by Georgie Lee
He looked over the tall feathers marking the coiffures of a group of matrons and Cecelia’s soft features came into focus. He strolled down the wide staircase, then twisted past a few soldiers standing together, exchanging greetings with numerous gentlemen before stopping a short distance from the feather-bedecked matrons. He ignored their disapproving looks, knowing how fast they’d bow and scrape to him if he showed an interest in their daughters, the old hypocrites. If it weren’t for Cecelia, he’d leave them all to their quadrilles.
Cecelia stood alone across the room on the edge of the dance floor, watching Miss Fields perform a chasse with Lord Bolton. She wore a dress of deep purple shot with silver thread and the gown sparkled as she shifted to better see her cousin between the guests. A fine strand of pearls draped down her chest, their roundness echoed in the curve of her high breasts. The gold clasp shone at the nape of her neck and above it bounced the few curls not contained by the thick ribbon wound through her coiffure. Against the dark of her silk gown, the smooth skin of her shoulders curved to tempt him and his palms burned at the memory of her warmth. He rarely danced at balls, but tonight he wanted to press her body against his, feel the soft contours of her hips as they waltzed, exchange witty remarks and enjoy again the same light-heartedness they’d shared during the race in Rotten Row.
The dancers parted into two lines, giving Randall a clear view of her, and she finally noticed him. A stunning smile illuminated her eyes with a power he felt in his chest. He nodded to her, afraid to return the smile for fear everyone around them would notice her effect on him. He could sense her disappointment from across the room as he wound through the guests, willing himself to not stare at her.
The dance ended and the crowd grew thick as young people changed partners and their mothers jockeyed for better positions along the perimeter of the dance floor. Randall made a wide arc through the room until he was behind Cecelia. He listened while she offered her cousin a few words before Lord Bolton escorted Miss Fields out for another dance. When the music rose to begin the set, Randall stepped up next to her, inhaling her flowery perfume as he bent down close to her ear. ‘I wouldn’t allow her to dance with Lord Bolton again.’
She startled, a pink flush spreading over her creamy skin, her finger and thumb finding the gold bracelet on her wrist. ‘Why not? He seems like an affable young man.’
‘He plays a good game, but he has a pack of debts and is a regular customer at a house of ill repute in Covent Garden. One more dance and people will assume they have an understanding.’
‘It wasn’t like that in Virginia,’ she stammered, worrying the bracelet. ‘And I didn’t know Lord Bolton was so disreputable.’
‘Which is why he’s paying her so much attention. You’re the only matron not aware of his situation.’
Her lips drew tight as if debating marching into the middle of the dance and removing her cousin from her partner. ‘Thank you very much for your warning and your concern. No one else here...’ she nodded at Madame de Badeau, who stood laughing with Lady Weatherly on the balcony ‘...saw fit to enlighten me about Lord Bolton’s true situations or the etiquette concerning dancing partners.’
‘And you think my friendship questionable?’ He laughed, twisting his signet ring on his finger, waiting for her answer.
‘I wouldn’t say questionable, only, unexpected.’ She let go of the bracelet, her hands dropping in front of her as she laced her fingers together, the relaxed gesture giving him hope. ‘Now, since you’ve warned me off Lord Bolton, perhaps you know of someone more suitable for my cousin?’
‘Let me see.’ He looked over the guests at the group of young bucks laughing together near a column. ‘See the tall gentleman with the brown hair near the fireplace? That is Mr Menton. His grandfather was a merchant who amassed a nice fortune in the islands and purchased a baronetcy. His father, Sir Walter Menton, continued the business and Mr Menton enjoys a tidy income from his colonial holdings. He isn’t likely to look down on your cousin’s background or lack of station.’
‘A most amusing and blunt way to assess his potential, and Theresa’s,’ Cecelia replied. ‘How do you know the gentleman?’
‘His father purchased Hallington Hall, the estate adjacent to Falconbridge Manor. He’s quite affable, though his mother is a mushroom and might be the only obstacle should the two enjoy an affection.’
‘I never would have believed it, but you almost possess the skills of an accomplished matchmaker.’
He brought his lips close to her ear, the flicker of her pulse beneath the sweep of her hair tempting him to near distraction. ‘I have many skills of which you are not aware.’
She flashed him a teasing sideways look, not rising to his bait, but not shrinking from it either. ‘Does one of them involve arranging an introduction with the young man?’
He wanted to laugh, but restrained himself to a wide smile. ‘It would be my pleasure.’
He slid his fingers beneath hers and raised them to his lips. The satin carried the smell of her perfume and he drank it in as he laid a firm kiss across the back of her hand.
The catch of her breath was more beautiful than the notes of Handel floating through the room. With regret, he stepped away, hating to break the moment, but not trusting himself to linger longer.
* * *
Cecelia clutched her fan as if the thin wood could steady her as she watched Randall head off through the crowded ballroom. He stood taller than the other men, his confidence keeping her eyes riveted to him as he approached the group of young gentlemen. They were equally impressed, jumping to attention at the appearance of the notorious Marquess.
She snapped open her fan and waved it in front of her, her attention darting to the people around her, wondering if anyone had noticed her and Randall conversing in such an intimate manner. If they did, they didn’t reveal it, neither meeting her eyes nor returning her nervous smile. Not even Madame de Badeau seemed to notice, her attention focused on something of interest near the musicians.
The small breeze from her fan did little to cool her skin or calm her worries. It seemed every time Randall came near her, she forgot herself and in the most public of places. She should have stepped away, placed some distance between them, but his low voice curling around each word had turned her feet to lead.
Theresa and Lord Bolton passed by in a promenade, reminding her of Randall’s warning. It seemed both she and Theresa were destined to make spectacles of themselves tonight with inappropriate men. Cecelia closed the fan, wishing the dance would hurry and come to an end. The dances in Virginia never seemed to last so long, yet this one felt like it would continue for ever.
She turned back to Randall, watching him speak with Mr Menton to the visible jealousy of the young man’s acquaintances. Randall wasn’t just conversing with a neighbour, he was vetting a possible suitor for Theresa, going out of his way to secure an introduction which might help them.
Why? What does he hope to gain?
Guilt pricked at her and she reached up to touch the pendant before realising she’d left it at home. Maybe Theresa was right and she had been unfair to him. He’d warned her about Lord Bolton and helped her at the bookstore, yet Cecelia continued to look for something wicked in his deeds. The only thing wicked was the way her body responded to his words and his touch.
She twisted the pearls around one finger, the sweep of his dark hair over his forehead while he spoke, his confidence as steady as the pillar behind him feeding the hunger he’d created when he’d kissed her hand. It pulled her towards temptation like the current of the James River used to draw small boats out from the shore. The pearls tightened around her knuckle. She wanted to fall into him like she used to fall into the river on hot days and quench the heat which stole over her body in a light sweat every night.
He motioned to her and she looked down at a small smudge on her slipper, fearing
the hold he had over her. If she relented to his pursuit, it might cool her need, but drown any chance of a respectable future.
She disentangled her finger from the strand, raised her head and pushed back her shoulders as Randall approached with the young man.
‘Mrs Thompson, may I present Mr Menton.’
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Thompson.’ Mr Menton bowed, friendly in a way she hadn’t seen in either Lord Bolton or any of the other young bucks who’d deigned to dance with Theresa. When he straightened, it revealed his height and, though his nose was a little too large and his jaw too wide to make him devilishly handsome, he possessed a certain appealing charm.
‘Mrs Thompson is an old friend of my family’s,’ Randall explained. ‘I was just telling her about your estate.’
‘I know the land well, it’s an excellent property. Your father was wise to buy it,’ Cecelia flattered.
Mr Menton stood a little taller. ‘Mother was against it at first and Father was afraid of taking on such a burden, but I convinced them in the end.’
‘I’ve advised them on a number of improvements,’ Randall added.
‘He did and we’re grateful. The estate has prospered and put all my father’s fears to rest.’
‘And does your mother enjoy the country?’ Cecelia asked.
‘It’s too far from London for her tastes, but it suits her sense of how a baronet should live.’
The dance ended and Lord Bolton escorted Theresa back from the dance floor, a catlike smile on his round face. When they were close, Cecelia nearly reached out to snatch Theresa away, but Randall acted first.
‘Lord Bolton, may I have a word?’ He stepped between the two young people.
‘Yes, of course,’ Lord Bolton mumbled, unable to refuse the request, and followed Randall out of earshot.
‘Mr Menton, may I present my cousin, Miss Theresa Fields.’ Cecelia nudged Theresa forward. ‘We have recently arrived in London from Virginia.’
‘I visited there once on my way to Bermuda. It’s beautiful.’
‘What business did you have in Bermuda?’ Theresa asked, her Virginia accent stronger than usual and Cecelia knew her cousin was happy and relaxed.
‘My family has an interest in a shipping company based there.’ He made the statement without ego or arrogance and Cecelia detected in his countenance a genuine kindness lacking in other gentlemen. While he and Theresa discussed Virginia and the rigours of sea travel, Cecelia felt the spark between them and, for the first time in days, hope. Though one conversation did not mean an engagement, especially with the possibility of obstacles, this was more progress than they’d made since the start of the Season.
Behind Mr Menton, Randall spoke to Lord Bolton. Judging by the young man’s long face, he was taking a dressing down from the Marquess. If so, it seemed strange for a man of Randall’s reputation to chide another for indulging in the same pastime he surely enjoyed. Or did he?
She’d heard many stories attached to Randall’s name, but nothing so nefarious as brothels. If he were a well-known patron of bawdy houses, she felt sure Madame de Badeau would have related the story with glee. Whatever the truth of his nocturnal habits, for the moment she didn’t care. He was helping her and she appreciated it.
‘May I have the pleasure of this dance?’ Mr Menton asked as the musicians began the next set and the couples started to form up.
Theresa looked to Cecelia for approval and she readily gave it. He offered Theresa his arm and their lively conversation continued as they walked out on to the dance floor.
‘See, friendship with me has its advantages,’ Randall boasted, resuming his place beside her. She shivered at the closeness of him, wishing he would offer his arm and lead her on to the floor, sweep her along in time to the music and lull her with his deep voice. She would willingly surrender to his lead if it meant feeling weightless and free of cares, comforted and protected, if only for a few minutes.
‘Don’t congratulate yourself yet. One dance is not a proposal.’
‘Then you have set me quite a challenge.’
‘Wonderful, for I long to see Theresa settled before—’ we are ruined. Cecelia caught herself.
‘Before what?’
‘Before the Season is over.’ She worked to cover the worry with a light tone. ‘For even I know enough about society to know a young woman’s chances diminish each Season she is not settled.’
‘Then let us increase her value in society’s eyes. May I have the pleasure of this dance?’ Randall held out his hand and Cecelia’s heart jumped in excitement before stopping in fear. Despite her former daydream, the idea of promenading with him in front of everyone made her nervous. However, after his kindness, it would be rude to refuse.
She took his hand and his fingers closed around hers with a subtle possessiveness she sensed but couldn’t fully comprehend. She followed him on to the dance floor, feeling as if all eyes were upon them, weighing them down with their opinion. She only hoped Randall was right and Mr Menton saw advantage in a connection to people on such intimate terms with the Marquess of Falconbridge.
As they positioned themselves for the allemande, Theresa spied them through a gap in the partners. She threw her a questioning look, but Cecelia ignored it. There would be ample time to explain the decision to dance later.
Then the music began and she and Randall moved forward and back in time with the others. The dance turned them to face one another and the closeness of him, more than the pace of the steps, made her breath quicken and her heart race. Studying the shiny buttons on his waistcoat, she didn’t dare look up and reveal her nervousness. Instead, she glanced across the room, catching Lord Strathmore’s narrow eyes. The disapproval on his face annoyed her, as did the realisation that, for all his fawning and flattering, he’d never done half as much for Theresa as Randall had tonight.
Theresa was right. Cecelia had misjudged him.
‘You’re still worried about being seen with me publicly,’ Randall challenged, mistaking her silence.
She faced him, raising her chin in determination. ‘No, I’m proud to be seen with you.’
He pulled back in surprise. ‘Quite a change from before.’
‘You helped me when others wouldn’t and you’ve been nothing but kind, even when I haven’t been.’ She raised her hand above her head for the turn and he grasped it, his grip firm, his thumb sliding over hers to nestle against her palm.
‘Then I’ll do my best to deserve your newfound faith in me.’
His heat spread through her hand, undiminished by the thin satin glove separating their skin. It trailed down her arm, wicking through her as they moved in a circle together.
‘What scent are you wearing?’ he asked in a low voice. ‘I always notice it on you, but don’t recognise it.’
‘Magnolia flower.’
The candles burning overhead brought out the subtle ring of yellow surrounding the centre of his blue eyes. ‘It’s intoxicating.’
‘I’m glad you like it.’
‘There’s nothing about you I don’t like.’
Her face grew hot and humour rose to cover her embarrassment. ‘Even when I tease you?’
A smirk pulled up one side of his mouth. ‘Especially when you tease me.’
‘You never used to like my teasing.’
‘I was young and stupid. I’ve matured since then.’
‘You make yourself sound like a cheese.’
He snorted a laugh. ‘I should think myself more of a fine wine.’
‘If you like, but I’ll think of you as a Stilton.’
‘As long as you think of me. It’s all that matters.’
She tightened her grip on his hand, forcing her feet not to lose their steady rhythm as they turned out for a promenade. ‘Why?’
He let go of her as they each travelled around another couple. When they faced each other again, she saw his London mask slide to reveal the man who’d stood with her in the morning room, then again yesterday on the front stairs. ‘You remind me of better times.’
‘Were they better?’
‘In many ways.’
She looked down, studying the subtle weave in the grey threads of his waistcoat. Perhaps it was time to completely forgive him, but she hesitated, the wronged girl in her unable to let go of the hurt, still waiting for an apology which would never come. The musicians brought the piece to a close and all around them people stepped apart and clapped, but they remained together. His thumb pressed her palm again, the subtle touch making her feel calm and beautiful, even in the midst of so many people. She drank it in, wanting to hang on to him even as etiquette demanded she let go. As couples jostled past them, she felt the frail connection break and reluctantly allowed him to lead her back to her previous spot.
‘Thank you very much for the dance.’ He bowed, friendly but reserved, with none of the passion she’d sensed in him a moment before. The London facade had returned and the intimacy they’d enjoyed was gone. ‘Now I must go.’
She wondered at the change in him, but in some small way understood. After all, she wore a mask for society, too. ‘I wish you would stay.’
‘My goal is to make you visible, not a spectacle. Besides, you must attend to your cousin and we must see if my attention has raised or lowered you in everyone’s eyes.’
‘Thank you again, Randall.’
‘It was my pleasure.’ With a wink, he left just as Theresa and Mr Menton returned. They were barely with her a moment before Mr Menton offered to escort them to the refreshment room. Cecelia agreed, following a step behind as they left the ballroom. Once they had their lemonade, she watched the couple, keeping a slight distance to give them privacy and enjoying their enthusiastic conversation.
