CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
Wintersleigh Ball
The house was soon engulfed with people, and to Louisa’s relief, her guests were in good spirits. As each visitor was promptly ushered into the cloakroom, the Wintersleigh servants were waiting to attend to their needs. Coats and hats were removed, gowns or ties were adjusted, and hair was fussed over. After their last minute toilettes, the guests were then shown into the ballroom, which was located down the far end of the downstairs hall.
The ballroom itself was a stately looking room of extensive proportions. In comparison with other great houses in Tasmania, the Wintersleigh ball chamber was rather insignificant, but to a small, rural community, it was very grand indeed. With its high ceiling and enormous window, it was Louisa’s favourite room in the house, and as a result, she took great pains to ensure that it looked its very finest. On this particular occasion the chamber was lined with a green wilderness of giant parlour palms, vases of fern and flower arrangements and a row of chairs, for those individuals who were not inclined to dance, and who preferred to watch the proceedings from the comfort of their own chair. In the far corner of the room a small group of musicians was assembled, and their respective instruments gleamed under the light from the gasoliers.
Frances had never been overly fond of large formal gatherings, primarily because they bored her, and the Wintersleigh Ball was no exception. No sooner had she entered the room, she secreted herself behind one of the densest looking palms, hoping the plant’s foliage would be sufficient enough to hide her from view. For several minutes, at least, she was safe from the colourful heaving of life around her, and had just exhaled a breath of relief, when George Brearly unexpectedly appeared beside her.
‘Frances!’ he cried. ‘Well met! Just the woman I was looking for.’
Frances instinctively tightened her grip on her fan. ‘And what can I do for you, George?’ she answered, scarcely paying him any attention. Her expectant eyes began to scan the ballroom for the doctor, but he was nowhere to be seen.
‘By Jove! I should have thought that was obvious,’ George responded laughingly. ‘Fancy taking a whirl about the room with me? We have several hours of dancing before us, and a room full of people to impress.’
Frances opened her fan and began to flutter it nervously about her face. Before she had had a chance to decline his offer by way of some witty excuse, she felt George take one of her hands and drag her away from her verdant hiding place, and out onto the dance floor. Frances was less than impressed by George’s improper and un-gentlemanly conduct, and as he carelessly manoeuvred them around clusters of people, she was soon lost in a sea of unfamiliar faces.
‘George,’ Frances ventured over the din of music, talking and merriment, ‘I think you’re being a bit over hasty. I don’t recall ever agreeing to your proposal. If you will allow me the use of your pencil for just a moment, I shall add your name to my dance card, for a later dance.’ She opened the card, which was delicately attached to the side of her gown with a thin braided cord. ‘It seems that I am not engaged for the first Quadrille after the Intermission—’
‘Oh, hang the Quadrille!’ George retorted.
Frances frowned and looked edgily about her. To her dismay, her aunt was standing just a short distance away from the dance floor, and was chatting with a rather bird-like woman, whose head was surmounted by a preposterous looking feathered headpiece. As mistress of the proceedings, Louisa was keenly attune to her surroundings, and like a chameleon, whose eyes work independently from one another, she had the uncanny ability of being able to watch two things at once, in opposing directions. While her attention was seemingly fixed on her elderly companion, she was also aware of George and Frances’s movements as they took a few preliminary turns about the room. From the glowering look in Louisa’s eyes and the tautness of her clenched jaw, Frances could tell that her aunt was not amused.
George’s words soon resounded loudly in Frances’s ears. ‘Well, well, Frances, I must say that you’re an awfully good dancer.’
‘Yes, I know.’
George chuckled. ‘It goes without saying that you’re a much better dancer than Agnes. I fear that her ineptitude on the tennis court also extends to the dance floor. Not that I’m a particularly brilliant dancer, mind you, but let’s just say that I’ve never been accused of having two left feet.’
Frances made no reply. She had just caught sight of Agnes and the doctor, standing together near the ballroom door. From Frances’s vantage-point, she saw the couple exchange a few words, before Michael extended his hand to her, as though he was inviting her to dance. Agnes, however, met this gesture unsmilingly, and seemed resolved to remain where she was. After exchanging a few more words, the doctor let his hand fall. In the next moment, both Agnes and Michael directed their attention towards Frances and George. Frances suddenly longed to return to her parlour palm.
‘So, Frances,’ George resumed, now aware that he was becoming the centre of attention, ‘do you have any New Year’s resolutions?’ Unbeknownst to Frances, he was watching Agnes and his brother from the corner of his eyes.
‘None that I will be able to keep, I’m afraid.’
‘Well said!’ George replied, and tightening his grip around Frances’s waist, began edging her towards the ballroom door, where Agnes and Michael were still awkwardly standing. He greeted them both with an irreverent salute. ‘Well, here are a couple of stuffed dolls!’ he called out playfully. He then snatched the fan out of Frances’s hand, and flung it in Agnes’s direction. Agnes’s reflexes, of course, weren’t quick enough to discern the approaching fan, and it landed on the floor before her with a clatter. ‘Good catch!’ George declared in a tone of amused sarcasm, and before Agnes could respond to his audacious comment, he skilfully swept Frances back into the centre of the dance floor.
‘That was awfully obliging of Agnes to look after your fan for you,’ George remarked, once they were a safe distance away from the affianced couple.
Frances winced in embarrassment, and wished with all her heart that the ‘larger than life’ George would simply disappear. ‘I see you’ve maintained your healthy respect for one another,’ she ventured, peering over George’s shoulder, in Agnes’s direction.
George’s normally fluid dancing motion faltered, as though he had erred in his timing. ‘As always,’ he said smirking, ‘as always.’
Agnes, meanwhile, had withdrawn from the room, and was conspicuous by her absence. Frances couldn’t help but comment to George on this fact.
‘Don’t you worry your head about Agnes Wentworth. One can only imagine that she’s running to her dear mother for a good whine.’
As much as Frances disliked her cousin Agnes, George’s words still seemed uncharitable and unnecessary. She could feel resentment rising up within her. ‘Forgive me for saying this, George, but I’m beginning to see why so many people have warned me about you.’ George raised his eyebrows but made no rejoinder. ‘First it was my aunt, then Agnes, Charlotte, and lastly Michael. They’ve all said the most scandalous things about you. I scarcely know who, or what to believe.’
‘Then take my advice and believe every word they tell you. I am a free spirit, Frances. I always have been, and I will remain so until I curl up my toes. I live my life the way I want to live it, and I make no apologies for doing so.’
Frances smiled sardonically. ‘I’ve never heard so many ‘I’s’ in one sentence before. Anyone would think that you’re the sun and the people in your life are just the planets.’
All at once George was very still. ‘Are you accusing me of being self-centred? Do you think that everything revolves around me?’
‘I’m accusing you of nothing. You misinterpreted what I said.’
George loosened his grip on her. ‘No, Frances,’ he whispered, ‘I don’t think so.’
Frances watched him intently for a moment, waiting for him to smile or say something more, but he did neither. A look of seriousness had spread itself over his handsome features, an
d for the remainder of their dance, he didn’t say a word. It was a great relief to both parties, therefore, when the dance finally ended and they went their own separate ways.
Breakfast at Midnight Page 34
