by Merry Farmer
Danny sucked in a breath and stood straighter, extending a hand to the stodgy old fellow who stepped up to greet him.
“This is Mr. Esslemont.” Lady O’Shea made the introduction. “He is the Member of Parliament for Aberdeenshire East.” Excitement sparkled in her eyes.
Danny took his cue without hesitation. “Mr. Esslemont,” he said in as refined an accent as he could muster. “What a pleasure to meet you. I’m Daniel Long of Long Property Ventures.” He hated using his full name, hated speaking like a toff, and generally felt like the worst sort of impostor.
But Mr. Esslemont’s expression brightened as they shook hands. “Mr. Long. The pleasure is all mine. I’ve read your proposal to the parliamentary committee on land development, and I must say, I was quite impressed.”
“Perhaps we’ll have a chance to discuss it more this evening,” Danny played along with the whole charade. He couldn't keep it up, though. “Though if you ask me,” he went on, falling into a lower-class accent, “we’re here to have fun, eh?” He slapped Esslemont on the arm.
Esslemont laughed—clearly shocked by the gesture—but unoffended, before moving on.
Danny glanced to Phoebe. She stared back at him with an uncertain look.
“I know, I know,” he said, his shoulders dropping. “That’s not how nobs behave with MPs. But you can’t expect a leopard to change his spots that readily.”
He expected censure, but found curiosity in Phoebe’s eyes instead. “No, indeed,” she said, though there wasn’t as much judgement in her voice as he expected.
Lady O’Shea cleared her throat, then introduced the next guest. “This is Mr. Phineas Mercer,” she said, nodding to the tall, sandy-haired man with spectacles that had just taken his place in front of Danny.
Danny shook the man’s hand, narrowing his eyes. There was something familiar about the man. “Mercer,” he said. “You wouldn’t know a Lionel Mercer, would you?”
Mr. Mercer’s eyes widened and took on a slightly squirrely look behind his spectacles. “He is my brother,” he said, then asked with hesitation, “Are you a friend of his?”
Danny laughed too loudly. “Not in that way, mate.” He thumped Mr. Mercer on the shoulder. “I have some business dealings with the solicitors he recently began working for.”
Mr. Mercer’s expression filled with understanding. “It is a pleasure to meet you,” he said, finishing with the standard greeting, then moving on into the room.
Danny watched him blend into the growing crowd in the ballroom. There was something different about Phineas Mercer. Something he couldn’t put his finger on. No one seemed to notice him as he made his way to the far end of the room, and yet Danny could see in an instant that he noticed everything.
“What’s he all about?” he asked no one in particular.
“Mr. Mercer?” Lady O’Shea shrugged. “He’s a country gentleman. Word is that he’s been searching for a wife, which is why he’s in London. He always seems to be invited to even the most exclusive parties, and yet as far as I’ve seen, no ladies have set their cap for him yet.”
“Does he even like the ladies?” Danny asked, realizing too late he’d spoken the daring thought a little too loud.
“Yes,” Fergus said. “And that’s all I am at liberty to say about that.”
Danny chuckled and turned his attention to the next guest arriving. “And you are?” he asked without any grace at all.
The man balked and blinked rapidly. “Charles Schwann, sir. Member of Parliament for Manchester North.”
Danny winced internally and offered his hand, adjusting his whole demeanor to the mission in front of him. “Daniel Long. I am honored that you would accept my invitation to this little event,” he said with what he hoped was a gracious smile. He peeked at Phoebe to see if she approved.
Phoebe’s cheeks were an alluring shade of pink that matched her lips. Lips she’d obviously been chewing with nerves over his performance.
“Ah, Mr. Long,” Mr. Schwann said. “So pleased to meet you. I was just speaking with one of my colleagues on the land development committee about your ingenious proposal.”
Danny let out an inward sigh of relief and exchanged a few more words with the man before he moved on.
“Does this greeting business ever end?” he muttered to Phoebe after a few more guests arrived.
“Soon,” Phoebe whispered back.
Danny made an impatient sound. “Why doesn’t everyone just come in and get a drink?”
“Because this isn’t your blasted pub, man,” Fergus answered from Danny’s other side.
Danny grumbled, but continued with greetings. His back was stiff and he was restless from standing in one place for so long. He wanted to move about the guests, ensuring that everyone had a drink and was enjoying themselves. So far, the entire ball seemed more like the crowd standing around in a theater lobby during intermission of a particularly dull show than a party.
He was ready to give up and go home when Cosgrove stepped into the ballroom, forgoing the line of greeting entirely, but sending Danny a vicious glance as he did.
“Who invited him?” he boomed, stepping out of his place in the greeting line.
“I did,” Phoebe whispered, grabbing his arm and pulling him back, stopping him from marching after Cosgrove. “He needs to see that you are viable competition.”
Danny stepped back to her, his brow raising in surprise. “Well, aren’t you a clever little minx?” he said with a broad smile.
Phoebe flushed a darker shade of red and tilted her head down in that coy way she had. It was a different sort of lowering her head from when she felt ashamed, one he actually liked.
“Why don’t the two of you take a turn about the room, conversing with the guests,” Lady O’Shea said with a knowing look.
“I think that’s a brilliant idea,” Danny said.
He offered his arm to Phoebe, who took it and started into the heart of the ballroom with him. The orchestra members were in the process of taking their seats and tuning their instruments as they skirted the chattering, preening guests.
“Good,” Danny told Phoebe in a low tone. “It’s about time the dancing started. This party is as dull as dust so far.”
Phoebe laughed quietly. “There is an order to these things. It is necessary to give everyone a chance to show up and position themselves, and to share the latest gossip.”
“I’ll bet I’m the center of the gossip now for throwing this blasted ball in the first place,” Danny grumbled.
“Undoubtedly,” Phoebe said.
They passed by Mr. Mercer, who seemed to be studying the two of them with intense curiosity. Phineas Mercer wasn’t the only one who saw the two of them as something to look at. A dozen other toffs at least watched them as they skirted the room. Danny sought out the Members of Parliament he’d already been introduced to and attempted to wedge his way into their hoity toity conversations. But everything everyone was talking about was either boring or a topic he didn’t have the least bit of understanding about. It put him on edge.
It didn’t take long for his ignorance of society matters to come back on him.
“I simply do not understand why Parliament is even considering the proposal of a miscreant from God only knows where,” Cosgrove was in the middle of telling a group of MPs as Danny and Phoebe approached. He sent Danny a look that made it clear he knew he was standing right there. “I say that matters of such importance should be left to the noble class.”
To Danny’s frustration, the men with Cosgrove—men whose support he needed—hummed and nodded in agreement. He couldn't let Cosgrove undermine him.
“Gentlemen,” he greeted them as Phoebe tensed on his arm. “I would think that Parliament would want to grant the land development rights to men who know how to develop land.”
Cosgrove sent him a pitying smirk. “And you think that gentlemen who have managed vast estates for generations do not know about developing land, sir?”
Danny shi
fted his weight to a challenging stance. “And how much money did your estate make last year, my lord?”
He knew before he’d finished the question that he’d committed a cardinal sin. The gentlemen with Cosgrove balked and looked as though he’d brought up a question of knickers for prostitutes.
“The profitability of my estate is not a subject that should be discussed in front of delicate ears,” Cosgrove said in a condescending voice, sending Phoebe what he must have thought was a charming smile. In fact, he looked more like a badger with gas.
“Profitability is precisely what the men considering which company to grant a development deal to should be considering,” Danny said, falling back on his strengths. God only knew that class and initiation into the secret club of nobs was not one of them. “The housing shortage in London has reached dangerous proportions,” he addressed the other men. “With the increase in industry in and near the city, families are pouring in from the country and living a dozen to a room. Conditions of sanitation in these tenements are appalling and have led to the spread of disease. Any developer worth their salt would understand the necessity of providing safe and sanitary conditions for the burgeoning middle class in a manner that allows them to maintain the solid, respectable values that all Englishmen aspire to.”
It was all tripe as far as Danny was concerned, but his speech hit its mark. The MPs looked impressed with his savvy, appearing to reassess him.
Cosgrove’s face twisted into a bitter pout. “This from a pub owner.” He sniffed.
“Mr. Long is much more than that,” Phoebe defended him.
Danny grinned at her fondly, in spite of knowing how inappropriate it would look to the MPs. She was as sweet as honey, and she was right, even if she didn’t know the full extent of what she was talking about. “Thank you for the endorsement, my lady,” he said, then winked at her. Let the MPs make of that what they would.
The orchestra finished tuning, paused, then burst into a waltz. Danny sent a short, gloating look to Cosgrove, then turned to Phoebe to ask, “Would you care to dance, my lady?”
Phoebe’s smile was the most gorgeous thing in London. “I would love to, Mr. Long.”
Danny sent a victorious grin Cosgrove’s way before leading Phoebe out onto the dance floor. Cosgrove looked ready to snatch up the nearest candlestick and throw it at him. Several other sets of eyes—including Mr. Mercer’s—followed them onto the dance floor as well. Danny couldn’t blame them. It must have been a sight to see a noblewoman who had fallen on hard times dancing with what they probably considered to be a dressed-up monkey.
“Do you know how to waltz?” Phoebe asked in a whisper as he took her into his arms and waited for the dance to start.
“Do I know how to waltz,” he said with a snort and a shake of his head.
The prelude ended and the song began in earnest. Danny moved fluidly into the steps of the waltz, sweeping Phoebe around the center of the dance floor as though they were skating on a pond.
“You do know how to dance,” she said, glancing up at him with a delighted smile.
“More than just toffs dance the waltz, you know,” he told her. “Though it’s far from being my favorite dance.”
“What is your favorite, then?” Phoebe asked, her face aglow.
Danny made a show of thinking, contemplating all of the ribald, nameless dances he’d engaged in during long nights at noisy music halls. He didn’t think those dances were the sort Phoebe expected him to answer with, so he shrugged and said, “The galop.”
Phoebe’s smile widened. “We should ask the orchestra to play a galop, then.”
Danny stopped where he was and turned to the orchestra. “Oy!” he shouted at the top of his voice, bringing every conversation in the room to a stop. The orchestra’s playing degenerated instrument by instrument into silence as well. “Play a galop,” he demanded.
The members of the orchestra exchanged surprised looks, turning to their conductor—a chap playing the violin who sat near the front. The ball guests all gaped at Danny, some of them whispering behind their hands. At last, the conductor shrugged and said something to his players, they all shuffled through the music on their stands, and within seconds, they burst into a lively galop.
“That’s more like it,” Danny said, loud enough for half the room to hear, though his words were directed to Phoebe. He adjusted the way he held Phoebe, then launched into the bouncing, exuberant steps of the dance.
Phoebe laughed, though her face was bright red and she glanced around, knowing full well everyone was watching them. Danny was impressed with how easily she was able to keep up with him as they bounded around the dance floor. The galop was a respectable enough dance that after a few bars, several other couples joined in with them.
Within a minute, what had begun as a dangerous gamble on Danny’s part completely changed the mood in the ballroom. The stiff, stodgy conversations around the room gave way to laughing of a sort that was more in line with his pub or a dance hall. The posing and pretention of the aristocratic guests gave way to smiles and couples rushing onto the dance floor to join the mad crush.
“Does no one with a title or fancy estate ever let themselves have fun?” Danny asked as he whirled Phoebe through a series of steps that would position them to travel across the center of the dance floor.
“No, I don’t believe they do,” Phoebe laughed, then added, “They wouldn’t dare.”
“Well, I dare,” he said, setting off through a series of traveling steps that spun them right through the center of the dancing crowd.
Suddenly, he understood. He understood why nobles would go through all the trouble of dressing up in ridiculous finery, spending shocking amounts of cash on orchestras and decorations and food. He understood why women would make themselves up like peacocks and stand like works of art to be admired so that a gent would come along and whisk them out to the dance floor. Because it was all damn good fun. There was nothing like spinning and laughing in time to well-played music, working up a sweat by moving in unison with another person. It was rather like his other favorite activity with a woman. And as repressed as most of the people around him seemed to be, it was no wonder they craved the relative excitement of the dance floor to let their hair down.
“I’ve got an idea,” he panted as the vigorous galop stopped and the orchestra returned to a more sedate waltz.
“What is it?” Phoebe’s eyes glowed with marvel as Danny drew her off the dance floor and toward the orchestra.
“These nobs are desperate for a good time,” he said as they ducked around a few clusters of guests—all of whom watched them with startled curiosity. “I can’t beat Cosgrove when it comes to having a stiff upper lip, but I can run circles around him as far as making friends and having fun.”
“And you think that will win you a land development contract?” Phoebe seemed entirely unconvinced.
Danny wiggled an eyebrow at her as they neared the orchestra. “You’d be surprised how far a good time can go to make friends. And how quick friends are to help each other out.”
He turned to the conductor—who was in the middle of playing but eyed Danny sideways as he did. “Mate, could you be sure to play as many polkas and galops and whatever other dances you’d play in Chelsea.”
Still playing his waltz, the conductor grinned and said, “Right you are, mate.”
It was an immeasurable boost of confidence to find that the conductor was closer to his end of the social spectrum than to the nobs he was playing for.
“Right,” Danny said, leading Phoebe away from the orchestra. “That’s a start.”
“What’s next?” Phoebe asked breathlessly, following him around the side of the room.
“Which of the ladies here are game?” he asked her.
Phoebe blinked as they paused to survey the guests. “Do you mean—” she lowered her voice, inching closer to him, “—which of them have questionable morals?”
“Of course, love,” Danny said with a wry
grin and a wink. “We’ve got to convince them to dance with the MPs.”
Phoebe’s answering laugh was all the gratification Danny needed for his plan. Phoebe came through as well. She discreetly pointed out all of the ladies with a less than shining reputation as they moved about the room. As he’d requested, once the orchestra finished their waltz, they burst into a polka.
Danny broke every rule of high society and propriety there was, and probably a few more that were invented on the spot just for him, as he moved around the ballroom, plucking the ladies Phoebe had pointed out to him away from their conversations and whisking them along to the nearest MP he needed to impress. Shocked looks and expressions of indignation followed his actions, but within ten minutes, the entire mood of the ball had changed from just another stodgy way for nobs to show off their nobbishness to a genuine good time. Danny used his years of practice as a pub owner and host to chat up the guests as he threw them together in different combinations. He measured the success of his efforts by how broadly the MPs he needed to impress smiled and how long they danced.
At last, he swept Phoebe back into his arms and led her out to the dance floor as the orchestra settled into another waltz as a way to give people a chance to calm down and catch their breath.
“You are absolutely mad,” she laughed as he swung her through a series of close steps. “This is pandemonium.”
“But it’s working,” he said, glancing around.
Sure enough, everyone seemed to be having a good time. More than one of the MPs nodded to him or smiled to express their appreciation. He was far from saying he’d made friends of the men, but he’d made an impression.
“You’ll never be invited back into society again after this,” Phoebe went on as he was forced to pull her close against his chest to avoid colliding with another couple. “The upper class might enjoy a novelty like this once, but you’ll be made notorious through gossip by morning.”
“Excellent,” he said. “Notoriety is a good thing.”
