Dancing at Midnight

by Julia Quinn

  Alone on her wedding day. What a depressing thought.

  Her thoughts strayed to John, who was undoubtedly waiting impatiently downstairs. She could see him in her mind’s eye, pacing in the drawing room, his gait punctuated by the limp which had become so dear to her. Her lips tilted up into a smile. She wasn’t alone. And she never would be.

  She had just reached for the dress when she heard a commotion in the hallway. Her head swiveled instinctively toward the door as it burst open. Emma quite literally flew into the room.

  “Good God, cousin!” she burst out, gasping for breath. Belle had no doubt that she’d taken the steps two at a time coming up the stairs. “Do you think you might have given me a little notice?”

  “It was all somewhat sudden,” Belle hedged.

  “I suspect that that is something of an understatement.”

  Their attention was distracted by an even louder commotion in the hall.

  “Oh dear,” Emma muttered. “That would be Alex.”

  The man in question nearly kicked the door in.

  “It certainly would,” Belle returned dryly.

  Alex’s chest was heaving with exertion. Belle rather thought he’d taken the steps three at a time. He fixed his deadly green gaze on his wife, who had the grace to look at least a little uncomfortable. “If I ever see you jump out of a carriage like that again, so help me God, I’m going to strangle you.”

  Emma chose the path of least resistance and avoided talking to her husband altogether. “He’s a little overprotective due to my delicate condition,” she said to Belle.

  “Emma...” he said warningly.

  John chose that moment to appear in the doorway. “What the hell is going on here?”

  Belle shrieked, threw her arms up in the air, and ran into her dressing room. “You can’t see me!” she yelled.

  “Oh for God’s sake, Belle. This isn’t exactly a normal wedding.”

  “It’s going to be as normal as I want it. So get out. I’ll see you downstairs.” Her voice was muffled, emerging through several layers of fabric and a rather thick wooden door.

  Alex rolled his eyes and muttered, “Women,” which caused his wife to glare at him most vigorously. “I need a drink.” He stalked out of the room. John followed without a backward glance.

  Emma shut the door quickly behind them and scurried over to the dressing room door. “They’re gone,” she said quietly, not at all sure why she was whispering.

  “Are you certain?”

  “For heaven’s sake, Belle. I have eyes, don’t I? I tell you, they’re gone.”

  Belle poked her head around the side of the door, and when she was satisfied that the room was devoid of male creatures, ventured out.

  “I used to think you were the most sensible person I knew,” Emma muttered.

  “I lost my sense,” Belle said, meaning it.

  “Are you sure you’re ready to do this?”

  Belle nodded and a tear welled up in her eye. “I just thought if d be different. My mother isn’t even here!” She sniffled loudly.

  Emma touched her arm, deeply moved by her cousin’s tears. “You can wait, Belle. There is no reason you have to go through with this today.”

  Belle shook her head. “I can’t wait, Emma. Not another day.” And then she told her the entire story.

  Chapter 17

  Once Emma was convinced that Belle was truly in love with John, she helped her cousin into her wedding gown and proclaimed her the most radiant bride she’d ever seen.

  “I suppose that means my eyes aren’t bloodshot any longer,” Belle joked. She’d let loose quite a torrent of tears.

  Emma solemnly shook her head. “Do you want Alex to give you away?”

  Belle frowned. “I had hoped that Ned would be here by now. If I cannot have a father of the bride, I was hoping for at least a brother. As it is, Father is going to be furious that he didn’t get to give me away.”

  “Well, he got to give me away,” Emma said efficiently. “That will have to do. Did Ned send a reply?”

  “There wasn’t time.”

  Emma nibbled at her lower lip. “Why don’t I go downstairs and stall the proceedings? I’ll be right back.”

  She slipped out the door and made her way to the drawing room. John was pacing back and forth, not so much with nervousness as with impatience. “What’s taking so long?” he snapped.

  Emma pursed her lips and looked up at the clock. “It’s only ten minutes past seven. That’s perfectly punctual for a wedding that is supposed to begin at seven.”

  “Women.” This came from her husband, who was sprawled on a sofa which was much too small for his large frame. Dunford was sitting across from him, smirking.

  Emma shot both of them a rather nasty look before turning back to her future cousin-in-law. “We only need a bit more time,” she hedged.

  “Emma, darling,” her husband said in an unbelievably smooth tone. “Could you come here for a moment?”

  Emma eyed him suspiciously but walked over to the couch.

  “Do you see the priest over there?” he whispered.

  She nodded.

  “Do you see anything, er, shall we say, odd about him?”

  Emma tilted her head as she surveyed the portly gentleman. “He does seem to be leaning a little to the left.”

  “Just so. He’s been here thirty minutes, and that’s his fourth glass of brandy. I think we ought to get this ceremony underway while we are still able.”

  Wordlessly, Emma exited the room and went back upstairs. When she reached Belle’s bedroom, she said, “I don’t think we can stall very long.”

  “Not even a few minutes?”

  “Not if you want to get married tonight.”

  Belle had no idea what that meant but decided she’d rather not find out. She picked up a piece of white Spanish lace and fixed it on her head. “I suppose we cannot wait any longer for Ned. You had better summon Alex to give me away.”

  Emma darted back down the stairs, grabbed her husband by the hand, and asked Persephone to begin at the piano. She and Alex met Belle at the top of the landing just as Persephone began thumping away.

  “Good God,” Alex said as the cacophony assaulted his ears. “Is that Beethoven?”

  “I could have sworn I asked for Bach,” Belle said, furrowing her brow.

  “I don’t think it’s Bach, either,” Alex said. “I don’t think it’s anything.”

  “We can only hope she doesn’t start to sing,” Emma said. She shot her cousin one last smile before she headed down the stairs as matron of honor.

  “She could hardly do worse than you,” Alex jibed.

  Belle looked at her cousin who was already halfway down the stairs. “I don’t think she heard you,” she whispered.

  “That’s probably a blessing. Shall we go?” Alex offered her his arm. “I believe it’s our turn.”

  As they floated down the stairs, past all of the pink and white roses Belle had specially ordered, her nervousness and disappointment over the hastiness of her wedding melted away, and all that was left was a deep sense of contentment and joy. Each step took her closer to the man she loved, the man whose life would soon become inextricably linked with her own. When she turned into the drawing room and saw him standing next to the priest, his eyes glowing with pride and desire, it was all she could do not to run headlong into his arms.

  She and Alex finally reached the front of the room, and he placed her hand on John’s arm and stepped away.

  “Dearly beloved!” Mr. Dawes barked. Alcoholic fumes swept across Belle’s face. She coughed discreetly and took a tiny step back.

  Persephone missed her cue and kept banging away at the piano, enjoying herself immensely. Dawes turned to her with obvious irritation and yelled, “I said, ‘Dearly Beloved!’”

  Persephone’s musical thumps died a slow and painful death.

  Belle took advantage of Dawes’s momentary distraction to whisper to John, “Are you sure he’s a man
of God?”

  John bit back a smile. “Quite sure.”

  Dawes turned back to the couple. “As I was saying—Dearly beloved.” He blinked a few times and surveyed the scant crowd. “Or rather,” he muttered, “perhaps I should say the three of you.”

  Belle couldn’t help herself. “There are four guests, if you please.”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  “I said,” she ground out. “There are four guests. I realize that this is an irregular wedding, but I’d like to be credited with all four of my guests.” She could feel John next to her, shaking with silent laughter.

  Dawes was not the type to give in easily to what he saw as a mere slip of a girl, especially after he’d been fortified with five glasses of fine brandy. “I see three.”

  “There are four.”

  His finger jabbed at Alex, then Emma, then Dunford. “One—two—three!”

  “Four!” Belle finished with a triumphant motion toward Persephone who was watching with obvious fascination and mirth from the piano.

  At this point Dunford exploded with loud laughter, which set off Emma and Alex, who had heretofore managed to keep themselves under control. Dawes grew quite red in the face and said, “She is the piano player.”

  “She’s my guest.”

  “Oh, all right, you impertinent little chit,” he grumbled, mopping his brow with a limp handkerchief. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here before four witnesses...”

  The ceremony continued with blessed unevent-fulness for several minutes. John could hardly believe his luck. Just a few more minutes, he thought, and they’d exchange vows and rings, and then she’d be his for all of eternity. Fairly bursting with joy and impatience, he forced himself to resist the urge to shake the voluble priest and get him to speak faster. He knew that he was supposed to be savoring every moment of the ceremony, but what he really wanted was to be done with it all and retreat to some hideaway where he could be alone with his bride for the next week.

  John’s hopes for a speedy ceremony, however, were dashed when he heard the front door to the house slam open with a resounding crash. Dawes looked at him in askance, and he nodded curtly, signaling that the ceremony should proceed.

  Dawes fumbled forward even as heavy footsteps came crashing toward them through the hall. Determined not to interrupt again, Belle kept her eyes scrupulously forward, but John was unable to keep himself from turning around as a dark-haired young man burst into the room. His eyes were so blue that he could only be Belle’s brother.

  “Good God!” Ned Blydon exclaimed, jumping over a sofa. “Have you gotten to the part about objections yet?”

  “Er, no,” Dawes said, his bulbous nose glowing red in the candlelight. “We haven’t.”

  “Good.” Ned grabbed Belle’s free hand and dragged her away from the makeshift altar. “Do you know what you’re doing?” he hissed. “Who is this man? Do you know anything about him? What is going on? And how dare you send me a note saying only that you’re getting married the next day? What were you thinking?”

  Belle waited patiently throughout his tirade. “Which question do you want me to answer first?”

  “Look here!” Dawes boomed. “Is this marriage going forward or not? I’ve got—”

  “It’s on,” John said in a deadly voice.

  “I’m a busy man,” Dawes spluttered. “I’ve got—”

  “Mr. Dawes,” Dunford interrupted smoothly, flaying him with a devastating smile. “I must apologize for this interruption. It is scandalous that a man of your stature should be treated thus. Won’t you join me in a glass of brandy while this matter is cleared up?”

  Belle didn’t know whether to thank Dunford or throttle him. At this rate Dawes would be too drunk to perform the ceremony. She rolled her eyes and turned back to her brother, who was looking at her with concern. “Are you certain you want to do this?” he was saying. “Who is this man?”

  Alex stepped forward and tapped Ned on the shoulder. “He’s a good man,” he said softly. Beside him, Emma nodded vigorously.

  “Do you love him?” Ned asked.

  “Yes,” Belle whispered. “With all my heart.”

  Ned looked her in the eye, trying to gauge the depth of her feelings. “Very well, then. I apologize for the interruption,” he said loudly. “But we’re going to have to start over from the beginning, because I want to give my sister away.”

  “See here, young man! We’re already more than halfway through,” Dawes barked. “I’m a busy man.”

  “You’re a red-faced drunk,” Belle muttered to herself.

  “Did you say something?” Dawes said, blinking vigorously. He turned to Dunford, whom he now perceived as an ally, and grabbed him by the shoulder. “Did she say something?”

  Dunford carefully disengaged himself from the priest’s grasp. “Don’t worry, good fellow, you’ll get paid extra for your troubles. I’ll see to it.”

  Belle and Ned hurried up the stairs and had just reached the top when they heard Dawes say, “Is she going to play the piano again?” A loud whacking sound followed, the origin of which Belle didn’t want to know.

  Within seconds, Persephone began playing the piano with a vengeance, and Belle began her second procession of the day down the stairs to get married.

  “You look beautiful,” Ned whispered.

  “Thank you.” Belle smiled at his words, deeply touched. She and her brother loved one another dearly, but it was a bickering sort of love, not a complimenting one. When Belle reached the drawing room again, John’s eyes were still shining at her with love and pride, but this time she also saw a trace of humor. She smiled back at him, a silly little half-smile to tell him that she didn’t care that her wedding had fallen into a shambles. She only wanted him.

  The ceremony proceeded remarkably smoothly considering the earlier mishaps. Persephone even stopped pounding the piano promptly when Dawes groaned, “Dearly beloved.”

  In due time John and Belle were man and wife.

  There was much cheering when they kissed, although Dunford later remarked that he clapped more for the fact that the ceremony had actually made it through to the end than he had for the couple’s happiness.

  After the customary congratulations and requisite kissing of the bride by all the male guests (there were only three; it didn’t take very long), Ned looked brightly at his sister and asked, “Where is the reception? I’m famished.”

  Belle’s face fell. She’d forgotten all about a reception. And to think that she’d been complaining to herself because she hadn’t anything to do. But then again, even though she was aglow with happiness over having finally married the man of her dreams, she felt that a celebration tonight would feel more like a dinner party than a wedding reception.

  “Belle decided to put off a reception,” John cut in smoothly, “until your parents get home. She felt that your mother would prefer it that way.”

  Ned thought that his mother would have preferred it if Belle had also held off on the wedding ceremony, but he held his tongue. He smiled blandly at his new brother-in-law and then finally asked the question which had been foremost on his mind all evening. “Just exactly how did you and my sister meet?”

  “I’ve recently bought property near Ash-bourne’s holdings at Westonbirt,” John replied. “We met there.”

  “And he fought with Alex on the Peninsula,” Belle added. “They were good friends.”

  Ned looked at John with new respect.

  “Speaking of the war,” Alex suddenly put in, “you’ll never guess who I saw from my carriage as we arrived.”

  John turned to face him. “Who?”

  “George Spencer.”

  Belle felt John’s fingers tighten on her arm. He appeared as if he were about to say something, but no sound emerged from his mouth.

  “Surely you remember him,” Alex said.

  “Who is George Spencer?” Belle asked.

  “Just an old acquaintance,” John said quickly.

  Ale
x leaned down and dropped a fraternal kiss on Belle’s cheek. “I believe we were about to leave the newlyweds to their own devices.” He smiled at Emma, who immediately made motions as if to leave.

  John waylaid him, however, placing a firm hand on his arm. “Actually, Ashbourne,” he said in a low voice. “Could I have a word alone with you before you leave?”

  Alex nodded, and the two men went off into the library.

  John shut the door behind them. “I’m not certain if you ever knew the full story about George Spencer.”

  Alex cocked his head. “I know you forced him to desert the army.”

  “After I shot him.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “In the ass.”

  Alex walked over to a nearby table, poured himself a glass of whiskey, and then downed it in one gulp. “Any particular reason?”

  “He was raping a young Spanish girl. A girl I had sworn to protect.”

  Alex swore softly, and his knuckles grew white around the glass.

  “If it really was George Spencer loitering outside,” John said caustically, “I don’t think it was because he wanted to offer his best wishes to the bride and groom.”

  Alex raised a brow. “Is there more to this story?”

  John weighed out the advantages and disadvantages of telling Alex about his plight. The last thing he wanted to do was drag a man with a wife and a baby on the way into a potentially deadly situation. But then again, he had a wife, and given his plans for the near future, he rather thought a baby might be forthcoming fairly soon. The weight of these new responsibilities bore down on him, and he remembered Belle’s words from just a few days earlier.

  You can’t do this alone.

  John hadn’t really known how to follow her advice. He’d been on his own for so long that he had no idea how to ask for help, no idea how to accept it. Alex was his family now—twice removed by marriage, but family nonetheless. John already felt a greater sense of kinship with him than he did with any of his brothers or sisters. Damien hadn’t even been able to make it to the wedding.

  Yet Alex and Emma had rushed in from the country. The unfamiliar warmth of family began to wash over John. He looked over at Alex, who had been watching him carefully. “I have a problem,” John said softly.