by Laura Locke
Mayhap that was a good sign. It certainly meant she had strong feelings for him. And, to her mind at least, that was a fine place to start.
Chapter 2
Cornelia stood on the terrace, looking up at the sky. She could hear the birds calling in the garden below, and smell the fresh scent of the lawns as the day lengthened to later afternoon. Somewhere, Matilda and Pauline were talking, their laughter floating up on the warm, still air.
“She's walking more steadily every day!”
“A fine young lady, very fine...”
She smiled. Most of the talk focused on Arabella, a sturdy little girl just over a year old. The circumstances of her birth had been fairly dramatic, but since then the household had settled down into a comfortable domesticity with her at the center.
I wonder if I will settle down like that. She smiled, arms wrapped round herself as she thought of Francis and their remarkable meeting yesterday. Here in this very garden, they had walked and talked and kissed...just thinking about it made her heart soar.
“Oh! Heavens!” a dismayed exclamation from Pauline broke her quiet reverie. “I completely forgot! I'd best go and mention it now...”
Cornelia heard both sisters laugh distractedly and raised a brow, wondering what they had forgotten. A minute later, when Matilda burst onto the terrace, laughing, Pauline following behind with a rueful smile on her full lips, she found out.
“There's a ball at Featherston House tonight. And we're invited!”
“What?” Cornelia looked at Matilda with complete surprise. Then she burst out laughing too. “Oh, heavens! How exciting. The forgotten ball! We should tell Mama...”
“No, don't! Not unless you have smelling salts or a ready cure for apoplexy,” Matilda warned. They all laughed.
“It's four of the clock now,” Pauline said, coming back out from where she consulted the mantel clock. “That gives us two hours to make ourselves ready.”
“Whew!” Matilda fanned herself with her hand in the still afternoon warmth. “That's quite demanding!”
“We'll manage it,” Pauline said smoothly. A tall, cool presence in a sweeping blue dress, Pauline could be relied on to inject calm into the most dire situation. Cornelia felt herself relax.
They all went inside, feeling like renegades. It was, Cornelia reflected, a good feeling. Inside, she went to the drawing-room to find Mama with Aunt Adeline, Lady Braxton. They were seated by the window, Lady Braxton pressing a damp cloth to her forehead, Mama fanning herself smoothly.
“The heat...” Lady Braxton murmured, as if she might break if someone came too close.
“It's dreadful, cousin. Quite barbarous.”
“Mama?”
“Yes?” her mother asked wearily.
“There's to be a ball at Featherston house.”
“What?”
Pandemonium was well-ordered compared to the maelstrom that set off in the drawing-room.
“We must fetch the carriage!”
“Gracious! What of the new gowns...”
“I'll get the carriage, Mama,” Matilda said, standing behind Cornelia as she had promised. Her face had a mischievous grin and Cornelia wanted to laugh – the whole situation had made her feel a little giddy.
“We have two hours!” Mama said, sounding dismayed. “Let's go up to find gowns! Oh, my...how can we manage in so short a time?”
“I think I know what I want to wear,” Cornelia said softly. She had a new peach dress that would fit the occasion perfectly. She had been hoping to wear it soon.
“At least one of us does,” Mama said, looking dismayed. “I'm off to my chamber directly...oh! Where is Judy when you need her?” Judy was their lady's maid who always accompanied them to Braxton house.
“I'll call her,” Cornelia soothed.
On her way out, she reflected that had not gone as badly as she'd expected. The outburst had been milder than she would have thought. She tiptoed quietly to her chamber to make her own plans.
I hope Francis is to be there.
She took the new gown out of the wardrobe and held it up, staring at her reflection in the mirror in some wonder.
The gown itself was a soft pinkish color, bringing out the color of her hair and her nut-dark eyes. She swirled, letting the light skirts billow and imagining herself dancing the Polonaise in it. She felt a flush of excitement.
Two hours later she was ready. Her hair arranged in a mass of soft curls, tumbling down from an elegant bun, she had to admit to herself she looked pretty.
She joined Pauline and Matilda in the hallway. Henry and Valerian came in from the garden to join them and, accompanied by Mother and Lady Braxton, they went to the open coach.
“Oh, this is nice,” Cornelia said, plopping down between her cousins and feeling the wind ruffle her hair a little. She drew the cream-colored wool shawl around her shoulders, warm despite the lacy lightness of it. Lady Braxton and Mama were in the coach, Henry and Valerian rode alongside on horseback.
“It is,” Pauline nodded. Wearing a shimmering gown of navy blue, dark enough to complement the black of her big eyes, she looked cool and elegant. Matilda was in ocher yellow with little flowers. As married women, they were free to wear darker, bolder colors while Cornelia wore pastel shades.
“We were ready on time, too,” Matilda chuckled as the coachman sent them lurching forward, pulling out of the drive.
“We were, too!” Lady Braxton admitted, her red lips parting in a smile. She wore deep red with ruby earrings Cornelia remembered Lord Braxton giving her last year. Her mother wore a taupe gown, matching her soft curls that were half-hidden under a brown turban.
“Well, we are a stylish quatrain,” Matilda said, looking at the five of them. Lady Braxton laughed.
“You three young ladies will turn so many heads.”
“Oh, Mama...” Pauline flapped a hand at her chidingly and they all laughed. Apprehensive and excited, Cornelia could not wait to arrive.
Featherston house rolled into view finally. It stood in extensive grounds, a soaring entrance, stone-roofed and columned, welcoming them at the top of sweeping stairs. Cornelia accepted Valerian giving her a hand-down from the coach, and walked lightly up the steps. The chandeliers were all lit in the ballroom, and light twinkled out into the dusk, winking off the dew on the grass.
Chatter, bright and melodious, rippled out of the ballroom and mixed sweet music of a chamber orchestra and warm lamplight. Cornelia waited for Matilda and Pauline, arm-in-arm with their partners, to join her.
“Lady Cornelia! You do look pretty,” someone said as she drifted up the stairs nervously. “I remember you when you were fifteen, my dear. I swear you look just the same.” Lady Featherston smiled fondly at Cornelia as she greeted her. An elderly lady perhaps twenty years her mother's senior, Lady Featherston was a reassuring presence. Her eyes twinkled in her thin, lined face.
“Thank you, my lady,” Cornelia curtseyed, swallowing hard. She did not know why, exactly, but she felt uncommonly nervous. He's here somewhere. I know it.
She floated down onto the marble floor, weaving her way between the chattering throngs and to the refreshments. Her throat ached, though it was not that hot.
I'll take a lime cordial and then go to the terrace. It's quieter there. Mayhap I can calm myself. Her pulse was jumping in her neck and wrists, palms clammy. It wasn't the thought of seeing Francis alone, but the prospect of Lady Braxton and Mama seeing her see him. She had noticed a raised brow or two when she mentioned him at breakfast, and all she needed was for them to feel she flouted their wishes with this.
She requested her drink from a black-clad footman and sipped it, feeling the sweet, refreshing fluid slide down her throat. As she felt nerves settle, she heard someone behind her.
“My lady?”
“Oh!” she knew that voice. Her cheeks colored as she turned. “Francis.”
“My lady.” He bowed his blond head extravagantly low. “An honor.” He lifted her hand to his lips and she s
huddered as it pressed down on her scented satin gloves.
“Oh, Francis. It's a pleasure to see you here,” she said warmly. His voice revived her better than the sugary cordial could have, flowing over her like warm water.
“My lady.” He smiled, his blue eyes twinkling. “Shall we dance?”
“Oh...” Cornelia felt her cheeks grow hot. She bobbed a curtsey. “Why not, lieutenant?” She smiled coyly, amazed by how bold she was being, and how good it felt.
“Well, then.” He smiled. “The next is something quite lively – I'm quite a novice at these things, I'm afraid,” he said, inclining his head to the dance floor as they walked over to it. The orchestra was tuning up, and Cornelia guessed it to be a Polonaise – her favorite.
“We can manage together,” Cornelia said, flushing. Where had she found this boldness?
“I'm afraid I'm a poor learner,” Francis said with a rueful frown.
Cornelia swallowed her tingling excitement as he took her hand and led them onto the floor. She noticed Pauline and Valerian behind them, the two standing close like two roses on an arch, their bodies pressed together. She gulped as Francis took her hand and placed his other hand on her waist. She could feel his strong fingers through the silk of her dress, the warm palm pressed against the smooth curve of her waist. It set her heart thumping.
“You'll have to show me the steps,” he whispered into her hair as the dance began. “I don't know what I'm doing.”
Cornelia swallowed the laugh that bubbled from within. She leaned against him and then reconsidered that as she felt his hard chest through his shirt, breathing in the spiced scent of him.
I can't concentrate on anything. She pressed her foot against his, guiding him away as an accomplished couple glided past.
“Well, we have to step like this. “A one two three, one two three...” She whispered the steps into his ear as the music swelled around them, fast and lively. She kept her hand firm in his, squeezing to guide him through the rhythm.
“I think I can do this,” he whispered. “I'm getting the hang of it...one two three...”
“Not that way. You'll bump into Amelia...” Cornelia squeezed his wrist desperately to guide him around Lady Featherston's protege, a beautiful young lady with strawberry curls and a haughty countenance. She and her partner whirled past, knocking Francis on the back as they twirled.
“Whoops. Terribly sorry.” Francis effused as he bumped into her partner instead. Cornelia felt a giggle build up inside her.
The dance ended to find them both on the edge of the dance floor, helpless with mirth.
“Oh! Lady Featherston will murder us!” Cornelia sighed. She was leaning against Francis, her shoulders heaving with barely-contained laughter. Francis, standing stiffly, was equally helpless.
They drew a shaky breath, looked at each other, eyes damp with merriment. He had big round eyes that always twinkled, though now they glinted with tears of mirth. Cornelia breathed in the scent of his cologne and her heart skipped wildly.
“We should move away,” Francis said, and together they slipped around the other guests and to the space around the dance floor.
“Oh, Francis.” Cornelia looked up at him. They had moved to the edge, where the refreshments were set out. A door led out onto the night and they stood in the entrance, the magic scents of night wafting in from outside, cool and uplifting.
“Cornelia.”
Their lips met without either of them thinking about it. His were warm and firm and they grazed along the line of her mouth, gentle and teasing and setting off a sweet madness inside her body. She gasped as he withdrew.
“Should we move?” His voice was a soft whisper. He gripped her hand.
Cornelia looked into his eyes, feeling a little wildness stir inside her. “Yes.”
They slipped out into the magic of the night outside.
Cornelia breathed the dew-scented air, fizzling through her veins like sparkling wine. She looked into Francis' sweet face. His mouth came down onto hers and this time, behind the gentleness, was a warm urgency that made her press herself into his embrace as his arms held her sweetly close against him.
“Oh! Francis,” she murmured. She stared up into his blue eyes, her own heart thudding steadily in her chest.”
“Cornelia...” he whispered her name on the night air. He sounded choked with need. “Sweetest Cornelia.”
She reached up and stroked his handsome face. He smiled down at her, eyes sparkling in the honeyed candle-light.
“I should go,” Francis murmured. His face was tense and Cornelia wondered why. “I...” he sighed, head collapsing onto his chest wearily. “I'm sorry, my lady. But I fear...consequences...if we stay here alone.”
“Consequences..? Oh!” Cornelia felt herself flush as she discerned his meaning. He meant that, if they stayed, they might be indiscreet. She looked into his eyes shyly. “I suppose.”
He chuckled, low and softly, and his hand stroked her ringleted hair.
“You are so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice caressing her like warm marmalade. “So sweet and lovely.”
She smiled into his face. “My handsome man,” she murmured. She hid her face against his red jacket, suddenly feeling shy. She could scarce believe she was saying such things. Where was this boldness coming from?
He smiled at her. “You know, you're the first person to call me that,” he said. He looked so surprised that she laughed.
“Oh, Francis! You jest. Surely someone has mentioned it before?” She was incredulous.
He looked at his hands, seeming shy. When he looked back again, those twinkling eyes were soft. “You are too dear to me.”
She felt the warmth of that suffuse her chest. “Oh, Francis. You are dear to me, too. So dear.”
She let his arms enfold her and squeezed him to her chest. Then he sighed into her curly locks.
“We should go.”
Cornelia swallowed hard. “I suppose so.”
He laughed ruefully and together they went inside. The hall was much warmer than Cornelia remembered, and she felt her pulse quicken as they slipped in together. She tucked stray hair behind her ear, feeling self-conscious.
As she glanced around the ballroom, she noticed her mother looking at her. It wasn't so much her slightly confused expression that bothered her as the face beside hers. Lady Braxton's expression was stony. Cornelia's heart faltered. She felt Francis' fingers grip her hand.
“We've not been missed,” he said softly.
“I hope not.”
“If we have, it's my fault.” he smiled at her a little sorrowfully. “Convey my apologies. I was the one who was carried away, not you.”
Cornelia felt her happiness return as she flushed warmly. “Oh, Francis!”
He smiled and, squeezing her hand once more, slipped away as Pauline approached.
“Cousin! There you are. Come and join us? Matilda's sitting down – she still tires out rather quickly.”
Cornelia nodded, a little frown pulling her brows down as she followed her sophisticated cousin through the groups. She lacked the finely-tuned propriety that Pauline had, but she could sense that her cousin was upset.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“I'm hiding you from Mama,” Pauline whispered. “If you come and stand with Matilda and me awhile, she'll likely forget she saw you.”
“Oh. Thank you.” Cornelia flushed pink as she joined Pauline and they stood together. Matilda was seated on one of the carved wooden seats, holding court, as it were, among the rest. Cornelia cast an eye across to Lady Braxton and saw she was distracted, talking to Lord Needham about something or other.
“And I think a riding expedition would be fun!” Matilda effused.
“Are you sure? You should not tax your health, Matilda.” Stella Carson, daughter of the Baron of Whitshore, said forthrightly.
“Oh, pish,” Matilda pulled a face. “I can manage an hour's riding.”
“One thing I know about Matilda,�
� Henry smiled, “is that you shouldn't challenge her. She'll attempt the doing of it if you do.”
They all laughed and Matilda shot him a withering look, then smiled. “You know me well, Henry.”
“I do, my sweet.”
Cornelia found herself talking to a young major, a senior colleague of Francis and the nervous son of a duke, whose father had purchased him the commission without warning.
“...and I hope to serve my term in Austria, if I can. With the King's German Regiment.”
“Oh?” Cornelia raised a brow. “I believe it's beautiful there.”
“Oh, very fine! I was there once, with Father. We attended a concert...”
As he talked, Cornelia tried to pay attention and felt herself calm down. She glanced over her shoulder, noting with a warm feeling that Francis was there, watching her. She smiled.
Mayhap Lady Braxton can forgive me, she thought hopefully. Mayhap Pauline told her something reassuring. She could trust Pauline to do the proper thing. She looked across at the lady again, but she was still engaged with the group around her, laughing and chatting with them.
All seems well. She let herself relax and enjoy the evening. She danced once more with Francis, much later to escape notice. She danced with Daniel Riddersley, the nervous young major, twice, and with Leo, a friend of Francis', and once with Henry. Matilda smiled at them benignly from the side.
As she left the floor with Henry, both of them laughing tiredly, she tensed. Someone was watching her.
She looked up to see a striking face. The watcher was a woman, perhaps five years her senior. She was tall, with jet-dark hair and high cheekbones, her mouth a slash of red. She was wearing a gown just the crimson side of cerise, styled far more fashionably than anything else on show that night. It was her eyes that made Cornelia pale. Hard as flint chips, they bored into her from across the room. Her face was cool, sardonic. She looked at her with a thin veil of amused disdain. Cornelia shivered.
Who is that?
She glanced up, hoping Henry had noticed her, but he was talking to Matilda and she held all his attention. Cornelia cleared her throat.
