A Ballroom Temptation

by Kimberly Bell

  She checked her own ivory satin ball gown, making sure everything was in order. Turning to Mathilda, Jane reflexively reached out to adjust her lace wrap, but it was already lying artfully across her aunt’s shoulders. Glimpses of skin peaked out through the delicate fabric.

  “You look exceptional,” she told Mathilda.

  “Naturally.” Her aunt winked. She turned to the majordomo. “You can announce us now.”

  Their names rang out across the ballroom. There was a complete lack of stir, which suited Jane just fine. They made their way down the curving staircase in the line stopping to meet the hosts. Greeting the Duke and Duchess of Montrose occurred without incident, but just past, the duke’s terrifying mother, the Dowager Duchess of Montrose, pinned them with her sharp glare.

  “You. Come over here. I know you.”

  “Dowager Duchess,” Mathilda greeted. She and Jane both curtsied low, aware they were under intense scrutiny.

  “You were the chaperone for the Earl of Rhone’s wife. The Howard girl.”

  “I was,” Mathilda said.

  “Botched that pretty good, didn’t you?”

  Mathilda’s chin raised slightly. “If that’s the way you look at it. She is a countess now.”

  Jane had never been happier to have protocol demand her silence.

  The dowager narrowed her eyes. “Well? How is she? Are they getting on? Why haven’t they come for the season?”

  Mathilda smiled. “They’re getting on very well. Hannah is with child, and Lord Rhone cannot be persuaded to leave her side.”

  The dowager duchess harrumphed her disapproval. “Too fond of his wife by half. I told him that the last time I saw him.”

  “Quite right,” Mathilda agreed. “It’s in very bad taste. I’ll be sure to remind them you said so when I write them.”

  Jane looked at the floor so she wouldn’t be caught smiling.

  “Who’s this, then?” the dowager asked.

  “My niece, Jane Bailey.”

  The former Duchess of Montrose’s eyebrows rose impossibly high. “Viscount Bailey’s daughter? The one who threw over Pembroke?”

  A tightness started in Jane’s throat.

  “Never did like that boy. But still. Can’t just have young people running around canceling engagements.”

  “You’re absolutely right,” Mathilda agreed. “I tell her that every day.”

  The dowager duchess nodded.

  “Jane, dear, is that Lady Atherton waving?”

  She looked, but Jane didn’t see anyone waving. “I—”

  “It was so lovely to catch up, Lady Montrose. I’ll send Rhone your regards.” Mathilda grabbed Jane by the arm and hurried her off across the ballroom. She liberated two champagne flutes from a footman on their way past and found them space to the side of the musicians. “Thank God.”

  “You’re not very subtle,” Jane told her.

  “A curse I’m prepared to carry.”

  The quartet struck up the opening strains of the Allemande, and the dancers on the floor set into motion. Swirling shades of white shimmered under the chandeliers. Jane tapped her foot in time to the music.

  From over her right shoulder Adam’s voice asked, “Would you like to dance?”

  She jumped. An increasingly familiar shiver ran over her skin. “The sets are all full.”

  “We could dance anyway.”

  Jane turned around, coming face-to-face with a wall of chest. He’d adhered to the rules of the party and worn white, and his bronzed skin and the green of his eyes were even darker by contrast.

  “Jane?”

  She shook herself. “No, no, thank you.”

  “Are you all right?”

  No, she wasn’t. He wasn’t supposed to keep making her feel this way. And he wasn’t supposed to appear, completely undeterred, after she’d embarrassed herself with a bizarre fit that would frighten off any sane man. But he kept doing it.

  “Fine,” she smiled. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re lying, but I’m going to let you this time.”

  “Why?”

  “Where in God’s name can a man get a drink around here?” Lord Brandon complained as he joined their party.

  Adam leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Because I know you won’t want to discuss it in front of Brandon.”

  “Take Jane’s. She hasn’t touched it.” Mathilda sized up Brandon, looking very dashing in his white attire. Though not as dashing as Adam, in Jane’s opinion.

  Jane handed him her glass.

  “You’re a saint.”

  “Someone has to be.” Mathilda was looking at Lord Brandon like she wanted to eat him.

  Adam leaned down to whisper to her again. “Are you sure you don’t want to dance? They were insufferable last time.”

  “Perhaps we could just walk the room? I love seeing what people are wearing.”

  He looked at her like she’d started speaking Greek. “They’re all wearing white.”

  “Well, yes. But people get so creative when they can’t stand out through color.”

  “I welcome the education.” He put her hand in the crook of his elbow. “Lady Hawthorne, I’m absconding with your niece.”

  Mathilda looked over. She grinned. “As a defenseless widow, I fail to see how I can stop you.”

  “You could cry ‘villain’ and demand some gentleman of the party come to your aid,” Brandon suggested.

  Her aunt shrugged. “That seems a bother. Take her, then, and good riddance.”

  • • •

  Jane’s face was priceless as they made their way around the ballroom. High collars, white-on-white embroidery, feathers and pearls and brooches that defied sense. Each one of them was met with an intake of breath as her mouth shifted into an “O” of delight. She held on to his arm, leaning in and whispering when someone’s attempt had gone beyond Jane’s personal view of taste. Adam had never had such an enjoyable turn of a ballroom . . . until they came to the south end, where Pembroke and his cronies were assembled. Sebastian was with them.

  “Lord Wesley. Jane. How delightful to see you again—and together. Again.”

  Jane’s hand tightened on his arm.

  “Pembroke. Miss Lyndon.” He covered Jane’s palm with his other hand and squeezed his support. “Sebastian, how are you?”

  To Lord Quincy, he had nothing to say.

  “Well,” Sebastian answered. He frowned at the slight to his friend. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “Miss Bailey convinced me. She said it would be worth it for the clothes alone, and I find she was correct.”

  His brother was wearing one of the more elaborate outfits. He’d chosen an exaggerated powdered wig that added more than a few inches to his height. The swoop of his sleeves dipped down to his knees, and the rest of the ensemble was fitted impossibly tight. It was a wonder he could breathe.

  “I didn’t realize that sort of thing interested you.” Sebastian looked up and down Adam’s plain cream brocade.

  “It didn’t, until Miss Bailey enlightened me.”

  Sebastian turned his attention to her. His smile was kind, and it gave Adam some hope for his brother’s eventual redemption. “Is it living up to your expectation?”

  “I’ve only been once before, but it’s—”

  “Not nearly as good as the last one we attended, wouldn’t you say, Jane?” Pembroke moved himself between Sebastian and Jane.

  Adam felt the flutter of Jane’s fingers on his sleeve.

  “No, no, I daresay it’s not.”

  It was a lie. Not moments ago, she’d been telling him how this person or that person had outdone themselves from the last time.

  “Geoffrey.” Miss Lyndon was eyeing the diminishing space between Jane and her fiancé. “My father wanted to speak with you at so
me point. Should we go over now?”

  “Can it wait?”

  “I think he and Mother are planning on leaving early.”

  Pembroke sighed, rolling his eyes at Quincy in frustration. “Then I suppose it can’t.”

  They made their excuses and drifted off into the sea of white.

  Adam leaned down to Jane. “We don’t have to stay. We can go and then—”

  Jane shook her head. “Your brother is here. This is your opportunity to make a better impression.”

  “I can find another one.”

  She ignored him. “Your coat is lovely, Mr. Clairborne. Who is your tailor?”

  Sebastian lit up like a child on Christmas morning. “A new man on Jermyn Street. He’s only just set up shop, so he isn’t very well-known yet, but . . .”

  They talked, Jane drawing Sebastian into a sprawling discussion about tailors, bootmakers, and London’s most notorious parties. As the discussion grew more animated, Jane’s hand fell away from Adam’s arm. He learned things about Sebastian. His brother loved the French Renaissance artists, preferred harp music to the pianoforte, and detested the color yellow. He’d like to spend a summer in Italy. He liked coffee but felt the fellow patrons at coffee shops were overly familiar.

  It made Adam realize how little he knew about his own brother. And Jane—nervous, odd Jane—had easily extracted it all in a matter of minutes.

  “I must admit,” Sebastian was saying, “I find it hard to believe such a delightful woman chooses to keep company with my brother, especially after how he treated you.”

  Jane’s smile lit up the room. “Your brother is a better man than he likes to let people believe.”

  “I’m sure you’re just being kind.”

  “Not at all. Our first meeting, he helped my aunt and me with a broken carriage axle. And our second, he made a personal trip to the apothecary . . .”

  “Jane.”

  “To inquire about a remedy for your mother. He could have sent someone, but he didn’t. He’s deeply kind.”

  Adam cringed. Regina hadn’t specifically said so, but he knew she wasn’t the sort of woman who would go telling people about her troubles.

  Sebastian’s attention settled fully on Adam. “Is there something amiss with my mother?”

  He couldn’t lie. “We should discuss it later.”

  “I think we should discuss it now.”

  The middle of a ballroom was not the place for a private family matter.

  Jane’s hand settled on his arm again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . .”

  “It’s all right.” It wasn’t her fault. Not entirely.

  “Now, Wesley. What is the matter with my mother, and why do you know and I don’t?” Sebastian was growing irate.

  “There’s a sitting room off of the east hall,” Jane murmured. “You could speak there.”

  “If Pembroke comes back—”

  “I’ll be fine. Geoffrey and I are old friends.” Her smile was tighter than before, but still genuine. “Besides, I think I’ll go find Eugenia. She must be here somewhere.”

  It seemed like she meant it. If she went to find her friend, that would be all right. Miss Davenport seemed a steady sort.

  “Come on,” he told Sebastian. “We’ll find somewhere to discuss it.”

  • • •

  When Adam and his brother walked away, Jane tried to make the best of willfully choosing to be left alone with the deplorable Lord Quincy.

  “Lord Quincy.”

  “Miss Bailey.”

  “You’re familiar with Miss Davenport’s usual hiding spots, are you not?”

  His eyes narrowed. “I am.”

  “Well, I would like to find her, and you’re going to help me.” Against her better judgment, Jane put her hand on his elbow.

  He looked down at it like she’d dropped a dead bird on his doorstep. Eventually, though, he shrugged. “She can’t stray far from the ballroom, because she has to periodically appear, otherwise her mother gets suspicious. That’s usually how I find her.”

  “Fascinating.” And abhorrent.

  “She’s partial to plants—something about the air? Who knows—and she avoids being near the musicians.” Quincy spotted a leafy alcove away from the quartet and headed them for it.

  Jane found the depth of his knowledge disturbing. “How do you know so much about her?”

  “Our families’ estates neighbor each other.”

  Interesting. “If your families are friends, why are you so cruel to her?”

  “I’m not cruel,” he scoffed. “Did she say I was cruel?”

  “She said you weren’t nice.”

  Lord Quincy waved away that observation. “That’s not cruel. Ginny and I understand each other.”

  Oddly enough, it seemed that they did. They reached the alcove, and there was Eugenia, behind a wall of fronds, reading her book.

  “Eugenia.”

  “Jane!” She looked at Jane’s companion, and her voice went noticeably flatter. “Theodore.”

  “Settle down, Ginny. I’m only here because Miss Bailey asked my help in finding you.”

  “You did?” she asked Jane.

  “Yes. I thought . . . Would you like to come stroll the room with me? There are so many dresses I haven’t seen yet.”

  Eugenia put her book down. “You want me to walk with you.”

  “Yes.”

  “And talk.”

  “Yes.”

  She pushed her spectacles farther up on her nose. “All right.”

  Jane dropped Quincy’s arm with a smile, taking Eugenia’s when she came around to their side of the plants. “Thank you for your assistance, Lord Quincy.”

  He laughed. “If you think I’m missing this, you’ve gone batty.”

  Eugenia lifted her chin. “She didn’t invite you, Theodore.”

  “And how are you going to stop me? There’s no law against walking near someone.”

  “You’re impossible.”

  “And you’re going to be awful company. She doesn’t know it yet, but I do. And so do you.”

  Eugenia turned back to Jane. “Theodore is likely right. I will probably ruin whatever enjoyment you get from this activity.”

  “You will not!” Jane insisted. She glared back at Quincy.

  He just smiled.

  Jane set them off on a path around the ballroom. Lord Quincy followed a few paces behind them.

  “Ooh! Look at that one. Have you ever seen doves constructed out of satin before?”

  “Yes,” Eugenia said honestly. “They were napkins at a dinner party.”

  It was a fair observation. At the next woman, Jane gasped. “Look at his shoes!”

  “They’re not actually made that way. He’s just pasted white silk over them. You can see the edge there.” Eugenia gestured.

  Again, she couldn’t fault her friend’s honesty.

  Behind them, Lord Quincy chuckled.

  Jane decided to try a different tactic. “Which ones do you find interesting?”

  Eugenia scanned the people they passed. Her hand flew up, pointing to an older gentleman. “Him.”

  Quickly pulling her friend’s arm down, Jane whispered, “What about him?”

  “The stripes on his pants and the checks on his waistcoat are perfectly aligned.”

  Jane squinted. It was true. The man had an ill-advised mixture of patterns in his ensemble, and in his current stance they had lined up in an odd symmetry. “Fascinating.”

  Eugenia looked at her. “You think so?”

  “Yes. If he moves at all—”

  “It will go back out of alignment. How many times do they align while he’s walking? Is it always just that way?”

  “And what about the diagonal bias on his coat?” Jane asked.
“Does it ever line up?”

  Eugenia’s eyes widened. “What if it did?”

  Their subject said good-bye to his group, moving on in the crowd.

  Jane and Eugenia squealed, rushing to follow him. They tried to maintain a discreet pace. Twice they had to utilize their follower and pretend to be discussing something with Lord Quincy to avoid notice.

  The second time, he said, “Unbelievable.”

  “I know. How can it not have lined up yet? We’ve been following him for ages.” Jane peeked over her shoulder to make sure he was still there.

  He rolled his eyes. “It’s unbelievable that you’re just as strange as she is.”

  Eugenia glared at him. “She is not.”

  “Yes,” Jane smiled. “I am. Thank you for the compliment.”

  “It wasn’t meant—” The return of Geoffrey and Drusilla cut off what he’d been about to say. “Pembroke. Thank God. I’ve been overrun by bedlamites.”

  “Perhaps that explains why I had to spend the last ten minutes drinking inferior punch and searching for you.” Geoffrey’s tone was frigid.

  “Are you beholden to Theodore in some way?”

  Jane’s fingers tightened on Eugenia’s arm as Geoff turned his attention to her.

  “Pardon?” he asked. There was an element of steel in his voice now.

  Eugenia either didn’t notice or didn’t care. “If you didn’t want to be looking for Theodore, why did you? Are you obligated to somehow?”

  The muscle in Geoffrey’s cheek started to twitch.

  “Is he the dominant member in your social hierarchy?” Eugenia looked to Quincy for assistance. “You’re not a natural leader, so it seems odd that you would be—”

  “Quincy, will you kindly put a leash on your pet?” Geoffrey growled. “Honestly. It was amusing at first, but why you put up with this nobody—”

  Lord Quincy moved to take Eugenia’s arm. She shook off his touch, setting him off balance. The motion caused him to stumble into Drusilla, whose deep red punch upended down the front of her stark white dress.

  Drusilla’s shrieking gasp stopped every sound in the ballroom. Lord Quincy froze in horror. Eugenia looked on with her usual placid expression. But Jane only noticed that in her peripheral. The moment Lord Quincy had lost his balance, Jane had turned her gaze to Geoffrey. She couldn’t help it.