"Of course it is. I'm simply curious as to why you have taken yourself out of the running."
"Because her inclination is to call me Uncle Ian," he suggested with a smile. "I think she has taken me out of the running."
"Only because she doesn't know any better," Elizabeth said.
Or because she has seen me at my worst, Ian thought. "Perhaps," he said again, the word carefully noncommittal.
"Obviously, you don't wish to talk about this."
He should have remembered that Elizabeth was too clever to be put off with platitudes and transparent excuses.
"If you will forgive me, no, truthfully I do not."
She inclined her head in agreement. "Then, of course, I shall not broach the subject again. I wish you would think about what I've said, however. Both about the rigors of the Season for a girl of Anne's sensitivity and about this. I can think of no finer man to care for Anne the rest of her life. She would be very lucky indeed to win your heart."
"But my heart is not a stake in this game," Ian said softly.
The silence between them this time was induced by her embarrassment, he supposed, as the first had been by his.
"I didn't know," Elizabeth said. "Forgive me for being obtuse. I am not usually."
She thought he was in love with someone else, Ian realized. An unrequited love. Which was as good an excuse as any.
"You are never obtuse," he denied, smiling at her.
"I was about this. Am I forgiven?"
"There is nothing to forgive. I am infinitely grateful for your help."
"But not for my advice," she said.
"I shall always welcome any advice you wish to give."
Except about this, he thought, holding his sister-in-law's eyes and seeing sympathy within them. As he had said, Elizabeth was never obtuse.
Chapter Five
London, Six weeks later
"And this for the trim," Elizabeth said, holding a strand of very fine silver beads against the white silk they had selected for Anne's first ball gown. "What do you think?"
"I think I cannot bear to look at another piece of cloth or another trimming," Anne said truthfully. "Are you not hungry?"
"Hungry?" Elizabeth repeated, signaling to the hovering merchant with a wave of her gloved hand.
"It has been hours since we had breakfast."
"I am training you to do without food," Elizabeth said.
"Without food?"
"In preparation for your first ball."
"They have suppers at balls. You told me so."
"Indeed they do, but you don't actually intend to be seen eating them, do you?"
"I don't?"
"Of course not. Perhaps only a bite or two. If you don't practice starvation now and grow accustomed to it, how shall you manage to do without food, especially after dancing for hours?"
"You're teasing me," Anne said, laughing as she finally detected the mockery in the countess's words.
"Only partially. It truly won't do to be seen to have a hearty appetite."
"Perhaps you could fatten me up during the next three weeks, as they do geese for Christmas, and I could simply live off the accumulated store."
"And then you should never get into all these dresses."
All these dresses, Anne thought, repeating the unbelievable phrase in her head. So many of them that she had truly lost count. So many that she could not imagine ever having occasion to wear half of them. So many that...
"Is he very rich?" she asked, fingering a bronze satin that she thought evocative of leaves in the fall.
She was surprised when Elizabeth took the fabric out of her hands and unrolled enough from the bolt so that she could drape it across Anne's shoulder.
"You're right," the Countess of Dare said, stepping back to look at the subtle gleam of the material next to Anne's skin and hair. "You have a very good eye for what will become you. Too bad we can't have this made up."
"Because it isn't white," Anne said, having by now learned the rules that governed a debutante's dress.
"Or cream or pink or blue. Silver if you wish to be thought very daring," Elizabeth agreed.
"All of which make me look like a death's head."
"Not so bad as that," Elizabeth said, undraping the satin and rewrapping it neatly around the bolt, "but in truth, this would be far more becoming."
"Perhaps we could have it made up into something to wear at home. A dressing gown," Anne suggested hopefully. She ran her fingers longingly over the fabric, almost a caress.
"If you like," Elizabeth said, again signaling the merchant.
"Is he?" Anne asked again as they waited for him to cut the satin and add it to their purchases.
"Is he what?"
"Very rich," Anne repeated impatiently. "I mean Ian is buying all of this, isn't he? I can't believe my father made provisions for me to have a Season. Especially since he never made provisions for anything else. So...is he very rich?"
"I believe Ian has money from his mother, which he has invested in the funds. I know Dare made a settlement on both his brothers as soon as he inherited. He didn't want them to have to come to him for pocket money."
"So he is not really rich. Then why is he doing all this?"
Elizabeth hesitated a second, and then she said, "Because he is your guardian. And so that you may have your chance."
"My chance to make a good marriage. Which is supposed to be every woman's dream," Anne said.
"And it isn't yours?" Elizabeth asked, smiling at her.
"I don't know. I've never been married, so perhaps I'm a poor judge. Was it your dream?"
"I am hardly the person to ask that question."
"I'm sorry. I had gotten the impression..."
"Yes?"
"That you were happy in your marriage."
"My second marriage, and I am very happy. I was not happy, however, in the first."
"Then why did you marry him?" Anne asked reasonably, trailing Elizabeth as she began to make her way through the crowded aisles toward the outer doors of the linen draper's shop.
"Because that one was considered to be a good marriage," the countess said over her shoulder.
Anne took a breath, knowing that she had not really touched on any of the things she longed to ask. And one of them was, of course, why her guardian was yet unmarried. Considering the uncharacteristic abruptness of Elizabeth's answers, however, this might not be the best time to ask that particular question.
***
Anne had thought she was quite alone in the enormous ballroom. And then, just as she made what she hoped was a fairly graceful turn, she noticed her guardian leaning at his ease against the wall beside the enormous pocket doors. He had been watching her, and she had no idea how long he had been there.
"Please don't let me interrupt," Ian said. "I am enjoying the performance, but I shall leave if you prefer to be alone."
She had stopped her pantomime as soon as she'd spotted him, hot blood rushing into her cheeks. "It's your ballroom," she said. "If anyone should leave, it should be I."
"Actually, it's my brother's ballroom. I don't believe I have even been in it for several years. I'd almost forgotten it was here until I heard you singing."
"That must have been an unpleasant experience."
He laughed, not bothering to comment on her self-deprecation. "Practicing your steps?" he asked.
Anne had never danced before in company and certainly not any of the courtly dances which she would soon be expected to perform proficiently. When Elizabeth discovered that appalling situation, she had ordered a series of private lessons.
In a little less than half an hour the dancing master who had been hired to add the needed polish would arrive. Anne had come to the ballroom to prepare for that dreaded lesson, since Elizabeth's comments this morning on her progress—or rather on her lack of it—had been less than encouraging.
It was hard to believe someone who could shinny up a tree as rapidly as any boy and do sums in h
er head faster than Mrs. Kemp herself couldn't master the steps to a few dances. That seemed to be the case, however, and Anne was determined to overcome that failure, especially since she would be expected to perform flawlessly in only a few days.
"Elizabeth has sent for a dancing master," she confessed.
"I see," Ian said, controlling his lips, which seemed to have a tendency to tilt upward at the corners.
"I have no wish to humiliate myself any more than is absolutely necessary, however, so I came early to practice. Do you suppose if I threw myself on his mercy, he might tell Elizabeth that lessons are quite useless and that she must leave me alone before I succumb to a debilitating fit of vapors?"
"I think it unlikely," Ian said, finally giving in and allowing the grin he had been fighting.
A very attractive grin, Anne thought. Less kind than his smile, perhaps, but it seemed to put them on a more equal footing, like fellow conspirators.
"Unlikely she'll leave me alone?" she questioned. "Or unlikely he will tell her that?"
"Very unlikely that you would succumb to vapors. Anyone who can face down a highwayman can certainly endure being led through the steps of a few dances."
"Would you care to guess which I should prefer?"
"It's not so bad as that," he said.
He was obviously amused by her distress, which she found herself exaggerating to keep him entertained. To keep him here?
"You," she said, her tone almost accusatory, "probably mastered these steps when you were a child."
He didn't bother to deny it. "Do you think I could help?" he offered instead.
"Do you mean you'd be willing to practice with me?"
Despite the fact that he was undoubtedly being avuncular again, there was a distinct and by now familiar flutter in the region of her heart at the thought.
"Speaking of unpleasant experiences," Ian said, with a laugh. "Should I try to dance, you would certainly have one, I'm afraid. I told you I haven't been in a ballroom in years. And certainly not of late."
Because of his limp. Disappointment settled in her chest, exactly where that brief surge of anticipation had been only seconds before. She didn't really want him to watch her stumble over her own feet today, she supposed, but she had thought he might dance with her at least once during the coming Season. After she had mastered the art.
Actually, she realized she had been counting on it. She had envisioned her guardian leading her, graceful and poised, onto the floor at her first ball. Another romantic fantasy destroyed by reality, which seemed to be happening rather too frequently of late. But then she was too prone to fantasy. That was certainly what Mrs. Kemp would have said. And probably what Elizabeth would say as well.
"However," Ian continued, "I would be delighted to take your hand and let you practice your steps around me. It might make you more confident when the dancing master requires that."
"Will he?" Anne asked in horror.
For some reason she had supposed the master would simply walk her through the dance, standing beside her as Elizabeth had done. The thought of actually having to dance with the man was disconcerting.
"I believe that is how it is usually accomplished," Ian said, his eyes smiling again, although his mouth was once more controlled. "But a little practice will surely make perfect. Not, of course, in my case."
This might very well be the only chance she would ever have to dance with him. And she wanted to. She wanted to very much. His hazel eyes were considering her face, one brow raised inquiringly, so she attempted to keep her excitement from showing.
"I should be very grateful if you would," she said primly.
Ian limped across the ballroom and held out his hand. "Then I should be delighted to be your somewhat immobile partner."
It was certainly not how she had envisioned this moment. However, they were quite alone, with nothing to distract her from enjoying his presence, so it might be even better than what she had been imagining. Smiling, she put her fingers into those of her guardian, and took her place at his side.
"I must warn you that I really am very bad," she said. It seemed only fair to prepare him.
"Then we should match quite nicely," he said, unperturbed by her confession.
Taking a deep breath, Anne began to move through the sequence of steps Elizabeth had painstakingly taught her, trying to concentrate on them, rather than on the considerable distraction provided by being so near her guardian.
"Perhaps if I hum it will go better," Ian suggested after a moment. "The melody almost tells you what to do."
Her eyes lifted to his, a blush once more staining her cheeks. His fingers tightened encouragingly around her hand, and then he began to hum in a very pleasant baritone. Obediently, Anne tried to think only about the music. After all, Elizabeth had told her the same thing—to concentrate on the rhythm and flow of it, rather than worrying about what her feet were doing.
She reminded herself that she had better enjoy this because the opportunity to dance with Ian might never come again. Of course, she admitted, he wasn't really dancing. He was simply holding her hand as she moved through the formal pattern of the cotillion. He, himself, was moving as little as possible, standing in place and simply turning as she circled around him.
However, given all the hectic preparations and lessons in deportment and the shopping expeditions, Anne hadn't been alone with her guardian in a very long time. And she didn't believe she had been this close to him since the night they had knelt together in the snow, her arms wrapped tightly around his shivering body.
Suddenly she was aware of the same subtle aromas that had surrounded him then. The scents of good soap and fine leather. Of freshly ironed linen. Of clean skin and hair. She breathed deeply of them, knowing those fragrances would always be associated in her mind with the night he had defended her. And now, they would forever be associated with this moment as well.
"Much better," he said, turning with her so that she could begin the next section.
Had they really been on the dance floor, he would have handed her off to her new partner. As it was, he simply allowed her to circle away from him and then caught her hand again as she turned back.
Despite the fact that he wasn't attempting to follow the steps, Ian's confidence in leading her through them showed that he must have been an excellent dancer. Or at least a very experienced one.
"You like to dance," she said, surprised into that observation. He did seem to be enjoying himself, even in this necessarily truncated version of the masculine role.
"I was a member of Wellington's staff," he said. "Like it or not, we all danced. It's a skill that, once learned, is never forgotten."
For the first time she thought about how much his life had changed as a result of his injuries. He had never indicated that he missed the things he could no longer do, but surely he must. Dancing, for example. And she knew that he no longer rode. There were probably a dozen other activities Ian Sinclair had once enjoyed which were now denied to him.
"You were frequently called upon to dance with lovely Spanish noblewomen, I suppose," she teased.
"Of course. And as frequently with their mustached grandmothers."
She laughed. "As you may possibly have noticed, I have a tendency to romanticize."
"A common failing of youth. It will pass soon enough, believe me."
"At my first ball," she suggested.
"You'll be a great success. How can you not under Elizabeth's tutelage? And mine, of course."
He turned her again, and then stepped across, pretending to become her next partner. As she completed the circle, she glanced up to find him waiting for her. His hand was held out in invitation, and he was smiling at her again.
Her fingers touched his and something happened in her stomach. Something quite remarkable. To be perfectly honest, she realized, she would have to admit that it had not occurred exactly in her stomach, but rather...
As a result of that realization, she missed the beat, failing
to begin the new series of steps at the right time. Totally confused, both by the disrupted pattern and by her reaction to the mere touch of her guardian's hand, she stopped. Surprised, Ian turned his head to look into her face.
"I seem to have forgotten what comes next," she said, her voice little more than a whisper.
"The first rule for becoming a success in society," he said, his eyes smiling, despite his admonishing tone, "is never to admit you are at fault."
"I was at fault."
"Of course not. You have an awkward partner."
"Indeed, I do not," she said, laughing. "I have clumsy feet."
Although they were no longer moving through the motions of the dance, he had not released her hand. Not that she wanted him to. She realized she would be quite content to stand here all day, her fingers resting in his.
"You couldn't be clumsy if you tried," he said.
"I hope you will stay and tell Elizabeth's dancing master that whisker."
"You don't need me to fight your battles," he said.
"Well, it would be very nice to have someone fight them."
Anne was quite accustomed to having to stand on her own two feet. However, what she had just said was something she had recognized since Ian had come to Fenton School to collect her. And it had only been reinforced by Elizabeth's kindness. It was nice to have someone on her side. And at her side.
"And that is the purpose of everything we're in London to accomplish," Ian said softly.
The marriage mart. Someone to fight my battles for me.
Anne had never thought of what they were undertaking in that light. Despite all her romantic fantasies, she had never really believed she would find a husband at any of the Season's entertainments.
Someone to fight my battles for me. The memory of the night they had knelt together in the snow was again in her head. As was that peculiar sensation, the one which had moved through her body when Ian Sinclair had taken her hand.
And suddenly she knew with startling clarity why she had never, from the very beginning, entertained any hope of falling in love with a handsome gentleman she would meet in some London ballroom. Unknown even to her it seemed, she had already found her champion, and ridiculously romantic or not, she knew she would never want any other.
Wilson, Gayle Page 7
