Something Old

by Rebecca Connolly

  He caught sight of her difficulty swallowing, which sent a shot of primal approval streaking through his body. A shorter evening than originally planned sounded rather perfect, come to think.

  “Aren’t you a vision?” Mrs. Roskelley’s voice chimed, breaking through Thomas’s heated haze of the moment.

  His eyesight veered enough for him to see the woman, and, admittedly, acknowledge that she did look rather fine, the brilliant blue-green color of silk giving her copper hair a more vibrant appearance than even its already natural brilliance. Her smile of greeting was warm and welcoming, which settled Thomas’s irritation enough to return it.

  “I believe I pale in comparison to you, Julia,” Lily returned with her usual demurral.

  Julia looked utterly bewildered by the comment. “How could you? You have something of a portrait of seraphims about you, while I simply look as myself.”

  “No, not at all!” Lily protested.

  “Ladies, ladies…” Thomas interrupted with as much boasting as a gentleman could safely exude. “Your modesty becomes you both, but I must intervene. You are both exquisite examples of feminine beauty and looking more beautiful than I have ever seen you, which I had not thought possible.”

  Mrs. Roskelley laughed merrily, tossing her head back and waving her fan in a steady cadence. “Very gallant, Mr. Granger, and an effective end to a silly argument between us. Would you be so good as to watch for my husband tonight and keep his losses at the gaming tables to a minimum? He’s a good soul, but he does so hate losing, which leads him to keep playing, and keep losing, and…” She sighed, smiling still. “Be a dear, and help rein him in?”

  Thomas bowed politely. “Of course, Mrs. Roskelley. I know something of the temptations of the lady of luck, so I understand all too clearly. If I witness excesses, I shall bring your husband out to the dance floor and force him to dance three dances in a row without breath in between.”

  She laughed again, and he nodded, turning his attention to Lily and bringing her hand to his lips, lingering longer than he ought. “If it will be permitted, I would greatly love a dance with you this evening.”

  “You may have any of them,” she replied with bright eyes. “All of them, if not too scandalous.”

  “When we burn?” He laughed a little, kissing her hand once more. “Nothing could be more scandalous. One dance will do, and one dance might be all I can stand.” He bowed to her, then turned from the group of ladies before he would draw comment on his attention to his wife.

  And now to turn his attention to safer grounds, if more tepid ones, and find something better to do with his time than pine away.

  The music began to strike up, and lines formed as dancers moved to the center of the room. From the number of them, it would appear that Trembath had managed all of the respectable Society in the area and some additional besides. No doubt numbers had come in from the surrounding areas, any and all eager to be linked in some way to the established Trembath family. Plenty of young ladies likely sought Trembath’s hand, though it would not easily be given, and Thomas had no doubt the men wished to better their acquaintance with him and further their own prospects.

  It had to be exhausting to be expected of such great things from so many. Thomas suddenly felt exceedingly grateful that his prospects had only ever been moderate. Respectable, but moderate. Even Lily’s parents had only accepted his suit for her due to their connection to him and the promise of improving his prospects.

  Thank heavens he had improved them, else they might have regretted the connection. Not that it would have done anything to the marriage or the connection, but they could have done significant damage to his reputation. Also to his benefit, they were distance parents who considered marrying off their daughters as a completion of their parental duties.

  But what did any of this have to do with his present feelings and situation?

  He needed a drink, if he could find one in this place. Ideally, he’d remain in the ballroom so that he could continue to be distracted and tormented by his wife, and, if he were so fortunate, provide a little distraction and torment for her as well.

  “Oh, good, you’re already here.”

  Thomas turned with a smile for their host, who seemed a trifle strained by something or other. “Trembath, good evening. It would appear you have a rather good gathering.”

  Trembath made a noncommittal sound of acknowledgement. “Do I? Marvelous.” He took a long drink of a glass he held, instantly drawing Thomas’s attention and envy.

  “Where might a man get such a drink?” he asked his host at once.

  “From me.” He crooked two fingers in the air, and a footman appeared with a tray carrying several glasses of the same. He gestured for Thomas to take one, which he did. “Satisfied?”

  “Only if it’s strong,” Thomas grumbled, sipping a little. When there was no burn, he winced in disappointment. “Blast.”

  Trembath chuckled dryly. “Drinking to forget, or drinking your regrets?”

  Thomas lifted a shoulder in a bare shrug. “Both and neither. Much needed and much appreciated, all the same, thank you.” He cleared his throat and nudged his head toward the dance floor. “As I was saying, a rather good gathering. What is the occasion for it all?”

  “Tradition,” came the bland response. “A spring ball has been held by my family since the dawn of our birth. I do my best to continue the tradition, else my neighbors are likely to rise up in protest. I do endeavor to not make the supper a formal occasion, which would require a mistress as host, as per custom. But it is still glaringly obvious that I am a bachelor, which will never be enough for some.” He exhaled a groan of sorts, shaking his head. “I’d give anything not to do this farce every year.”

  “Then I’d reckon next year there will not be one,” a new voice echoed near them. Basset came into view, toasting his own glass to them both. “Gage, I don’t know why you host this event at all if you despise it so. You are master now, do as you please.”

  Trembath rolled his eyes. “You’re a fine one to talk, Harrison. What Basset family traditions have you given up of late?”

  Thomas coughed a laugh, averting his eyes. He was not as familiar with their families to understand perfectly what was being referenced, but he understood enough of established families to fathom adequately. Basset would have felt the same loyalty to any traditions his family had held in the area, particularly if they were well received, and likely would have done his best to see them improved upon.

  “Then perhaps the answer for both of us is to marry soon,” Basset suggested with all the interest one might have done over a pebble in one’s path. “Then the awkwardness of no mistress at hand might be readily removed.”

  “You first,” Trembath retorted sharply. “Granger may advise me to get a wife but not you, sir.”

  Bringing his head around, Thomas gave both men a look. They in turn were staring at him as though waiting for such advice.

  He snorted a soft laugh. “I am in no position to do so. I am exceptionally grateful to have a wife, and to have Lily as my wife especially, but I’ve made a hash of most of it. Only recently has it become an enjoyable venture for us both, and I’m fumbling my way in this new version of it. If you wish to marry for love, I’d encourage marriage with all my heart. If you wish to marry for other considerations, I can offer no advice.”

  “You married your wife for money and love, yes?” Basset prodded.

  Thomas gave him a dark look. “Yes, and my shame may never fully abate. So marry for love or money or connections, but not for them all.”

  “But you do advise us to marry?”

  “For the love of…” Thomas bit back a curse and took a sip of his drink. “Yes, if you’d like. There, are you pleased? Trembath, is there any way I can get a drink that one would not give a child?”

  Trembath barked a laugh. “Yes, if you don’t mind moving this conversation into the game room.”

  “I’m for it,” Basset ventured, downing the remna
nts of his glass. “Only give me leave to dance the next first. I’ve promised Julia.”

  “You would dance only with married women. No speculation there.” Trembath paused, considering that. “Which is rather a genius thought. Granger, might I dance with your wife?”

  Thomas shook his head, sighing. “So much for a drink. Ask her yourself, Trembath, I am not my wife’s keeper. What are your thoughts on husband and wife dancing together? I’d very much like to dance with Lily myself, but I would not wish to offend.”

  “This is Cornwall, not London,” Trembath reminded him. “You may dance with whomever you see fit, even your wife. There will be a waltz later, if you wish to keep that one for yourself. And given the state of your wife this evening, I cannot say I blame you. She’ll be the most sought after lady of the evening. Safe that she is a married woman, no doubt.”

  “Gage, you will give Granger ideas of putting an armed guard outside the door of his wife’s chambers.” Basset chuckled, then started in the direction of Mrs. Roskelley with Trembath following shortly thereafter in the same direction to ask after Lily.

  And again, Thomas was alone.

  The conversation had proven a distraction from his inner turmoil, but it hardly solved the issue. Even now, watching his wife move to the center of the room on the arm of his friend, he felt the urge to curl his fingers into a fist and snarl for anyone to see. And this all for a man that he knew, that he trusted, and that he was assured had no interest in anything surrounding his wife but a dance partner who would equally have no designs.

  What had come over him?

  Gnawing at the inside of his lip, Thomas grumbled silently and turned from the room. The gaming tables would be safer for a while, and he had promised Mrs. Roskelley that he would mind her husband. Perhaps he could draw them both out for the waltz when the time came and find sanity amid the madness of it. If there was any to be found.

  “Have you ever met a man who enjoys the waltz, Granger? Because I have not.”

  Thomas glanced over his shoulder at John Roskelley, grinning wryly. “No? Have you ever considered the proximity that a waltz allows for an extended period of time with the woman of your choosing? Have you been married so long that you forget the pleasure of such a thing?”

  Say what you would about John Roskelley, but the man was no simpleton. He ceased his complaining and gestured for Thomas to lead the way back into the ballroom.

  They’d managed cards for an hour or so, and neither had lost enough to be missed, which would undoubtedly make both of their wives happy. Thomas, for one, never played in games where more than a farthing was required for entry, and he was all the better for it. As were his finances.

  The distraction of cards had been welcome, but the question now was if they had been enough of a distraction from the other particular distraction of the evening. One that could linger and would struggle to stave off the less gentlemanly parts of his nature which had so plagued him prior to his retreat to the card room.

  The men paused once inside the ballroom, each trying to get their bearings and find their wives amid the other dancers and guests.

  Thomas spotted Lily after a moment’s examination, his heart stock-still in his chest as he watched her dance with a man he did not recognize, her smile glowing brighter than the light of the room. He could not look anywhere else, could not dream of thinking to dance with another, despite the lack of politeness it would say about him. There was only Lily, and there only ever would be. His eye knew no lovelier or more welcome sight, his heart knew no other name.

  Lily was everything, and Lily was all. And no time away from her could rid his need for her. It could only delay it, and with the delay came a growth of its intensity.

  He’d tear across the room and wrench her away from the entire group if he’d had an ounce of less restraint.

  The music finished, giving the dancers pause to recover themselves and for others to take their places in the center of the room. Thomas tracked Lily as she moved off and immediately started in her direction, abandoning Roskelley to his own interests.

  Every man for himself in these conditions, and Thomas could barely see straight for his own intentions. A dance with his wife meant heaven on earth for a time.

  “Mrs. Granger,” he intoned the moment he reached her, bowing deeply. “I believe the pleasure of the next dance is mine.”

  She turned slowly, a rosy color entering her cheeks. She curtseyed, dipping her chin lower than expected. “I believe it is, Mr. Granger.”

  His breath caught as she rose once more and met his eyes, her tempting lips curving in a smile that removed all feeling in his left knee.

  How had she turned more angelic in the hour he’d been away? How had the gold in her hair and her dress begun to glow with such light? How had her dark eyes taken in the light of every candle in the room and carried them now in their depths?

  “Forgive me, madam,” he murmured as he took her hand and drew it to his lips. “I find I am… without words.”

  “I don’t mind that,” Lily replied, her voice lower than its usual tone and instantly raising all his hair on a fiery end. “Sometimes words are not required.”

  His throat closed, and he found his legs moving, taking her with him, his eyes refusing to move away from her. Gads, how he loved her. How he adored her. How he wanted, needed, and craved her. How could he have wasted all of their marriage by being absent and leaving her so alone? How could he have thought that an improvement for either of them, just to spare his own guilt? How had he been such a fool, knowing now what she felt for him?

  The music struck up, and Thomas swallowed an impossible lump as he closed the distance between them, taking her waist in hand and inhaling sharply when her hand came around his own waist. Slowly, they raised their free hands above their heads and took hold of the other, beginning the motions of the dance, their feet moving in such synchrony there was art and perfection in it.

  Her skirts swirled about his legs, his foot brushed against hers, and he began to feel each beat of his heart in his ears. Each breath thundered from him, and every shift of her fingers on his back sent fire up his spine. His mouth went dry as he heard a ragged breath pass her lips, felt the rush of it against his skin, and he took the chance to pull her closer, reach his hand around her farther, his fingers gripping ever so slightly against the gauze of her gown.

  More stirring was how she adjusted her hold on him, drawing him closer to her as well, and the bodice of her gown nearly scraped against the buttons of his coat with every motion of the dance.

  He would go mad before the dance was over.

  Mercy, he thought, unable to speak the word, praying somehow she would know all the same. Mercy, my love.

  Her eyes held some message for him as well, and he focused his efforts on receiving it, clawing his way through the dense fog clouding his mind. What would she tell him? What would she say if she had the words at this moment?

  All he knew for certain was that she was here with him in this madness. She was just as immersed in it as he was, drowning in its depths with no rescue in sight. No rescue was needed, as far as he could tell, and she showed no hesitation on her part. What a rush of emotions and sensations such a truth rendered, knowing none of this was one-sided.

  He pleaded for mercy to spare his sanity, but what did she wish?

  The lower half of her lips suddenly tucked beneath her teeth to one side, her eyes remaining on his, and it was all he could do not to collapse where he was.

  Distraction.

  She knew what she was doing, fully and completely, and this was the time she would do what she knew would have a powerful effect on him.

  The message was clear enough. They needed to get out of this room the moment they had the chance.

  “Lily,” he breathed, impressed that his words were not slurred and muddled. What he was going to say, he couldn’t recall, as her name was a prayer, a hymn, and a plea all at once. “Lily…”

  “Yes,” she whisp
ered breathlessly, her grip on him tightening.

  Yes to what? Yes as an answer, yes as a question, yes as permission, yes as a wish…

  Would this dance never end?

  Moments later, it did, and they lowered their hands slowly, still holding one another by the waist, breathing unsteadily. Lily took in a soft breath and released it slowly, shivering with it, tilting her head to one side in inquiry even as her dark eyes drew him in as though by a spell.

  He nodded once and slid his hand from her waist only to take the hand dangling helplessly by her side. Her grip was sure and clenching, settling his mind once and for all.

  Turning, he tugged her from the floor, though it required no effort to do so. They passed other guests, none of whom merited notice, and only when he caught sight of Trembath by their exit did he slow.

  Trembath raised a brow, his mouth curving to one side, his eyes too knowing. “Something amiss?”

  “We must leave,” Thomas told him without preamble. “Apologies. No disrespect intended.”

  “None taken,” he replied. He flicked his eyes to Lily, smiling further still before returning his attention to Thomas. “You’ll miss supper. Won’t you have a morsel to eat before you go?”

  “We have food at home,” Thomas insisted, Lily’s hold on his hand tightening further, which he took as encouragement. “Thank you.”

  Trembath seemed to scoff a laugh, then nodded and stepped aside. “Then I bid you goodnight, Mr. Granger. Mrs. Granger.”

  Thomas bowed, Lily curtseyed, and they were off, brushing past Trembath without another word or thought, making haste as though their lives depended on it, which, in all truth, it might.

  Somehow, they managed to collect their things and load into the coach without a notable pause, and, for the first time, Thomas sat beside his wife on the journey. They said nothing still, the air between them thick with some force that robbed him of breath and dragged his stomach somewhere along the level of his ankles.

  A soft whisper of notice lit his ears as though it were a gunshot, and then he felt a tugging at the material covering his fingers. It occurred to him to tear the fabric off entirely, but something prompted him to wait, to hold, to let the task continue.