by Noël Cades
Jemima found herself interested in Ann Pargeter. She had some notion that if she didn't marry, she might end up in a similar position to Miss Berystede’s companion. Jemima had little fortune that she was aware of. From what she had been told, most of her father's estate had been sold to pay off debts.
Were she to win herself a husband, it must be through other means than a dowry. She recalled more advice from Aunt Harlington’s instructional tome.
"Never perhaps, does a fine woman strike more deeply than when composed into pious recollection she assumes without knowing it superior dignity and new graces the beauties of holiness seem to radiate about her."
Jemima tried to summon pious thoughts, but only succeeded in conjuring up an image of her mysterious dance partner.
The days before the next ball would doubtless seem dull and featureless. And what if he were not there?
Chapter 6
Despite his determination to forget the alluring young woman at the Doncasters' ball, Marcus found himself accompanying George to further social events. Even though he attempted to convince himself it was for other reasons than to see the unnamed girl again, he did not find himself lingering long when he had established that she was not there.
George was surprised by his friend's newly-discovered desire to mingle in society, and ignorant as to the cause. He could only assume that Southwell was trying to distract himself from his concerns over his still-absent ward.
No trace had yet been found of the runaway girl, which was a source of increasing frustration to Marcus. He was feeling particularly thunderous about her disappearance when he arrived at the Rexfords' ball the following week. He had also nearly given up on the hope of seeing his mysterious dance partner again, which did not improve his mood.
Thus when he saw her, in laughing conversation with a young man she was dancing with, he felt a bolt of something quite violent rock through him. The memory of her image had tormented him, and the flesh-and-blood reality was even more disturbing.
George, unaware of Marcus's internal turmoil, noticed his friend glancing at the couples on the dance floor. "Is not that the girl you danced with at the Doncasters'?" he asked.
Marcus muttered "I believe so" in a tone that he hoped was dismissive enough to avert continued remark.
But George remained oblivious to his friend's unwillingness to discuss the subject. "She is indeed an exceptionally beautiful young woman. You did not mention her name to me, that I recall."
This would have put Marcus in a very awkward position, were it not for the interjection of a woman standing with their group. This was Mrs Linton-Smythe. She was attempting to dangle the ever-simpering Selina before the eyes of George Gresham and the Earl of Southwell, but neither man had so far displayed any interest.
The ambitious matron was thus determined to at least quell any possible interest in the Carlingford chit.
"If you mean the woman dancing vis-à-vis Lord Salisbury's eldest son, that is Lady Julia Carlingford. She is Irish, I believe. I am told she is engaged to Lord Dalrymple of Dublin."
Engaged! The damned minx. Marcus found himself wrenched with quite a furious emotion. He was suffused with a sense of outrage, and although he could not bring himself to acknowledge it, disappointment.
"He is a most fortunate gentleman, whoever he is," George was saying, regarding the girl in question with some admiration. "His fiancée is certainly a diamond of the first water."
Hearing this did not help Marcus's mood. He emptied his glass. "They are all much alike," he said.
This was not true, of course. She was not at all alike the other women in the room. Certainly not to him, anyway. He looked scornfully at the weak-chinned wonder leading her through a cotillion, and resolved to leave as soon as possible. He had no desire to watch her coquetry with other men.
Yet mere minutes later, as the cotillion ended, Marcus found himself next to the couple. "You will excuse me," he addressed the Salisbury scion. "I believe I have the pleasure of this lady's company for the next dance."
He turned, shouldering out the younger man, and took position before the startled girl. Frustratingly the next dance was a quadrille, which involved the frequent exchange of partners and group dancing. It was something to be endured, and then he might speak with her.
Her gown tonight was of a pale silvery-blue silk. Marcus had little knowledge of women's dress, but observed that its colour made her skin seem even more porcelain-fair, and her eyes a brighter silver than ever. They held a sparkle now, as she danced wordlessly before him.
Marcus felt the same stirring in his loins as the first time he had danced with her. Gritting his teeth, he tried to concentrate on the confounded dance steps. He felt angry with her. Who was she, to evoke such a reaction in him?
Finally the ordeal was at an end, as the musicians drew the final bows across the strings.
"You will accompany me for some refreshments?" he invited her. It was as much a command as a request.
The girl looked distressed. "I am sorry, sir, but I cannot. I am afraid that I am engaged for the next dance." She glanced at the small dance card tucked into her glove.
Marcus felt like tearing it from her and shredding it into tiny pieces. Instead he nodded. "Then I shall take my leave." He did not suggest a later dance but merely strode off across the dance floor.
Jemima felt bereft. She wished desperately that she had not accepted the invitation of the Honourable Stephen Sangster for the Scotch reel. She longed to have been able to go with the mystery man instead, but etiquette prevailed.
He had seemed quite furious. She had done the right thing, hadn't she? Both she and Kitty had been given to understand that it was the height of rudeness to cast aside an earlier invitation for a later one. However much more favourable the later gentleman might seem.
There were certainly none so favourable to Jemima as the tall, dark-haired man who had now disappeared from view into the crowds. The Honourable Stephen, taking his place, could certainly not compare. Even though he was attractive enough and also much closer to her age.
But Jemima was learning that other men simply did not arouse the same thrilling feelings in her as he who had been her first partner.
"You are preoccupied, Lady Julia?" Stephen Sangster knew that his partner was betrothed, which was perhaps the reason for her reticence in conversation. But he figured all was fair in love and war. If Lord Dalrymple was such a chub as to absent himself from his fiancée, then there was no reason that another fellow might not attempt to usurp his place. All the more so in the case of a girl as beautiful as Lady Julia Carlingford.
As such he did his utmost to flatter and flirt with her. But his charms had no effect on Jemima save to distress her, lest people consider her fickle or of easy virtue. Even if by "people" she was thinking only of one man.
Out of politeness, she attempted some conversation. "There is quite a crush, is there not?"
"If you feel faint, we might step outside to take the air," Mr Sangster suggested.
This was the very last thing Jemima wanted. With this man, anyway. "No, I am quite fine, thank you," she said, skipping round and exchanging places with the girl adjacent to her, and then back again. Maintaining a conversation through many of these dances was an art in itself. Mr Sangster held her hand as they stepped down the row together, parting and coming together one more, as the next couple danced their turn.
"You are from Ireland, so I have been told."
Jemima had to release and turn and regrasp his hand before replying. "I am, sir."
"It is some considerable distance from London," her partner observed, as he twirled her around before alternating partners with the neighbouring dancers.
It was a far from thrilling conversation. Jemima longed for the dance to be over. She caught sight of Kitty across the room, paired with a fair-haired young man, and managing to look far more interested in her partner than Jemima was with hers.
"Do you spend much time in the country?" she aske
d Mr Sangster a few steps later.
"For the hunting season, yes," he told her. "I find there are many more diversions to be had in town, in terms of delightful company." This was said as a compliment to Jemima, who smiled demurely and lowered her eyes.
Finally the dance ended. Jemima thanked Mr Sangster graciously and he escorted her back to Miss Berystede and Kitty. He lingered for a few moments making conversation. Jemima was glad to see that Kitty appeared taken by him.
Unfortunately they were soon interrupted by Mrs Linton-Smythe, resplendent in canary satin with an enormous ostrich feather tucked into her matching turban. Selina trailed behind her, in white organza.
Mrs Linton-Smythe greeted them as Mr Sangster departed. "I thought perhaps to have seen you at Almack's on Wednesday last?"
"I regret to say we were indisposed that evening," Miss Berystede told her. She had been too unwell to visit the Assembly that night. It had been a source of considerable disappointment to Jemima and Kitty, though out of kindness they had concealed this from the elderly lady. "We hope to attend in a future week."
The yellow-clad woman made a show of dropping her voice and affecting a hushed manner of speaking, which was no less loud than her previous tone. "Of course if there is any trouble with vouchers, I am on the very best of terms with several of the hostesses. You need only to ask…"
Miss Berystede interrupted her. "That is most kind of you, Mrs Linton-Smythe, but we have already obtained vouchers."
Hiding her annoyance at failing to assert a superior position, Mrs Linton-Smythe congratulated Kitty and Jemima on their success so far. "I observe that both your cards have been full to bursting with the names of eligible young men! Indeed I know that it can be hard to refuse their advances. Though I have advised Selina not to dance every dance lest she overtire herself or appear over-eager."
This was such an unwarranted barb that neither Jemima nor Kitty felt able to respond with any politeness. Miss Berystede merely nodded, and commented that a ball might well seem an exhausting experience to those no longer in the full bloom of their youth and strength. "Though I remember in my day, my sisters and I frequently danced from dusk until dawn while suffering no adverse effects."
Mrs Linton-Smythe's lips pressed together at this. She turned her attention to Jemima. "It is interesting how different social customs must be in Ireland, Lady Julia. For here in England, it is quite unexpected to see a betrothed woman dancing with so very many partners."
"I am very fortunate then, to be betrothed to an Irishman," Jemima replied. "For I greatly enjoy dancing, and I would be sorry to reject the very many gentlemen who do not appear to regard it as an impropriety to invite an engaged woman to dance."
Mrs Linton-Smythe tapped her fan against her hand, hardly knowing what to say. "You are a very bold young woman."
Jemima smiled politely. "I fear it is only the least of my very many failings," she agreed.
Miss Berystede tactfully changed the theme of conversation. "Tell me, Mrs Linton-Smythe, do Sir James and Lady Bradbourne still reside at White Staunton? For it was mentioned to me that Sir James had engaged Mr John Nash to remodel the house on his Shropshire estate."
"Indeed they do, Miss Berystede." Mrs Linton-Smythe, assuaged by this appeal to her knowledge of society, began a lengthy discourse on the Bradbournes. By the end of which Jemima sincerely hoped she would never hear of the Bradbournes, White Staunton or Shropshire ever again.
"You do not mind that Mr Sangster invited me to dance?" Kitty asked afterwards, when the mother and daughter had at last departed.
"Not at all," Jemima said.
"I did think that he was particularly taken with you. He is very handsome, is he not?"
Jemima had to own that Mr Sangster was charming. "Remember though that you must obtain at least fourteen proposals before accepting any of them. Otherwise you will quite put yourself to shame before Mrs Linton-Smythe."
Kitty giggled. "I am sure I could not hope to approach her score, least of all surpass it."
Jemima pursed her lips as Mrs Linton-Smythe had done and adopted a fair imitation of that woman's voice. "Indeed you must, my child, for it would be the greatest impropriety not to achieve it."
Chapter 7
Mrs Linton-Smythe was not the only person to have observed how very many dancing partners Jemima stood up with that evening.
Glowering in a corner, the Earl of Southwell resolved many times to quit the damned rout, but he never did. Instead he remained there, determined to ignore the young woman with the silver-grey eyes, and failing dismally in the attempt. Among all the dancers in their various-hued robes, the Lady Incognita stood out from them like a candle. Slender, pale and glowing.
Marcus was a moth to her flame. He could not take his eyes off her.
This did not go unnoticed by George Gresham. Having never before seen Southwell disturbed so by a female, he was intensely amused.
"The Carlingford girl is quite the toast of the evening, is she not? There are several men who might do well to keep their powder dry. The Irish, a fiery race, are known to be quick to demand satisfaction. Let us hope for their sake that Dalrymple is no duellist."
This had precisely the effect on the Earl of Southwell that his devilish friend intended.
"Whomsoever she or any other chit may dance with is of no concern to me."
Gresham ignored this. "Indeed, indeed. I see the waltz is next. One can only imagine the horde of young bucks rushing to put their names down for that one."
This was too much for Marcus. "You will excuse me."
He departed and George Gresham, highly satisfied, observed his friend cross the dance floor and approach the lady in question. He could not overhear their conversation. But he saw that the girl appeared startled as a faint flush came into her cheeks. The young man with whom she had just finished dancing looked considerably annoyed. He bowed stiffly to the earl, and left them.
Out of Gresham's earshot, Marcus staked his claim. "We are engaged for the waltz, I believe?"
The girl looked flustered and made a feint of studying her dance card. "I believe so, sir." He had not engaged her for it at all, as both were well aware.
Her previous partner bowed and departed.
Marcus extended his arm. The girl took it, her confusion already giving way to mischief.
"You are fortunate that I was not in fact engaged for this dance, or another gentleman might well have been offended," she said.
Chided by some chit! Yet Marcus did not find himself affronted. "Any engagement is easily broken," he told her.
Her eyes widened momentarily. He did not refer only to an engagement to dance, and she knew it.
"I have you at an advantage, I fear," Marcus told her. "For I am now acquainted with your name and situation, but not you with mine." He knew this, for if she had been informed of who he was, she would have addressed him as "my lord".
Something strange passed over her face. She did not look as disconcerted as he had imagined she would. "Then our game is over, and you may reveal your own name to me," she said.
There was a glint in Marcus's eye. "I believe I would prefer to maintain our game a while longer, that I might savour my victory over you."
"Revelling in your victory does not seem to me to be the conduct of a gentleman," his partner said.
"There are many occasions on which I have no desire whatsoever to be a gentleman."
The young woman drew in her breath. Her partner's meaning was quite clear from the way he was regarding her.
Marcus had no idea what had inspired him to start acting like the worst kind of rake. He was not, however, about to stop. Towards the end of the dance, during which they had barely exchanged any further words, he addressed her again.
"If your fiancé does not object to you dancing with other men, he will surely not object to you taking some refreshment with them."
"Refreshment?" He saw the doubt in her eyes, but continued.
"Of whatever form you would pref
er that refreshment to take." Having imbued his words with obvious innuendo Marcus paused, watching her reaction. He knew his conduct was outrageous. But a combination of desire for her and fury at himself for failing to resist his attraction to her compelled him to continue. "Whether that may be a cup of wine, or a turn in the night air?"
"I should be glad of wine, sir." She gave a slight tilt of her chin as she said this. Marcus perceived there was some uncertainty in her eyes. For all her spirit, the Lady Incognita was not entirely dauntless. She was very young, he supposed. How old was she? Given her engagement and her confidence in bandying words with him, he took her for at least twenty-one. Though she looked barely older than the demure debutantes around the room.
Demure she was not, Marcus thought. Even so, he reminded himself that there likely lay more than a ten year gap between their ages. Not insurmountable, but still appreciable. Once more he decided it would be best to leave well alone. He would take his leave when they had finished the negus punch they had been served.
Instead, despite all his better intentions, he found himself inviting her out onto the balcony and experiencing a thrill of victory when she consented.
The balcony at the Rexfords' residence was not a broad terrace opening from the windows, as that at the Doncasters' house had been. It was more secluded, with palms screening certain areas. This was ideal for couples wishing for privacy, but a far less proper place to escort a young woman.
Throwing caution to the wind, Marcus led her to a position where they could not be overlooked from the main ballroom. He was well aware he risked compromising her. But seeing how the bright moonlight shone in her eyes, and the cool pearl of her skin, he was at that moment quite prepared to take the consequences.
He avoided catching the eye of anyone along the way. He did not want to be stopped and trapped in conversation.
Inwardly he cursed the absent Dalrymple firstly for engaging her affection, and then for not arranging the damned nuptials with more haste. Were she already married the situation would be far easier. Taking a married mistress was a world away from dallying with a maiden.
