Some Enchanted Evening

by Christina Dodd

  Millicent didn’t know what to reply. No one had ever expressed their admiration of her before. She didn’t expect it. But she liked it.

  He continued. “I’m back to take care of things. I know I’ve not done a good job so far, but I promise in the future I’ll do better. For tonight…I beg you, take the time to enjoy the fruits of your labor.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Dance, drink, dine, and gossip,” he said. “Isn’t that what ladies like to do at balls?”

  “I don’t know,” she said frostily.

  “I’ve said the wrong thing. My apologies.” He stood and bowed. “I shouldn’t have bothered you.”

  She hadn’t meant to chase him away. Not when he looked as if he labored under some distress. “Robert, sit down. You can ask me anything, you know. I’ll do my best for you.”

  With a show of reluctance, he perched on the edge of the sofa. “You could do me a favor.”

  “Anything,” she reiterated.

  “Lord Tardew is a friend of mine. Well, you remember Corey. He visited here often enough.”

  “Yes, I remember.” How could she forget?

  “He’ll be here tonight.”

  “I know.” Princess Clarice. Had she been talking to Robert about Millicent? But she wouldn’t have been cruel. She wasn’t like that. And Robert wouldn’t try deviously to push them together. He knew very well that Millicent couldn’t appeal to a man like Corey.

  But Robert didn’t seem to know any such thing. He lowered his voice. “I haven’t told you everything about my reasons for wanting this ball.”

  Dazed, she shook her head. “Haven’t you?”

  “And I won’t. Trust me, it’s better if you don’t know the details. But I’ll not have time to slap Corey’s shoulder and be his friend as I have in the past, and I don’t want him wondering why.” Robert gazed at her in appeal. “I know it’s another duty on your already duty-filled plate, but would you dance and flirt with him and distract him? I know you can.”

  Her heart twisted. Did Robert know about her infatuation with Corey? Was he mocking her?

  But no, he appeared to be serious.

  “I can’t flirt.” She hated to admit the truth. She liked hearing Robert flatter her with things that weren’t true. “I don’t know how.”

  Robert chuckled. “You don’t have to flirt. Just smile at him and act interested. He’s a shallow fellow. He’ll believe you infatuated and court you most assiduously.”

  “There are other lasses whom he’ll find more to his taste.”

  “None as attractive as you, Millicent. I heard him say you’ve got a grand figure. Dress to show it off. You’ve got the most beautiful smile in the world. Lavish it on him. Plus, you have a reputation as being impervious to flirtation. Yes, I promise, when he realizes he will conquer a citadel no one else has touched, he’ll be after you at once.” Robert squeezed her hand. “Do you mind dreadfully, dear sister? For if you do, I’ll try to find another way to distract him, although none will be as effective.”

  “No! No, I’m glad to assist you as I can.” Millicent took deep breaths, for it seemed she had suddenly ascended a mountain where the air was thin.

  “Good.” Robert clapped his hands to his knees and stood up. “I admire your boldness and your initiative more and more, and I have every faith in you. I’ll go now, but remember—keep him distracted all evening!”

  “I will.” In a daze Millicent watched Robert stride from the room.

  Then he returned. “I hope you don’t mind, but I ordered a gown from Mistress Dubb, made to your specifications. She’s clever about fashions, and she told me she’d take care of the matter. If you don’t like the gown, though, don’t fret yourself. All of your gowns are admirable when they’re on you.”

  He left again, leaving her with her hands limp in her lap. He admired her? Her boldness and initiative? He had noticed what she’d done while he was gone? He noticed what she did to run the house? He appreciated her? She could scarcely comprehend these new developments.

  All this time she had thought herself almost invisible, and as time went on, she grew more and more invisible until it almost seemed that everyone looked through her.

  But Robert had said differently, and for some reason, hearing one voice declare his admiration made all the difference in the world.

  Standing, she walked, stiff-legged, toward her bedchamber.

  Moreover, Robert had given her a mission. To flirt…with Lord Tardew. With dear, beautiful, noble Corey MacGown. And Robert had made it sound like an important matter.

  She opened the door to her bedchamber, staggered inside, and went to her dressing table. There, placed among the silver-backed brushes and staid clips, were jars such as Princess Clarice sold. And a curling iron. And on the bed, a gorgeous gown of the most provocative cherry-red.

  Millicent knew it was provocative, because her eyes popped when she saw it.

  “Ma’am?” Her maid hurried forward. “His Lordship said I was to help you dress and coif, and if you need help you’re to call Princess Clarice.”

  At the offer Millicent’s spine stiffened. “No. I know what to do. Now I have only to do it.”

  Twenty-four

  A princess always utilizes her handkerchief and checks her buttons before entering the ballroom.

  —THE DOWAGER QUEEN OF BEAUMONTAGNE

  Millicent had never had people look at her as they did now. With confusion and disbelief. When Colonel Ogley and Mrs. Ogley entered the room on a polite round of applause, the colonel himself saw her and did an inelegant double take.

  But keeping Princess Clarice’s advice in mind, Millicent walked into the ballroom with a smile fixed on her lips. She glided rather than walked, the thin satin of the cherry-red skirt swishing around her legs, and she wondered if the gentlemen could tell she had left off her petticoat.

  Seeing the scandalized look on Mr. Trumbull’s hangdog face, she realized they could.

  The newly cut fringe brushed at her forehead in a maddening manner, like midges swarming against her skin. She barely refrained from swatting at it, but she kept her hands in a graceful arc at her sides as she crossed the hardwood floor. The ballroom was as beautiful as she had hoped, and as they looked around, Lady Mercer, Lady Lorraine, and Mrs. Symlen smiled. The debutantes were wide-eyed and awe-stricken, and even Lady Blackston nodded a sour approval.

  Millicent instructed the leader of the orchestra to start the music, then turned back to the beautifully dressed crowd on the ballroom floor and smiled graciously. She damned well would be confident if it killed her.

  And she found she enjoyed the glazed, openmouthed stare young Larissa gave her—especially since Larissa sported a fiery red and pustulous spot right between her eyes.

  With all the enthusiasm of a puppy Prudence bounced up and sputtered, “You wouldn’t let me dampen my skirts, and you look like that?”

  Millicent’s confidence took a fast dive. “Do I look ridiculous?”

  “You look dazzling, not at all like yourself, but you’re wearing a breathtaking red gown and I’m wearing”—Prudence plucked discontentedly at her blue skirt—“this boring old thing.”

  “You look lovely, and absolutely appropriate for someone of your age.”

  “I don’t want to look appropriate. I want to look stunning too.”

  “When you’re my age, you can wear a cherry-red gown.” Lowering her voice, Millicent distracted Prudence the best way she knew how. “In the meantime, did you see Larissa’s spot?”

  Prudence put her head close to Millicent’s. “Yes, isn’t it awful? All the rest of us girls don’t have spots because we used the royal secret creams. That’ll teach Larissa to listen to her mother. And have you seen Princess Clarice? Isn’t she a stunner?”

  Millicent looked around. At the edge of the ballroom Princess Clarice stood clad in a gown of glowing silver satin with touches of dark blue braid at the shoulders and a dark blue ribbon tied beneath her breasts. She wore her go
lden curling hair twisted back in a stern style that gave her face a grave distinction, and a peacock feather bobbed above her head. “She looks beautiful, as usual,” Millicent said.

  Robert walked in, offered his arm to Princess Clarice, and started with her in a circuit around the room.

  Prudence gave a soundless whistle. “Older Brother looks handsome too. Larissa’s right. He is the Catch of the Season—and with that spot, she hasn’t got a chance.”

  Millicent found herself tittering along with her sister.

  “Maybe Princess Clarice can win him,” Prudence speculated.

  Millicent clasped her hands before her. “Maybe so.” With a squeeze to Prudence’s hand she said, “Behave, and have fun.”

  As she moved off, Prudence called with a giggle, “Which one? I can’t do both.”

  Millicent heartily prayed for Robert’s engagement every night, for Princess Clarice had changed him even more than Millicent had dared hope. Robert was himself again, suave and social, no longer a man whose lifeless eyes made her want to cry.

  That was Millicent’s doing. She had urged Princess Clarice to come and stay with them. She had pushed them together as often as possible. She had done everything in her power to create an atmosphere conducive to romance, and she was proud of herself. The knowledge that she could do one thing right gave her the courage to trust her voice, and she began to speak to people. “Lady Mercer, how elegant you look. Are those the famous pearls I’ve heard so much about?”

  Lady Mercer cackled as only an old lady could. “Damn, young lady, I never thought to see the day, but you’ve done it. You’ve really done it, and to hell with your father, heh?”

  Before Millicent could think of an answer, Lady Mercer pinched her cheek hard and used her cane to thump away toward the matrons’ corner.

  Smile, Millicent thought. Smile and go on to the next guest.

  Mr. Gaskell intercepted her next. He was no more than Prudence’s age but of good family with a large fortune, and his choice of bride had already been an object of much speculation among the debutantes. Right now his large brown eyes were fixed on her in a manner she’d never seen before. It almost looked like adoration. He bowed stiffly, his chin never dipping into his stiff collar, and in a nervous voice he asked, “May I beg the next quadrille?”

  “From…me? Well…yes, of course, I’d be delighted.” And guilty, for she knew very well the debutantes would be furious with her. But this was rather agreeable.

  He bowed again and backed away, his gazed fixed not on her face but on her breasts. Good heavens, they hadn’t grown overnight, had they? And more to the point, the dress wasn’t cut that low, was it? She was tempted to look but managed to refrain.

  In a fluster she decided she should go check with Cook to make sure the dinner was proceeding and would be ready at midnight. And on the way she could go and tuck a fichu into her neckline. But when she turned, she almost buried her nose in a high starched white collar and a perfectly tied cravat.

  The earl of Tardew, Corey MacGown, stood before her. Tall, golden, blue-eyed, he had a perfect figure perfectly set off by his perfectly cut green breeches and a perfectly designed green-and-blue-striped jacket. As she slowly lifted her eyes to his, she realized he was staring at her as if he had never seen her before.

  Her smile faltered. Her lips trembled. Then she heard a titter off to the side and knew they were being watched—not kindly either. Her chin came up. Her smile blossomed. In a composed voice she said, “Corey, how good to see you again. Oh, dear, I beg your pardon, I should call you Lord Tardew, but we’ve been friends for so long, I forgot.”

  “Friends?” he said stupidly. “Do I know you?”

  His ignorance shocked her. Had he truly never observed her better than that? “Lady Millicent MacKenzie, at your service.” She dipped into a curtsy. “Now do you remember?”

  “Lady Millicent!” He placed his hand flat on his chest. “No, you were…that is, I scarcely recognized…that is, you look lovely tonight.”

  “I thank you.” Robert had asked her to keep Corey busy, so although she wanted nothing so much as to lift her skirts and run into the safety of the kitchens, she put her hand on his arm and went to work on his sense of competition. “Will you do me a favor?”

  “Anything!”

  “Will you dance with Prue?” She smiled coyly and realized this thing called flirting was getting easier. “I have all these silly boys asking me to dance, and she’s going to be angry if no one asks her.”

  Corey’s large blue eyes narrowed as an idea struck him. An idea she had put into his head. “I have a better plan. Why don’t I dance every dance with you, thus making it impossible for the lads to ask you? Then they’ll have to ask Prue.”

  “How very clever you are, Corey.” Millicent smiled up at him and distantly noted how easily she had manipulated him. “But you know that’s impossible. If I dance every dance with you, that would be tantamount to declaring our betrothal.”

  “Perhaps that’s not such a bad idea,” Corey said.

  He was suggesting a betrothal? He wanted to marry her? This was her dream! Why wasn’t she fainting into his arms?

  And the sensible part of Millicent—which was the largest part of Millicent—answered, Because he didn’t even recognize you ten minutes ago. How she hated sensibility. It had such a way of tromping on one’s illusions! Her breathing was remarkably calm as she fluttered her eyelashes. “I think it is.”

  “Lady Millicent.” Lord Aldwinkle interrupted them with a bow. “I would love to escort you into dinner.”

  Corey shouldered him aside. “You’re too late. I already asked her.”

  “You didn’t!” Millicent wasn’t going to have him think he could have her for the asking.

  “I was going to,” Corey declared.

  Mr. Mallett joined them. “We all know where good intentions lead you, eh, Lord Tardew.”

  The gathering crowd chuckled while Corey knit his brow. “Where?”

  Everyone treated him as if he were a wit, and he laughed along with them, but Millicent had the dreadful feeling that he didn’t understand the jest. And if that were true, if Corey wasn’t intelligent…what with her illusions shattering and the strain of being the center of attention, it was going to be a very long night.

  “Look at that.” Clarice watched Millicent while Robert watched Clarice. “She’s the newest belle. I do adore my transformations, especially when they succeed so exceptionally.”

  Robert steered Clarice through the crowd, making sure everyone saw her and took note of the shimmering silver gown, the peacock feather, the golden hair. “You’re very beautiful yourself.”

  She slanted a sideways glance at him, one that made him remember last night in a manner so explicit, he wondered in a moment of alarm if he would have to excuse himself until the physical result had subsided. Tersely he instructed, “Smile.”

  “I know how to do this,” she answered in an undertone. “Trust me.”

  Trust her? He did. Inexplicably he trusted her. And he wanted her. God, how he wanted her. Wanted to pick her up, take her away from this ballroom where the gentlemen leered after her in reckless longing. Take her away from the danger she faced—the danger he had created for her.

  Lord Plumbley stopped her and begged her for a dance, and Robert watched as she shook her head regretfully. “I fear I sprained my ankle riding today, and I can’t dance at all. But I can sit and allow you to bring me punch.” She smiled winsomely.

  Lord Plumbley trembled with eagerness.

  Robert wanted to thump him in his silly, quivering chin. Instead, with a curt nod he moved Clarice along. In an undertone he said, “He hasn’t a ha’pence that isn’t spoken for by the money-lenders.”

  “Unfortunate man.” Clarice sounded compassionate, which was not what Robert had intended at all. “I shall have to see if I can find him an heiress. I mean…if I remain in Scotland for a while.”

  Before Robert could reply, she tugged at his a
rm. “You’re moving too quickly. We need to stroll along as if we haven’t a care in the world.”

  She was right, of course, but he was torn between his worry for her and his need to free Waldemar. Everything was going according to plan, and she was so calm and smiling, she might not have understood that the whole weight of his charade rested on her. Yet she did understand, and her confidence made him proud and made him swear she had possessed his soul. Without her he feared he would slip back into the darkness that had been his prison for so long. When this was over he would do what was necessary to convince her that she must remain at MacKenzie Manor. She had to stay with him.

  Mrs. Birkbeck stopped them and asked to be introduced to the princess, and when he had obliged, he stood back and watched Clarice charm her and Mrs. Symlen, then Lady White. In an undertone she spoke to Lady Lorraine—last minute advice, he supposed.

  When Clarice rejoined him and they had moved away from the little group and into a space bare of guests, she asked quietly, “There is something I have wondered—why didn’t you just tell me the reasons why you wanted me to perform this masquerade? They’re noble reasons, and I’m proud to do my part in freeing Waldemar. Why the secrecy?”

  He joined his gloved hands behind his back to keep from touching her as they walked. He looked bored, as if he were making everyday conversation, and he kept his voice low when he answered. “You were like everyone else. You had heard of Ogley’s heroism. You wanted to believe it. And why not? Those feats he wrote about really happened. Would you have believed it was Waldemar, a criminal sentenced to hang, rather than Ogley, who performed them? And would you have believed me when I said Waldemar deserved to be given his freedom and a commendation that would allow him to go wherever he wished and be whatever he wanted?”