by Golden Angel
Cordelia gave her an incredulous look, sending Gabrielle's ire even hotter. She dropped her voice in a deft mimicry of Mr. Hood's condescending tones.
"'The balls are absolute crushes, Miss Astley, as I'm sure you'll discover,' 'Lilac is already the fashionable color of the Season, Miss Astley, did you know?' 'Everyone's talking about Kean as Shylock, perhaps you'll be able to see him this Season, Miss Astley.'"
All the things she knew nothing of, and he rubbed her face in it, lording it over her how much more sophisticated and worldly he was. If he wasn't such an arrogant blaggard she would probably have enjoyed hearing about London life from him, but she knew that beside him she must look like a complete ninny with her country ways and ignorance, and she hated that.
"I don't think he was mocking you," Cordelia said, in the tone that meant she thought Gabrielle was being unreasonable, but she wasn't going to mention it, because of course Cordelia was always patient and tolerant and just perfect. No wonder Mr. Hood preferred Cordelia's company to Gabrielle's, even if Cordelia was married to his best friend. "He just wanted to tell us some of the things to do and see in London, and to prepare us for your come-out ball and entrance to the ton. He was just trying to help."
"Yes, help the poor, provincial country bumpkins," Gabrielle sneered as the bitterness that always seemed to lay around her heart swelled up. Of course the only attention she could receive from Mr. Hood was at the Marquess' orders or because she was an object of pity. "Mr. High-and-Mighty Hood to the rescue. Of course you would think that, he was practically falling all over you, I was shocked that Dunbury allowed it. All three of you make me sick. I'm going to my room, I can't stand one more minute with any of you."
The truth was, she thought miserably as she stomped away, she couldn't stand one more minute of being in Mr. Hood's presence while wondering what he truly thought of her. The gentlemen this afternoon, in the Park, had all been content to talk about themselves, allowing her to listen, without having to contribute much in the way of conversation. Mr. Hood seemed determined to engage her, which only highlighted how very little she knew about London and the world at large… if he’d only been willing to speak without requiring a response, she would have been much more comfortable.
She wished she could be more adept at conversation, but instead her tongue tied and she felt more provincial than ever in his presence. All the while, he kept giving Cordelia admiring glances, as she had no problem conversing with him. It had made Gabrielle feel very much on the outside again, like a child pressing her nose to a candy shoppe, knowing that the treats within were far out of her reach.
******
Gabrielle's Come Out
On the Marquess' arm, heading towards the ballroom, Gabrielle felt like a princess. This was her night - finally her night! - and everything was going to be perfect.
In the days leading up to the ball, everything had not been perfect... she'd been dizzy with doubts, burdened with anxiety, and had driven Cordelia round the bend, until she'd almost been spanked by the Marquess for it. Cordelia had intervened though, and Gabrielle had been both grateful and strangely… not. Part of her almost wished that she had been spanked, just so she could have an excuse to scream out all the nerves that had taken up residence in her body.
Still, the threat had been enough to have her toeing the line immediately after that. She just wanted her come-out to be perfect.
Tonight at dinner she'd been seated with Viscount Petersham and Lord Hyde, with Lady Spencer (who had invited Gabrielle to call her Cynthia) close enough to speak with, and the conversation had been wonderful. Of course, she'd been very aware of Mr. Hood, further down the table's length, charming the ladies left and right, but she'd mostly been able to ignore his obnoxious presence. For the first time, everything she'd learned about horses and hounds, in order to please her father, actually came of use. Both Lord Hyde and Viscount Petersham seemed delighted with her interest and regaled her with stories, encouraging her input and questions. Not only that, but the Marquess had seemed pleased with her as well and she finished the dinner already feeling like a glowing success.
The receiving line had been just as successful. So many guests! All attired gorgeously - although some of the fashions were rather astounding. Gabrielle had never seen so many giant feathers! She was glad that, as a debutante, the fashion didn't call for her to wear either feathers or a turban. They seemed rather silly.
Instead, she was in an ivory gown trimmed with light pink ribbons that brought out the pink in her cheeks. The flounce on the skirt brushed over the floor as she walked, with a lovely swishing noise.
As they approached the ballroom, there was a lone figure standing outside of the doors, waiting. Mr. Hood, looking resplendent in his usual black and white, although he was wearing a dark plum waistcoat - it was so dark it was almost black anyway, so it didn’t truly add any color to his attire. The way he looked at her as they approached made her feel rather strange inside. She couldn't fathom what he was thinking. The Marquess slowed his pace as they neared Mr. Hood, raising an eyebrow in question.
"Lady Gabrielle," Mr. Hood said, bowing formally and ignoring the Marquess and Cordelia, his roguish smile doing funny things to the inside of Gabrielle's chest. "You look lovely this evening. I would be honored to claim one of your dances."
"Would you?" she asked, her chin jutting up challengingly. She couldn't think of anything else to say, because she couldn't imagine why he would want to dance with her - or be waiting outside the door to ask her to do so before she'd even entered the ballroom. Some forgotten part of her, some stupidly romantic part of her, wafted up the vain hope that perhaps Cordelia had been correct in saying that Mr. Hood wanted to help. That he hadn't meant to be condescending or cruel. That perhaps, just maybe, he was as interested in her as the gentlemen who had swarmed the carriage at Hyde Park. Yet, the more sensible and realistic part of her couldn't believe that, and so she hid behind a veil of disdain, afraid to let herself hope. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the Marquess and Cordelia watching - not interfering - and she knew that, as always, she was on her own.
Mr. Hood's dark eyes flashed, but she didn't recognize the emotion. He straightened and held out his hand.
"Your dance card, Lady Gabrielle?" The challenge in his voice was just as clear; he was ordering her to oblige him.
Strangely, it made her heart flutter. She pursed her lips, slowly lifting her arm in front of her, but letting the card and pencil dangle down instead of handing them to him. Quick as a wink, Mr. Hood snatched both up and scribbled his name down - and then again. She made a protesting noise and tried to pull away, only to freeze at his triumphant smile.
Was he triumphant because he'd gotten one over her? Or because he truly wanted to dance with her? If he was still mocking her...
Her cheeks flushed with emotion as her confusion soared and she clenched her fists, watching Mr. Hood slip away into the ballroom.
"It's a good thing I'm already opening the dancing with you," the Marquess said, taking up her hand again and giving her an encouraging smile. Gabrielle blinked, looking up at him, and smiled tremulously back. "Otherwise I might not get a turn."
He looked down at her approvingly and Gabrielle felt her cheeks flush for a different reason. The Marquess was pleased with her! Cordelia was smiling at her as well. Perhaps Mr. Hood hadn't been mocking her after all. Surely the Marquess and Cordelia wouldn't look so calm if he had been.
******
"You dance very well," Mr. Hood said, smiling down at her.
Gabrielle blinked. The entire first dance they hadn't spoken at all - although, the movements of that particular dance didn't encourage conversation either - and now, on their second dance, he'd been silent up to this point. Now he seemed surprised.
Her mouth firmed. "For a country mouse, you mean."
"No." He frowned down at her.
"Did you not expect me to dance well?" she prodded, giving him a haughty look.
His blac
k eyes seemed to grow even darker. "Of course I did... why would you even ask that?"
"You were the one who commented on it."
"I was trying to compliment you." He growled the words and Gabrielle eyed him warily. He looked over at the court of young men that were waiting for her to finish dancing. "You don't seem to mind when any of them compliment you."
"Perhaps they're better at it," she replied tartly.
******
Impudent baggage. And yet... he was enjoying himself much more than when he was dancing with a young lady who did nothing but simper at him and lap up his flattery.
"Perhaps you are just incapable of taking a true compliment, instead of the empty flattery of buffoons," he retorted. She stiffened, eyes flashing, which immediately stirred him. It was wrong to enjoy her temper the way he did, but, god help him, he liked it.
"They aren't buffoons and it's not empty flattery," she said through gritted teeth. She was trying to keep a smile on her face, but it looked more like she was baring her teeth at him. The smile that spread across his own face was much more sincere.
"They are absolutely buffoons... I'm much more interesting. And sincere. I sincerely conclude that you dance divinely."
"You would know," she said darkly. "After all, I'm sure you've done quite a bit of dancing."
"Jealous?"
The look she gave him made it clear she thought he was stark raving mad. "What?"
Damn, he'd misread that entirely. He'd thought she was referring to the other young ladies he'd danced with this evening, but apparently she'd been speaking of something else entirely. He just couldn't imagine what, and looked at her... this time with sincere bafflement. Then he sighed. As invigorating as verbally sparring with her was, he would like to actually get to know her better. She was so closed off, and she obviously didn't like speaking to him. He was going to have to do something he'd really hoped to avoid.
"Gabrielle - "
"Lady Gabrielle." Her eyes sparked as she reminded him that she hadn't given him leave to use her Christian name.
"Well you may call me Felix," he snapped back. He took a deep breath. "Lady Gabrielle, I would like to apologize for the, ah, the way I spoke to you at your stepmother's wedding. I was out of bounds."
She blinked, her lips parting in astonishment, and he couldn't help but wonder how she'd react if he bent over and kissed them.
The music ended and he wanted to curse.
His lips firmed as he took her hand to lead her back to her court. As they walked, she looked up at him through her lashes.
"Apology accepted," she murmured. “You may call me Gabrielle, if you like.”
******
Somewhat shaken by Mr. Hood’s – Felix’s - apology, as it had been entirely unexpected, Gabrielle went to the retiring room to compose herself. Dancing with him had been much more interesting than dancing with any of the other young men she’d spent time with this evening. He was a wonderful dancer, very strong and sure-footed, and it was impossible not to realize that being held in his arms felt very different from being held in anyone else’s.
She couldn’t help but wonder if she had been more sensitive to some of his comments, as Cordelia had accused her of. Tonight, she’d thought he’d been mocking her when he’d complimented her dancing – after all, he’d been dancing all evening with women who were much more graceful and sophisticated than her, and obviously used to gracing the parties of the ton. Then he’d apologized and she’d started to think that perhaps Cordelia had been right; perhaps he’d been sincere in his statements instead of mocking.
“Hello again.” The bright greeting distracted Gabrielle, making her blink.
Immediately she curtsied. “Lady Arabella.”
While there was no way for Gabrielle to have remembered everyone who passed through the receiving line, certain names and faces stood out. Lady Arabella was the Duke of Manchester’s sister, and a stand-out beauty with her elegantly coiffed brown hair and matching brown eyes. She had a creamy complexion that was enhanced by the pink dress she was wearing and the pink jewels sparkling around her throat.
“Oh please, don’t do that,” Arabella said, waving her hand as she came further into the room. She turned to peer into the same mirror that Gabrielle had been staring blindly into, inspecting her outfit. “I don’t stand on ceremony, not like my brother. He’s a bit stuffy, if you hadn’t noticed.”
A smile immediately pushed onto Gabrielle’s face. Arabella reminded her immediately of Cynthia, with a warm friendliness that was both unexpected and very welcome.
“So is my guardian, no wonder they seemed to like each other,” Gabrielle mused. The other young woman immediately grinned, turning to Gabrielle and putting out her hands. Automatically, Gabrielle raised her own to clasp them.
“I knew I was going to like you,” Arabella said, gleefully. “So many of the other misses are such little ninnies, it’s as if they have no personality. I’ve said that exact same thing to four other debutantes and all four of them immediately fell over themselves trying to defend my brother without insulting me.” She rolled her dark eyes.
“Why would they do that?” Gabrielle immediately understood that Arabella had been testing her, but she didn’t mind. A Duke’s sister probably had all sorts of people trying to befriend her; Gabrielle didn’t entirely understand why she was being singled out for special treatment by Arabella, but she appreciated it.
“Because they don’t want me to ever tell my brother that they’d even hinted at saying something negative about him,” Arabella said blithely. She snorted. “As if I’d ever recommend one of those ninnies to him.” Cocking her head, she raised one eyebrow. “Are you interested in a Duke for a husband?”
“Not if he’s anything like the Marquess,” Gabrielle said, and then slapped one of her hands over her mouth. She hadn’t meant to say that, but Arabella just laughed and tugged on the hand she was still holding, linking her arm through Gabrielle’s.
“We’re going to be very good friends, I can already tell.”
A rush of happiness went through Gabrielle as she followed Arabella back into the ballroom. Tonight was easily the best night of her life. It was too bad she’d already had two dances with Mr. Hood; he wouldn’t ask for a third as two was most a couple could dance without practically announcing their engagement. If only he’d apologized during the first dance, then the night would have been perfect.
******
In between sets, Felix found himself drawn back to Gabrielle’s little court again and again. It had doubled in size, after she’d returned from the retiring room with the Duke of Manchester’s sister. The two of them were a pretty pair, and – with their respective dowries – worth a small fortune. It was no wonder that they drew the majority of the men’s attention.
Yet, for once, Gabrielle always had a smile for him. He wished they could dance again, but he’d already had his second turn with her about the floor. A third dance would have signaled to the ton at large that he was serious in his pursuit of her, and, to be perfectly frank, he wasn’t entirely sure he was ready to take that step yet.
However, he did enjoy that she was finally smiling at him and conversing with him, without bristling at every small thing he said. Still, he couldn’t help teasing her on occasion, just to watch her eyes flash.
When Lord Eckeridge took over the conversation, extolling the virtues of visiting Paris to a wide-eyed Gabrielle, Felix couldn’t help but step in, knowing that Eckeridge’s explorations of the Continent were fairly limited. It wasn’t that he was threatened by Eckeridge, but he didn’t really like the way Gabrielle was staring up at the man like he was the most interesting man in the world. Eckeridge wasn’t even all that well traveled.
“Ah, but if you want truly unique sights, Italy is the place to go,” he said, interjecting smoothly between Eckeridge’s transports about Versailles. Gabrielle turned to him, eyes alight with interest, and he smiled down at her. “Paris is beautiful, but not all that different f
rom London when everything is said and done. Nothing compares to the frescoes in Florence or the canals of Venice; there’s nothing else like them in all the world.”
Eckeridge scowled, obviously realizing he’d lost Gabrielle’s interest, and Felix grinned with triumph as she leaned towards him, lips slightly parted, as if ready for a kiss. Her simple joy at just hearing about far off places was rather endearing. She was so fresh and innocent in some ways; it made him recall all sorts of details that he’d barely paid mind to when he’d actually been on location, just to see her reaction to his descriptions.
When the evening ended, he felt rather pleased with himself. Not only had she accepted his apology, but he rather thought that he’d outshone all her other earnest suitors.
******
The ball was a roaring success and so was Gabrielle; that was evident from all the bouquets that appeared the morning after. She was flush with excitement, as bouquet after bouquet appeared, each with a handwritten card as well as a message within the flowers themselves. By the time the last delivery had been made, in early afternoon, the flowers had completely filled the drawing room.
So when the last card wasn’t from the supposedly apologetic Mr. Hood, Gabrielle told herself she didn’t care. Not even a bit.
Whatever she’d hoped for after his apology and his attention afterwards, she’d obviously made up in her head. There was no reason to feel disappointed; after all, look at all the lovely flowers she’d received from gentlemen who were interested in her.
Chapter 4
Watching Gabrielle taking yet another turn around the dance floor with another young fortune-hunter, Felix frowned. She’d attracted quite a bit of attention at her come-out, which he supposed was only to be expected. She was beautiful, well-dowered, well-connected, and wonderfully charming when she wanted to be.
