by Laurie Brown
“Moth-ther,” Fiona and Hazel said together.
“I agree,” Mrs. Holcum said. “It’s the schools that put these preposterous ideas into their heads. Before she went to Miss Simpkin’s Academy, my daughter hated bathing and had to be bribed every spring and fall.”
“I was a child then,” Beatrix said. The whine in her voice disproved her claim to maturity.
“My daughters were the same,” Mrs. Maxwell said. “But once in the tub, I had the devil of a time getting them out.”
Knowing from experience with friends and coworkers that motherly bonding could extend to hours of comparisons, Eleanor used the lame excuse of damp hair and the possibility of taking a chill to escape. As she walked down the hall, she heard Mrs. Holcum say, “See, Beatrix. You could learn from such a sensible, old-fashioned girl.”
Eleanor was still smiling when she entered her bedroom. The drapes had been drawn and the bed turned down in preparation for her nap. Even in the dim light she recognized her visitors.
“No need to ask if you’re having a good time,” the ghost of Mina said with an answering grin.
“Where have you been?” Eleanor asked. “I’ve called and—”
“You made us promise not to interfere,” Deirdre’s ghost said. “We’re only keeping our word.”
“Oh, yeah … well … then why are you here?” Were they going to take her back? Now that the time was near, she realized she wasn’t quite ready.
“We wanted to let you know how pleased we are with your progress so far,” Mina said. “You’ve adapted amazingly well.”
“We will return at midnight tonight,” Deirdre said. “So you have to chaperone us for only ten more hours. But the most difficult hours are ahead. With so many people at the ball, you must pay close attention and not allow yourself to be distracted.”
“But we have every confidence in you,” Mina added.
“Do you mean it hasn’t happened yet? I haven’t stopped it? What about last night in Shermont’s room? You do know what happened there?”
The ghosts looked at each other. Deirdre nodded to Mina.
“Yes, we saw. As to whether only one incident can predicate a duel, we can’t be sure,” Mina explained. “Since we’re here with you, we won’t have any memories of what you do until we return to the future.”
“But we have every confidence you will be successful,” Deirdre said.
“You could make this easier if you’d tell me exactly where and when this seduction happened.”
Again, the ghosts looked at each other before answering.
“That’s impossible to determine,” Deirdre said. “You see, there are certain pivotal points in each person’s life. In between those points, events can shift around without making a huge difference. You prevented one incident, but another may yet occur. However, if Shermont does not seduce one of us by midnight tonight, then it won’t happen.”
“That’s when we met Ackerly and Clifford and decided we should marry brothers,” Mina added.
“Not them,” Deirdre said.
“Good heavens, no. But they did give me the idea that—”
“It was my idea.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“Girls!” Eleanor said in exasperation. “It doesn’t matter whose idea it was.”
“Quite right. Anyway, it was a pivotal point and one that will prevent the duel. After that, neither of us wanted to pursue Shermont any longer.”
“Fine. But it would be easier if I knew which girl to follow. If they … you … separate before midnight—”
“We cannot break our sacred vow,” the ghosts said together.
“Arrrgh! How do you expect me to follow both of you?”
“There’s only one of him,” Deirdre pointed out.
With that cryptic comment, they winked out of sight.
* * *
Eleanor hadn’t expected to sleep, but when Twilla entered with a tray of food, she woke from a dream. She had been Cinderella, Shermont her Prince Charming. The refrain from the musical stuck in her brain: Impossible things are happening every day. She tried reciting a poem and the multiplication tables to dislodge it, but until she hummed the Oscar Mayer jingle, that song wouldn’t budge. Then, of course, she was stuck with the commercial tune, but at least it didn’t make her think of her midnight deadline.
After eating the light dinner Twilla had brought, Eleanor dressed in a deep yellow silk dress she’d made to go with her amber cross necklace, which was back in place around her neck. Twilla insisted on helping with her hair. The maid attached a gold ribbon three times across the crown of her head for a diadem effect. Mina had lent a white feather rosette with a pearl center that Twilla pinned over Eleanor’s ear.
Since elbow-length gloves were not de rigueur as they would be in the Victorian Age, Eleanor chose the more comfortable short ones made from netted lace. With her turquoise tulle evening shawl, beaded reticule, and ivory fan, she was ready.
“Thank you for your help,” she said to Twilla.
“My pleasure. You look lovely.”
Eleanor knew guests usually left money for those who had provided for them, one reason why servants didn’t mind the extra work events such as house parties and balls caused. She would be leaving, but she had no money to give the maid. Instead, she pulled the string of blue glass beads from her case. “I want you to have these,” she said to Twilla.
“Oh, no. I couldn’t—”
“I insist.”
The maid reached out and took them as if they were precious jewels. “I ain’t never had anything so fine,” she whispered.
“Put them on.” Eleanor wanted the others to see Twilla wearing them before she left. Not so they would know she’d tipped the maid, but so no one would think the servant had stolen them.
They joined the others in their bedroom as the girls put the finishing touches to their own outfits.
Both wore the white appropriate for their ages. Deirdre’s dress was trimmed with embroidered edging and a sash of braided ribbons in several shades of green from mint to forest. Mina’s dress had pink satin trim and tiny ribbon roses scattered around the square neckline and along the three-inch hem.
Deirdre sat at the dressing table and rubbed a red-tinted paper on her cheeks.
“Lightly,” Mina cried. “We don’t want Teddy to know we bought rouge papers.”
“I look like a Punch and Judy puppet,” Deirdre said, leaning forward to peer closely in the mirror. She picked up a damp cloth and scrubbed her cheeks clean.
“Are you going to try again? Let me. It’s my turn.”
“If I can’t do it, you can’t do it either,” Deirdre said without relinquishing her seat.
Before they escalated into a full-blown argument, Eleanor noticed Mina’s paint case and had a brainstorm. “Wait a minute.”
She rummaged around until she found the largest brush in the case. Thankfully, Mina kept her watercolor brushes scrupulously clean.
Eleanor laid the rouge paper on the table, rubbed the brush over it in a circle, and then swirled it lightly over the girls’ cheeks. She wasn’t a makeup expert, but everyone agreed the effect was quite attractive and natural looking.
As Twilla helped the girls gather their accessories, Mina suddenly stopped. She turned from Twilla to Eleanor with a sharp look. “Are those your—”
“I think they look very nice on her,” Eleanor said.
Mina shrugged as if the gift was of no consequence, exactly as Eleanor had hoped.
She followed the girls down the hall, butterflies of anticipation tickling her stomach. Shermont waited below, and the look on his face told her all her trouble had been worthwhile. He made her feel beautiful and desirable with nothing more than his smile. She nearly had to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. Ordinary Eleanor Pottinger was going to the ball. She hoped she would have another chance to talk with Jane Austen and might even risk a dance with a handsome lord. She touched her necklace for luck and descended t
he stairs.
Even though the ball was scheduled to begin at eight o’clock, a number of guests had already arrived and more poured in as fast as the full carriages could unload them. Since country affairs were less formal and almost everyone already knew everyone else, the butler did not announce each arrival. Deirdre and Mina joined Teddy and Aunt Patience in the entrance hall to greet the guests. Shermont offered his arm and escorted Eleanor into the ballroom.
Armless gilt chairs had been placed around the perimeter of the room, and several chaperones had staked out their positions. Mrs. Holcum and Beatrix sat near the door, all the better to snag Teddy on his entrance. Mrs. Maxwell had chosen a spot halfway down the length of the room and sat with Fiona and Hazel on each elbow. Gentle music wafted through the air and Eleanor located the musicians in a loft at the far end.
“Shall we walk the circuit?” Shermont asked.
Those not seated promenaded around the room in couples or small groups of three or four. The glittering society was everything she could have imagined. The clothes. The jewels. Hard to credit the idea that this wasn’t everyone’s best and that a ball in London would have more of … everything. “Why aren’t they dancing?” she asked.
“The host will open the dancing shortly. Until then, we walk, perhaps stop to chat. See and be seen. Take those young bucks, for instance,” he said, indicating with a nod the group of four gentlemen sauntering along a dozen feet ahead. “They’re sizing up the new crop that will go on the marriage mart next season.”
“That’s a bit predatory.”
“Not the half of it. There’s not a full pocket among the lot. If they want to continue the life they’ve been accustomed to, they must marry well, an heiress preferably.”
“What about love?”
“Ah, a love match does seem to be the current ideal according to the doctrine of sensibility, but when a man must choose between a ladylove and his tailor …” He shrugged.
“Sounds as though you think of marriage as a business deal.”
“I don’t think of marriage at all,” Shermont lied. How could he ask someone to share his future when he didn’t remember his past? He rubbed the scar on his forehead with his free hand. “I take it your marriage was a love match.”
Eleanor hesitated. “I believed I was in love with the man I got engaged to. Unfortunately, I later found out he wasn’t the man I thought he was.”
“A testimonial for long engagements?”
“Not necessarily. It wasn’t his fault I bestowed qualities on him he didn’t possess.” And as she said it, she realized it was true. He couldn’t live up to her expectations because she had tried to make a Darcy out of a Wickham, which made her think of Jane Austen. She looked around the now crowded ballroom, but didn’t see her favorite author.
There were so many people in the room the temperature had risen several degrees, undoubtedly helped by hundreds of candles on two chandeliers. Eleanor opened her fan and plied it for a bit of breeze. One detail the glittering illustrations of the time period had not been able to show was the air tainted by so many perfumes. Even though liberally used, the fragrances did not conceal the underlying odor of unwashed bodies.
Teddy led a bejeweled Countess Lazislov to the front of the dance floor. As the highest-ranking female present, she had the honor of calling the first set. The Countess indicated her choice to Mr. Foucalt.
“May I have this dance?” Shermont asked.
Eleanor shook her head. “I don’t know the steps to most—”
The dancing master rapped his walking stick on the floor three times. “Gentlemen, choose your partners for the first dance, ‘On a Midsummer Night,’ ” he said in a booming voice, quite unexpected from such a skinny frame.
The announcement caused whispering among the crowd, but the men who had been in attendance at the earlier class and those who had been to recent town parties took positions on the floor.
Shermont held out his arm with a smug smile.
“How did you know?”
“Know what?” he asked with an innocent air as they took their places in the line of dancers.
“That the first dance would be the only one I know the steps to,” she said as the music started.
“Ah, yes. I don’t suppose you’d believe it was a grand coincidence,” he said as he bowed in the salute.
“No.” She curtseyed. He didn’t have time to explain. The dance required her to follow the other women and promenade the length of the ballroom in the step-close-step movement she’d learned earlier. The countess gave her a broad wink as they passed each other going in opposite directions. What was that about?
Eleanor returned to her starting place. “You were saying?” she said as she curtsied again, returning to their earlier conversation as if it hadn’t been interrupted.
He bowed. “The countess owed me a favor,” he said with a mischievous grin. Then he stepped out for the gentlemen’s promenade.
Leaving Eleanor to wonder exactly what he’d done for the countess. She watched Shermont as he danced the steps with masculine grace, and she noticed a number of other women ogled him as he passed by. A surge of jealousy took her by surprise.
She had no claim to him. The respite from his presence gave her the opportunity to pull herself together and rein in her wayward feelings.
When he returned, they had a few minutes to chat as they waited for their turn for the couples’ promenade.
“The music is lovely,” she said.
She felt the muscles of his forearm tighten under her hand as he shot her a quizzical glance. The amusement in his eyes said he recognized her attempt to depersonalize the conversation.
“I hardly noticed,” he said. “The dance is only an excuse to be by your side.”
He wasn’t making it easy. “From what I hear, the weather is particularly balmy for this time of year,” she said, trying again to move to a safe subject.
“Is it? I feel only the heat of your touch. Do you deny you feel the same?” he asked as he led her out for their turn at the couples’ promenade.
She did not respond to his taunt.
“I do not need to hear you say in words what I can read in your eyes,” he said. “After what we have shared—”
“No strings,” she reminded him as well as herself. “We have only the moment—no past, no future.”
After thoughtful hesitation, he replied, “As you say. Then we should enjoy these moments to the fullest.”
The finale of the dance called for him to twirl her around, which he did doubly fast, making two full turns before spinning her toward the gentleman on her left.
By the time she returned from making the round and being twirled by all the gentlemen, she was dizzy and more than grateful for his steady presence as the music ended.
“Just stand there for a minute,” she said, politely applauding the musicians. “I need to catch my breath before walking off the dance floor.”
“We can’t leave yet,” he said. “There is another dance in the set.”
She shook her head and started to remind him she didn’t know any other dances when Mr. Foucalt rapped his stick on the floor.
“The second dance of the opening set will be the waltz,” he called in his loud voice.
The first dance had caused whispers, but the announcement of the waltz caused a minor tumult. A number of couples committed a breach of decorum and left the dance floor. Some were forced to do so at the insistence of overzealous chaperones, including Fiona and Hazel and their partners. A few couples eagerly took their places.
Mr. Foucalt rapped his stick. “We will have order.”
As the orchestra played the opening bars, Eleanor stepped into Shermont’s arms. “I fear the countess has created quite a commotion by her choice of dances,” she said.
He laughed. “From what I know of her, Countess Lazislov enjoys making a spectacle and being the center of attention.” They moved to the music, making small circles as he led her around the dance floor.
“I don’t,” Eleanor said, ducking her head, her body stiffened by awareness of the censorious stares she received. The magic of the butterfly field was missing.
“Look at me.” After she complied, he smiled down at her. “We are the only two people here. You are in my arms, and that is all that matters.”
She decided to stop worrying about everyone else and concentrate on her partner. She returned his smile. “Then let’s enjoy the moment.”
With that he tightened his embrace and lengthened his stride, swinging her around in wider and wider circles, even lifting her feet off the floor. No inane chatting, no verbal sparring—just a man and a woman moving in harmony with the music and with each other. Although there were no overtly sexual moves, as in the dances she’d known in her time, she now understood why the waltz was considered scandalous.
They created a world of their own within the circle of each other’s arms, moving as one, responding to the slightest touch. Swinging apart and then swaying back together. A sensual, unspoken interchange. Then she stopped thinking and gave herself up to dancing in his arms. She laughed with pure joy.
By the time the music ended, she was breathless. She heard applause and turned to add her clapping to the accolades for the orchestra, which she had barely noticed. To her surprise, the dance floor was empty except for the two of them.
“Smile and take a bow,” Shermont prompted.
“How can you be so calm?” she asked, dropping into a deep curtsey and hoping her cheeks were not as fiery as they felt. She remembered her fan still attached to her right wrist and opened it to create a cooling breeze. “This is so embarrassing.”
“Why?” he asked as he offered his arm.
“Because it feels as though we just made love in a public place in front of a roomful of people,” she said behind her fan as they walked off the dance floor.
He grinned and leaned over to whisper in her ear. “We did.”
She spotted the countess barreling her way toward them with purpose in her stride. “I think Countess Lazislov wants her turn on the dance floor.” Even though Eleanor didn’t want him to, she felt obligated to excuse him to dance with someone else. “Please don’t feel as if you have to stay here with me.”
