“The evening was heavenly,” Angelina assured her. She sat in her bed, propped up by an abundance of pillows. Her coloring was poor, but her smile was genuine. “Though I knew with perfect clarity we were at our home in the country, I could easily imagine we were in a London drawing room. I can, with confidence, mark as completed ‘attend a musical evening’ on my list of wishes for the Season.”
Relief wrapped itself around Felicity’s heart. They had not been mistaken in their efforts. “I thought all who performed this evening made a good showing. Such lovely music.”
“Yes, and the music added such ambience to the true performance of the evening.” Mischief hung in Angelina’s words. It filled her eyes as well.
“Which was?” Felicity could not begin to imagine her sister’s meaning. The musical offerings were the evening’s true performance.
“I daresay you did not see what was plainly before us, no doubt because your eyes were closed—in more ways than one.”
Felicity, who had been occupying a chair beside her sister’s bed, moved to sit on the thick blanket, facing Angelina directly. “I suspect I am being accused of being thick, but I cannot begin to imagine what I have done to earn such a denouncement.”
Though the amusement remained, Angelina’s expression turned sympathetic. “I suppose all people are a bit bacon-brained in these matters.”
“What matters?”
Angelina patted the bed beside her. Felicity scooted across, placing herself directly beside her. They had often sat thus as children, reading stories or imagining adventures. There was comfort in doing so again.
“Are you aware, dearest Felicity, that William is in love with you?”
Felicity would have been equally as surprised had her sister announced that the queen herself had requested to be hired on as their chambermaid.
Angelina laughed lightly, though not unkindly. “Do not be so shocked. You are worthy of the highest regard, and he, I discovered during our time in Town, has grown into a very wise and discerning gentleman.”
“He has made no declaration of partiality,” Felicity protested even as a flip of her heart betrayed her attempt at being logical.
“I watched him tonight.” Angelina leaned more heavily against her pillows. “He could not keep his eyes from you. When you would smile, he would smile. When you turned even slightly in his general direction, his posture would straighten and hope would enter his expression. When you spoke to me or Mother or Father, the longing on his face could not be mistaken.”
A surge of unexpected hope flooded over her. She’d known herself to have grown partial to him during their weeks in London, but she’d not allowed herself to believe anything could come of it. “He is likely fond of me—of us—because we were children together, and he was remembering those times.”
“He was not looking at you with the eyes of a child, I assure you.”
“He didn’t hold me like one either,” she whispered.
In an instant, she had her sister’s full and rapt attention. “When did he hold you?”
“A couple of days ago, when he called here.” She’d been mulling that moment over in her mind ever since, though she’d told no one of it. Sitting there, with her closest friend and confidante, her beloved, darling sister, next to her, she heard the entire story spill from her lips, complete with her own recounting of hope and disappointment, uncertainty and intrigue, pounding heart and spinning thoughts.
“But he pulled away so suddenly and simply left. I hadn’t the first idea what to make of it.”
“I would wager he didn’t either.” Angelina tucked her hands under the blanket. She grew cold more easily than she once had. “He likely wonders about your feelings as much as you appear to be wondering about his.”
Perhaps. “Our friendship means so much to me—to him as well, I suspect. I couldn’t bear it if I lost that by confessing to feelings that are neither reciprocated nor welcome.”
She received a look of such deep empathy from Angelina. “Many people would tell you to lay your entire heart bare, no matter the enormity of that risk, no matter the potential for heart-shattering agony. People always expect others to do what they themselves would likely not undertake were the roles reversed.”
“Is that your way of saying I ought to tell him of my regard but also acknowledging that you understand why I might not manage to do so?”
Angelina nodded. “I believe it to be both the correct course of action and the most difficult.”
“Those two are often one and the same,” Felicity said on a sigh.
“Yes, they are.”
Felicity pulled her legs up toward herself, hugging her knees. “You have grown very wise in your old age, sister.”
“Wisdom does seem to expand as one’s time shrinks.” Sadness Angelina didn’t often allow in her expression snuck across her face. “Do not waste the time you have been given, Felicity. It is so very precious.” She looked at her, earnestly, almost desperately. “You have a future laid out before you. Seize it. Not everyone is granted that gift.”
Chapter Twelve
Mrs. Banbury stood in William’s ballroom, eyeing his efforts at recreating what was, arguably, London’s most famous dancing salon. She had, after all, been in attendance in the hub of ton exclusivity, though not for decades. Further, that night’s ball was being held for her daughter’s benefit. Would it meet with her approval?
“It is not an exact replica,” William acknowledged. “Repainting was certainly not an option, but we thought hanging straw-colored silk against the white would at least call to mind the colors of the Almack’s ballroom.”
She didn’t answer but continued slowly turning, looking over their surroundings without a word. He could not ascertain her impression of it all.
“We also replaced the draperies with blue. I am told by the wife of a good friend of mine that it is almost precisely the shade that hangs in the windows there. My housekeeper has converted the formal dining room to a relatively close replication of the Almack’s tea room, where we will host tonight’s supper. We’ve identified a room to be used as an antechamber. I chose not to recreate the card room, however, as I did not wish to detract from the true purpose of the evening.”
Her continued silence worried him greatly. Was she disappointed? He did not wish for her to be. Though the evening was being held for Angelina’s benefit, he knew it meant a lot to Mrs. Banbury as well.
“I know it is not the same as obtaining vouchers and attending the actual Almack’s, but I hope it is something of a joy to you and your daughters. I do hope that it is.”
She turned to him at last. “Oh, sweet, darling William.” To his utter shock, the lady set her hands on either side of his face, just as his own mother had been wont to do. “What a miracle you have wrought here. You are giving my poor Angelina the final wish of her Season.”
The gesture deeply touched him. How he had longed for a moment of maternal comfort. “Your daughters have been my dear friends all my life. This is the least I could do for them.”
Mrs. Banbury wove her arm through his and walked with him toward the ballroom door. “This will be a comfort to Felicity as well. My heart has ached for her as much as Angelina throughout this ordeal. She will be lost without her sister. I do wish I could save her from the pain that awaits her.”
“As do I,” William acknowledged.
“But you will stand by her as her friend,” Mrs. Banbury said. “At least she will not be entirely alone in her grief.”
“I will stand by her whatever her struggle. I care deeply for her.”
Mrs. Banbury looked up at him. “How deeply?”
That was certainly a direct question. “Deeply enough that I considered repainting my ballroom.”
She laughed. “The evening is for Angelina, but the effort is for Felicity.”
“That is not an incorrect statement.” How was it he had confessed, to one degree or another, his tenderness for Felicity to nearly everyone except her
? “Though I am sorely tempted to press you for any insights you might have as to the state of your daughter’s heart, I have too much respect for you as her mother as well as for her privacy to do so. I only hope I will have the opportunity tonight to spend a few moments with her—something I did not have the night of the musicale or any evening since.”
“You are the host tonight,” Mrs. Banbury said. “If you are granted more than a moment of your own company, I will be greatly surprised.”
He hadn’t thought of that. She was correct, though. He was hosting a grand ball, the first at Carlisle Manor since before his parents’ deaths. Every issued invitation had been answered in the affirmative. He would have little time to breathe, let alone find a private moment with Felicity to speak even a portion of what lay in his heart.
By the time the guests began arriving, he still hadn’t sorted the question of how to claim even a brief conversation with Felicity. He would make the evening a pleasant one for the Banburys and his other guests and resign himself to delaying, yet again, the essential yet risk-riddled confession he knew he needed to make. Losing his parents had taught him that a person does not always receive second chances to say things he wished to say.
She arrived in the midst of the influx of guests. Despite her position behind the rest of her family—her parents stood on either side of Angelina, supporting their increasingly fragile daughter—William saw her first. Had she always drawn his eye this way? Had he simply not realized?
She wore a simple gown of pale green, a thin gold chain about her neck. He didn’t know the term for the way she had styled her hair, but he liked it. A ribbon tied the thick locks up high off her neck, while loose wisps hung long over one shoulder.
William took a deep breath, forcing himself to swallow, to keep his composure. She utterly overset him at times, in the best sense.
“Mr. Banbury. Mrs. Banbury.” He dipped his head. “Miss Banbury.” His eyes moved to Felicity. His veneer of strictly decorous host cracked. He allowed a more personal smile than he ought. “Miss Felicity.”
They all offered the expected bows and curtsies. Felicity’s gaze returned immediately to him. He could not be certain, but he thought he saw an added bit of warmth in her gaze.
The evening was for Angelina; he could not neglect to make it so. “Miss Banbury, it is my very real pleasure to welcome you to”—he motioned through the open ballroom doors—“Almack’s.”
Her brows raised even as her mouth dropped open. She looked through the doors. “Almack’s?”
“He has recreated it,” Mrs. Banbury said. “The same colors, same draperies.”
Angelina turned her gaze to him once more. “Almack’s—the last item on my list.”
He answered with a bow of acknowledgment, admiration, and welcome. “I hope the evening is all you’ve dreamed it would be.”
The Banburys escorted their oldest daughter inside. Felicity lingered a moment. A shimmer of a tear hung in one eye. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you, again and again.”
He knew she couldn’t remain long without drawing undue attention from the others waiting to enter the ballroom. He had but a moment.
“Am I foolish to hope you might save a dance for me, Miss Felicity?”
The softness of her expression nearly crumbled his composure. “No one has claimed my supper dance.”
It was a forward suggestion, but one he did not mean to waste. “I would be honored if I might claim your supper dance.”
She dipped a tiny curtsy and followed in her parents’ wake.
He had been granted her supper dance, a position of significance. Being her partner during the nighttime meal meant he’d have her company longer than he would otherwise. This, he knew full-well, was the chance he sought.
* * *
The Evening at Almack’s ball was everything Felicity could have hoped for her sister. Angelina never stopped smiling as the musicians played tune after tune. Her health was too fragile for joining in the dancing, but she watched with real delight. Their neighbors, kind and attentive as always, kept her company, giving every indication of being pleased to sit out a set or two talking with her. Mr. Whitehall even secured permission to take a brief and necessarily slow turn about the room with her, something he and Mother both agreed was done with great regularity at the actual Almack’s.
Felicity could not have been happier for Angelina.
When William pulled himself away from the demands of being the evening’s host to claim the supper dance she had granted him, she could not have been happier for herself.
“Thank you again for this evening,” she said in the moment before the musicians struck their opening notes.
He hadn’t time to offer so much as a “You’re welcome” or “My pleasure.” He moved with a light, bouncing step, his gaze returning to her the moment he had taken his place in the line opposite her. Happiness shown in his eyes, but his smile was subtle, as if kept between the two of them. How she hoped she was not allowing her own longing to color her perception of his.
The movements of the dance pulled them together long enough for a brief clasp of hands, a momentary brushing of arms. At one point, they were permitted enough proximity for a quick, whispered exchange.
“I believe the evening can be counted a success,” he said. Not the personal remark she’d hoped for, but still encouraging.
“I agree,” she said. “And your dancing skills are proving you an excellent partner for the supper dance.”
“Wait until you witness my talent for eating, then you will truly be impressed.” He winked.
Again, the requirements of the dance pulled them apart. She contented herself with watching him from the opposite line, cherishing the glances she received, allowing her pleasure to show in her expression. She was, no doubt, laying bare her feelings for all to see, but she couldn’t hide what she felt. It overflowed from her.
By the time the set concluded and the doors to the dining room opened to the guests for the much-anticipated supper, Felicity’s heart was pounding with pleasure and racing with the promise of William’s company at last. Beneath that lay a healthy dose of uncertainty; she meant to make a confession that night, after all. Despite the encouragement she’d felt at the discernible warmth of his glances and the tingle of his fingers brushing hers, love seldom allowed logic to temper all emotion. She remained nervous.
He walked with her arm through his into the dining room, leading the guests as was customary for the evening’s host. The warmth of him so near settled her nerves considerably. Father walked near them with Angelina on his arm.
“This room was decorated to closely resemble the tea room at Almack’s,” William told them. “I thought it an important addition to the evening.”
Angelina looked over the elegantly arranged space with the same sparkle of joy that had lit her face all night. “You have thought of everything.”
“Anything at all for my two favorite people.” He looked from Angelina to Felicity, winking again.
“Why do you keep doing that?” Only after the question spilled without warning from her lips did she realize how potentially accusatory or rude or displeased she might sound.
William didn’t appear offended. “Keep doing what?”
“Winking at me.”
He laughed quietly. “If you aren’t sure, I’m likely not doing it correctly.”
That was all the explanation she received before the demands of hosting pulled his attention in dozens of directions. He still managed to fill a plate for her and make certain she was well fed while he saw to his duties. He even made time to speak with Angelina, telling her more than once how happy he was to see her enjoying herself. His was a good heart. Felicity would count herself fortunate to have a claim on any part of it.
“Have you spoken with him?” Angelina asked in a whisper after William was pulled away by yet another guest.
“I’ve hardly had time for more than two words with him at any one time,” she said.
>
“But ample time for warm glances between the two of you.”
Felicity bit back a smile, though she felt certain her blush was obvious to anyone watching. “He has been winking at me.”
“Has he?”
She nodded. “And he insists I ought to know why he’s doing so. I know the ‘why’ I would like to be true, but I am hesitant.”
“The time for hesitancy has past, Felicity.” Angelina motioned with her head toward William, making his way with frequent interruptions back to where she sat. “Seize your future, my dear. It is a surer thing than you realize.”
He reached her and took his seat. “I am proving a horrible partner for supper, I’m afraid.”
“You are making me doubt your self-professed talent for eating.”
He chuckled. “I am beginning to doubt it myself.”
She leaned the tiniest bit closer. “I had hoped to speak with you, William. I am rather anxious to, in fact.”
Worry tugged at his brow. “Is anything the matter?”
“No.” At least she hoped not.
“I suspect our only hope of an uninterrupted conversation is to make an escape,” he said. “That, however, would bring down on our heads the judgment of essentially everyone here.”
That was a delicate aspect of their situation. Should they both slip out, whispers would be unavoidable. She didn’t wish to mar the evening or either of their reputations.
“Perhaps tomorrow, then. Of course, Angelina will likely be entirely exhausted and in need of assistance. In a day or two, she should, I hope, regain her strength. Perhaps we might speak then.” Her heart dropped. Two or three more days without seeing him or speaking with him. Not only would she struggle to keep her courage up, but she would also miss him. “Perhaps you might call on us, provided Angelina is equal to having visitors.”
He dipped his head to someone across the table, offered another silent acknowledgment to someone else, then, under his breath, said to her, “After supper, do you think you could quietly slip out to the east terrace?”
An Evening at Almack's Page 22
