He smiled and added, “In fact, I have missed all of you.”
There had been a time—many times—when she had dreamed of him saying such a thing, along with an abject apology and a plea to forgive him and marry him at last. Phoebe, she had vaguely imagined, had died in childbirth or some other shocking accident. Now, there was not even comfort in the words. She did not even care whether or not they were true, because the man who spoke them was so far from the person she remembered…the man she had imagined. Young, naïve, and needy, she had not looked behind the handsome face, had heard only his words of love and admiration and longed for something she did not understand and would never have found with him.
Now, regarding him with a critical eye, she thanked God for her escape. “No, you haven’t, Philip. Stop talking nonsense and look after your daughter. Excuse me.”
She rose and walked out of the room to make sure the children were asleep, or at least behaving themselves. On the way, from the corner of her eye, she saw Sir Marcus glance at her, but he made no acknowledgment, and she did not meet his gaze.
Still, although she needed discretion after this afternoon’s long talk, she could not help being piqued that he returned to his conversation with quite such alacrity.
*
The following day passed in something of a whirl. More guests arrived to stay the night of the ball, and both Henrietta and the earl’s sister, Lady Manson, ran around under a hail of urgent duties, which was not helped by losing things.
“Where are the library candlesticks?” Henrietta demanded furiously when Helen and the children met her in the passage. “How can they just vanish?”
“They can’t, of course,” Helen replied. “Shall we help you to look for them?”
“Yes, please,” Henrietta said. “I need them for the supper room downstairs. They are particularly handsome wrought silver. Not the ones on the mantelpiece.”
As she ran off gratefully about other business, Helen and the children scoured every corner and cupboard of the library for the candlesticks, and found none that fitted the description. In the end, they took her what they did find and she exclaimed in annoyance that they would have to do. After which, she hugged her siblings and cast an apologetic smile at Helen, presumably for her uncharacteristic ill-nature.
“What is the matter with Henrie?” Horatio demanded.
“I expect she is nervous about the success of the ball,” Helen said. “This is her first as hostess, and she wants everything to be right for Lord Silford and Mr. Cromarty.”
“Don’t see that a wretched candlestick will make any difference to that,” George said scornfully. “Besides, Sydney doesn’t give a jot for that kind of thing.”
“No, probably not, but she would like everything to be perfect, so we must all help.” She cast a severe glance around them all. “And that includes the time you spend in the ballroom this evening!”
*
Cranston bustled in with the ballgown almost as soon as Helen retired to change after dinner. To her surprise, the dresser stayed to fasten the garment and be sure it fit. Then she sat Helen down and with impressive speed, unpinned her hair, stroked it barely twice with the brush and re-pinned it. Then, with a faint smile and a nod, she was gone.
Blinking after her, Helen rose and walked to the glass.
If things had been different, this is how she would have wanted to look. Elegant in a simple, unfussy style. The green watered silk, unadorned with jewels or excessive lace, had a short train, and the neck was modestly cut above her breasts. The style of her hair had not been altered much, just loosened so that it appeared somewhat softer. Helen thought she looked rather well, enough to remind the company that she was a lady, without denying she was the governess to a nobleman’s children.
Taking a deep breath to squash the foolish excitement that had been trying to rise all day, she went to find the children. They were scrubbed and clean, the boys in their Sunday suits, and Eliza in her best dress.
“Why, Miss Milsom, you are beautiful!” Horatio exclaimed.
“She has always been beautiful,” Eliza said unexpectedly. She smiled. “But that is a lovely dress.”
“So is yours,” Helen assured. “Very well, let us go down to the ballroom. Remember to be on your best behavior. No shouting, running, or quarreling!”
Henrietta and Lord Silford were already in the otherwise deserted, echoing ballroom, though there seemed little enough for them to do. Chandeliers and wall sconces were ablaze with candles, and the servants were making any last-minute adjustments required.
Henrietta flitted up to them at once and presented her siblings to the earl, who chose to be gracious.
“And Miss Milsom, their governess,” Henrietta murmured.
Silford’s fierce old eyes rested on her with unexpected interest. “A lady of character, I apprehend,”
“I hope so, my lord,” she replied.
“Hmm. We’ve never spoken before, have we?”
“No, my lord.”
“Very glad to meet you. Your charges are a credit to you,” He swung away. “Where the devil is Sydney?”
“He’ll be here,” Henrietta soothed. “Miss Milsom, I thought this was a good place,” she added, leading the way across the polished dance floor to a discreet corner near the back, where there was a round sofa and a table. “You will be able to see everything. And you may leave discreetly by this door at the back if you prefer. One hour, you three! And you must go when Miss Milsom says. I’ll get someone to bring you lemonade before the guests begin to arrive…”
As she fluttered off again, Helen was glad she had not mentioned the gown. It made her feel less self-conscious. She was merely here to accompany the children in a manner that would not disgrace her noble employers.
A footman brought lemonade for the children and winked at them before rushing off as the first guests began to arrive.
In no time, the ballroom was full of noise and color, the glitter of jewels, and the scent of expensive perfumes. The orchestra on the raised dais opposite the children, began to play, and the dancing began.
“It’s like a painting,” Eliza said in awe.
“I defy any painter to imagine that turban,” George remarked, nodding at a remarkable matron in a headdress packed with what looked like fruit and enormously tall feathers.
The twins giggled and began a contest to discover a garment even more ridiculous. Helen warned them to keep their voices down.
From time to time, they were visited by family and other amiable guests. Richard, looking very grown-up, swaggered over to them with a glass of champagne in his hand, although in seconds, he, too, had sniggered at the turban and had joined the search for one more outrageous. Lord and Lady Overton appeared at separate times to make sure they were behaving, as did their eldest daughter, Lady Dunstan. Anne Marshall waved to them from across the room, until her mother seized her hand with a few chastening words. Sydney Cromarty strolled by, ruffled the boys’ hair and grinned at Eliza and Helen.
If Helen had been secretly hoping Sir Marcus might sit with them for a moment or two, she was doomed to disappointment. She saw him once, waltzing past with Henrietta in his arms, but he did not even appear to notice them.
Philip did. Strolling past, he glanced at them and away before rather comically swinging back for a longer stare. He changed direction, swerving toward them, and sat on the edge of the sofa next to Helen, without even acknowledging the presence of the children.
“I did not hope to see you here,” he told her.
“I’m merely chaperoning the children for an hour before they retire.”
“Will you dance with me?”
She blinked. “I can’t. I am here only in my duty as their governess.”
He spared them a glance. “Dash it, you’re not teaching them! And they don’t seem about to run amok.”
“Nevertheless, I must stay with them.”
“Oh, well.” Philip stood up again. “I wish you joy of your duty.”
Had he always been this petulant? She didn’t think so, although memory played tricks on one. She began to suspect he was not an entirely contented man.
Just in time, she spotted George and Horatio with a marble they were planning to roll across the dance floor to Richard on the other side. Confiscating it, she made both boys turn out their pockets, which revealed four more. She glared at them, and they handed over the offending articles without a word.
“Anne isn’t dancing,” Eliza observed. “She hasn’t danced once this evening.”
Shifting position, Helen saw Anne sitting straight-backed by her mother, her eyes wide, more than ever resembling that startled deer. Couples were moving on to the floor, forming sets for the next country dance. Among them, Helen saw the other two debutantes, Richard, Mr. Webster, Lord Dunstan… And Sir Marcus, walking up to Anne.
Now Anne looked not only startled but hunted. However, her mother beamed upon him and pinched Anne’s arm quite violently. At once, the girl stood up and laid the tips of her fingers on her partner’s arm.
In Anne’s shoes… But she was not in Anne’s shoes, and the girl was clearly having a miserable time. However, in fairness, Sir Marcus was behaving impeccably, not only dancing with the wallflower, but carrying the full weight of the conversation with a tongue-tied child. Although there was nothing remotely amorous in his attitude, the complacent smile on Phoebe Marshall’s face spoke volumes for her hopes.
Dragging her gaze free, Helen opened her reticule to glance at her father’s watch. “It’s after ten,” she said. “And time to go.”
The children went without fuss, merely glancing over their shoulders as they left. With no marbles to liven things up, they had clearly had enough of mere observation.
As had Helen. Since she was nineteen years old, she had only danced with her pupils, teaching them the various steps along with grace, rhythm, and poise. But watching tonight had brought back all her youthful pleasure in dancing. There was no point in missing it. This evening’s observations, and any others like it, were as close as she was going to come.
So, after letting the children enjoy a quick, amusing discussion about turbans and outrageous waistcoats, she sent the boys to their chamber and helped Eliza prepare for bed.
“Anne doesn’t want to be at the ball, does she?” Eliza asked, snuggling into the pillows.
“No,” Helen allowed. “I don’t think she does.”
“Why not?”
“Perhaps she doesn’t want to be grown-up just yet.”
“I don’t,”
“Well, you’re ten years old,” Helen pointed out comfortingly.
Eliza nodded and closed her eyes.
Her brothers were discovered in their night attire but playing marbles across their bedchamber floor. Helen added them to her growing collection and ordered the boys into bed. They went obligingly enough, although George declared he wasn’t remotely tired.
“Well, close your eyes and see what happens. I’ll be back in a little, and I won’t expect to find you out of bed.”
Blowing out their candles, she left them and walked along the passage toward her own chamber. She felt oddly restless and wide awake, so she didn’t mind in the least when a maid ran up to her.
“Lady Sydney wants your help in the ballroom, Miss.”
Presumably, Lady Overton wanted something fetched from her chamber. Or an elderly lady required an escort to her bedchamber. Or Richard had drunk too much champagne and needed to be discreetly extracted. Helen didn’t feel any such task was beyond her, but when she hurried into the ballroom, she saw at once that Richard, sober as a judge, was in serious conversation with a young lady and her father. She saw no sign at all of Henrietta, until the orchestra struck up once more, and she caught sight of her on the dance floor with her partner for another waltz.
“It’s still considered pretty daring in England,” said a voice close by.
Sir Marcus, imposing in a black coat and silk breeches, stood beside her watching the dancers.
“But increasingly accepted,” she managed. “I was required to teach it in my previous post.”
“Then you do waltz?”
“Around the schoolroom floor, I have no equal. I don’t suppose you know what Lady Sydney required of me? I have missed my chance to speak to her before the dance.”
“Well, we can dance over to her and hover. If it’s something vital, I’m sure she’ll find a way to let you know.”
Her heart gave a funny little lurch of longing, even though he was merely jesting. “I think I would be better lurking around the edges of the dance floor and hoping she notices me.”
“Yes, but that would be dull. Unless you truly don’t want to dance with me.”
“I did not know you were truly asking,” she said, aiming for lightness.
“I was looking for a way you might find comported with your duty.”
“Are you making fun of me?” she asked, quite without rancor, although his eyebrows flew up in clear protest.
“Not in the slightest.”
“Well, you should be,” she said perversely, “for it is not suitable for the governess to dance.”
“I don’t see why not when she’s at the ball. In fact, it would be rude to refuse me.”
She frowned, glancing up at him with uncertainty. The smile faded from his eyes.
“That time, I was making fun,” he said apologetically. “But my invitation stands, for no other reason than that I would very much like to dance with you.”
The world seemed to stand still. This was the stuff of her foolish daydreams. To dance with any man after ten years…to dance with this man whom she had been avoiding for the best part of two days. Her breath caught. It is only once, she pleaded with herself, and to refuse would be unbearable.
“Then I would very much like to accept,” she said in a rush.
He took her hand and laid it on his arm. “In order to attract the attention of Lady Sydney, of course.”
“Of course,” she said breathlessly.
His arm encircled her waist, turning her into the dance, and she followed instinctively. “So, how did you learn?” he asked.
“From my old employer’s dancing master. But I should warn you, I have never practiced in an actual dance.”
“I expect dancing is one of those things one takes for granted until one is prevented from doing it.”
Surprised by his understanding, she nodded. “It is, but I would not have you pity me, for my life has many other advantages, not all of them usual to a woman in my position.”
“Meaning you have a good place with the Overtons?”
“I am valued, well-paid, and given much more freedom than is common. I even attend the occasional ball, as you see.”
“I’m very glad. I don’t like to think of you groaning under arduous duties, or too little respect.”
“I never groan,” she assured him. “Even when heaped with work and no respect, as has been the case in my past. Now, I have charming, intelligent pupils and enviable conditions. I am perfectly content.”
A frown flickered on his brow, and his eyes grew too intense. “Perfectly?”
A jumble of emotions surged through her, emotions she did not wish to acknowledge, for they dragged new longings in their wake. If she was no longer perfectly content, he was the reason.
“Perfectly,” she said firmly.
“Then don’t look at me with those haunted eyes. Tell me about your life. For example, what were your lively charges up to while sitting so angelically at the ball?”
She grasped the lifeline with desperation, telling him about the turban and waistcoat contest and the marbles. Although she began haltingly, his amused attention encouraged her, and she was glad to make him laugh out loud. He had a good laugh and a good smile, when he let them loose. They seemed to tug at all her responses, at her very heart. And as they talked and danced, she realized, almost like a revelation, that they were enjoying each other’s company without
the usual barbs or quarrels or suspicions that seemed to have plagued their previous passages. She relaxed into his presence and his arms and lived in the joyous, breathless moment.
Chapter Six
When the music came to a close, she had to blink rapidly to force real life, real duty back into her mind. The loss of his warm, muscular arm at her back helped, although her whole body still tingled from his nearness.
“Lady Sydney,” she said breathlessly. “I failed to attract her attention.”
“But here she is,” Sir Marcus said, swerving into the path of Henrietta and her partner. “Thank you for the waltz, Miss Milsom,” he added as Henrietta paused in front of them. He bowed to both of them and left.
Piqued and bewildered by his sudden departure, Helen tried to pull herself together. “You asked for me, ma’am.”
“Did I?” Henrietta said vaguely. “Yes, I believe I did, but it is no matter. The issue has solved itself. Are my siblings quiet and no longer a danger to society?”
“I believe so. For the time being.”
Henrietta smiled. “Then I hope you will feel free to enjoy yourself for the rest of the evening. My mother is quite content for you to do so.”
Enjoy myself? How can I when…?
When what? When an attractive gentleman danced with you from pity and then walked politely and speedily away? What else did you expect?
And there was the issue. She had allowed foolish expectations to rise in her breast, although she wasn’t perfectly sure what they were. She just knew she hadn’t wanted him to go. This obsession of hers was out of hand, unforgivable. She had to nip it in the bud before she made a complete fool of herself, her employers, and Sir Marcus.
She curtsied, accepting Henrietta’s words as dismissal, and began to make her way to the ballroom door. As she did so, she became aware of the glances sliding off her, and others which stared more openly. She wanted the floor to swallow her, for clearly her dance with Sir Marcus Dain had not gone unnoticed. She would be accused of encroaching, flirting, attempted entrapment. Word would reach Lady Overton…
But I did nothing wrong.
The Weary Heart Page 6
