by Candace Camp
“Breathe all the way out, Charity,” Belinda said impatiently, holding the strings of Charity’s corset. “It’s still not enough.”
Charity groaned and rolled her eyes. “How could it not be enough? I can scarcely breathe as it is!”
“It’s not enough because Serena doesn’t have a great thick waist like you!” Belinda retorted. “You can’t get into her dress without the corset tight.”
Charity whirled and glared at her younger sister. “I do not have a thick waist!”
“Of course you don’t,” Serena intervened soothingly, grimacing at Belinda. “Belinda, you apologize to your sister. She has a lovely figure, and you know it.” ’Tis far better to have curves than to be straight as a board, as I am.”
“I’m sorry,” Belinda told Charity grudgingly, spoiling the apology by crossing her eyes at Charity.
“All right now, Charity,” Serena went on, pressing her hands to the sides of the corset. “You take a deep breath, then exhale all the way out.”
Charity did as she directed, and Serena clamped firmly down on the whalebones, drawing its sides together. Belinda pulled the strings tight and quickly tied them.
“There!” Belinda declared triumphantly. “Now Serena’s dress will fit you.”
“Yes, if I don’t take a breath,” Charity grumbled.
The whalebone stays of the corset pressed into her flesh, bruising it and squeezing the air from the bottom of her lungs. The only way she could breathe was shallowly. The corset also pushed her breasts upward uncomfortably. But there was nothing she could do about it. She was determined to go to Lady Rotterham’s ball tonight, and she had to wear one of Serena’s dresses.
Serena was a trifle shorter than Charity, and slenderer, too, but her mother had decreed that she would wear Serena’s corset and flat-heeled slippers to make her suit the dress. It was, Charity thought, rather like Procrustes’s bed, on which the travelers were stretched or chopped to fit the requirements of the bed instead of the bed’s suiting them.
She tied on the little bustle in the rear. Then Serena and Belinda picked up the lacy white ball gown from the bed and lowered it over Charity’s head. Serena shook the skirt out and settled it in place, while Belinda buttoned up the multitude of small round buttons in the back. Horatia, the youngest of the sisters, sat on the bed, legs crossed in an unladylike manner her mother would have decried had she been there, and watched the transformation with glowing eyes.
“Oh, my…” Charity breathed, looking at herself in the cheval glass. Perhaps the pain was worth it, after all.
The white satin gleamed in the lamplight, overlaid with lace. Charity’s arms were bare, and the neckline was rounded and low-cut, trimmed in a cloud of tulle. Her creamy white breasts, pushed up by the tight corset and constrained by the too-tight dress, seemed ready to spill over the neckline at any unexpected movement, and her waist was reduced almost to nothingness. The skirt was pulled back to cascade down from the bustle into a train decorated with ruffles and bows.
Serena had already worked on Charity’s hair, brushing the golden locks until they shone, then twisting them into a roll at the back of her head and securing it with pins. A spray of false gardenias decorated the line of the roll, and around her forehead, her face was softened by feathery little wisps of curls.
Charity’s eyes gleamed as she gazed at her reflection. She looked older than she was, she thought, and much prettier. She gave most of the credit to Serena’s artistry and the dress, instead of to her own bright eyes and prettily flushed cheeks. The dress was uncomfortable—the tulle scratched her, the waist pinched abominably, and the train was heavy to drag around—and she was faintly shocked by the wide expanse of white bosom and shoulders that it exposed. But she would bear such burdens gladly. She was going to her first true fashionable ball, and she looked like a beautiful sophisticate!
“You look like a fairy princess!” Horatia exclaimed, and Charity flashed her a dazzling smile.
Belinda frowned crossly and plopped down on the bed beside Horatia. “Oh, Horatia, you are so childish.”
“She is not,” Serena protested, smiling at first Horatia, then Charity. “She’s right. Charity does look like a fairy princess.”
Elspeth, reclining on the chaise, remarked lugubriously, “You will catch your death of cold in that thing, Charity, and then you’ll never live to see your wedding day.”
“Don’t be such an old gloomy puss,” Charity retorted. “You know I’m never ill.”
Elspeth looked pained. “I know. You’re as healthy as a milkmaid.” She said it with no pleasure, being of the opinion that it was a mark of low birth or insensitivity—or both—to be so uninclined to illness.
“No one is as sick as you are,” Belinda pointed out, indifferent as to which sister received her barbs.
Elspeth lifted her eyebrows at the girl and said pointedly, “Some of us are more delicate and refined than others.”
“You two, hush,” Serena ordered, always the elder sister.
“Their noses are out of joint because Charity’s going to be a countess,” Horatia explained.
“Ha!” Belinda retorted.
Elspeth shivered ostentatiously. “She’s welcome to him. He frightened the life out of me.”
Charity cast Elspeth an irritated glance. “There’s nothing to be frightened of.”
“No?” Belinda sat up straight, always eager to impart gossip. “I’ve heard that he’s a terrible man.”
“He has some considerable reputation for wild living,” Serena admitted. “But then, many men do. It doesn’t mean that they don’t settle down and make exemplary husbands.”
“Not that one!”
“I’ve heard his wife died at his hand.”
“Yes, and his brother died mysteriously, too, making him the heir.”
“Oh, pooh.” Charity turned and flashed a scornful look over toward her sisters. “Papa talked to me about it. He said the earl’s wife died in childbirth, and his brother was killed when his horse stumbled and went down when he was out riding. Hardly mysterious.”
“Ah, but what made the horse stumble?” Belinda asked in a sepulchral voice.
Charity’s eyes lit with a bright blue flame, and she set her hands on her hips pugnaciously. “A rabbit hole, no doubt. Or something equally innocuous. Honestly, Belinda, you are a gossipmonger. That’s all it is—gossip. People have nothing better to do, so they malign someone. Just because Lord Dure doesn’t stoop to answer their mean little whispers, that does not mean he is guilty!”
“His eyes are cold.” Elspeth shuddered expressively. “I’m sure his heart is, as well.”
Charity gaped at her sister, thinking of the fire that she had seen in His Lordship’s dark green eyes. “What nonsense! You haven’t any idea what you’re talking about, either of you. You don’t know the man.”
“And you do?” Belinda shot back.
“Better than you. I, at least, have talked to him. It’s no wonder that he looks at you coldly, Elspeth. No doubt you shrink into your chair and act as if he’s about to strike you. It would be enough to irritate anyone.”
“I don’t know why you are defending the man,” Elspeth retorted petulantly. “It isn’t as if it’s a love match.”
“He is to be my husband!” Charity’s temper flared. “And I won’t allow him to be slandered, any more than I would let anyone slander one of you.”
“Oh, dear,” Belinda drawled. “Charity has found another cause to champion. Another stray.”
“At least Charity is kind,” Horatia pointed out.
“Girls, please!” Their mother stepped through the doorway, her gaze sweeping coolly over her daughters. “You sound like a gaggle of geese. I could hear you all the way down the hall. Please try to remember that you are young ladies, not magpies.” She turned and surveyed Charity carefully, then gave a nod of approval. “You look quite charming, my dear. Now, pray, try to remember your station, and don’t do anything untoward tonight.”
Even Caroline’s stiff demeanor had to soften under the warmth of Charity’s smile, and she came forward and gave her daughter a peck on the cheek. “You do me proud, Charity. Imagine, you a countess!”
Her eyes glimmered with emotion for an instant. Then she moved away, saying briskly, “Come, girls, it’s time to go. Your father is waiting for us downstairs.”
Elspeth, Serena and Charity trailed out of the room after her, leaving Horatia and Belinda to wrangle with each other and their governess. Charity swept down the steps beside Serena, doing her best to keep her face tamed into a demure look.
“Oh, my!” Lytton Emerson gazed up at them with a beaming face. “What a bevy of beauties! I shall be the envy of all the men at the ball tonight, escorting such lovely women.”
“Quite right,” Aunt Ermintrude agreed loudly from the top of the stairs. She stalked down the stairs after them, a startling vision in her low-cut purple gown, with a fortune in diamonds around her throat and at her ears. “The Emersons were always a fine-looking lot. Except for Cousin Daphne, of course, but then, she got that horse face from her mother.”
Charity’s mother rolled her eyes but said nothing. Aunt Ermintrude stalked up to Charity and inspected her closely.
“Very nice, my girl, very nice. You look just as a future countess should. You’ll have Lord Dure eating out of your hand in no time.”
“Really, Aunt Ermintrude, must you use such vulgar expressions?” Caroline turned a more critical eye on Charity. “I am not quite sure about that neck. Doesn’t it seem a trifle low for a young girl? It wouldn’t do for Charity to be thought bold.”
“Nonsense! A girl ought to show off her wares a little,” Aunt Ermintrude argued, nodding with approval at Charity’s attire. “Besides, she’s already snagged her an earl, so she doesn’t have to kowtow to those biddies.”
The girls smothered their smiles at the old lady’s words. Their mother glared at them.
“Serena’s gown is a trifle small for me,” Charity explained quickly, hoping to avert a battle between the two older women, and gave a vain tug to the front of her bodice.
Caroline reached out and fluffed up the tulle so that it covered more of Charity’s breasts. “It will have to do until we get you some clothes made,” she said with a sigh. “Just don’t bend over, Charity.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“Humph! Not nearly as low as we used to wear them when I was a girl. Why, I remember once when Lady Derwentwater—Phoebe, that was, not that dreary creature that her son’s married to—wore an evening gown cut so low, you could almost see her nip—”
“Aunt Ermintrude! Please! There are tender young ears present.”
Aunt Ermintrude crackled with laughter. “As if they don’t know what they’ve got on their own chests! Anyway, poor Phoebe made the mistake of bending over to pick up a fan she’d dropped, and demmed if one of her bosoms didn’t pop right out, there in front of everyone.”
The girls all stared at her with wide eyes. Caroline made a strangled noise and began shepherding them toward the front door. “I think that’s enough, Aunt Ermintrude.”
“What did she do?” Charity asked curiously.
“Why, Phoebe was always cool as a cucumber, no matter what. She just straightened up and popped it back in, as if nothing had happened, and everything went on. ’Twasn’t nearly as embarrassing as the time that Mariana Vivier’s drawers came untied on the dance floor and—”
Caroline interrupted hastily, shooing her daughters out of the house and down the steps into Aunt Ermintrude’s waiting carriage, an old-fashioned landau. It was a tight squeeze, given the women’s skirts.
“Why don’t we just walk?” Charity asked innocently. “It’s only two blocks.”
Caroline and Aunt Ermintrude turned equally scandalized eyes on her. “One must arrive in a carriage!” Aunt Ermintrude exclaimed.
“It simply isn’t done,” Caroline added with finality.
Charity shrugged and fell silent, watching out the window with interest as their carriage moved along the street and joined the line of carriages waiting outside Lady Rotterham’s house. They sat for twenty minutes before their carriage reached the front of the line, but Charity was well occupied watching the occupants of the other carriages emerge from their vehicles and walk up the steps to the door. Jewelry glittered at necks and ears and wrists; satins and velvets and lace gleamed in the lamplight.
After they were handed out of their carriage and walked into the house, they had to wait again at the top of the grandly curving stairway as the guests filed past the hostess and her family. Then, at last, they were able to walk along the gallery to the ballroom, passing a smaller drawing room in which older ladies and a few gentlemen were already engrossed in whist. The ballroom, a spacious, ornate place with no fewer than three glittering glass chandeliers, was filled with people. Many stood or sat along the walls, and in the middle of the room, dancers swirled in a waltz. Charity drew in a quick breath, dazzled by the beauty of the scene. It was, she thought, exactly what she had dreamed of.
She followed her mother and Aunt Ermintrude as they made their way to empty seats, schooling her face into a look as demure as Serena’s. But her eyes roamed quickly over the occupants of the room. She could not find Lord Dure. Of course, there was the yellow anteroom, where people could sit and converse in quiet surroundings, or the refreshment room downstairs. He could be in either place, but she could not leave her mother’s side and look for him.
Then something, she wasn’t sure what—the swift susurration of noise that traveled from the crowd around the doorway, or merely the feeling of his eyes on her—made Charity turn her head toward the open doorway. Her breath caught in her throat, and her heart began to pound. Lord Dure had entered the room and was walking toward her.
CHAPTER FOUR
SIMON WAS DRESSED in the white shirt, black suit and white gloves that were de rigueur for such an occasion, and he looked inordinately handsome to Charity. There was something vital and strong about him, a physicality and depth that set him off apart the other men in the room. She smiled at him, her face suddenly luminous. She did not notice that now practically every eye in the place was turned toward them; even many of the dancers were sneaking peeks their way.
Simon’s eyes flickered over Charity, and there was a gleam in their gray-green depths, but he spoke to her mother first, as was proper, bending over Mrs. Emerson’s hand. Then, of course, he had to greet Aunt Ermintrude, Serena and Elspeth before at last he could turn to Charity.
“Miss Emerson.”
“Lord Dure.” Her voice was a trifle breathless as she looked up at him.
“You look lovely tonight.” His eyes traveled down over her in a way that Charity suspected was improper, but warmed her in spite of that.
“Thank you, my lord.” Her irrepressible dimple danced in her cheek, and she added, “So do you. Look handsome, I mean.” She hesitated. “Or should I not say so?”
“I take no offense from it.” He smiled. When he first saw her in the ballroom, it had taken him aback. She had no longer looked like the ingenuous girl he had met, but rather like a sophisticated and beautiful woman. Then she had smiled and somehow become both a mature beauty and the girl who had amused him.
His eyes drifted down to her breasts, straining against her gown, the white tops soft and quivering, and a heat most inappropriate to the time and place started in his loins. He wondered if Charity had any idea what a seductive picture she made, swathed in folds of virginal white, yet her full, soft mouth and sweetly rounded breasts offering untold physical delights. He wanted to stand and look at her, yet, curiously, he found himself wishing that she had worn something else that hid her looks more effectively from the other men in the room.
“Would you care to dance?” he asked formally. The waltz had ended while he was talking to her, and now couples were taking their places again on the
floor.
“Indeed I would,” Charity answered candidly. Instinctively she glanced at her mother for her permission, and Mrs. Emerson nodded. Charity took the arm Lord Dure proffered, and they made their way to an empty spot on the floor.
The music started. Dure bowed, and Charity curtsied; then he put his hand at her waist and took her other hand in his and swept her away into the waltz. Charity had waltzed before, at country assemblies or at private parties at estates near theirs. But this waltz was nothing like those other times. Simon was an expert dancer, unlike most of the boys with whom she had danced, and in his arms, looking up into his eyes, she felt as if she were flying. It was a wonderful, heady feeling, and everything, everyone, else in the room seemed to recede around her. There was nothing but Simon and the music and the gaily circling steps.
Charity was startled when the music ended and they stopped. Hurriedly she bobbed down into her curtsy, then took his arm. “That was marvelous!”
A smile touched his lips as he gazed down into her face; it was alight with pleasure, her eyes sparkling and her lips slightly parted. “Was it? I am glad.”
“Oh, yes! It was everything I’ve ever dreamed of.”
“Careful. You will puff me up with pride.”
“As if you didn’t know you are a wonderful dancer!” Charity laughed lightly.
“It is nice to hear you say so.” Simon had an impulse to take her hand and bring it to his lips and kiss it lingeringly…and to kiss her lips, as well, if the truth be known. But, of course, neither would be acceptable in this public place. “It is easy to dance well with you.”
Charity chuckled. “You know how to turn a compliment, too.” She paused and glanced around her. “Why are we walking this way?”
“It is traditional to promenade at least a half turn around the room after a dance. To take a girl back immediately would be something of an insult, as if to say that she is not worthy of your attention.”
“Oh,” Charity responded, enlightened. “I have many things to learn, I’m sure. But you will teach me, won’t you?” She looked up at him a little uncertainly. Lord Dure did not seem the sort of man to patiently tutor someone in anything, least of all the social arts.
