“At Almack’s, they served day-old toast and dry pound cake, with only tea and lemonade. People should be thrilled we’re providing a little more.”
“What’s Almack’s?”
Eliza rolled her eyes. “Never mind, my twenty-first-century friend. Come on, it’s time to go dress.”
She grabbed Cat’s hand and pulled her, giggling, toward the stairs. The two women raced up together. “We’ve only got twenty minutes until people are supposed to arrive. Not nearly long enough for our toilettes via Regency standards, but then again, we don’t have lady’s maids, either.”
“At least you had your hair done, Eliza. It looks so elaborate with all those pins and curls. I don’t know what I’m going to do with mine,” Cat said as they walked into her bedroom. Two gowns waited on hangers over the edge of the closet door.
“You don’t have to do much, just pull it up and leave some tendrils dangling down in front.”
“Tendrils, eh? The things we do for those we love.” She threw Eliza a smirk as she slipped her moss green gown off its hanger. The gown was in the high-waisted Empire style, gathered just below the bust with fine ribbon detailing and embroidery. It was quite beautiful, even to Catherine, who didn’t care for dresses. And at least it wasn’t white, as nearly all the other dresses were. She was grateful, too, for the long sleeves on this cold, chilly evening. Looking at her friend, who had pulled down a cream-colored silk gown with short sleeves and a very revealing bodice, she exclaimed, “Aren’t you going to freeze in that?”
Eliza waved her hand. “I’ll wear a shawl with it. Besides, do you think I’m going to be focusing on the temperature?”
Cat sighed. “Eliza, you do realize there’s a chance—a strong one—that this won’t work and you’ll be back up here with me this evening, right?”
“Yes. I do. But in that case, what’s the worst thing that could happen from wearing a revealing ball gown? I stand near the fireplace and maybe attract a new, more modern suitor.”
“Suitor?” Cat grinned. “There’s a word I haven’t heard in a long time.”
They studied each other in the mirror. Cat liked the way the green in her dress pulled out the red tones in her hair. She felt feminine, almost dainty. It was quite a change from her normal evenings in jeans and a sweatshirt.
Eliza’s blue eyes sparkled and her cheeks glowed. She’d hung a strand of pearls around her neck, which emphasized her collarbones. With her hair up and those two pieces—oops, tendrils—hanging down in front, Eliza looked every inch the Regency lady. At least in Cat’s view.
“We’re beautiful,” said Cat after a moment.
Eliza smiled. “Yes, we are. There’s something to be said for emphasizing the feminine form, isn’t there?”
“At least the boobs,” Cat quipped. “They haven’t seemed this perky in years. I actually have cleavage.”
Eliza elbowed her.
“Look at us, Eliza. Really look at us,” Cat said in a quiet voice. She reached over and grabbed her friend’s hand. “I’d like to think that if we had lived two hundred years ago, we still would have been best of friends. You mean the world to me, and you always will, even if tonight is the last night we are together.”
Eliza wiped a tear from her eye. She hugged her friend tightly. “I’m sorry for leaving you, Cat. I love you like the sister I never had. Thank you for understanding ... and for letting me go.”
Cat gripped her harder. “I’m not letting you go. I’ll just have to meet you in a different place.” Her shoulders shook as tears fell down her face. Backing up, she forced a smile. “If this works, that is. May I admit I’m secretly hoping it won’t?”
“You may,” said Eliza. “But if it doesn’t, I know you were willing, and that means everything to me.” She wiped tears off her own cheeks. “Thank goodness Regency women didn’t wear mascara,” she said, “or I’d resemble a raccoon right now.”
Cat handed her a Kleenex. “C’mon, Miss Austen, let’s go greet our guests.”
Music flowed from the iPod placed discreetly on its dock in the corner: strains of Mozart and Beethoven. Candles illuminated the room from atop the bookcases, and a fire crackled merrily in the fireplace. About a dozen people had shown up already, and the array of Regency wear was quite amazing. Some had opted to borrow costumes from Cat and Eliza; others had decided to wing it with mixed results.
Cat particularly liked the blue-haired girl from the poetry reading, who was wearing a Goth-style dress that vaguely emulated Regency style, but was all black with blue lacings. When she moved, blue Chucks were visible underneath. Cat was impressed the teenager had shown up, instead of opting for whatever kids her age normally did on New Year’s Eve. Eliza said the girl mentioned earlier that she was reading Emma for English Lit, so perhaps this was her way of immersing herself in her studies. Cat could hardly fault her for that, considering the scheme she and Eliza had cooked up for the evening. She just hoped the girl didn’t think she was getting champagne at midnight.
Cat glanced at the clock over the front door: 10:07 p.m. The bells on the door jingled and several members of the Red Hat Club walked through, bedecked in matronly Regency finery that made them look like suitable chaperones for the younger folk awkwardly dancing on the tiny dance floor.
Eliza worked her way around the room in her gorgeous creamy ivory silk ball gown that was embellished with embroidered ivy vines and small purple flowers down the front. Over her shoulders, she wore a long green and purple shawl with matching flower design. She grinned broadly as she engaged in conversation with the various guests, her eyes flashing with excitement. She looks right at home. Cat’s eyebrows furrowed. She didn’t want to acknowledge what this evening might mean for her friend, and by extension herself.
“She’s the belle of the ball, isn’t she?” said Norm from her right side, startling Cat out of her reverie. “A real diamond of the first water.”
“A real what?”
“Diamond of the first water,” answered Myra, elegant herself in a modest long-sleeved floor-length gown of a maroon hue. Myra had a pink hat that rather resembled a small turban perched on her head, and was fanning herself with an elaborately painted hand-held paper fan. “It’s what they always say about the heroines in my romance novels.” She rubbed her husband’s shoulder. “I guess he does sometimes listen when I tell him things.”
“Always, m’dear. Always.” He smiled at his wife, tucking her arm in his. “Thank you for hosting such a fine gathering,” he said to Cat. “It’s been a long time since we’ve wanted to go out on the New Year. Usually, we’re asleep by nine o’clock.”
Myra hushed him.
“It’s true!” he protested. “But once Myra heard you were hosting a ball, she wanted to live out her Regency fantasy, so here we are.”
“She’s not the only one.”
Eliza floated by, glancing for the umpteenth time at the door.
“I don’t know if it qualifies as a true ball,” Cat added. “We’re rather cramped in here, and no one knows how to dance to the music much, but at least everyone is having a good time.”
The door jangled again and Grayson strolled through the entryway, looking as if he’d walked right out of a Hollywood production of Pride and Prejudice. Dressed in all black with a gray waistcoat and fine top hat, he was impossibly handsome. He could give Colin Firth a run for his money.
Evidently, the other young women felt the same way because silence fell as talking ceased momentarily. A group of female undergrads nestled near the fireplace openly ogled him. Grayson didn’t seem to notice, crossing over the room to greet Cat. Norm and Myra gave her a knowing smile and moved off to partake of the punch.
“Hi, Cat. Quite the turnout you have here.” He glanced around the room before fixing his intense eyes on hers. “I’ve been wanting to see you again. I hope you had a nice Christmas.”
“Thank you, Grayson, I did. I hope you and your family did, as well,” she said in a friendly but reserved tone. Damn, he was an
attractive man. Seductive. Sexy. And not what I want. “You are looking very nineteenth century this evening,” she added. “Well done.”
“Do you like it?” he replied, cocking an eyebrow. “My sister knew a costume designer in NYC, so she Fed-Exed this to me when I told her I was attending.” He slid his hands down the front of his waistcoat, drawing her attention to his lean midriff. Her eyes followed his hands, and when she returned her gaze to his face, he smiled in a suggestive way, having achieved his goal.
Cat shook her head. “Grayson, it’s wonderful to see you again. I had a nice time—a very nice time—with you at our Poetry Night. But I’m seeing someone else.” Kind of.
Gray’s eyes cooled. “Oh,” he responded. “Of course.” He stood silently for a moment. “I’m good with not being exclusive. I just want to be with you again.” He lowered his eyelids, giving her an intimate smile. “You’re irresistible to me.”
Stop giving me the smolder! Her insides quivered. It’s not you I want. Tingles worked their way up her legs. Well, not most of me, anyway. Stupid hormones. Stupid manuscript. “I’m sorry, but that doesn’t work for me.”
Grayson started to move away.
Cat caught his elbow. “You’re a great guy. You deserve someone more suited to you,” she said feebly.
He nodded and walked across the room toward the group of college girls. One of them flushed bright pink and giggled at the woman next to her, who just stared at Grayson, her jaw practically on the floor.
“Who is that?” asked Jill, who had come up behind her.
“That’s Grayson.”
“Wow. I can see what Eliza meant when she described him. He’s gorgeous.” Jill stared at him for a moment. Sighing, she said to Cat, “Do you know how hard it is to go to the bathroom wearing a dress like this? I feel like a stuffed sausage. I don’t like wearing things this tight.” She fidgeted with the dress, checking the back to ensure nothing had caught up in her undergarments.
“It’s quite flattering, you know. It shows off your beautiful shoulders.”
Jill started in surprise. “Really?” she said, adjusting the neckline.
Cat nodded.
A small smile crept across Jill’s face. “Now if only it could attract a guy like him,” she said in a self-deprecating way, gesturing toward Grayson. “But that would never happen.”
“Don’t rule it out.” An idea flickered in Cat’s head. “Maybe you’ll find yourself embroiled in a torrid affair with him before you know it.”
Jill sniggered. “I should be so lucky.”
Eliza hurried over to Jill and Cat. “It’s going well, isn’t it?” she said breathlessly. Her eyes swept the room. “We must have fifty people here.”
“No wonder it’s so warm,” Cat muttered. “I’m starting to wish I had your dress instead, Lizzie.”
“I’m so excited.” Eliza clapped her hands. “It’s almost midnight. It’s almost midnight!”
Jill wrinkled her eyebrows in confusion. “Do you have someone to kiss at midnight or something? What’s with the giddiness?”
Eliza grinned. “I hope so. I really hope so.” Turning to Cat, she added, “I’m sorry Ben isn’t here, Cat. I was sure he would show up. William, too.”
Cat closed her eyes. She was startled to realize she hadn’t thought of William, hadn’t noticed his absence. If that weren’t proof she wasn’t interested in him, that he wasn’t the one for her, then she didn’t know what would be.
She clenched her jaw. She’d sent an email off to William, after attempts to call him only rang through to voicemail, saying she needed to tell him something, but hadn’t heard back. Guilt still enveloped her like a smothering blanket whenever she thought of him.
She had been checking the door every few minutes, however, hoping Ben would walk through. Considering he hadn’t bothered to answer her, she wasn’t surprised. Figures right when I decide what—and who—I want, I pick the one who isn’t interested back. Why couldn’t she have fallen for William? It’s what she was supposed to do, right?
Oh, Dad. I wish you were here. I wish you could tell me about that manuscript, and help me get out of this mess of my own making.
Opening her eyes again, she saw Eliza scamper off toward Norm and Myra, who were beckoning her over. With a smile, Eliza let Norm escort her onto the dance floor, where they attempted a waltz. Norm was a decent dancer. The song ended and Norm led Eliza back to where Myra was standing, then extended his elbow to his wife. A second waltz emanated from the iPod, and Myra beamed at her husband as he led her through the steps.
Cat looked back at Eliza. Her friend was standing stock still, all color drained from her face, her eyes riveted on something at the back of the room. Or someone.
Cat followed Eliza’s fixed stare. Her own jaw dropped. For there stood a man so elegantly clad, so utterly regal in appearance, that he put Grayson to shame. He wore a fitted navy blue topcoat with tails over a cream-colored waistcoat embroidered with blue and green flowers. Under the waistcoat, his high-collared ivory shirt hosted an elaborately fastened neckcloth—a cravat, Cat reminded herself—starched to perfection. Buff-colored breeches encased firmly muscled thighs.
Cat’s eyes fell to his footwear. Hessians. I bet those high leather boots are Hessians.
Moving her gaze back up, she had to admit he was quite a handsome man. Perhaps not in the model-sense of Grayson, but he had rich glossy walnut-colored hair tousled in charming effect, a bit longer at the neck than modern men wore. His face looked as if it had been chiseled from a Roman statue: fierce, powerful, commanding. A bit like Hugh Jackman, indeed. She crossed her arms in satisfaction.
The man walked a few steps into the room, his bearing suggesting a ready familiarity with controlling a crowd. Indeed, numerous eyes turned toward him and silence again settled across the room. At first, the man seemed utterly at ease, but as he surveyed the room and the people in it, his confidence faltered.
He fixated on the iPod in the corner, still playing the strains of the waltz. His eyes grew wide and his face paled. Wildly he stared around the edges of the room, taking in the numerous bookshelves. He moved his gaze up, noting the light fixtures. They weren’t on since Cat and Eliza had opted for candles and the fireplace for a more intimate feel, but he inspected them carefully. Headlights flashed outside the front windows, drawing his attention. With quick strides he started toward the front door, oblivious to the crowd around him.
Eliza, who’d stood frozen to the spot for several minutes, darted across the room and hooked her arm through his. He stopped, a baffled expression crossing his face.
“Hello. I’m Eliza, Miss Eliza James,” she said to the man, who was staring at her as if she were an alien.
After a short moment, the man answered, “Mattersley. Deveric Mattersley.” When Eliza just nodded and smiled, he added, “Duke of Claremont.”
Duke of Claremont? Duke of Claremont? Cat’s insides reeled. He was Eliza’s duke. He was truly here. She’d done it.
The partygoers watched Eliza and the Duke with curiosity. Deveric lowered his voice, but Cat could hear him ask, “Where am I? What is this place?”
Still smiling at him, Eliza steered him toward the back of the room, as Cat had told her to do. “This is a New Year’s Eve Ball.”
Deveric looked around blankly. “But it’s March, and these are not the people with whom I was conversing. And you speak oddly, rather like an American.”
Eliza turned to Cat, love and gratitude in her eyes, and mouthed, “Thank you.”
Deveric hesitated for a moment, watching a woman put a small black rectangle to her face and touch something on it.
“Say cheese!” she shouted, and a flash went off.
“What the devil?” the Duke exclaimed, raising his arm in front of his face as if to shield himself from a second onslaught. Eliza ignored the woman, continuing to pull on Deveric’s arm. She led the bewildered Duke through the door into the back room.
With a sinking feeling, Cat followe
d them, racing as silently as she could to the storage room door, which Eliza had left open a few inches. Cat peeked through, watching them. Was this really happening? This couldn’t actually happen, could it?
“What are you doing?” she heard him ask in a dazed tone. “Where am I? This must be a dream. A bizarre dream, where music plays without an orchestra, and where lights flash by at inhuman speeds.”
The sounds of people counting down the final seconds of the New Year floated, muffled, around the edges of the door. The guests cheered and blared horns as the clock struck midnight, and then the crowd broke out into an off-key rendition of Auld Lang Syne.
Without answering him, Eliza pulled his head down to hers.
“A dream,” he murmured, as she fastened her lips onto his and kissed him, just as Cat had written Eliza needed to do. Cat watched as the man—the Duke—closed his eyes and returned Eliza’s kiss. “A very satisfying dream, with my very own goddess to entice me.”
He pushed Eliza back against the door and it shut firmly, leaving Cat standing there, dumbfounded. No more sounds came from behind the door.
After a minute or two, Cat walked over and looked into the main room, wondering if any of the guests were following this drama. No one seemed to have paid any attention to Eliza and Cat’s exit—and the Duke’s, she amended. They were all dancing and drinking the champagne Eliza had provided. Cat returned to the storage room. All was quiet. Closing her eyes, she opened the door. The room was empty. The only thing that remained was Eliza’s shawl, draped across the floor.
Cat picked up the shawl and kissed it, holding it against her heart as her eyes filled with tears. She sat down, closing her eyes, her mind—and heart—a whirl of tumbling emotions.
About five minutes later, Jill entered the room to find Cat perched on the edge of a folding chair, staring at a piece of fabric in her hands. “Here you are,” Jill said. “I’ve been wondering where you went.”
The Magic of Love Series Page 23
