by Anna Bradley
“Good evening, Mrs. Peterson, Miss Willingham.” A pleasant tenor voice behind her sent a shiver down her arms.
“Good evening to you, Mrs. Peterson. Good evening, Miss Willingham.” The deeper voice she recognized as well.
Portia turned and curtsied. “Good evening, Lord Daventry, Lord Benberry.”
“Good evening, my lords.” Aunt Phoebe dipped her curtsey as well, smiling broadly at the two gentlemen.
“It is a fine evening, don’t you think, Miss Willingham?” Lord Daventry addressed himself to her eagerly. “Just crisp enough to make one appreciate a good fire.”
“It does have the exact amount of cold to it, I would say, Lord Daventry.” Smothering a smile, Portia relaxed slightly. She couldn’t help but admire the gentleman’s warm eyes and cheery disposition. She’d wager he would be a handsome and entertaining partner for the first dance.
“I believe I’ve been granted the first set, Miss Willingham.” He offered his arm and Portia willingly placed her fingers on his sleeve. She hadn’t danced for such a long time she could hardly wait.
“I’ll be watching you, Daventry.” Lord Benberry gave his friend a playful warning. “Miss Willingham has promised me the supper dance. See to it that you do not step on her toes.”
“I assure you, Miss Willingham, that isn’t a common occurrence, as Benberry would have you think.” He steered Portia onto the dance floor. “You’re perfectly safe with me.”
“I’m sure I will be, my lord.” She glanced over her shoulder at the other gentleman, who pulled a faux scowl onto his face, making Portia giggle. After a slight bobble, the evening was turning out so well she already wished it would never end.
Lord Daventry did prove an excellent partner, guiding her blithely around the floor to the tune of “The Wakefield Hunt.” Not the spriteliest dance music, but one that would get them warmed nicely. How thrilling for her to hold hands with a gentleman she’d only just met this afternoon. Quite different from standing up with her brothers and sisters. When she and Lord Daventry had progressed to the top of the set, they had a moment to speak.
“How are you finding Bath, Miss Willingham?”
“It’s quite a lovely town, my lord.” Portia smiled, bouncing on her toes. She could scarcely stand still, even when it was her turn to do so. “I hope to explore it over the next few weeks.”
“Have you been to Sydney Gardens yet?” His handsome eyes lit with eagerness.
“As yet, no.” They began a right-and-left figure and when she once again stood before Lord Daventry, she continued. “I have, however, heard of it, of course. I hope to visit it soon.”
They’d then become the first couple and had no time to speak as they wove their way down the set. When at last the music ended, Portia breathed heavily, happy to wait for the next lady to call the figures of the dance. She’d drawn the number seven, so she would call the dance much later in the evening. “I fear I’m sadly out of practice, my lord.”
“As am I, Miss Willingham.” In truth, his cheeks were much pinker than before, which gave him a boyish look.
An older gentleman, dressed impeccably but with a large red and white sash draped across his body, strode to the top of the set. “Miss Tansey has called for the following figures…”
Oh, dear. The lady was calling for a rather ambitious dance this time. Portia only hoped she could keep up.
Lord Daventry took her hand and the other lady’s and they circled right then the first corners circled around then the second corners did the same. She had to concentrate to keep all the steps right the first time through. They cast off and came back around to place then all joined hands in a line and walked forward and back, breaking off into a different set of two couples as the figure began again.
The dance was much more spirited than the first and there was no time for any conversation until the dance finally ended with them both a little breathless.
Her partner opened his mouth. Might he renew his interest in an excursion to Sydney Gardens? But as they bowed to one another, he seemed to catch sight of something that diverted his attention and all he said was, “Thank you for the dance, Miss Willingham.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Gracious, if she wanted to impress the gentleman, she needed to say something less mundane. “I understand you are only lately come to Bath.”
Nodding, he wound her arm through his. “That is correct. I’ve been looking for some new cattle and just returned home. And a good thing too with all the snow we’ve been having. You haven’t been inconvenienced by it, have you?”
“Oh, no, my lord. I actually find it very pretty as it falls from the sky.” Now was the time to casually ask if he’d looked for the cattle in Bristol, but they’d arrived back at her aunt, where Lord Daventry bowed to them both and took his leave.
Once alone, her aunt grasped her arm and steered her toward the older gentleman who’d called the figures for the set. “Miss Willingham, may I introduce Mr. King, the Master of Ceremonies here at the Upper Assembly Rooms?”
“Mr. King.” Portia curtsied as low as she could. Aunt Phoebe had instructed her that this man wielded immense power here in the Upper Rooms. She must be absolutely circumspect when in his presence.
“Delighted, Miss Willingham.” He bowed then indicated a gentleman a little way off to his right. “Lord Saxonby has asked if he may be introduced to you.”
Heart racing, Portia could only nod, secretly relieved. She’d been afraid no young gentlemen would wish to be presented to her.
Mr. King nodded then strode over to the young lord.
“You seem to have begun well, my dear.” Aunt Phoebe beamed. “I daresay I will have less censure to deal with from your father than I anticipated.”
* * * *
Unfortunately, the evening flew by in a whirl of dancing partners. Portia was introduced to so many gentlemen she lost count and accepted so many requests to dance that she hardly had time to breathe between sets. She did, however, manage to keep an eye out for Lord Benberry. He’d watched the dancing for most of the evening, standing up with only one young lady that Portia could see. Of course, she hadn’t been able to watch him all the time, so he may have danced more often. But she didn’t think so. Excitement welled inside her. Perhaps he wished only to dance with her! How flattering that would be.
Mr. King called the supper dance and the tune was “The Duke of Kent’s Waltz.” Not a true waltz, and just as well. That might’ve been too scandalous. Fortunately, Miss Bracey, to whom Portia had been introduced earlier, had called the figures and chosen ones that assured the ladies would spend a lot of time with their partners—coming in close to the gentlemen when they all balanced and chasséd, holding hands throughout many of the figures. Her fingers inside her thin, white gloves tingled with anticipation.
“Miss Willingham, at last I’m able to claim my dance with you.” Lord Benberry smiled and Portia caught her breath, so intense was his stare. “I have been waiting all evening.”
“Then I will endeavor to make your patience worth the wait, my lord.” How and why had she come up with that rather pert rejoinder?
“Indeed?” An eyebrow swooped up, giving him a devilish look. He extended his arm. “Shall we find out if you succeed?”
Smothering a smile, Portia set her hand in the crook of his elbow and accompanied him onto the dance floor. They began as the second couple for this dance, a longways set, so they took their position near the top of the row. At the direction of the first lady, Mr. King repeated the figures and they commenced the dance. She and Lord Benberry made bows to one another then joined hands with the first couple in a right-hand star. After whirling back into place, they took hands and turned. His touch burned right through the thin kidskin of her gloves, until her whole hand seemed aflame.
She kept her gaze on his face, bewildered when his blue eyes deepened almost to black. The pressure of his hand increased as they swung around again, their eyes locked on each other. Saints be praised, they broke that
heated contact as they cast off and moved below the third couple. But there was only a moment’s respite as he grasped her hand again and they balanced, coming so close together that the minute drops of perspiration on his brow stood out clearly. It did seem terribly warm in the room all of a sudden.
The couples shifted, and they were still for a moment.
“Have you enjoyed the dancing this evening, Miss Willingham?” Lord Benberry’s voice made Portia start. He gripped her hands again, even tighter—which did not help her presence of mind at all—in preparation for the next figure.
Taking a deep breath, Portia summoned a smile and fought to sound natural. “I have, my lord. Everyone has been most kind.”
“I hope that enjoyment may be extended beyond the dance floor.”
“I beg pardon?” Her heart did a chassé in her chest. Lord Benberry’s dark good looks—brunette hair, impossibly deep blue eyes, and the rugged touch of swarthiness to his skin—made him the most handsome of men, in her estimation. Could he possibly be interested in her beyond mere courtesy after assisting with the Lady Apples?
“If you haven’t been to the Sydney Gardens, I would like to propose an outing there.”
Portia had to bite the inside of her mouth to keep it from falling open. She’d hoped earlier that Lord Daventry would offer such an outing, so she certainly would not turn down his friend, especially when he looked at her with those intense eyes.
Lord Benberry’s smile deepened and a charming dimple emerged on the right side of his mouth. “Even in the winter the Gardens are interesting. There is the Cascade, a clockwork model of a village with moving pieces and a stream that flows through it. And there’s also a labyrinth.”
“A labyrinth?” That sounded rather intriguing. “Does it have a minotaur?”
He chuckled and they held hands and wheeled in the right-handed star figure again. “I fear not, although it does have a grotto and at its center is Merlin’s Swing.”
“What is that?” The outing sounded better and better as Lord Benberry continued to speak.
They balanced again and when they drew near, he whispered, “You must find that out for yourself when we visit it.”
Goose flesh erupted down the back of her neck. A tour of Sydney Gardens had just become a necessity. “I must ask Mrs. Peterson if we are engaged tomorrow.”
“Or the next day, if that suits you better.” They took hands again, now the first couple. “I am totally at your service, Miss Willingham.”
Portia stared at the tall figure in front of her and gave him a heartfelt smile. To have such a man as he at her service would be a grand thing indeed. All that remained to fathom out was whether or not Lord Daventry was her anonymous correspondent. And what better way than with an outing with his friend?
Who would’ve thought her exile in Bath would be so easy to bear?
CHAPTER 8
Rather late the next morning, Nick lounged at the breakfast table opposite Daventry, sipping his tea and musing over the coming outing with Miss Willingham. When he’d returned her to Mrs. Peterson and proposed the visit to Sydney Gardens, her chaperone had informed them of previous engagements for the next few days. She had, however, approved the outing for Thursday. So now Nick had two entire days to champ at the bit in anticipation of seeing the enchanting Miss Willingham again.
“What on earth are you brooding about, Benberry?” His friend had looked up from his paper and apparently been staring at him for quite some time by the sour look on his face.
“Not brooding. Contemplating.”
“Contemplating what, for God’s sake? You look like you just swallowed a toad.”
“You would too if you had two whole days with nothing to do.” Nick tasted his tea and grimaced. When had it grown cold?
“Why would you say that? We’ve got scads of things to do. I’m still in the market for that pair of bays. We haven’t yet been ’round to Johnson’s.” His friend helped himself to toast and slathered it with butter and the thick blackcurrant jam that was Daventry’s special favorite. “Then we can pop over to my tailor. I think I need to bespeak another suit, something a bit better cut than the one I wore last night.”
“Better cut?” Suddenly alarmed, Nick sat up. His friend was never so fastidious about the cut of his jackets until the regard of a lady was involved. “Why would you need something better cut? You looked as if you’d stepped out of a band box last evening.”
“Hardly.” Daventry scowled. “Almost as soon as we got there, I realized I was quite inelegantly dressed. I intend to remedy that as soon as may be.”
Deuce it. That could only mean one thing. A lady had caught Daventry’s eye, and he meant to make himself as agreeable as possible to her. Miss Willingham had been his first partner, so the likelihood that she was the lady in question seemed great. This situation could escalate very quickly if Daventry informed him of an incipient tendre for Miss Willingham. Nick wouldn’t be above fisticuffs if it came to that. “Well, I saw no great lack in your appearance.” There was one way to ascertain if the worst was true. “In fact, you cut quite a figure when you danced with Miss Willingham.”
“An enchanting partner, to be sure. Quite an act of Fate that we met her so unexpectedly, don’t you think? Thank goodness Marksby was there to make the introduction. He knows everyone in Bath.”
Daventry’s casual tone and change of subject made Nick sigh with relief. If his friend had feelings for the lady, he’d have waxed more lyrical about her by now.
“You danced the tea dance with Miss Willingham, didn’t you? Don’t you agree she’s a tempting armful?”
“Indeed, she is a spirited lady to be sure. Both on and off the dance floor, I hope.”
Daventry’s brows shot up. “Off the dance floor? You don’t say.”
“I’ve arranged to show her and Mrs. Peterson the Sydney Gardens on Thursday.” Nick allowed himself a satisfied smile. “She seemed quite eager to accompany me.”
“Good show.” Daventry’s cup rattled back into its saucer. “I say, would you mind terribly if we made it a party of sorts? I renewed my acquaintance with Lady Sylvia Montgomery last evening and would like to continue strengthening the connection. An outing to the Gardens would be just the thing. If it’s to be a party, I’ll invite her and her mother and pray her odious brother won’t tag along.”
“Sounds as if you’re well acquainted with the family.” History there of some sort, to be sure.
“I was at school—briefly, thank heavens—with Chumleigh, the brother. Biggest arse you’d ever want to meet, but Lady Sylvia is quite divine.”
Daventry sighed dramatically, and Nick relaxed completely. Lady Sylvia it was, then.
“We met in London just recently, and I’d no idea her family was spending Christmastide here in Bath.” He grinned at Nick. “Rather a bit of luck for us to have two clever young ladies to court. No competition and we can help each other out, as with the outing to Sydney Gardens.”
“It does seem to have worked out well, although I haven’t necessarily fixed my attentions so particularly on Miss Willingham.” Nick folded his arms over in a vain attempt to deflect Daventry’s attention from him.
“In my eye.” His friend scoffed and snagged another piece of toast. “You looked daggers at every gentleman who danced with her last evening, including me, I suspect. Of course, I was too busy noticing her delightful blue eyes and sweet smile to observe you at that point.”
Devil take it. He’d not realized he’d been quite that obvious. Of course, he had followed Miss Willingham around the Assembly Rooms from partner to partner, like a young pup, until it had finally been his turn to dance with her. “I’m certain I don’t know what you mean.”
“I think you do. Which is why I’ve hesitated to give you this.” Daventry drew a letter from his inner pocket and held it up.
Heart stopping a beat, Nick rose. “Who is that from?”
“There’s only an address, but I assume it’s from your young lady.” D
aventry looked at the sheet then back at him with narrowed eyes. “Your other young lady. The one with whom it appears you’ve not had the decency to break off this scandalous correspondence. What would Miss Willingham think if she knew what you were up to?”
Heat stung Nick’s cheeks. What indeed would the enchanting Miss Willingham think of his illicit communication with the intriguing Pence? His gaze on the missive, he mentally shrugged off the question and steadfastly held out his hand. “May I have the letter, please?”
With a sigh, his friend relinquished it. “I caution you, Benberry, you’re making a mistake to continue thus with this woman. Nothing good can come of it.”
Staring at the now-familiar handwriting, Nick nodded. “You are quite likely correct. Still, there’s something about this lady, about the manner in which she comports herself in her writing, that makes me wish, more fervently with each letter she sends, to make her acquaintance.”
“Suit yourself.” Daventry stood and dropped his napkin onto his plate. “I’ll be ready to leave in half an hour if you’re still so inclined.”
Nodding, Nick settled back into his chair as his host left the room. This correspondence was utter madness, already straining his friendship with Daventry and possibly hurting the reputation of the unknown Pence. Turning the letter over in his hands, he traced a finger over the raised wax seal. All his training told him to simply discard or destroy the letter and be done with Pence. Then why did his very core rebel at such an idea? What about this woman drew him like a boy to a forbidden treat? Perhaps if his curiosity about her was satisfied, he could give her up. Could such knowledge reside in this very letter? Had she finally agreed to meet him?
