Dancing at Midnight

by Julia Quinn

  Belle looked down at the violet frock she was wearing. “I packed all of mine.”

  “Exactly. Why?”

  “I can’t stay here.”

  “Belle, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “I have to go to London. Tomorrow.”

  “What? Tomorrow? Does this have something to do with Lord Blackwood?”

  Belle’s immediate aversion of her head was all Emma needed to know that she was correct. “What happened?”

  Belle swallowed nervously. “He humiliated me.”

  “Oh, my Lord, Belle. He didn’t...”

  “No. But I wish I had. Then he’d have to marry me, and I—” She broke off with a sob.

  “Belle, you don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “I know exactly what I’m saying! Why is it that no one can credit me with the ability to know my own mind?”

  Emma’s eyes widened at her cousin’s loss of composure. “Perhaps you should tell me what conspired during my absence.”

  In a shaky voice Belle related her tale. By the time she was finished, her voice was so racked with emotion that she had to sit down.

  Emma perched herself on the end table next to Belle’s chair and placed her hand gently on her arm. “We’ll leave for London immediately,” she said quietly.

  For the first time in a week Belle felt a glimmer of life within her. Somehow she felt that she might be able to heal herself if she could just get away from the scene of her heartbreak. She looked over at Emma. “Alex won’t like your going.”

  “No, he won’t, but you haven’t left me much choice now, have you?”

  “He could come with us. I wouldn’t mind.”

  Emma sighed. “I think he has some important estate business that he has to conduct here.”

  Belle knew how much her cousin hated to be separated from her husband, but still, she was desperate to get away. “I’m sorry,” she said lamely.

  “It’s all right.” Emma stood and straightened her shoulders. “We’ll make plans to leave tomorrow.”

  Belle felt tears forming in her eyes. “Thank you.”

  Belle had been correct about one thing: Alex hadn’t liked his wife hightailing it off to London one bit. Belle had no idea what had transpired between them in the privacy of their own chamber, but when the two ladies headed down the steps the next day to their carriage, Alex was not in a good mood.

  “One week,” he said warningly. “One week, and I’m coming to get you.”

  Emma placed her hand on his arm and told him to hush. “Darling, you know that my aunt and uncle aren’t returning for a fortnight. I can’t come home until then.”

  “One week.”

  “You can come and visit me.”

  “One week.” And then he kissed her with so much passion that Belle blushed.

  Soon the two ladies were comfortably ensconced in the Blydon house in Grosvenor Square. Now that she was some distance away from John, Belle felt herself growing stronger, but she could not shake off the melancholy which pervaded her spirit. Emma was doing her best to be insufferably cheerful, but she obviously missed Alex. He wasn’t helping at all, sending notes twice a day telling her that he missed her and would she please come home where she belonged.

  Belle made no effort to let anyone know that she was back in town, but on her third day back, her butler informed her that she had a visitor.

  “Really?” she asked without much interest. “Who?”

  “He asked that he be allowed to surprise you, my lady.”

  Her heart slammed in her throat. “Did he have brown hair and brown eyes?” she asked frantically.

  “He did wish it to be a surprise.”

  Belle was so nervous she actually grabbed the butler and shook him. “Did he? Please, you must tell me.”

  “Yes, my lady, he did.”

  She dropped her hands and sank into a nearby chair. “Tell him I don’t wish to see him.”

  “But I thought Mr. Dunford had always been a special friend of yours, my lady. I shouldn’t like to send him away.”

  “Oh, it’s Dunford.” Belle sighed, relief and disappointment both flowing through her. “Tell him I’ll be right down.” After a moment or two, she rose and went to her mirror to check her appearance quickly. William Dunford had been a close friend of hers for several years. They had courted briefly but had quickly realized that they would not suit and decided not to ruin their friendship by pursuing a romance any further. He was also Alex’s best friend and had played a considerable role in the not so easy task of helping Alex and Emma find their way to the altar.

  “Oh, Dunford, it’s so good to see you!” Belle exclaimed as she entered the salon where he was waiting. She crossed the room to give him a quick hug.

  “It’s good to see you again, too, Belle. Did you enjoy your spell of rustication with the newly-weds?”

  “Westonbirt was lovely,” Belle answered automatically, sitting down on a sofa. “Although there was an uncommon amount of rain.”

  Dunford plopped down lazily into a comfortable chair. “Well, this is England, after all.”

  “Yes,” Belle replied, but her mind was a thousand miles away.

  After a full minute of waiting patiently, Dunford finally said, “Hello? Belle? Yoo-hoo.”

  Belle snapped back into the present. “What? Oh, I’m sorry, Dunford. I was just thinking.”

  “And obviously not about me.”

  She smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry.”

  “Belle, is something wrong?”

  “Everything is fine.”

  “Everything is not fine, that much is clear.” He paused and then smiled. “It’s a man, isn’t it?”

  “What?”

  “Aha! I see that I am correct.”

  Belle knew she had no chance fooling him, but she nonetheless felt she ought to give it at least a weak try. “Maybe.”

  “Ho!” Dunford chortled. “This is rich. After years of men falling prostrate at your feet out of love and devotion, little Arabella has finally been felled herself.”

  “This isn’t funny, Dunford.”

  “Au contraire. It’s most amusing.”

  “You make me sound like some kind of heartless ice princess.”

  “No, of course not, Belle,” he said, immediately contrite. “I must admit, you have always been uncommonly nice to every pimply-faced boy who has ever asked you to dance.”

  “Thank you. I think.”

  “It’s probably why so many pimply-faced boys ask you to dance.”

  “Dunford,” Belle warned.

  “It’s just that after God knows how many proposals, none of which you showed the least inclination of accepting, it’s amusing to see you similarly besotted.” After his long explanation Dunford sat back. When Belle offered no comment, he added, “It is a man, isn’t it?”

  “What—as opposed to a woman?” Belle snapped. “Of course it’s a man.”

  “Well, I could have been completely off the mark. Your favorite spaniel could have died.”

  “I don’t have a spaniel,” Belle said peevishly. “It’s a man.”

  “Doesn’t he return your affections?”

  “No.” Her voice was heartbreakingly sad.

  “Are you certain?”

  “I have reason to believe that he”— Belle chose her words carefully—”cares for me, but he feels that he cannot act on that emotion.”

  “Sounds like a chap with a little too much honor for his own good.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Out of curiosity, Belle, just what is it about this fellow that has you so enamored of him?”

  Her face immediately softened. “I don’t know, Dunford. I really don’t. He has this marvelous sense of honor. And humor, too. He teases me, not in a malicious way, of course, and lets me tease him back. And there is something so good in him. He can’t see it, but I can. Oh, Dunford, he needs me.”

  Dunford was silent for a moment. “I’m sure that all is n
ot lost. We can make him come about.”

  “We?”

  He shot her a roguish smile. “This sounds like the most fun I’ve had in years.”

  “I’m not sure it’s worth the effort.”

  “Of course it is.”

  “I’m not sure I want him back.”

  “Of course you do. Were you listening to your own words not thirty seconds ago?”

  “I wish I were as confident as you are.”

  “Look, Belle, you’ve been telling me for the last two years that you want a love match. Are you really going to throw it all away over a little pride?”

  “I could find somebody nice to marry,” Belle said, rather unconvincingly. “I’m sure I could. Men ask me all the time. I wouldn’t be unhappy.”

  “Maybe not. But you wouldn’t be happy either.”

  Belle slumped. “I know.”

  “We’ll set my plan into motion tonight.”

  “What exactly does this plan entail?”

  “The way I see it, if this man—just what is his name, anyway?”

  “John.”

  Dunford smirked. “Really, Belle, you can do better than that.”

  “No, really,” Belle protested. “His name really is John. You can ask Emma.”

  “All right then, if this John fellow really does care for you, he’s going to be blindingly jealous when he hears that you’re planning to get married, even if he is trying to be noble by giving you up.”

  “An interesting plan, but who am I going to marry?”

  “Me.”

  Belle shot him a look of utter disbelief. “Oh, please.”

  “I didn’t mean we would really get married,” Dunford retorted. And then he added somewhat defensively, “And you don’t have to sound quite so disgusted with the idea. I’m considered a reasonably good catch, you know. I simply meant that we could start a rumor that we were planning to wed. If John really wants you, it should do the trick.”

  “I don’t know,” Belle hedged. “What if he doesn’t really want me? What then?”

  “Why, you jilt me, of course.”

  “You wouldn’t mind?”

  “Of course not. It would do wonders for my social life, actually. I’d have scores of pretty little things coming by to offer me consolation.”

  “I think I’d rather leave you out of it. Perhaps we could just start a rumor that I’m planning to marry and not mention anyone in particular.”

  “And how far would that tale get?” Dunford countered. “Everyone in London is planning to marry. Your fellow would never hear of it, especially not if he’s buried out in the country.”

  “No, but then again, he probably wouldn’t hear any rumor no matter how juicy. He doesn’t keep up with the comings and goings of the ton. The only way he’d find out we were planning to marry is if we put an announcement in the Times.”

  Dunford paled at the thought.

  “Just so,” Belle replied. “The only way a rumor is going to reach him is if it’s not really a rumor but rather a piece of information deliberately sent his way.” She swallowed nervously, hardly able to believe that she was considering such a scheme. “Perhaps we could let Emma in on our plan. She could casually mention to John that I was planning to marry. I won’t have her use your name. I won’t have her mention any name at all—just tell him I’m about to announce an engagement.”

  “It won’t look odd her just happening to drop by?”

  “They’re neighbors. There is nothing suspicious about her stopping by to say hello.”

  Dunford leaned back and smiled with glee, his even white teeth gleaming. “An excellent strategy, Arabella. And it saves me from having to pretend I’m in love with you.”

  She shook her head. “You’re impossible.”

  “If your beau doesn’t appear on the scene complete with white horse and shiny armor to carry you off into the sunset, well, then I’d have to say he probably wasn’t worth his salt in the first place.”

  Belle wasn’t completely sure about that, but she nodded anyway.

  “In the meantime, we ought to get you out and about. This John fellow—what did you say his last name was?”

  “I didn’t.”

  Dunford raised an eyebrow but didn’t press her for details. “What I was going to say is that your little lie isn’t going to look very convincing if he finds out that you’ve been holing yourself up in this mausoleum since you arrived.”

  “No, I suppose not, but hardly anybody is in town now. There isn’t very much to get out and about to.”

  “As it happens I’ve been invited to what is sure to be an exceedingly dreadful musicale tonight, and as the host is a distant relation of mine I have no way to get out of it.”

  Belle’s eyes narrowed. “This isn’t one of your Smythe-Smith cousins again, is it?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “I thought I told you that I would never attend another one of their recitals. After the last one, I am convinced that I know exactly how Mozart would sound if performed by a herd of sheep.”

  “What can you expect when you’ve been cursed with a name like Smythe-Smith? At any rate, you haven’t much choice. We’ve already decided that you’ve got to get out and about, and I don’t see any other invitations coming your way.”

  “How kind of you to point that out.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes and come by to escort you tonight. And don’t look so glum. I suspect this beau of yours will come sailing into town any day now, and then you’ll be saved from all future butcheries of music.”

  “He won’t show up for at least two weeks, actually, because Emma is acting as my chaperone until my parents return from Italy. She can’t very well be in two places at once, and anyway, I doubt he’d believe I’ve fallen in love with someone else so quickly. I’m afraid you’re stuck with my company for a fortnight. Provided, of course, that I don’t have to attend any more musicales.”

  “I would never be so cruel. Until tonight, then, Belle.” With a rakish smile, Dunford rose, bowed smartly, and left the room. Belle sat on the sofa for several minutes after his departure, wondering why she couldn’t have fallen in love with him instead of John. It would make matters ever so much simpler. Well, maybe not that much simpler, as Dunford wasn’t the least bit in love with her, at least not above the love of one friend to another.

  Belle rose and headed up the stairs, wondering if she had set herself on the right course of action. Failure would be exquisitely painful, but she knew that she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she didn’t at least try to carve out a life with John. She’d just have to wait a couple of weeks.

  Chapter 10

  As it happened, Belle did not have to wait two weeks to set Dunford’s plan into motion. Precisely one week after she and Emma arrived in London, Alex strode purposefully through the front door with a slightly plump, middle-aged lady scurrying at his heels.

  Belle happened to be walking through the hall when he burst into the house. “Oh my,” she breathed, observing the commotion with an amused eye.

  “Where is my wife?” Alex demanded.

  “Upstairs, I think,” Belle replied.

  “Emma!” he called loudly. “Emma, get down here.”

  Within seconds Emma appeared at the top of the stairs. “Alex?” she said disbelievingly. “What on earth are you doing here? And who might your, er, guest be?”

  “Your one week is up,” he stated flatly. “I’m fetching you home.”

  “But—”

  “And this,” Alex cut her off forcefully and motioned to the lady at his side, “is my great-aunt Persephone who has kindly agreed to act as Belle’s chaperone.”

  Belle surveyed Persephone’s disheveled appearance and decidedly harried expression and wondered if the lady had had any choice in the matter. After shifting her gaze to Alex’s determined visage, she decided that Persephone most assuredly hadn’t.

  “Persephone?” Emma echoed weakly.

  “My parents were int
erested in mythology,” the lady said with a smile.

  “You see,” Alex said, “her parents liked mythology. That explains everything.”

  “It does?” Belle asked.

  Alex shot her such a withering glare that Belle closed her mouth with alacrity. “Emma,” he said softly, beginning a slow march up the stairs. “It’s time to come home.”

  “I know, I miss you, too, but I was only going to be another week, and I cannot believe you dragged your aunt halfway across the country.”

  Persephone smiled. “All the way across the country, actually. I’m from Yorkshire.”

  Belle swallowed a laugh and decided that she and Persephone would suit each other very well, indeed.

  “Pack your belongings, Emma.”

  Belle and Persephone watched the couple with unconcealed interest until they melted into each other’s arms and Alex’s lips captured Emma’s in a scorching kiss. At that point, Persephone turned away. Belle kept one curious eye on the couple but had the good grace to blush.

  But they just kept on kissing and kissing until it grew quite awkward for Belle, Persephone, and all six servants who were standing in the front hall. Trying to make the best of a very strange situation, Belle smiled brightly at Persephone and said, “How do you do? I’m Lady Arabella Blydon, but I expect you know that already.”

  The older woman nodded. “I am Miss Persephone Scott.”

  “It is nice to meet you, Miss Scott.”

  “Oh, please call me Persephone.”

  “And I am called Belle.”

  “Good, good. I imagine we will get on very well together.” Persephone glanced stiffly over her shoulder and cleared her throat. “Are they still at it?” she asked in a whisper.

  Belle looked up and nodded. “It’s only for a week you know.”

  “They’re going to do that for a week?”

  “No,” Belle laughed. “I meant my parents are due to return in a week. Then you’ll be free to do whatever you want.”

  “I expect I shall. Alex paid me a king’s ransom to get me to come down here.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Of course, I’d have come if he’d only paid my traveling expenses. I don’t get down to London very often. It’s quite an adventure. But before I could say a thing, he came out and offered me a stupendous sum. I accepted immediately.”