, too.

  Because she didn’t need to think, and she didn’t sleep well anyway, her rest stolen by dreams of a tall dark man with eyes of deepest blue. Who kissed like . . . well, never mind that. She wasn’t thinking about kisses either.

  “Miss Fenton?”

  Allie blinked and looked up. “Yes, Melisande, what is it?”

  “Miss, you said if the sun came out, we could practice our French conversation in the courtyard and, well, it’s out.” The girl gestured to the window, where weak winter sun shone.

  Allie nodded. “Very well, but make sure you bring your wraps with you. The sun might be shining, but that breeze is cold and we don’t want you to catch a chill. Top of the stairs in five minutes.”

  There was a clatter and a rush to fetch wraps and in minutes the girls were assembled at the top of the stairs, jostling and giggling and staring down at someone who, from the sounds of things, had just arrived in the hall below.

  “Girls, girls, please,” Allie said crisply. “Young ladies do not shove and giggle and gawk at visitors. Come along now.” She started down the staircase.

  Halfway down she stopped. Froze. It couldn’t be . . .

  The gentleman in the hall looked up. “Ah, there you are,” he said in the deep voice that haunted her dreams.

  She swallowed, saying nothing. What was he doing here? How had he found her? Behind her there was a buzz of speculation and a few stifled giggles.

  He handed his hat and cloak to the maid and strolled to the foot of the stairs. He looked up at her and smiled. “I see you’re wearing the shawl I gave you
.”

  “This?” She gave a careless shrug.

  “She wears it every day, sir, practically never takes it off.”

  “Be quiet, Melisande,” Allie said. In a glacially calm voice she told Lord Kelsey, “I’m sorry, I don’t know why you’ve come here, but if it is to speak to me, I’m afraid it’s not possible.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m busy.” She gestured behind her, to the girls crowded excitedly on the stairs.

  “Oh, I think these young ladies are perfectly capable of looking after themselves for a while, aren’t you, ladies?”

  There was a chorus of enthusiastic yeses from behind her. “Go on, miss, talk to the gentleman. He’s come all this way and he’s soooo handsome.”

  “That’s enough, Melisande!” To Lord Kelsey she said, “Miss Minchin is out at present. I am in charge and cannot leave the girls unattended.”

  His brows rose. “So you refuse to speak to me in private?”

  “Correct.” Because if she saw him in private, she’d weaken, and he’d break her heart all over again.

  “But you have something of mine.” He moved up a couple of stairs toward her. “You took it the night we waltzed in your sitting room.”

  “Waltzing in the sitting room, ooh, miss.”

  Allie felt her color rise. She said coolly, “If you left something behind, you must apply to my cousin. He owns The Oakes now.”

  “I met him. He doesn’t have it.” He added chattily, quite as if there weren’t upward of twenty pairs of ears listening to every word, “By the way, you made a good escape there. Those children of his are complete savages. Unlike these delightful young ladies.”

  The girls giggled. He mounted another two stairs.

  Allie would have moved backwards up the staircase, except twenty eager schoolgirls were pressed against her back. “I don’t have anything of yours. Unless you want the shawl back.”