A Ballroom Temptation

by Kimberly Bell

  “Because she hates me,” Jane groaned.

  Adam finished retying his cravat. His lack of a valet meant the effects were mostly the same as they’d been before Jane untied it. “Why does she hate you?”

  “I don’t know. Because Geoffrey keeps trying to pit us against each other.”

  The fact that she went stiff just at the mention of his name made Adam want to drive his fist securely into the man’s teeth. Showing temper in Jane’s presence wouldn’t help matters, though. “Perhaps she could be persuaded that you’re not a threat? That you have no interest in Pembroke?”

  “That’s not really how Drusilla thinks.”

  “Oh?” He knelt in front of her, tilting her chin up so she’d stop mumbling at the floor.

  “Either I’m lying . . .”

  “Which you’re not.”

  “Or I’m genuinely not interested in the man she’s chosen to marry—which might as well be me saying I don’t think he’s good enough for me.”

  “Which he’s not.”

  “But she doesn’t think so.”

  Which was a clear indicator that there was either something wildly wrong with Drusilla Lyndon or with the way women in England measured a man’s worth. If Adam was placing bets, he’d put money on both. “Consider it this way. What is the worst possible thing that could happen?”

  “She tells everyone, publicly shaming me and my family.”

  Adam sighed. “She tells everyone, and we’re forced to marry to save your reputation.”

  “Adam.” Jane frowned. “What if she tells people what she saw? About you being tied up?”

  That would be harder to live down. He would give a great deal to be there when his father heard that little tidbit. “Then she tells. I don’t care what people think.”

  “How?” Jane shouted. “How do you not care?”

  “Because they’re not important to me.”

  “But you’d marry me to stop them talking.”

  “Because you are important to me.” It wasn’t—quite—the extent of what he suspected he felt for Jane Bailey, but it was close enough for this discussion.

  “You don’t want to marry me.”

  “You don’t want to marry me either,” he answered. “But if we had to, I suspect we’d make a decent go of it. And that’s the worst that can happen.”

  “The worst that can happen is we have to spend the rest of our lives together.” The edges of her lips tilted up.

  “I know, it sounds awful.” They hadn’t talked about his plans to return to the colonies, but it didn’t seem like the sort of place Jane would enjoy. If she were open to it, she would already be there with her parents.

  “Terrible.”

  “Do you feel better?” He hoped so, because he was about to kiss her, and it would be in very bad taste if she was still upset.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  He nodded and then leaned forward, claiming her lips in a gentle touch. Nothing more than a kiss.

  When he pulled back, her eyes were wide. “What was that for?”

  “For not leaving me bound and wanting in a boathouse.” He pulled her to her feet. “Come on. Let’s go find out what we’re in for.”

  • • •

  There were still a number of picnic-goers on blankets on the lawn when they walked back up the sloping hill. Passing by the Davenports’ blanket, they collected Eugenia—and by extension Quincy and Sebastian.

  “Did any of you see Miss Lyndon come past a moment ago?” Jane asked.

  None of them had.

  When they came to Mathilda and Brandon, she asked again.

  “She had a bit of a row with Pembroke and stormed off toward the pond, but I didn’t see her come back,” Mathilda offered.

  A row with Pembroke. And people had seen it. As nasty as Drusilla was to her, Jane couldn’t feel anything for her except empathy. She knew what it was like to be subject to Geoffrey’s exacting standards. The subtle digs, constant criticisms—and it was so much worse when he felt publicly embarrassed.

  She was only just now realizing the full effect of the toll they had taken on her. Jane was finally coming out of her torment at Geoffrey’s hands, but Drusilla was just beginning it. Unless something changed for Drusilla, it would continue for the rest of her life.

  Jane pulled on Adam’s elbow. “I have to go back and find her.”

  “Miss Lyndon?” Adam leaned in, whispering. “She hates you, remember.”

  “I know, but if I can help her somehow . . .”

  Adam frowned. He asked her aunt, “Where’s Pembroke?”

  “He went back to the house with Lord Lyndon.”

  Adam nodded. He squeezed her hand. “We’ll save you a seat.”

  Jane hadn’t expected to have any allies beyond Mathilda for the season. As she watched her friends walk up the hill, she realized she had quite a few—some of them very good friends. Again, she found herself wondering who Drusilla had. When Geoffrey was Jane’s fiancé, he’d quickly disapproved of anyone she was very close to.

  She retraced her steps back to the boathouse and went the opposite way from the one she and Adam had taken to get back to the party. At the end of the path was a small pavilion standing in a clearing. Drusilla sat on the bench in the center with her head in her hands.

  Approaching cautiously, Jane said, “Drusilla?”

  The other woman’s head flew up. “Get away from me.”

  “I know I’m the last person you want to see . . .”

  The sneer turned her otherwise pretty face ugly. “You think I don’t know why you’re here? Nothing you say is going to stop me from telling everyone what I saw.”

  Jane knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but she had to try. “I just . . . You have to know I’m not interested in Geoffrey.”

  “Well, he’s certainly interested in you,” Drusilla spat. Her voice turned into a sniveling imitation of Geoffrey’s inflection. “Jane would never have said that. Jane was never so clumsy. When Jane was my fiancée we received many more invitations.”

  “It’s not true.”

  Drusilla glared at her. “Which one?”

  “All of it. He was always telling me how clumsy I was. And how I’d done or said the wrong thing. How I was costing him friends.”

  The other woman looked away, out into the trees. “Well, apparently I’m worse.”

  “Or maybe it’s just something he does, to try and make us feel small.”

  She didn’t say anything, but Jane thought she saw a slight change in the set of Drusilla’s shoulders.

  “At the White Ball, the punch incident wasn’t your fault. And your family does know more about horses than he does, but he cut you down at the Waverly ball anyway and then punished you for standing up for yourself by dancing with me.” Well, trying to.

  Drusilla sniffed.

  Jane took a deep breath. “Has he broken your wrist yet? Or one of your fingers?”

  There was no denying the stiffening of Drusilla’s spine that time.

  “Hands are easy. He can do it in public without anyone realizing, and it’s easy to explain away. You caught it in a door. Took a bad fall. Just one more example of the clumsiness he keeps telling everyone about.”

  Drusilla sniffed. “My father sacked our stable master—did you know? Geoffrey told him Tom had mishandled his horse. Tom worked for my family for thirty years.”

  “I’m sorry.” She truly was. It was an awful thing to do to an honest man, just because he’d been associated with something that shamed a spoiled, cruel boy. “I know you don’t like me—”

  “I don’t.”

  “But I do understand what you’re going through. I just . . . You’re not alone. Don’t let him make you feel like you’re alone.”

  “Yes, well.” Drusilla wiped away her tears.

&n
bsp; Jane noticed one of her fingers was slightly out of alignment with the others.

  “You can’t help me. My father isn’t stupid enough to lose his fortune, and Lyndons don’t call off engagements. So you can save your brave little speeches—you can’t help me.”

  “Dru—”

  “Go away, Jane. Just leave me alone.”

  • • •

  Every minute Jane was gone, Adam worried. He knew it wasn’t her fault, but the woman was a veritable lodestone for catastrophe—especially at social gatherings. He’d checked behind him for the fourth time, been mocked by Sebastian and Quincy as many times, and was about to say “to hell with it” and go looking for her when she finally arrived.

  She scooted past Brandon and Mathilda into the seat he’d saved for her.

  “Did you find her?” Adam whispered.

  Jane nodded.

  “How did it go?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered back. “But I’m glad I went.”

  It was just one more thing he couldn’t help but admire about her. Jane had a good heart. Not the convenient sort that volunteered for charity only to be seen volunteering for charities. Her goodness was quiet—unseen. She’d befriended Miss Davenport, and by all accounts it had nothing to do with pity. She’d just decided to like the girl, and now they were fast friends. It had taken her all of a few moments to find out about Sebastian’s interests and draw him out of his petulance. She was a marvel.

  Adam reached down, squeezing her hand. She tensed, and he let go immediately.

  Someday—hopefully soon—that wouldn’t happen anymore. She deserved to live a life without fear.

  The opening strains of harp music started up, and Adam saw Miss Lyndon slip in through a side door and take her seat next to Pembroke. They whispered furiously to each other. Adam nudged Jane.

  When she looked over at them, it was the first time he’d seen her look legitimately angry. She was constantly frustrated with him. Sometimes she was even sarcastic. But he’d never seen the kind of quiet rage he saw when she looked at the whispering pair.

  “Jane?”

  She took his hand and squeezed. Deep breaths drew in through her nose.

  Adam would let her hold on to him as long and as tightly as she wished.

  The harpist began the song. A nervous soprano—one of Miss Lyndon’s cousins, according to the introduction—broke into warbling Italian.

  Miss Davenport leaned across him to whisper to Jane. “She’s gotten the words wrong twice.”

  Jane pressed her finger to her lips.

  She sat back in her own chair, only to immediately lean back across him. “She just did it again. I don’t think she knows she’s getting it wrong. Oughtn’t we tell her?”

  “I don’t think that would be wise.” Jane’s grip on his hand lessened as a smile threatened her lips.

  Adam sent up a silent prayer for Eugenia Davenport. “How wrong are they? Maybe she needs to know.”

  Jane elbowed him.

  “I think she means to say scoraggiare to encourage her love not to give up on her,” Miss Davenport explained, taking the bait.

  The man behind them cleared his throat.

  “But she keeps saying scoreggiare, which is asking him to stop flatulating on her.”

  Jane’s hand flew to her mouth. Her shoulders shook.

  Adam lowered his voice a bit further. “Any others?”

  “Those figs she sang about, fico, would be fine except she said fica—”

  Brandon leaned in from Jane’s side. “I know that one, and trust me, you do not want her to say it out loud with the kind of attention you’re drawing.”

  On cue, a loud “shhh” came from their left.

  Mathilda leaned in. “What does fica mean?”

  Brandon whispered in her ear.

  She leered at him.

  “You’re all terrible,” Jane whispered. She wasn’t doing a good job of hiding her amusement, though.

  The vocalist finished, and the last strains of the harp died off. The audience clapped. Adam clapped louder than most.

  “Excuse me.” Miss Davenport stood up, only to be immediately pulled back down by Lord Quincy. “What are you doing?”

  “You know those things you say that people don’t appreciate?”

  She blinked at him.

  “This is going to be one of those things.”

  Miss Davenport turned to Jane for confirmation. Jane nodded.

  It was officially Adam’s favorite musicale of all time.

  • • •

  The next of Drusilla’s cousins came up and played a happy tune on the pianoforte. She sang her own words—correctly and in English—but Eugenia had plenty to say about the girl’s understanding of patterns and meter. Over the course of the next two performers, the more dignified members of the audience moved to chairs farther away from their group. A few of the less dignified audience members caught wind of what was happening and moved closer.

  One young man leaned over to speak to Eugenia. “My sisters are having a recital on Thursday. Will you come?”

  “I—”

  “Your mother wouldn’t approve,” Lord Quincy told her before she could accept.

  Eugenia was enjoying her new popularity too much to be cowed. “That doesn’t mean I can’t go. Send me an invitation?”

  The young man promised he would.

  Lord Quincy scowled.

  “I think Lord Quincy is sweet on Eugenia,” Jane whispered low to Adam. “Also, you’re terrible and we will never be invited back ever again.”

  “Promise?” He grinned at her.

  Lord Brandon leaned in again. “Is this thing over, or are they deciding whether or not to have us removed?”

  The pause between performers had become exceptionally long. Jane looked around and saw Lady Lyndon over by her daughter. There was some sort of a whispered disagreement going on. Oh no.

  As soon as she realized what was happening, Jane was begging Lord Brandon’s pardon and moving in Drusilla’s direction. It was only on the walk over, after she’d been seen and it was too late to turn back, that she bothered to think about what she was doing. It had been years since she’d played an instrument. Not since the early days of her engagement to Geoffrey.

  Lady Lyndon looked up at her approach and made a face like she’d smelled something spoiled. “Miss Bailey. May I help you?”

  Drusilla was too busy looking like she was about to cry to give Jane her usual glare.

  “I’m so sorry, Drusilla. I only just realized what a difficult position I’ve put you in.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “What are you talking about?” Lady Lyndon demanded.

  “Earlier, by the pond, I asked your daughter if I might play a song. But then I changed my mind—it’s been so long since I’ve played and I have to admit to a certain amount of nerves—and I think I might be the cause of your current disagreement.”

  Lady Lyndon was not impressed. “What does that have to do with this?”

  Jane looked at Drusilla.

  Drusilla caught on, albeit slowly. “I told her . . . we couldn’t just go altering the schedule . . .”

  “Which we cannot,” Lady Lyndon agreed.

  “So I offered her my slot to play during.”

  “But I hadn’t made up my mind and left it all a bit open-ended when we parted ways,” Jane finished. “Am I right in assuming Drusilla is refusing to play?”

  Lady Lyndon glared at her daughter and nodded.

  “It’s my fault. She doesn’t want to break a promise to me, but she also didn’t want to embarrass me if I still didn’t have command of my nerves.” Jane turned to Drusilla. “It’s all right. I can do it.”

  “This is quite irregular, swapping around performers,” Lady Lyndon huffed.


  “It would go a great distance toward showing everyone there’s no ill will between Jane and me,” Drusilla told her mother in a cajoling tone. “And show everyone that Jane is quite at peace with my engagement to Geoffrey.”

  Not quite, but Drusilla was a better liar than Jane.

  Lady Lyndon considered them both. “Dispelling gossip is always good. Fine. You know what you’re playing?”

  Not in the slightest. “Yes, my lady.”

  “Then go on. People have been waiting long enough.” Lady Lyndon grabbed her arm as Jane passed. “Perhaps this time your friends will be quiet?”

  “I’m so sorry about that. One can only hope.” She shrugged out of the older woman’s grip and made her way to the pianoforte.

  It had been years since she’d stopped playing piano. Jane couldn’t remember exactly when the last time was. At some point, the nerves and trying to play through the pain in her fingers had just become too much to handle. By the time she quit, no one had tried to stop her. Her playing had become abysmal.

  She heard the whispering when she sat down at the bench.

  “. . . didn’t think she knew how to play . . .”

  “. . . heard her once, years ago. It was terrible . . .”

  “. . . isn’t she the girl who’s always rushing off to cry?”

  Jane was used to being embarrassed by now. At least this time it was for a good reason. She was doing it for Drusilla—so that Geoffrey wouldn’t win. He’d hurt her before the musicale on purpose, to embarrass her in front of her family and friends, the way she’d embarrassed him with their argument. But it wouldn’t happen now. No matter how well Jane did or didn’t play, he didn’t get to win.

  Setting her fingers on the keys, she started slow. It took a moment for her hands to remember, but hours upon hours of training in the music room at their estate in Sussex were not so easily forgotten. As the music came flooding back into her fingers, Jane closed her eyes. She let it flow through her, not caring who heard or how well she did. She stopped thinking about Geoffrey and Drusilla. Stopped thinking about Adam and whether or not they would become a scandal. She just let it flow through her and played—for her—because she used to love it and she’d forgotten.

  Jane used to love a lot of things. They came back to her one by one as her fingers danced, creating chords and melodies at lightning speed. She should ask Charlie to buy her another jumper the next time he went to a bloodstock auction. And to get them a box at the opera. Jane loved the opera, but Geoffrey had preferred the theater because it was more popular, so more people saw them there.