“Perhaps you frightened him into returning it,” Hazel suggested.
“Ha. An old man’s rage is not as terrible as all that!”
“I think you underestimate yourself, sir.”
“And I think you are flattering me, though I can’t imagine why.”
“To be an agreeable dinner partner, sir,” she said gravely.
“Ha! Or to make me one!”
She laughed, and they continued quite pleasantly in this bantering vein. In fact, he was a most interesting old gentleman, and for Hazel, it was an agreeable change from stilted conversations of excruciating politeness.
Perhaps it was an omen, that the ball would be less of an ordeal than she expected.
*
Hazel had only ever possessed one ball gown, and it had never been as ornate as most. However, it had been refurbished in more fashionable style only a few months ago by the Princess of Wales’s own dressmaker, and Hazel felt no shame in it. Of pale cream silk that shimmered gradually into lavender at the hem, it had been made from material her father had acquired on one of his voyages. She had always suspected it had been plunder, though he had never admitted it.
To her surprise, Lady Standish’s superior maid appeared to dress her hair. Emma had lent her some pearls to thread through it. Roberta’s maid did not try and crimp and curl her into fashion, but merely pinned her hair into a higher, looser style that softened the severity she normally adopted through sheer carelessness.
“An elegant and distinguished lady,” Emma pronounced, apparently delighted.
“Do you think so?” Hazel asked dubiously.
“I would wear a necklace and earrings, if I were you.”
“I don’t have any, apart from this gold locket.”
“It’s just right,” the dresser said flatly. She bobbed a very slight curtsey. “Excuse me, I must see to my lady.”
“You must go, too,” Hazel commanded, shooing Emma from the chamber. “It is your birthday party, remember?”
Emma, already dressed in diaphanous pure-white muslin with the red silk ribbon in her hair, laughed and gave in. She was already beautiful enough to break hearts in one evening.
It was clear Selim thought so. Hazel entered the ballroom on his arm and was far from blind to the way his eyes lit up on seeing Emma. Nor to the coquettish way Emma flicked her eyelashes as she smiled up at him.
But it was Joe’s gaze that thrilled Hazel. He took her hand in greeting, but for once seemed lost for words, and his eyes, warm and steady, held hers for too long.
Selim’s subtle cough seemed to bring him to himself. With an inward breath, he smiled at last. “How beautiful you are.”
“No, no, it was Lady Standish’s dresser,” she said.
His eyes danced, and she quickly drew her hand free and walked on.
The ballroom had been built onto the back of the house and opened via French doors onto a small terrace and the wilder garden beyond. In the dusky light, before the outside lanterns were lit, she could make out the hazel tree silhouetted against the sky. The ballroom was already lit with a myriad of candles in brilliant, glittering chandeliers. An orchestra played gently in the gallery above, and the guests spilling into the room chattered loudly above the music.
“May I steal you from Mr. Isyanci for the first dance?” Captain Sayle asked, appearing beside her.
“I will permit it,” Selim replied, “only if the lady wishes.”
“The lady would, of course, be honored,” Hazel said lightly.
The guests were all in the ballroom by then. Lady Sayle, Joe, and Emma had moved away from the entrance, and the orchestra struck up the introduction to the first country dance.
“To be honest,” John said, leading her across the floor to join one of the forming sets, “I was wondering whether to keep my powder dry for the waltzes, but I didn’t want some other fellows stealing a march on me.”
“I really doubt the competition will be quite so fierce,” she said drily.
“Oh, I think you give yourself too little credit. Dowlton is already glaring daggers at me. And that while everyone is trying to push him at the Renleigh heiress.”
The gentlemen bowed. The ladies curtseyed, and the dance began.
“You have gleaned a lot in the few hours you have been in the house,” Hazel murmured as they stepped together and turned.
“Ah, well, I am trained to observe the enemy.”
“You cannot count Miss Renleigh as your enemy!”
“No,” he agreed. “But Dowlton might be.”
“You are too cryptic for me,” Hazel said as they parted to their own lines.
He didn’t answer until the dance brought them together again. “It can’t have escaped you that Dowlton’s family is trying to fix Theresa’s claws into Joe.”
“That’s an unkind way of putting it,” she managed, ignoring the sinking of her heart.
“Well, I never liked the girl. She’s cold.”
Startled, Hazel danced away from him again, realizing he was probably right. Determined not to dislike the lady, she had called Lady Theresa friendly but reserved, in her own mind.
“Lady Standish does not find her so,” she told Captain Sayle.
“Doesn’t she? I think Roberta is too busy being Standish’s wife to remember that she is Joe’s sister.”
“I don’t think you should be telling me this,” she said in a rush. “It is family business and not my concern.”
“God help me, you’re as stubborn as Joe,” he said incomprehensibly.
Hazel laughed. “You seem to be forgetting your role as flatterer.”
He only grinned in response, and they turned their attention back to the dance.
Lord Dowlton, she noticed, during one of her turns, was dancing with Agatha, who looked absolutely stunning in her lily-white ballgown, an expression of quiet amiability on her face. Emma, in the same set, was dancing enthusiastically with a young man of the local gentry. Although she lacked Agatha’s angelic beauty, joy and vitality shone from her face from her every movement. In her own way, Emma was equally enchanting. Bart, however, sitting the dance out, only followed Agatha with his eyes.
Too obvious, Hazel thought uneasily. You’ll set her parents’ backs up…
And then her gaze alighted on Joe, who was indeed dancing with Lady Theresa. She did not look cold now, her shining eyes taking in Joe’s every word, her lips smiling so beguilingly that…
Hastily, Hazel looked away. She didn’t like the jealousy curling in her stomach. It was stupid, unnecessary, and quite pointless.
It was customary to escort a young lady back to her chaperone after a dance, but since Hazel did not possess such a guardian, she avoided embarrassment by merely excusing herself to Captain Sayle and strolling off in search of lemonade. Armed with a glass, she continued to circle the ballroom, observing and enjoying. She did not mind sitting out the waltz, for she had already danced more than she had expected to. Her purpose for the evening was quite different from anyone else’s. She simply wished to get through it with dignity. And tomorrow, she would talk to Joe and Lady Sayle about returning with the Spriggs to Essex.
Agatha, she noticed, was waltzing in Bart’s arms, her innocent face shining with an adoration that had been quite absent when she had danced with Dowlton. She only ever looked at Bart like that.
Good luck, my friends, she thought fervently.
She paused to exchange a few words with Mr. Atwood, and then with Colonel and Mrs. Farraday. But, refusing to shelter behind their kindness, she moved on. Joe had drifted into the card room. She glimpsed him watching the play and laughing at some joke flung up at him by a friend.
Her heart seemed to twist with a very odd mixture of pain and pleasure. She so liked to see him laugh, but her time with him would have to end very soon.
She walked on.
“Miss Hazel.” Lord Dowlton stood in front of her. “Or is it Miss Curwen?”
“Miss Curwen to be perfectly correct,” she r
eplied. “It is the Sprigg children who called me Miss Hazel, but I answer civilly to either.”
“I wasn’t criticizing,” he said quickly. “I wondered if you would care to stand up with me for the next dance?”
She blinked in surprise. “Thank you. Of course, I would.”
He made small talk until the next dance began to form. Only when they walked up to join a set did he blurt, “I want you to know I don’t believe a word of Barden’s spite. Or the nastiness printed in the scandal sheets.”
Even more amazed, and genuinely touched, she murmured, “Thank you. You are right not to believe it, even if you are in the minority. It means a great deal to me that you troubled to say so.”
He smiled, and she realized he was, in fact, an attractive man. Blinded by Joe, she had never noticed before.
“It must be hard for you,” he said with apparent difficulty.
“You are making it easier,” she replied, and that seemed to please him.
When the dance was over, and she turned to walk off the floor, slightly breathless, she saw Bart striding purposefully past her. He was aiming for Agatha, but abruptly, Mr. Renleigh appeared on the dance floor, effectively blocking him off.
“Bart,” Hazel said before he could do anything stupid.
Bart turned to her, scowling.
“Excuse me,” she said hastily to Dowlton and took Bart’s arm. “Don’t glower. It isn’t good for either of you. And don’t be rude. Dance with someone else.”
“You?”
“I doubt that will do you much good with the Renleighs. But come and sit down for a moment.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t make a scene, Miss Hazel. But you must admit, something needs to be done.”
With that alarming statement, he bowed and walked off. Unwilling to pursue him, she walked in a different direction. The couples before her swarmed and parted, and suddenly, she looked right at Joe walking toward her. Her heart lurched with excitement.
“Miss Curwen? Might I beg your hand for the waltz?”
Hazel blinked at the stranger beside her. At least, not a stranger, but she could not remember his name.
“Thank you,” she said, furious because there was nothing she could civilly do, and yet more than anything, she wanted to dance with, even talk to, Joe.
More than probably, she had simply got in the way of his journey to another lady. In any case, she could only accompany her new partner back onto the floor.
He turned out to be polite but not a great conversationalist. Nevertheless, she smiled kindly upon him, realizing with awe that the Sayles’ plans for her seemed to be working better and faster than she had dared to hope. Perhaps she was not permanently ruined after all.
Of course, she could not help noticing that Joe was indeed waltzing with someone else, a pretty young matron with whom he seemed to be on the friendliest of terms. At least it is not Theresa Thorne, she thought ruefully.
Emma did not seem to be dancing, which was odd because she was largely responsible for persuading her mother to allow the large number of waltzes, including those before and after supper. As Hazel followed her partner and turned, she finally saw Emma strolling around the room beside Selim.
Selim did not know western dances, and besides, the closeness of the waltz, in particular, would have been against his people’s customs. It was against several English customs, too. But none of this stopped him entertaining Emma, whose expression contained equal parts mischief and enchantment. Well, Selim was a fascinating man, all the more so for coming from the edge of Europe, where the west met the east.
She was not the only person to note Emma’s penchant for him. When the dance ended and Hazel had kindly dismissed her cavalier, she walked past Captain Sayle, seated at the edge of the dancefloor, frowning and clearly deep in thought.
She paused. “Captain? Is everything well?”
He jumped to his feet at once, his face smoothing into a smile. “Of course. Please, sit, let me fetch you a glass of champagne.”
She sat, and after only a few moments, he reappeared with two glasses. Hazel sipped the bubbles and realized she was having a most enjoyable evening. However, the captain’s frown bothered her.
“Has something upset you?” she inquired.
“No, no. Something just struck me that I did not like. A silly anxiety, I’m sure. But she is only just seventeen years old.”
“Emma? She is thoroughly enjoying herself, is she not.”
He lowered his voice even further. “Tell me about the mysterious Mr. Isyanci.”
“I’m sure I know less than you. He is a great friend of your brother’s, although they fell out for a while.”
“Over Isyanci’s sister.”
“I believe that was merely confused with the true cause of their disagreement—Selim’s part in a plot against the sultan.”
“I don’t like that either.”
“Either?” she repeated, startled. “What’s the first thing you dislike?”
“His pursuit of my sister.”
“It is open and well within the bounds of propriety,” Hazel pointed out. “Besides, I’m not sure who is pursuing whom. And he is Joe’s friend.”
“Is he, though?” the captain pounced. “Would not raising hopes and then rejecting Joe’s sister be fitting revenge? Or worse, marrying her and taking her to Constantinople in the teeth of our opposition?”
Hazel felt her jaw begin to drop and hastily closed her mouth. “Don’t you think that’s rather a leap from a stroll around the ballroom together?” she said at last.
“Do you?”
“Yes,” she said frankly. “Selim’s feelings for Joe are strong, and I’m sure they are genuine. Moreover, Joe trusts him now that their misunderstandings are past. And then there is Emma, who is not so easily won. She may be developing a tendre for him—he is both different and dashing, after all. But I cannot see her giving up next year’s Season in London to be married to a stranger in a country where even married women are a lot less free than here. And besides, as she is seventeen, he cannot legally marry her in England without Joe’s consent, and it’s a long way to Scotland.”
John Sayle’s lips twitched, suddenly very like his brother. “That is a fairly comprehensive annihilation of my anxieties. I must be too used to having things to worry about that now I invent them.”
She laughed. “And look, she is back with your mother and being introduced to yet another young man. Selim is going into the card room.”
“Will you marry me, Miss Curwen?”
“You would be well-served if I said yes. And held you to it.”
He let out a breath of laughter. “Joe would kill me.”
Her stomach twisted. She was certainly not worthy of either of the Sayles, but he did not need to point it out quite so brutally. She forced a smile quite easily—after all, she had been doing so for days in social situations—and rose. “Excuse me, Captain.”
Chapter Twenty
“You’ll wear out the floor,” Joe’s voice observed, jerking her out of her reverie.
She didn’t know how many circuits of the ballroom she had made since speaking to Captain Sayle, but from Joe’s remark, it must have been several.
He fell into step beside her. “What has upset you?”
“Oh, nothing. I am not upset at all. But I cannot sit down and play the wallflower all evening.” Or risk ladies drawing their skirts away from her, or even moving to seats further away. “Though gentlemen have asked me to dance, so I have to say your rehabilitation plan is doing me some good,”
“My mother is rarely wrong about such matters. And since this dance is ending, would you care to keep me company for the next?”
“No, you have played your part,” she said hastily. “Everyone knows your family supports me.”
Amusement gleamed in his eyes. “What a very calculating thing to say. I only asked you to dance with me.”
She frowned. “Why?”
“For the sheer pleasure of it.”
His low voice vibrated through her, releasing the waves of sheer awareness she had been trying to hold back.
“But it’s the supper dance,” she blurted.
“Then you must endure me for even longer.”
“Joe, you are the host of—”
He took her hand, and the words flew out of her brain. “Stop,” he said softly. “Just dance with me.”
God knew there was no one she would rather dance with. The image of Lady Theresa waltzing in his arms and the envy it had inspired were still raw in her mind. She could not speak as he laid her hand on his sleeve and led her onto the dance floor.
He took her hand in his once more. His arm encircled her waist and almost by instinct, she laid her other hand on his arm. The music began, and he moved her backward and turned. She only just kept up, forcing herself to concentrate.
“I saw you waltz once at the princess’s house,” he said softly. “And I thought how graceful and charming you were, and how much I wished to be your partner.”
“I could believe that if you had actually asked me.”
“As I recall, you would not even speak to me.”
She flushed. “I beg your pardon. I thought you were making fun of me. Laughing at me.”
“Trying to laugh with you. But it was ill-judged. I didn’t know then of Barden’s insulting behavior.”
“It was nothing to do with Barden,” she admitted. “In fact, it is I who misjudged you, and for that, I apologize.”
“Handsomely said.”
“You’re making fun of me again,” she accused.
“I would not dare.”
“Says the daring highwayman of Great Finglebury.”
“Hush, I shall be arrested.”
“Did I thank you properly for that?”
“Quite improperly, as I recall.”
Heat flooded her, heightening every sense. It was sweet, so sweet, to dance in his arms, following his every movement, a kind of secret, sensual surrender, not only to the joyful rhythm of the music but to him. His warm, steady eyes held her captive.
“Would you mind very much if we waltzed to the edge of the floor and escaped out onto the terrace?” he asked softly.
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