“Molly! You surprise me.”
She looked up at the speaker. “Hello, Emmet. I didn’t see you before. Is your mother here as well?”
“Yes.” He looked around for a moment. “Under the gallery with the Earl of St. Germains.”
“Ah.” Molly fanned herself more vigorously.
Emmet leaned closer. “I hardly expected to see you here tonight.”
She looked up at him and arched her eyebrows. “Perhaps you should raise your expectations.”
Emmet’s face colored. Before he could speak, another man stepped up.
“Good evening, miss. My name is John Harrold.”
She looked into his face and dredged up a smile. “Good evening, sir.”
“I wondered—”
“Miss Orland!” Another gentleman—this one wearing an amazing silver-embroidered satin waistcoat—crowded in beside Harrold. “Dear lady, I must have a dance with you.”
Harrold fixed him with a cold stare. “I beg your pardon, Humphries. I just asked the lady to dance myself.”
“No, you didn’t. You hadn’t got it out yet.”
Someone tapped Molly’s shoulder. “Pardon me, miss. Are you free for the minuet?”
Molly rose and looked helplessly around at them. Two more men appeared behind them, grinning at her. Emmet had faded to the fringe of the group, which suited her fine.
“I…” She gulped and extended her hand. Where on earth was Peter? If he were among the eager gentlemen, this would all be worth it. “I believe Mr. Harrold was the first to ask.”
He gave the other men a superior smile and bore her a few steps onto the floor in triumph.
The dancers seemed to be getting more boisterous, and Molly wondered if some of the men had been imbibing. The couples jostled one another in the warm room, vying for the limited space. The air took on a hint of perspiration and whiskey fumes. Harrold held her delicately, as though afraid to touch her spotless gown.
“I’ve been in Charlottetown for eighteen months, at Mr. Evans’s shipping firm,” he said. “I can’t believe I haven’t met you before.”
“Most remarkable,” Molly murmured, peering over his shoulder in search of Peter.
“I had to ask three people before someone told me you name. I believe your father’s a dairyman?”
“That is correct, sir.”
“I should be delighted if you would allow me to call on you, Miss Orland. Next week, perhaps?”
Molly jerked her chin up and eyed his waxed mustache. “I—well—I shall have to think about that, sir.” She kicked herself mentally for tacking “sir” onto every sentence, but she’d grown so used to saying “ma’am” and “sir” all day that the habit was hard to stifle.
“Ah, that will give me an excuse to consult you later.” Harrold grinned disgustingly close to her face, and Molly drew her head back.
She didn’t like to disappoint anyone, but this had gone far enough. “I—I am not sure I’m disposed to that situation, sir.”
“You mean…that you do not wish me to call on you?”
She swallowed hard. “That is correct, sir. But thank you for the offer.”
His mustache drooped with his lips. “I see.” When the music ended, Harrold bowed to her and made a swift retreat.
Molly drew as deep a breath as she could in the restrictive corset.
“Finally!”
She whirled around and found Peter at her side. Her relief was so strong it made her feel shaky.
“Mr. Stark! How wonderful to see you.”
He smiled, his brown eyes glittering. “Really? They’re going in to supper. I wondered if you would like to—”
A half dozen men descended on Molly and attempted to elbow
Peter aside.
“Miss Orland, may I escort you to the table?”
“Would you take supper with me, Miss Orland?”
“Miss, I’d be honored—”
“Gentlemen!” Peter’s roar startled them all, and for an instant the suitors fell back and the entire room went silent. Peter flashed her a look of contrition but firmly stepped forward and crooked his elbow. “Miss Orland was about to join me in the council room for supper.”
Molly tried to remain calm as she took his arm. “Yes, Mr. Stark. Thank you. And thank you all.” She smiled at the circle of dejected gentlemen. “I hope you all have a lovely time.”
The aristocrats had ceremoniously led the way out of the ballroom and down the hall. Beaming, Peter marched toward the door with Molly at his side, his head high.
Chapter Eighteen
“Quite a mob, isn’t it?” Peter had to raise his voice so Molly could hear him over the swell of a hundred voices. The windows of the council chamber had been flung open to admit every wisp of a breeze, and several side rooms had been opened to give the revelers places to sit down. The long council table was covered in damask and laid with delicacies of all kinds—fruits, breads, pastries, and meat pies. At one end of the room, Mr. Reynold and two underbutlers poured a steady flow of punch and ale.
“Indeed.” Molly smiled around the rim of her punch cup. She had removed her gloves while they ate, and her slender hands seemed too delicate to hold a scrub brush. “And to think the prince is supposed to dance with me yet. I fear I’ll have melted and disappeared before he gets around to it.”
Peter hesitated but decided to ask what was on his mind. “Do you know which number he’ll dance with you? I saw the list of his official partners yesterday afternoon, but that was—er—before you received your invitation. I’m wondering if they’ve added an extra dance to the program.”
“Oh no, I’m not certain.” Molly looked about in confusion. Was there someone she could ask, or was it better to say nothing and wait?
“Well, I know I would like to have the next dance with you, immediately after supper, if I may.”
Her cheeks went redder than the evening’s warmth accounted for. “I should like that.” She took out the pasteboard dance card she’d received at the door and handed it to Peter. He rummaged in his coat pocket until he found a short pencil. She hadn’t filled in the card with names.
As though reading his thoughts, she leaned closer. “To be frank, Mr. Stark, several gentlemen asked me to put their names down, but I was afraid to do so. I didn’t know when the prince might wish to dance with me, you see, and—” She faltered and looked away.
Peter’s heart warmed. “Dare I think you also wished to save me a spot?”
“You did ask me earlier.”
“Yes, I did.”
“To be truthful, I didn’t want to miss it.”
For ten seconds he couldn’t do anything but sit and gaze at her, grinning like a silly fool. He shook himself. “I believe I can solve your problem.”
“Oh? How is that?”
Quickly he wrote his name on the lines for all the dances after the supper hour. “There. When His Royal Highness requests the pleasure of your company, you may erase my name. For one dance only.”
She chuckled.
Peter’s heart drummed a tattoo as he watched her. Molly, laughing, was the most stirring thing he’d seen in British North America. He never wanted to leave her side. He could gaze at her forever without becoming bored.
“I suspect that people would gossip about us if I were to give you eight dances,” she said.
“Would it matter?”
“Perhaps not.” She gazed at him, her china-blue eyes nearly the same color as the ribbons on her dress, eyes brimming with possibilities—in short, full of hope.
“Molly!” He leaned toward her and reached for her hand.
Her lower lip trembled. “Yes, Mr. Stark?”
“Peter. Can’t you call me Peter?”
“Perhaps. For tonight.”
His aspirations crashed to earth. It was only for tonight. In the morning, he would sail away from her.
At the other end of the room, George Dundas rose and raised his glass. The murmuring died.
“Fr
iends, let us drink to the health of our illustrious sovereign, Queen Victoria.”
“To the Queen!”
Everyone sipped his beverage, and a hearty cheer broke out.
The Duke of Newcastle rose, bowed to the governor and the prince, then raised his glass. “To the health of the prince consort, Albert of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha.”
The toasts went on for several minutes as the crowd drank to the good health and long life of the Prince of Wales and several other dignitaries, as well as the prosperity and peace of the island. At last the aristocrats went back to their supper and Peter could once more give Molly his full attention.
“And how are your parents doing?” he asked. “Is your father’s leg mending?”
“Pardon me, miss. Mr. Stark.”
They both looked up. General Bruce stood beside them holding a memorandum book and a silver pencil. In his full uniform, he cut an imposing figure.
Peter stood. “How may we help you, General?”
“When the dancing resumes, His Royal Highness desires to take the floor with the young lady who is sharing supper with you.”
“Oh.” Peter looked at Molly. She kept her expression neutral. “Miss Orland? Is your next dance free?”
Molly made no pretense of consulting her dance card. “Of course, General. Please tell the prince it will be an honor.”
Bruce bowed. “Thank you. I’m sure it will be an experience you will tell your grandchildren about.”
Peter watched him go, fighting the knot that had settled in his chest. He had this moment with Molly and perhaps a dance or two later. He didn’t really believe they could dance together for the rest of the evening. It would scandalize the dowagers of Charlottetown and do Molly no good—especially as he would depart just a few hours afterward. Unwillingly he looked at the tall clock in one corner. A few hours from now and he would be off to sea again, and then would come the rest of the prince’s tour. How desolate each city would seem without her.
Molly’s gentle touch on his wrist brought him back to the present, and he sat down abruptly. He would not waste another second of what he’d received.
She leaned toward him. “I meant to ask you if we danced together, but since we have a moment, I’ll ask you now. Did all go well between my father, my grandpa, and the earl?”
He nodded. “They parted on good terms.”
“I don’t know how much you are privy to concerning our story,” she said.
“All of it, or so I believe.”
“And you don’t think less of us?”
“Why would I?” He stared into her questioning eyes, hoping she could read his empathy and his longing. “Dear Molly, your father and grandpa seem like fine men. I cannot but admire the way your grandfather defended his sister so many years ago.”
Her color heightened, but she did not draw back. “Thank you, Peter.”
He reached for her hand again and squeezed it gently. “I shall let them tell you what was said, but I hope it comes out well for you all.”
“Mrs. Dundas is rising.” Lines of tension creased her forehead. “Peter, what is the prince like? What shall I talk to him about?”
“I expect you’ll find him easy to talk to. He’s a charming young man.”
She nodded, though her face was still taut. “He seems a proper gentleman.”
Peter hesitated but saw no point in disputing her assessment. “You have no cause to be nervous, I’m sure. Just remember he’s younger than you are and pretend he’s one of your brother’s friends.”
That brought a smile. “I may find that helpful, though I can’t imagine Nathan running about with him.”
Peter stood and tugged slightly on her hand to help her rise. “We must go back to the ballroom. Look for me when your dance with the prince has finished.”
“I shall, sir.” Though she addressed him as she would a man of high station, the gaze they shared was one of equals.
“I shall look forward to it immensely.” He pulled her hand into the crook of his arm and they shuffled with the others into the hallway and down to the ballroom.
“Oh!” Molly stopped walking and drew in a sharp breath.
“What is it?”
“My gloves! I left them in the supper room.”
“I’ll get them.” Peter dashed to where they had sat and found the wilted white gloves lying on a chair. Servants were already clearing away the remains of the meal. He hurried back to Molly.
“Thank you so much.” She swiftly slid her hands into the gloves and poked the fabric between her fingers. “How awful if I’d forgotten!” When her hands were once again hidden, she positioned her fan on its chain at her waist with her little mesh reticule, squared her shoulders, and looked up at him.
“Ready?” Peter asked.
“Ready.”
He escorted her to the door of the ballroom, where Lord St. Germains stood, and gave a little bow. “My lord, Miss Orland is to be the prince’s next partner.”
St. Germains smiled at Molly. “Ah, Miss Orland. Delightful. Please stand here by me for a moment.”
Molly gave Peter’s arm a light squeeze and released it. “Thank you,” she mouthed as he stepped back. He nodded and walked quickly between the milling guests to his original spot beneath the musicians’ gallery.
The Earl of St. Germains spoke with Molly for a moment then led her toward Mrs. Dundas. The Prince of Wales stood between the hostess and General Bruce, watching Molly appreciatively as she approached. Peter told himself everything was fine. Molly would fulfill her obligation, and then he could reclaim her.
The look in the prince’s eyes changed subtly. Peter’s stomach knotted. He’s only a boy, he reminded himself. Of course he’s eager to dance at last with someone near his own age—not to mention one of the prettiest women in the room.
With sudden clarity, Peter knew he was jealous, which made no sense. The prince would be in contact with Molly for five minutes at most. And both Peter and Albert Edward would sail tomorrow. But the knowledge didn’t stop his lungs from aching as he gazed across the room. Perhaps the best thing he could do would be to take a brief walk outside.
He made his way to the door, easing between clusters of chatting people and avoiding bumping into hoopskirts. The strains of a Strauss waltz followed him as he left the building.
A few gentlemen stood in the portico, catching the breeze off the harbor. A couple more wandered about the garden before the building, smoking their pipes. Peter sauntered into the shadow of one of the columns, leaned his head back against the cool sandstone, and closed his eyes.
“Mr. Stark, isn’t it?”
Peter jerked upright and opened his eyes. In the shadow of the portico, a young man peered at him.
“Yes. Have we met?”
“Nathan Orland. You came to our farm with the prince.”
“Oh, of course.” Peter held out his hand and Nathan grasped it.
“Is the dance about over?” Nathan asked.
“Oh, no. It will go on for a while yet. Probably until two or three o’clock.”
Nathan grunted.
“You’re here to escort your sister home?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s good of you.”
Nathan cocked his head and listened to the strains of the violins.
“Is our Molly dancing?”
“Yes. In fact, she’s stepping with the prince right now.”
Nathan grinned. “I’d like to see that.”
Peter was about to suggest he go in and look but realized Nathan probably had no ticket, nor the sovereign to pay for one.
“She…looks lovely tonight. You can tell your mum.”
“I will.”
Peter stepped away from the pillar. “Will you be out here?”
“Yes, sir. Might fall asleep if it goes on that long, though.”
“I’ll walk out with her and find you when it’s over.”
Nathan nodded. “I’d appreciate that, sir.”
Th
e number would end soon. Though Peter wished he could spend more time talking to Molly’s brother, he knew he’d have to scramble if he intended to give her an excuse to turn down all those vying for her hand for the next dance.
Molly tried to remember all the advice various people had given her that day. “Keep your back straight while you dance,” her mother had said. “Look into his eyes”—this from Allison. Deborah had told her to compliment the prince’s looks and deportment, while Rosaleen’s prosaic counsel was, “Be yourself, dearie, and enjoy the moment.”
The Prince of Wales bowed at the waist and extended his hand to her.
Molly gulped and placed her hand in his, glad for her short white gloves. Without them, her sweaty palm would touch the Royal Person. She shuddered.
“Nervous?” he asked.
She shrugged and lowered her gaze. “A bit, Your Highness.”
“Don’t be.” He smiled at her as they moved onto the dance floor. Other couples left a swath of space around them, and they had more room to execute the waltz than Molly had had all evening with her other partners. Of course, more eyes were upon her now than ever before. Her cheeks flamed, and she had to remind herself to blink. She followed the prince’s lead as he guided her into the first gliding steps. She was glad she’d had eight or ten dances earlier so that she’d become accustomed to the movement and knew what was expected of her feet, even if not what to say.
“At last,” Prince Albert Edward said.
She stared up at him, not knowing how to respond.
He chuckled. “I’m tired of dancing with old women. At last I can have fun with the pretty young ladies of the island’s society.”
“Oh, I’m not part of high society here,” Molly said.
He laughed. “I know. You are the maid who made such a charming entrance into the breakfast room this morning.”
Molly gulped. Was it only this morning? It seemed years ago. She concentrated on her steps as they swept about their clearing in the middle of the floor. Other couples drew back, careful to stay out of their path.
“Your ensemble tonight suits you better than the black dress you wore this morning.”
Molly stumbled and gasped as he tightened his hold on her.
Love Finds You in Prince Edward Island Page 19
