‘Is it? I don’t know it. It was not much danced in London.’
‘I am pleased to hear it.’ The reverend’s wife settled back, evidently ready to be scandalised.
To her chagrin, Rowena was soon to agree with her opinion. At least as far as Araminta Neave’s set was concerned. The ladies and gentlemen faced each other across two arms-lengths of polished floor. Araminta was partnered by Captain Fookes. Further down the set Conniston stood opposite a rosy-faced creature in a pink gown decorated with two rows of frills and several bands of ribbon.
The music started and Araminta set off. She and the captain grasped each other’s arms at the elbow and spun round in the centre. The figured gold foulard of her gown swung out as did the rope of bullion that tied a silk rose to centre of the high waist. Released, she grasped the arm of the first gentleman in line and circled vigorously with him while the captain waited. She and Captain Fookes linked arms and circled again. The process continued to the bottom of the set. Lord Conniston watched her every move. Rowena could not decide if his expression was one of delight or amusement. He certainly smiled widely when it was his turn to spin Miss Neave.
The pattern was repeated as the pair worked their way back to the top, with the captain circling alternately with every lady and his partner. All the ladies, apart from the rosy-faced girl, looked less than pleased to be flung around so vigorously. Araminta encouraged him, clapping her hands and laughing. Harriette laughed enthusiastically as the captain spun her around. Reaching the top, Captain Fookes caught hold of Araminta’s arm again and they swung down the set, this time both of them circling with the other dancers as well as each other. Araminta’s laughs turned to shrieks. The gathered back of her gown flared out even further, wrapping itself round the captain’s legs more than once. From his expression he was delighted to be so encumbered. Their swings grew more and more energetic until they arrived at the bottom, laughing and panting, accompanied by several disapproving glances, not least from the ladies in their set, some of who were discretely trying to tuck away dislodged curls. Conniston was smiling broadly. The dance ended after the pair had formed an arch for the others to skip under. Araminta looked pinkly joyful but the other ladies of her set looked were flustered.
Rowena watched the floor clear. Conniston was escorting his mousey-haired partner to a lady of senior years, presumably her mother. He looked immaculate, despite the energies of Strip the Willow. Only a single brown curl has flopped onto his forehead.
Mrs Nethercott spread her fan in front of her mouth, staring over the top at someone approaching behind Rowena. ‘Not that I care to indulge in gossip, Miss Harcourt-Spence, but is he as rich as they say?’
Rowena’s head snapped round. Archibald Neave was advancing towards her. She leapt to her feet, thankful that Neave’s bulk was inhibiting his progress. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know, ma’am. I beg you to excuse me. I . . . I need my reticule from the retiring room.’ She slipped along the side of the ballroom behind the pillars, trying to look as if it was mere chance.
In the retiring room, four maids stood in a line watching another on her knees behind a lady gaudily dressed in emerald and yellow silk. The girl clambered to her feet, a dish of pins in her hand. She was short and thin and very young. The dress she was wearing had obviously been intended for a wider person. Rowena recognised her. It was Alice, the maid Minchin had assigned to her after a tearful Ellie had departed.
‘There, ma’am. That should hold it,’ she said.
The woman tilted backwards to peer over her shoulder. ‘I expect it will have to.’
Alice’s eyes sparkled. She blinked rapidly. The mob cap perched on her pale hair trembled.
Rowena hurried towards her. ‘Would you find my reticule for me, please, Alice? I need my handkerchief.’
The girl hurried to a table drawn up behind the maids. Seconds later she held out a reticule heavily embroidered with mimosa blossom and closed with yellow cord drawstrings.
Rowena took it from her. ‘Thank you.’ She pulled the strings open and extracted a flutter of lawn and lace.
‘Are you enjoying yourself, miss?’ Alice dared to whisper. ‘I had a peep in the room when we was setting out the table here. It looked real fine.’
‘It is but I think I may leave soon.’
‘Oh, miss. Surely not? It hasn’t been supper yet.’
Rowena remembered her promise to Mr Somerville. She sighed. Promises were made to be kept. She wondered what the time was. She wondered even more if she could avoid Mr Neave until supper was announced.
‘Quite right, Alice. I’m promised to Mr Somerville. I had better go and find him. She tucked the handkerchief into the top of her long glove and held out the reticule. ‘Take care of this again, please.’
The girl clutched the bag to her chest, wishing and wishing she too could go to the dance and enjoy herself like Miss Harcourt-Spence.
Rowena drew a deep breath and stepped back into the ballroom.
Chapter Eighteen
‘Ah. Miss Rowena.’ A figure bounded forwards from the ballroom door. ‘I have found you at last.’
Rowena jumped. Drawing back, she surveyed Mr Neave’s rubicund face. He held out his arm to her. ‘Let’s take turn around the room.’
It took several seconds before a possible excuse occurred to her by which time they had passed an interested bevy of the local populace. Mr Neave was certainly one to arouse interest, and not only by his reputation. His evening dress fitted like a first skin, let alone a second. The white waistcoat under his long-tailed coat of blue superfine creaked when he moved. The gentlemen and married ladies passing by must have known a stout corset was laced underneath. And wiser counsels might have recommended Mr Neave wear white knee breeches rather than the black satin ones which only served, with the white stockings, to accentuate his excess of leg.
Rowena backed away. ‘I am promised to Captain Fookes in a moment, I believe.’
‘I’m sure he will not object to a delay when he hears the news.’
‘What news?’
Neave manoeuvred her into a space beside one of the windows. ‘Why, that you have decided to honour me with your hand.’
Rowena snatched her fingers off his arm. ‘No, sir. I have given you no such assurance. You have had my answer. It has not changed, nor will it.’
The tone of her voice, though low, carried in its intensity. The heads of two ladies admiring the flowers on the adjacent pier table turned. Rowena smiled at them and executed a slight incline of her head. The ladies smiled back. It appeared the side of the flowers nearest to Rowena needed further examination. She rearranged her features to resemble polite disinterest. Her voice fell to a bare whisper.
‘I really must ask you to refrain from mentioning the subject again.’
Archibald Neave recaptured her hand onto his arm and patted it. He leant towards her. ‘Of course. Of course. Far too public.’ He beamed at her. ‘Off you go for your dance with yon captain.’
Rowena forced herself to glide away from him, rather than pick up her skirts and run as she truly wished she could.
Captain Fookes was already standing among the other couples. The girl in the pink gown was smiling opposite him. Rowena sighed.
‘Ah, ma’mselle. You ’ave no partner to stand up weeth.’ Madame de Gambade surveyed the room. ‘Ah. Just the one. Come, ma’mselle. Come.’
She grasped Rowena’s hand and led her towards Lord Conniston.
His appearance bore no comparison whatsoever to that of her previous persecutor. He stood beside one of the pillars supporting the balcony, his pose relaxed, his profile clear and strong as he surveyed the crowd. Something must have amused him because the corner of his mouth quirked. The nascent smile vanished when Madame de Gambade laid her hand on his arm.
‘ ’Ere we are, milor’. Now you may join the room.’
His face impassiv
e, Conniston bowed to the Frenchwoman and then to Rowena. ‘Servant, ma’am.’ He took Rowena’s much-used hand and led her forward in silence.
The musicians overhead struck up a stately tune. Every couple advanced and retired. The gentlemen stepped forward and turned sideways to allow the ladies to progress around them.
‘I see you were enjoying a pleasant conversation with Neave.’
As she crossed in front of him, Rowena shot him an angry upward glance, sure he was teasing her. ‘No I was not.’
Conniston walked around her. ‘You surprise me.’
The couples faced each other along the line.
‘I don’t see why.’ Two steps forward. Two back. Partners’ hands joined for a slow circle. ‘I’m sorry if he is a dear friend of yours,’ she said with a degree of asperity, doubting that he was. ‘But I would be perfectly happy never to have to speak to him again.’
Conniston’s dark brows scowled. ‘Why so?’
Circle in the opposite direction.
Conniston stared at her face. Rowena felt herself flush and her eyes brighten. The music was grating on her nerves. ‘He has not inconvenienced you, I hope.’
Silence. Join inward hands, face the head of the room. Silence. Four slow steps forward.
‘Tell me.’
Four slow backward steps.
‘He has honoured me with an offer.’
Conniston’s fingers tightened in round hers. ‘Has he?’ he said, his voice full of menace.
‘And I have declined. Twice.’
Both hands joined. A slow circle in their own position.
Conniston examined her face more closely. ‘Would you wish me to address him?’
Rowena stopped moving. The gentleman of the couple behind them stepped around her.
Conniston drew her into place. ‘I would not have you pestered,’ he said.
Rowena blinked.
The couples parted. The line of gentlemen faced the ladies. Advance, bow, curtsey, retire. Execute a circle in your place. Advance.
‘You seem surprised, ma’am,’ Conniston said as she passed gracefully in front of him.
‘I am, sir. Considering.’
‘Considering?’ he said over her shoulder as he walked around her.
‘That you persist when my sister has declined.’
It was his turn to halt on a sudden indrawn breath. His voice came low and fierce. ‘I have, ma’am, your father’s approval. It would be dishonourable in me to withdraw.’
Forward and back. Round and round.
‘As a future brother-in-law I take it as my duty to ensure your comfort. Or at least, prevent your discomfort.’
The music ended.
Bow.
Curtsey.
‘Are you engaged for supper?’
‘With Mr Somerville.’
‘Then permit me to escort you to him.’ He scanned the room. Garton was advancing to Lady Tiverton. ‘Unless I mistake it is about to be announced.’
Mr Somerville was delighted to have her bestowed upon him. ‘Excellent,’ he said. ‘Excellent. Thank you, my lord. I made sure Miss Harcourt-Spence would be captured from me.’
‘Please return her to me after supper. I am promised the next dance.’ Conniston bowed and walked away.
Somerville led her towards the crush at the supper room door. She glanced back. Conniston was escorting not Araminta but a dowager of advanced years and voluminous cerise gown towards the tables. Behind him, the bird-like Madame de Gambade was organising the couples who were destined to eat later into sets for the next dance.
Somerville hesitated when he saw the crowd descend upon the long table spread with dishes.
‘Permit me to seat you, Miss Harcourt-Spence, and bring you a plate. The crush looks too great to be attempted.’
The crush, as he called it, had not deterred several of the ladies from entering the fray. Rowena cast her eye over the room. Neither Araminta nor her father appeared to be in it.
‘Thank you. It’s most kind of you.’
He led her to a table and held her chair waiting for her to be seated. Rowena looked down. She smoothed a wrinkle on the table cover with a finger.
‘Allow me to seat Lady Usherwood beside you, ma’am.’
Rowena jerked her head up. Lord Conniston towered over her. She swallowed and rose. ‘Of course, sir.’ She dropped a slight curtsey to the lady while Conniston helped his partner dispose herself onto a chair considerably narrower than she.
The dowager favoured Rowena with a stern glance. ‘Who are you girl?’
‘Rowena Harcourt-Spence, ma’am.’ She sat and arranged her turquoise skirts about her as Berrington Somerville took himself off to tackle the throng.
‘Ah! Sister of the chit Conniston is to wed.’
Did the entire world know about Conniston and Amabelle, Rowena wondered. ‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Hmm. I have my doubts. The girl’s just out, ain’t she?’ She fanned herself. ‘He needs someone better able to check him than a schoolgirl.’
A cold shiver slid round Rowena’s throat and down her neck.
‘No, she won’t do. He needs someone older with a smattering of sense in her head.’ A lorgnette was raised. Deeper scrutiny of Rowena was made. ‘You look a sensible girl. Perhaps he should have asked for the older sister instead.’
Rowena wished she could sink through the floor. Why would Lord Conniston need checking by anyone, let alone a wife? She hoped that Lady Usherwood would not – had not – made any such comment to his face. Her hopes were immediately dashed.
‘And so I shall tell him. Turned by a pretty head no doubt. Many men are I’ve found, though you are not unattractive. Ah,’ she continued as Rowena furiously fought for a response. ‘Your supper arrives.’
Two plates appeared in front of her. Mr Somerville bent over her. ‘I thought a sliver of terrine and a portion of lobster might tempt you, Miss Harcourt-Spence. And a few other trifles.’
He had left nothing to chance. One plate was piled with chicken terrine, a square of tongue rolled around an asparagus spear, three slices of lobster tail, an aspic of peas and a scoop of salmon mousse. On the second a tiny red jelly castle wobbled beside a pink blancmange, surrounded by grapes, strawberries and a swirl of thick cream.
‘I’ll return for my own now, if you’ll permit?’
‘Please . . . perhaps there is sufficient for both of us,’ Rowena said.
A wave of puzzlement washed his face followed by what might be disappointment.
Rowena smothered a sigh. ‘Although, perhaps now I take a closer look it will all be wonderful.’
Somerville’s smile reappeared. ‘Excellent, ma’am. I was sure you would like it.’ He turned back to the battle.
Conniston laid a much more modest plate in front of Lady Usherwood. His own was not much fuller. Seating himself between her ladyship and Rowena, his eyebrows rose at the sight of her plate.
‘You are hungry, perhaps, Miss Harcourt-Spence.’
The dowager rapped his arm with her closed fan. ‘No she is not. That silly puppy Somerville seems to think she is.’ She released her fan to let it swing from her wrist by its tasselled cord. She prodded her fork at a small portion of chicken. ‘I think you’ve chosen the wrong one, Conniston.’
He and Rowena stared at the chicken.
The fork waved across the table. ‘Not this. Her. She’d be a better choice.’
Colour rushed into Rowena’s face. ‘Ma’am! I beg you. My sister is a wonderful girl. She will make an excellent wife for Lord Conniston.’ She dared not raise her eyes to his face.
The levelness of his voice surprised her. ‘Eugenie, if I did not know your reputation for being outrageous I might take offence.’
The fork waved again. ‘At my age it is the only pleasure I have left.’
Rowena tried to look amused. Mr Somerville, arriving at last, merely looked puzzled. He sat down and addressed himself to his overloaded plate.
After supper Conniston kept her close company. At the end of the evening he led her to her aunt and uncle who were receiving the thanks and goodbyes of their guests. A subdued Harriette stood beside them.
‘Haven’t you enjoyed yourself?’ Rowena whispered.
A shake of the head.
Lord and Lady Tiverton bowed to the final departing guest and then advanced from the anteroom into the hall.
‘What is it?’
A shrug. ‘Mama.’ A sniff. ‘She said I was too forward.’
Forward was not a word Rowena would ever have associated with her cousin. ‘Surely not. When did she think you were?’
‘In the Strip the Willow.’
‘You? I don’t think anyone would have noticed what you were doing. Miss Neave was the centre of all attention.’
A miserable nod. ‘I know that but Mama says I must follow what you do, not her.’
Rowena looped Harriette’s arm through hers. ‘Don’t let it trouble you. No-one will have noticed.’
Despite her cousin’s distress, and her own embarrassment with Mr Neave and the dreadful dowager Lady Usherwood, Rowena retired to her bedroom with mixed feelings. She had done as her father had asked. While Annie unpinned her hair, she tried to congratulate herself on progress. She had been very clever and obtained a firm commitment from Lord Conniston. He had made it clear that he intended to maintain his interest in Amabelle. For her part, she had made sure Lord Conniston had been left in no doubt that Amabelle would be . . . would agree to be his wife. And a wonderful one at that.
Climbing into bed after the maid had gone, she decided to write to Papa in the morning and tell him. He would be so pleased with her. She blew out her candle. Darkness enveloped her.
Yes, Papa would be very pleased.
Silence grew loud in her single room.
She was pleased too, of course.
Yes, she was very pleased.
Wasn’t she?
Strangely enough she found it difficult to fall asleep. Visions of Laurence Conniston leaning on a pillar, smiling at her and eating a large chicken thigh disturbed her dreams.
Rowena (Regency Belles Series Book 1) Page 13
