by Mary Nichols
They all wanted something different and Miss Quinn was despatched downstairs to order it to be brought to their sitting room. While she was gone Charlotte slipped into her ball gown.
It was three years old, but it had been a favourite of hers in the days when she had gone to balls. The material of the overskirt was a pale blue-green gossamer covered with tiny embroidered flowers in silver thread; the underskirt was blue silk. The effect was one of shimmering lightness, like the waters of a lake with the moonlight shining on it. The high waist was bounded by a deep blue ribbon and the hem of the skirt was scalloped so that it showed the bottom of the underskirt. The boat-shaped neckline was rather more revealing than she remembered it, but there was a long, deep stole in the same blue-green gossamer that she could drape over her shoulders.
‘Oh, Mama, you look beautiful,’ Fanny said, a sentiment echoed by Lizzie, who added,
‘You will have to fight off your dancing partners.’
‘No, she won’t, for my papa will be escorting her,’ Julia said, reminding Charlotte that he would be calling for her at any moment and setting her nerves jangling again.
Miss Quinn returned and stood just inside the door, surveying Charlotte from head to foot. ‘Oh, it is so good to see you out of black,’ she said. ‘And that gown, I remember it well. You wore it when Lord Hobart took you to London for the ball to celebrate Napoleon’s first defeat. I collect thinking then how it matched your eyes.’
The jubilation had been short-lived; the defeated Emperor had staged a return and it had taken Wellington and the Battle of Waterloo to show him what a mistake that had been. She had not celebrated the second time because, by then, Lord Hobart’s health was failing. Little had she suspected that his demise would change her life so radically. She looked round at the children and felt a sudden surge of love for them all and, never one to stifle her feelings, hugged them one by one, even the difficult Julia, then sat down at her dressing table and took her emerald necklace from its case and, turning to Julia, smiled. ‘Would you fasten it for me, dear?’
The girl jumped up from the bed and went to obey, her expression revealing her pleasure at being chosen for the task. It was no sooner round her neck than a knock came at the outer door and they all trooped into the adjoining parlour as Miss Quinn admitted Stacey.
He stepped into the room and stood a moment, looking at Charlotte as if he had never seen her before. She was out of black and wearing something light and soft that clung to her figure and swirled about her feet. He realised, with a start, that apart from their first encounter on the beach, he had never really seen her hair; it had always been covered by a black lace cap or a bonnet and any escaping tresses had been firmly tucked away. But now he saw it in all its glory, beautifully arranged so that it coiled about her ears and was drawn up on top of her head where it was held with combs, allowing loose curls to fall about her ears and onto the nape of her neck, such heavy, shining hair and such a long, white neck. The schoolmistress had gone and in her place was the most beautiful, the most majestic woman he had ever set eyes on.
He took a step towards her and then suddenly became aware that they had an audience. Miss Quinn and the girls were all watching. He had not expected a reception committee, but it was typical of Charlotte to allow them to be present and his face twitched into a smile as he executed a flourishing leg for their benefit. ‘My lady, your obedient,’ he said.
She dipped a small curtsy, suddenly shy. He was in an evening coat of black superfine, a white single-breasted waistcoat and black breeches with white stockings. His neckcloth was pristine and elegantly tied, which made her wonder fleetingly if he had tied it himself or whether Jem, among his other tasks, fulfilled the role of valet. His hair, though not overlong, was carefully brushed into a style that curled about his forehead and ears. ‘My lord.’
‘Your carriage awaits, my lady.’
Julia giggled and that set the other two off and then Miss Quinn’s lips twitched and that made Charlotte suddenly relax. ‘I am ready, my lord.’ She smiled and offered him her hand, which he took and laid upon his sleeve.
‘If you are good while we are gone,’ he said, addressing the girls over his shoulder, ‘I will take you to the harbour to see a brand new ship tomorrow.’ He surprised himself with the suggestion. Viscount Stacey Darton, who had little time for children, had voluntarily promised to entertain three of them!
‘Are you not in haste to return to Parson’s End in the morning?’ Charlotte asked, as he escorted her out to the waiting carriage.
‘No.’ He turned to look at her in the lamp above the door of the hotel. Her eyes sparkled, there was a rosy bloom on her cheeks and she looked ten years younger than she did in that all-enveloping black. ‘I am finding the attractions of Ipswich growing more and more inviting every minute.’
She was not sure what to make of that reply, but decided she would be a fool to read more into it than a little mild flirtation. ‘You are looking forward to the ball?’ she asked. ‘It will be nothing like a London ball, you know.’
Jem appeared from nowhere, opened the carriage door and let down the step with a flourish and a grin, then stood back to allow Stacey to hand her in and climb in behind her.
‘My beautiful companion will more than make up for that,’ he said, settling himself beside her as the carriage moved forward smoothly.
‘Sir, I declare you are flirting with me.’
He turned towards her and could not resist reaching out and lifting one of her curls on his finger. It was silky soft. ‘Why not?’
‘I might object.’
‘But you don’t, do you?’ He spoke softly. ‘I speak only the truth. You are beautiful and you will outshine everyone there, blinding me to any deficiencies in my surroundings.’
‘La, sir,’ she said with a light laugh, proving she had not forgotten how to flirt herself. ‘You will put me to the blush.’
‘And a very pretty blush it is too.’
The banter set the tone for the whole evening. Each was determined to be light-hearted and not speak of anything contentious and they alighted at the door of the Assembly Rooms and made their way inside, still smiling.
The ballroom was decorated with spring flowers and greenery. Its floor had been lovingly polished and on a dais at one end an orchestra played for dancing, making up in enthusiasm what it lacked in skill. Everyone from the Master of Ceremonies down to the doorman who admitted them was intent on making it a night to remember, but even without that, neither Stacey nor Charlotte were likely to forget it.
They danced quadrilles, country dances, gallops and waltzes, and though he relinquished her to other partners now and again, most of the time they danced with each other, happily ignoring the protocol that decreed that a man who danced more than twice with an unmarried lady was as good as proposing to her. They were both mature and widowed and surely such strictures did not apply to them? As far as Stacey was concerned he meant to propose, just as soon as he found the right moment, but it had to be exactly the right moment because he did not know what he would do if she rejected him.
‘People are looking at us,’ she said, as they danced a waltz before the supper interval.
‘They are looking at the belle of the ball,’ he said. ‘I am having to fight off the young men who want to take a turn about the room with you.’
She laughed. ‘Flummery! I am too old for such nonsense.’
Her laughter pleased him. It was a light merry sound that told him she had at last relaxed. ‘Old?’ he murmured. ‘You are in the prime of life, the best age to be, not silly, not empty-headed, but beautiful and intelligent and wise and I think…No, I know…’ He stopped, looking down into her upturned face. ‘I love you.’
The shock of hearing the words she had so longed to hear made her stumble. He pulled her closer to steady her. ‘My lord—’
‘My name is Stacey. I should like to hear you call me by it, at least when we are alone.’
‘We are not alone. We are i
n a room full of people and attracting attention.’
‘Then we will go somewhere where we are alone.’ He took her hand and started to lead her from the room. She tried to resist, but, aware that they were being watched, could do nothing but go with him.
‘They think we are having a lover’s tiff,’ she said when they found themselves in a deserted corridor.
‘We can hardly have that, since we are not lovers.’ He drew her into an alcove and turned to face her, taking her shoulders in his hands, feeling the softness of her bare flesh, where her shawl had fallen down about her arms and manfully resisted the urge to put his lips to it. ‘Not that I do not wish we were.’
He had introduced a jarring note; he would like her for a lover, a little dalliance, nothing more. Why did that shock her? Had she expected him to be any different from Sir Roland and that odious Augustus Spike? The answer to that was yes and her disappointment brought the tears welling in her eyes. ‘My lord, just because I entered into the spirit of the evening and allowed you to flirt with me a little does not mean you may take liberties.’
‘It depends what you mean by liberties,’ he said, drawing her close against him and lifting her chin with his forefinger, so that she was looking up into his face. ‘Do you mean this?’ And before she could utter a sound he had covered her mouth with his own. The kiss began roughly because he was annoyed and frustrated, but when she stopped struggling, he softened the pressure of his lips and gently explored her mouth with his and then moved it down her neck and along her bare shoulder until he felt her shudder and groan low in her throat. It made him suddenly aware of what he was doing, and he lifted his head to look into her face. Even in the poor light from a lantern further along the corridor he could see her eyes were bright with tears.
‘Oh, God, I am sorry,’ he said, huskily. ‘Please forgive me.’
She had nothing to forgive. She could have pushed him away, could have left him and gone back into the bright lights of the ballroom; he had not held her by force. He had been gentle and she wished, oh, how she wished, that it had meant as much to him as it had to her. She could not bring herself to say she was as much to blame as he was, nor could she say she forgave him. She did not need to forgive the man she loved for kissing her, not when her whole body had been longing for it, longing for more than just kisses; she was quivering with suppressed desire. It was many years since she had experienced the physical loving of a man, but only since she had met Stacey Darton had she felt the loss so keenly. If they had been anywhere but in a public place, she would have been lost to all reason and allowed even greater liberties. And that was not his fault.
‘Charlotte?’ he ventured, when she did not answer.
She swallowed hard to rid herself of the great lump in her throat before she could find her voice and then it came out as a sharp retort. ‘Sir, I did not give you permission to address me by my given name.’ Why was she so angry? Why was she snapping at him? Her anger was directed against herself for being such a fool. She should have known that flirting was a dangerous pastime and where it could lead.
‘Then, my lady, I beg your pardon,’ he said stiffly and could have wept.
‘I do believe the dance has finished,’ she said, as people began streaming into the corridor to go to the supper room. If they noticed the couple standing in the shadow of the alcove, they gave no indication of it.
‘Yes, shall we go into supper?’ What more could he say? She would not listen and he had lost an opportunity, which just proved his timing was abysmal.
They followed the crowd and he found her a seat and went off to fetch two plates of food, without speaking another word. A waiter came with a tray of glasses filled with a pale wine and he took two of these and set them on the table.
‘Thank you,’ she said. She could not swallow the food, but she drank the wine and he took her glass to be refilled.
He watched her as she drank it far too quickly and his heart ached for her, for the mess he had made of everything, for wanting her. He did not speak, afraid that whatever he said would exacerbate the situation. When supper was over, he offered her his arm to return to the ballroom. The dancing continued, but this time he did not attempt to fight off those who wanted to stand up with her, but stood leaning against a pillar, watching her as she danced, eyes bright, lips smiling, making light remarks in answer to her partner’s comments and never once making a wrong move, even though he knew she was ever so slightly foxed.
The last dance was a waltz and he was determined to try to mend fences, if only so that they could go back to being to each other what they had before, though he had no idea exactly what that was. Schoolteacher and father of one of her pupils, he supposed, gambler who had been instrumental in salvaging her jewels, protector perhaps. Nothing more. He walked forward as her last partner relinquished her and bowed before her. ‘May I have the honour of this dance?’ he asked formally and humbly, offering her his hand.
She took it and smiled, the same bright smile with which she had been favouring her other partners, a smile of bravado. Nothing seemed quite real. The people about them were hazy, his face, his dear face was unclear, the expression in his dark eyes unfathomable. It was as if the whole evening had been a dream—from the moment she stripped off her black silk and dressed in the filmy ball gown, she had become someone else, not Charlotte Hobart, respectable widow and mother, though she was very unsure of the woman who had taken her place, a flirt, a wanton. Was that what he wanted? There was no Parson’s End and Easterley Manor, no school, no children, no past, no future, there was only a woman in love and a man who tormented.
They danced in perfect unison, her right hand in his left, his right arm at her back, she could feel its warmth and longed to feel closer than the permitted twelve inches, which, she told herself severely, would prove nothing except that she had abandoned all sense of decorum and he was a rake. Neither spoke until the dance ended and he bowed low while she curtsied. ‘Thank you, my lady,’ he said, offering his hand to raise her.
She smiled wanly and went to the ladies’ retiring room to fetch her cloak before joining him in the general exodus towards the door. Jem was waiting with the carriage, one of a long line stretching the length of the street. He jumped down to open the door and let down the step for them to enter, which they did in silence, making him look sideways at his master, but he was met with a frown and not his usual smile.
‘My lady,’ Stacey began when they had negotiated the traffic and were on their way to the hotel. ‘I have apologised. Am I not to be forgiven?’
‘You are forgiven. We will put it down to the heat of the moment and say no more about it.’
He wanted to say a great deal more about it, wanted to explain, tell her that he had kissed her because he loved her, but he was sure such a declaration would not be welcome. But he could not stand her silent reproach. Anyone would think he had tried to rape her! ‘Could you not sound just a little as though you meant it?’ he asked. ‘After all, you are not a green girl, you have been kissed before. I have kissed you before—’ He stopped and began again. ‘Until all this is over, we have to deal with each other and it would be better done in a spirit of friendship.’
‘All over?’ she asked. ‘You mean our journey home?’
‘Not that, not just that. I meant everything. The free-traders, my problems with Julia, the school, Lord Hobart…’
‘Oh, that game of chance. I had hoped, for one evening, you might have managed to forget it.’
‘I did,’ he protested. ‘Not once has it crossed my mind since we left Parson’s End. I have had my mind on other things.’
‘So I collect.’
‘If you have forgiven me, why are you still so up in the boughs?’
‘I am not up in the boughs, I am sitting here beside you, perfectly calm.’
He gave a grunt of amusement. Calm she certainly was not. He could feel the tension in her, though they were not touching each other; it was in the air around her, palpable, threat
ening.
‘I see you find me amusing.’
‘Vastly,’ he said, unable to resist it.
She turned away and looked out of the carriage window, though there was nothing to see but empty, ill-lit streets. How could the evening have gone so wrong? What had she hoped for? What had she expected? He was a man, wasn’t he? A virile, lustful man and she should have known better than encourage him if she did not welcome his advances. But she had, she had welcomed them with open arms. Why not admit it? She gave a sudden cracked laugh. ‘Your daughter will have no need to rid you of me, you have managed to do that all by yourself.’
‘What do you mean by that? What has Julia to do with it?’
‘She told us she has her own way of dealing with ladies who aspire to be your wife. I collect something about horse muck…’
He burst out laughing, making her turn towards him. ‘Oh, my dear, she did me a favour. The woman was a positive antidote, but that does not mean I will allow Julia to dictate whom I may see. You surely are not influenced by what she says.’
‘Whether I am or not is of no significance, since I do not aspire to such giddy heights.’
‘Oh.’ He held his hat in one hand and stroked it, a habit he had when he was agitated. It gave his hands something to do and stopped him from turning her over his knee and spanking some sense into her. Did she imagine her supposed lower status would weigh with him? And if she did, why did she not tell him the truth? Or was he jumping the gun to think she cared for him?
‘And what did you mean by the school being all over?’ she demanded suddenly. ‘Did you imagine it to be a whim, something to pass my time, which I will discard the moment something more interesting comes along?’
‘No, I know it means more to you than that. But I collect the lease is only for a year. You will need somewhere else after that.’
‘And I will find it, do not doubt it.’
