by Rue Allyn
These last words were whispered just as Miss Leighart herself, coupled with Lord Thayne Brighton, joined the set. Horrified that she should be placed before them both, Rhianna prayed Austine Leighart would not discover her situation until they no longer stood side by side.
“Lord Kingsley has an intriguing partner, indeed,” said a less-than-enthusiastic Austine, in an undertone to Thayne. “Pray, who is she?”
Rhianna happened to overhear and distress nearly overtook her. How would Thayne Brighton explain her? Mortification was averted as, incredibly, he made no effort to promote her position as governess in the Kingsley home, as she expected of him. Instead, his answer was simple, even evasive, and his tone neither mocked nor judged.
“You must mean Miss Braden,” he returned. “I understand she is come from France.”
This seemed to be the end of the investigation. Austine did not seem to wish to know more, at least from Thayne, and the conversation moved on as the other couples also assembled in line. Desmond, for his part, grumbled about most of them, and mocked the rest, much to Rhianna’s abhorrence.
“I cannot believe that Miss Leeds has the audacity to come and dance! She is very nearly thirty. I shall certainly never stand up with her.”
“Lord Kingsley! How can you be so cruel?”
“Cruel? No, indeed,” Desmond laughed. “At least, no more than every other male in this room. You may not hear their thoughts, but I daresay, in this matter, I have declared the sentiments of them all.”
The music began. Guilford Kingsley opened his ball with a quadrille and at once the room was in motion. Rhianna tried desperately to immerse herself in the harmony of the piano, violin, and cello, ignoring Desmond as much as possible. Her heart beat severely as the moment neared for the surrounding couples to focus on her and Desmond’s performance — but when the time came, Desmond led her masterfully and she could not but be comfortable with his style and grace. How confident he was, how easeful! He told her continuously how well she danced and how everyone must be in awe. Though his comments did little to calm her, she found that with his skill she was able to survive it.
• • •
Half an hour or more passed when, at last, the first dance was completed. It was now Desmond’s turn to choose a dance and none would be chosen until he had the undivided attention of everyone in the room.
“I propose,” said he, speaking to the crowd and pausing for effect, “a waltz.”
Shouts of approval issued forth from the masses and the musicians did not hesitate. Music erupted forth as Desmond took Rhianna’s hand and led her once again to the floor.
Rhianna could not look forward to dancing it. In only a few instances had she ever waltzed, and it had been uncomfortable enough even with Philippe. Now to be forced into it with Desmond Kingsley! It called for more courage than she believed she could muster. Her sole comfort was that it was the last she would have to dance with him for the rest of the evening.
Most dancers remained with their original partners. Miss Leighart appeared somewhat flushed and Rhianna observed Thayne gesture toward the refreshment room. She was astonished to discover that she was so absorbed with Austine Leighart’s declination, and Lord Brighton subsequently placing his hand upon her waist, that she was fully unaware of Desmond Kingsley performing the same action with her until they began to dance.
Frequently, she caught herself watching Lord Brighton and Miss Leighart as they floated along the floor, their movements elegant, polished. Thayne returned Rhianna’s glance on more than one occasion, and smiled each time. She wondered if he was truly smiling at her, or had been smiling from some witty remark of Miss Leighart’s when their eyes happened to meet. Regardless, Rhianna smiled in return.
But what began as a curiosity started to happen so often that Rhianna fought herself not to look at Thayne Brighton, and in consistently failing to stop herself, found his eyes were always upon her. At length, their smiles faded, their eyes locked, and a connection of unknown meaning was bridged between them.
“Oh!” Austine Leighart suddenly stopped dancing. “My dress!”
Thayne looked down with alarm and noted, with one false step, he had torn the hem of her gown. With a profusion of apologies, he led her off the dance floor to Lady Kingsley, who undoubtedly assisted her to the cloakroom for mending.
This was enough to break Rhianna’s spell. The event did not escape Desmond’s notice and Rhianna discerned he gave Thayne an unfriendly glance.
“I do believe everyone is desperate to dance with you,” he said to her, irritably. Then, in a softer tone, Desmond added, “Oh, come now, you cannot blame him. And you mustn’t blame yourself. You can hardly help it. In fact, if I were you, I would expect to be the cause of at least a few more ripped hems before the evening is out.”
Even if, for a moment, it had crossed her mind, Rhianna was in no way going to adulate herself by accepting she held responsibility for Miss Leighart’s torn gown. Besides this, she certainly did not want to hold a conversation with Desmond Kingsley over it.
With a quizzical brow, she replied, “I cannot imagine what you must be thinking.”
“Thinking? Not at all. Thinking is the very thing we men are unable to do in your presence. We are quite handicapped tonight. Surely, you must know this.”
“You flatter me excessively, Lord Kingsley.”
“Do I, indeed? Or have you so thoroughly deceived yourself as to the power of your allure?”
This statement perturbed her, but she was too terrified to know his meaning to allow herself to reflect on it, at least, while they continued to waltz.
“Oh, certainly, the allure of my connections and inheritance is very great,” she laughed, hoping with all her heart that this reminder would deter him from any unwanted advances.
“I doubt you shall want a partner all night,” Desmond predicted.
Whether he knew it or not, his statement would indeed prove true. Rhianna did not want for a partner the whole of the evening, even if she did not choose to dance all twenty-five dances.
In response, Rhianna politely shook her head. “No, sir, there can be no convincing me of anything you are saying. No one in this room is more aware of how undeserving I am of being here than myself.”
“Undeserving? My lady, let me not hear such words spoken from you again. How very peculiar you are. Have you no idea of your worth? Have you no idea what an honor and privilege it is to be of your acquaintance? No, I see you do not.”
“How you exaggerate!” she cried. “Such nonsense I have never heard. I can barely listen to you.”
“I do not exaggerate, nor have I ever. I only beg you let me show you …”
A pause was necessary at this point, for the dance was over. The music concluded and applause issued forth from the crowd.
When it died down, and as new partners were chosen, Desmond leaned toward her ear, and said, “I could give you so much, if only you would allow me.”
“What do you mean, Lord Kingsley?” she asked pointedly.
He kissed her hand and smiled. “Desmond,” he replied, with a wink.
With this last, he disappeared into the assemblage, leaving her with no more than her own thoughts. How any one person could be so plain in meaning, yet, at the same time, so very vague, she hardly knew. One thing she quickly settled upon was that, for a man of his situation, it was unthinkable that he should reduce himself, nay, be so imprudent, as to sincerely address himself to his sister’s governess. Of this fact, she could be certain. She also trusted she had given no encouragement for such intimacy as he was now taking the liberty of engaging in with her. This may not have been of any consequence, as Desmond Kingsley did not seem the type to wait for encouragement. Still, there was the question of his intent, and Rhianna examined with a degree of distress the one possible arrangement he might have in mind.
Before she was able to worry herself beyond her ability to conceal it, Mr. Weathersby approached her for a dance. A tall, thin man who had k
nown Lord Guilford Kingsley since youth, Mr. Weathersby was a likeable gentleman. Grateful not to be left alone, she accepted readily, and thus continued the ball. Fourteen dances were played, and Rhianna neither saw nor spoke to Desmond again until supper, where some few times she noticed him intent on making eye contact with her. She felt sure that given the opportunity to speak to her in private, he would undoubtedly revive the most unwelcome conversation.
Several dinner courses were served: endless quantities of soup, cheese, and oysters were provided, and Claude’s veal was much talked about. Many of the guests were unable to decipher whether the food really was excellent and not just because their wine informed them so. Nevertheless, all were enjoying themselves immensely, and the old women and the young looked forward with eagerness to the time when the dancing would resume.
Despite Desmond’s remarks of earlier, Rhianna allowed the melodic harmony of Vivaldi and Bach to penetrate her spirit. The masterpieces played that night could not but calm her soul. This second part of the evening ball found her more at ease with her surroundings, as well, because Lord Kingsley had introduced her to many more guests, and there were thus fewer strangers.
It was not until late in the evening that, drained from the activities, she escaped to a quiet seat. Her last partner, a young baron from the neighboring town of Bromley, brought her some refreshments before fulfilling his obligation to dance with another young lady. His wishes to remain seated with Rhianna were discernible through his effusive apologies for being otherwise committed. Despondently did he depart from her and lead his new partner to the floor.
Rhianna was not sorry to see him go. There was something magical in observing a Kingsley ball as a spectator and she enjoyed having the moment to herself.
Never, she thought, I shall never forget this night.
She enjoyed watching the happy couples as they skipped and twirled, the pastel gowns of the ladies offering just a faint splash of color against the gentlemen’s black wardrobe. It was the perfect evening. Her seat, too, was perfectly situated far from Desmond Kingsley, who danced with a Miss DeWitt, rumored to be the lady that Lord and Lady Kingsley wished to secure for their son. Rhianna thought that was an excellent idea and hoped it would happen for them sooner than later.
Many of the older guests had long since scurried to the card tables, including long-time friends of Guilford Kingsley, Lord Whitehall and his mother, Dowager Lady Whitehall. Lady Whitehall, an eccentric, talkative woman, equal to her mate in measurements and overall embarrassing to those associated with her, was vocal that she would not miss a moment of the ballroom’s liveliness for the world. She was, at this time, commanding a conversation among her contemporaries on the evening’s entertainment, at a table not far from Rhianna. Rhianna decided to amuse herself by listening in on their conversation.
“Never have I seen such a skilled group of young dancers as are gathered at this ball! My word, the Kingsleys have done such a lovely job of collecting them together! See how gracefully they proceed — separate when required, together when required. Whatever the dance demands, no movement eludes them.”
In her ramblings, she went on to comment specifically on Miss Leighart and another well-bred lady, Miss Mina Selwyn.
“Excellent examples of English nobility! Sheer excellence! Also, that young lady who began the ball with Desmond Kingsley — she is unfamiliar to me — how very flawless!”
“Oh, yes,” cried another woman. “She gives Miss Leighart quite the run for her money. Who can tell me about her? I have not been able to get a word of information.”
Rhianna instinctively covered her mouth with her hand and laughed at their ridiculousness. She wondered what they would say if they knew the details of her identity.
For a short while, her musings were uninterrupted. Time enough passed for her to become fairly absorbed in them so that when someone did approach to speak to her, she was taken by surprise.
“How is it that you are not dancing, Miss Braden? Your countless partners have fatigued you, I daresay.”
Roused from distraction, she turned to find Lord Thayne Brighton standing beside her. As he addressed her, she could not tell if she now felt awkward or completely at ease. She had seen him only occasionally since the incident with Miss Leighart, who often flirted with him between dances.
“You are very observant,” she replied. “And what of yourself? Are you not dancing?”
“Dancing,” he then answered, “is all well and good. Interesting conversation, however, is what I am now seeking.” He gestured to sit with her. “May I?”
She nodded consent. “If it is conversation that you desire, Lord Brighton, how is it that you should need to leave the floor? Do you not speak to your partners?”
“Oh, yes, certainly,” he acknowledged. “But you forget I specified interesting conversation — something lacking in my partners as of yet. I was left with no choice but to go in search of it elsewhere.”
A blow to Miss Leighart, indeed!
“Well,” said Rhianna, astonished by his frankness, “I cannot bear to keep you in deception. If you have not found what you are looking for in so many refined and distinguished ladies, you are certain to be disappointed at this very table.”
“No, Miss Braden, indeed, you are mistaken. While they have had nothing to remark on beyond the ball itself, there is a particular matter you and I desperately need to discuss that is of the utmost importance. That is, if you are disengaged.”
There was something in the way he looked at her and in the turn of his smile that made it impossible for her to know if he was sincere or jesting. Nothing of such a nature came to her mind that required immediate and private communication, as he suggested. Regardless, he had fully captured her attention and she could hardly refuse such a consultation.
“Of the utmost importance, you say?”
“The very paramount.”
“Well, Lord Brighton,” she professed, unable to prevent the corners of her mouth from widening, “I am all attention.”
“You may not remember …” he began. “No, I know you must not. It was some time ago …”
Thayne searched for words and Rhianna knew he did not speak in jest.
“What I wish to say is,” he continued, “I have come asking your forgiveness.”
She looked at him wide-eyed. “I beg your pardon?”
“Miss Braden, I am aware you must now think me very odd.” Thayne implored, “Allow me to explain myself.”
He stopped and searched her expression for what seemed to Rhianna a long moment.
“Lord Brighton,” she interrupted, with a coy smile, “I understand you perfectly.”
“No,” Thayne said at last, appearing broken from a spell, “You cannot in the least comprehend me. I speak of an incident — nay, two incidents — from ten years ago, and had they not tormented me so greatly these past weeks and had I not made mention of them, they were sure never to be resurrected. As it is, I must receive your forgiveness for the error of an undeveloped mind, the disposition of a foolish, imperfect youth, and gain closure, or I am doomed to live in constant regret.”
Allowing no interruption from her, he continued, “You are no doubt under the impression that this is the beginning of our acquaintance when it is, in fact, a renewal. It must have been very shortly before you left for France that you met with a very stupid and insensible eleven-year-old boy. I imagine it means nothing to you today, but I must apologize for my appalling conduct then. To have thought that my upbringing was any sort of excuse for my ill treatment of you was ignorance at its very core. I see now that both then and today, I was utterly in the wrong, and your conduct at all times has proven you infinitely my superior.”
All the while, Rhianna gazed at him in wonder and disbelief. To imagine she would receive an apology from that contemptible boy, that mean, heartless child who could not see beyond his own family crest! Was he sincerely confessing to her the wrongs of his behavior and asking forgiveness? It could not be,
she thought, and yet, how earnestly he spoke, and what angst he tried vainly to suppress.
Lord Guilford Kingsley arrived, suspending their conversation.
“Dear friends!” he called to both Rhianna and Thayne. He was in excellent spirits. “Shall I flatter myself? I think the evening quite capital! Pray, set me right — are you having an abominable time?”
Rising to greet him, Thayne Brighton shook Lord Kingsley’s hand. Beside him, Rhianna ascended from her seat.
“It is always a pleasure to be with such fine company, sir. I own it is a splendid ball.”
“Good, good!” he cried, happily. “And what of Miss Braden? I trust you are enjoying yourself?”
“I am exceedingly happy, Lord Kingsley. I cannot form words expressive enough to thank you for such a night,” she assured him.
A new song was about to begin and before Guilford could respond, Thayne declared, “If you will excuse us, Lord Kingsley, I was only just about to request Miss Braden’s company on the floor.” Turning to Rhianna, he said, “I would like to claim my promised dances. Will you do me the honor?”
Thayne offered his hand to Rhianna, and she accepted.
“Enjoy yourselves, by all means,” Lord Kingsley insisted. “I am off to attend to my other guests.”
Thanks were again offered to him and he left them presently. A country dance was chosen, and Rhianna was conscious of many eyes riveted on them as she and Thayne made their way through the assemblage.
“I do not ask that you pardon what you cannot,” he concluded pleadingly, as they took their positions, “only what your feelings will allow. You must know, however, that to find pity on myself, remorseful and afflicted as I am, will free me from a suffering which you cannot imagine.”
Thayne Brighton had, in those few sentences, recommended himself most highly to Rhianna. The music began, and the dance brought them apart momentarily, but Rhianna did not need a moment to form her answer.
When they were brought together again, she took his hands, and declared, “You shock me exceedingly. Very well, let us forget the past. Let us be friends.”
