by Fanny Finch
She would never know the identity of this gentleman, and he would never know hers.
The gentleman looked to the dancefloor where couples were already waltzing to the beautiful music that played.
She was forced to do the same. It was such a beautiful sight. She loved dances. Alas, for this, she had no partner.
A thought crossed her mind, and before she could think it through, the gentleman spoke again.
“It is not too late to join the dance.”
She looked back at him, her head raised to hold his gaze. “No, it is not.”
“My lady, I would be greatly honored if you decided to give me this dance. It would also be ample opportunity to apologize for my behavior back at the table.”
“And what behaviour would that be, good sir?”
“It is quite rude to stare, I understand that. However, I could not help it.”
“Oh?”
“I was so taken by your beauty - I do believe entranced would be a more fitting word. You truly look like an angel in your attire.”
Eleanor felt her cheeks grow warmer and lowered her eyes.
“I have never seen angels in my entire lifetime,” he said, undeterred. “You can imagine how awed I was to finally meet one.”
Something that had not happened to Eleanor in a long while, happened then.
Her insides began to warm and her stomach experienced a fluttery feeling. She was tempted to palm her cheeks until they grew cold again.
No man had caused her to blush in a long while… not since Benjamin. Yet, with these few words from this man, she suddenly felt alive, different.
It bothered her. Nevertheless, he had asked so nicely that she could not find it in her to turn this man down.
Also, if she were to be completely honest to herself, she too wanted to dance with this man. He called to her in a way that made her wish to remain in his presence.
“You have a penchant for literary works, I take it, my lord? Only a man who reads poetry would be able to craft such beautiful words so effortlessly.”
A guilty smile graced his face. “There is little I can put past you, my lady. Is there not?”
“I honestly cannot completely agree. There are some things that do pass over my head, I do not claim to be an omniscient. I am simply very observing of things. People, words…”
“Hmm. I see. You do give me the impression that you are an interesting woman, my lady.”
Eleanor almost snorted, but held herself back. She settled for a scoff instead. She was anything but interesting. She led a boring life.
“I do believe that any time other than now, would be too late to join the dance, my lord.”
The gentleman’s eyes widened in delight. “Blessed be, the lady doth decide to honor me with a dance, after all.”
His teasing manner caused Eleanor to let out a bubble of laughter. It warmed her heart as she did.
“Cruel be it of me to refuse when you asked so beautifully.”
“A lover of literature too, I see,” he said, taking her hand and leading her to the dance floor.
“A lover of art,” she replied, as though it mattered little.
They finally reached the dance floor and, as they found place to occupy, his left hand settled lightly on her waist. His right hand held her left, and her right hand settled on his shoulder. Then, they began to waltz.
Eleanor was aware of this man. Aware of his hand on her waist, and hers on his shoulder. His presence filled her senses, and she wondered why.
What was it about this man? And why could she not get rid of the nagging feeling that she had met him before?
“Many ladies appear to be lovers of art, but very few know what art truly is, indeed. I believe they assume to love art for the sake of it. Their governesses preach that it is feminine and it would endear them to the men, do they not?”
She smiled, and she watched as his lips perked up at their corners too. It was a small smile, and that one too looked awfully familiar.
She was certain she had seen an identical smile, someplace, before.
“I would not know. My governess was a genuine lover of art and she instilled that love in me. My brother does also exhibit a preference for art.”
“The gentleman you came with,” he said. “The one who dances with another. I presume he is your brother?”
He looked over her head. She assumed he was searching out her brother in the crowd.
“He is. He dances with the woman whom he wishes to marry. She is a dear friend of the family.”
“Ah. Love.”
She sighed. “Yes. Love. Some are lucky, while others… Well, while others are not. Nevertheless, it remains a beautiful thing to have and to hold.”
His gaze fell to hers, and his eyes twinkled with kindness. “You speak like my mother,” he said with slight amusement.
Those words warmed Eleanor’s heart, and for a moment, she found herself smiling too hard. She recovered quickly enough.
“She must be a wonderful woman.”
“She is.”
Eleanor nodded as she tried to fight the ache in her chest.
The love he bore for his mother was evident in his voice. It held so many strong emotions. In times like this, she wished she too had a good mother to speak so fondly of.
As she felt her eyes begin to fill, she sought to change the subject.
“Art proved a good distraction and companion for me, in many days. It became a comfort. And you, my lord? How did your fondness grow? I do believe they do not preach the love of art in Eaton and Oxford.”
He chuckled, a lazy, yet glorious sound that fanned her insides. It pleased her that he thought her humorous.
“No, they do not. I do believe I taught myself. My father was a scholar, as well as a ruler. He believed that great rulers are made from great men, and great men are made by the eminence of the knowledge they possess.
“He studied often,” he explained. “He hungered to know a little about everything. That hunger was awakened in me at a very tender age. And with a mother who is also quite the scholar, I was encouraged to feed my appetite.”
“Your family sounds lovely,” she said in good measure, even as she fought against the wistfulness that attempted to plague her voice.
“They are. My father, he brought us up on good principles.”
She wished she could say the same for hers. Her father had changed into an entire stranger the moment her stepmother had entered their lives.
Yet, the way this gentleman spoke of his father let her know that the noble man was no more.
Like her, this gentleman had lost a parent. Perhaps, he understood her pain.
It was comforting. So, as she spoke, she tried to convey the empathy she felt.
“Bless his soul. I am certain he would be proud of the man he raised.”
There was a long pause, and he held her gaze, his eyes twinkling with awe. The moment seemed to drag for an eternity, and the butterflies in her stomach flew freely.
“Thank you,” he muttered after a while, breaking the silence. She simply nodded her head in response.
He cleared his throat then, and looked away fleetingly, breaking eye contact.
“The weather seems fair, tonight. Not awfully chilly like it usually is by this time.”
Weather talk. It does seem safer.
“Perhaps, it feels so because we are in a hall, in the midst of so many people. We are also dancing, my lord. Activities as this are known to chase the chill away.”
“Yes. You are right.”
There was another spell of silence and she stepped away from him following the steps of the dance, then stepped back.
This time, she was the one who broke the spell. “The ball seems a lovely one.”
“A grand way to begin the season, if you ask me.”
“Absolutely. I wonder what the rest of it has in store for us.”
“I must confess, a short while ago, I was not entirely looking forward to it. Now, I find
myself doing just that.”
He peered into her eyes once more and she could not help but stare back, spellbound by his beautiful eyes.
Is he trying to say something, by not saying the exact words? Dear Lord, and when he looks at me like that.
If she did not have to hold on to him for the dance’s sake, she would have held on to her wildly beating heart instead.
Choosing not to think too much of it, she simply replied, “I may understand what you mean. Alas, I do not have high hopes for the season. I only wish that at the end of it, I shall have a reason to be thankful.”
He nodded, and with a kind smile, said, “From your lips to the Lord’s ears, my lady.”
The dance came to an end then and as they halted, he bowed.
“Thank you, my lord.”
She sunk into a shallow curtsy, acutely feeling the loss of his arms around her.
“No, it is I who must thank you for granting me this great honor. I enjoyed every moment of it,” he argued as they rose.
“As did I, my lord,” she confessed, despite herself.
His only reply was a warm smile, and he took her hands once more, to lead her back to where she had been standing.
***
Hours later, as Eleanor took off her white dress to change into something more fitting for the night’s sleep, she thought of her night’s escapades.
She had made it out of the ball just in time. Yet, on the ride back to her house, she could not help wondering about the gentleman.
Would he look for her to learn of her identity as he had promised? Or had he forgotten her so easily after dancing with all those beautiful women?
The question that plagued the most was, what did it matter to her?
“I shall take my leave now, my lady,” Frances announced as she finished helping her dress.
“Thank you, Frances. Do have a lovely night rest.”
“You too, my lady.”
Eleanor nodded and made a move to see Frances to the door, so she could turn the locks when the girl left.
She was already closing the door after Frances when the girl lifted her hand to stop her.
“What is it?”
Frances had a suspicious grin on her face. Whatever she had to say, Eleanor had a feeling it would be amusing.
“Nothing grave, my lady. I simply wanted to tell you that, at the ball, you looked radiant. It has been a while since I saw you look so happy and carefree, not even in Grenshire. Tonight’s happiness… It was different.”
Frances looked like she had more to say, but apparently decided against it for she simply bade Eleanor goodnight again, and turned to take her leave.
Eleanor had been right after all. Yes, it was amusing to hear her say those words. More than that, they also caused her to go into deep thoughts.
Yes, in the beginning, she had been afraid. Wary, worried. After her husband had died three years ago, she had not simply been spoken about as the one everyone left.
Malicious rumors had also been spread about her. The rumors that caused her being called the thorny Night Rose.
They had said that she was the carrier of some ill luck, a curse even, and that was the reason why her mother had taken ill and died.
They had also said that Luke, the first man whom she had ever loved, had belonged to her stepsister first. That jealousy had pushed her to woo Luke, to seduce him and keep him for herself. However, love had prevailed and Luke and Elizabeth had eloped to be together, before she could stop them.
All of these had hurt, but what had hurt the most, was hearing the rumors that accused her of killing Benjamin.
According to them, Benjamin had embarked on that journey to get away from her. That had been his end.
Absolutely ridiculous and all lies. Till now, she still did not know who had begun spreading those vicious lies, and to what end.
She had been twenty when she had met her late husband, Benjamin Ashford.
Benjamin had come to Humshire, her brother’s home, as his guest. He had been besotted with her from the moment he first laid his eyes upon her.
It had taken him a year to woo Eleanor, to get her to believe that his feelings and words were genuine. Slowly, but surely, she had come to trust him, to love him.
They finally became man and wife when she clocked twenty-one.
Benjamin had died at sea a year later. He had been called away for urgent business, and had had to leave her.
The season had been in full swing and it was their second season as man and wife. She had received news of the shipwreck and his death a week after his departure.
His body had been brought back five days later and he had been buried before that week was over.
She had felt as though her whole world had crumbled. The pain surpassed that which she had felt when her mother had died.
It was infinitely greater than the hurt she had felt at Luke’s - the only other man she had ever loved - betrayal.
When the whispers began to spread, it had hurt even more, because she had begun to think the same of herself.
She had begun to wonder if this was her curse - if everyone she loved was fated to leave her and if she would ever find a love that would last.
Yes, the years had been good, and indeed, she had healed significantly. Yet, she was wary of giving her heart to another.
She never wanted to, not anymore. She could not bear the pain of losing another loved one.
This was the reason why every fortnight she lit a candle and prayed all night long. Committing her brother and Frances, and everyone who had a home in her heart into the Lord’s hands, to keep them safe.
She would rather prefer she died before having to mourn another loved one.
Everyone knew this truth, but they had chosen to be easily swayed by the rumors nonetheless. It hurt her, but there was little she could do. It was what they believed and she could not fault them for it.
They had sufficient cause to believe the lies. Very few people suffered as many disasters as she had had to suffer.
She reminisced all of the incidents from tonight’s ball and wondered how differently things would have gone if they had known who she was.
Would they have remembered all those ugly words and chosen to throw them in her face as the market trader had done?
Would the gentleman have asked her to dance if he had known what bad luck she possessed?
Would he have still told her she looked beautiful, and danced with her, making her feel a sense of comfort and safety in his arms?
For all of these questions, she had no single answer. Mayhap, she needed none.
She took a deep breath as she turned in her bed, drawing the covers up to her chin.
Despite all of these, she had felt free and light. The kind of happiness she had not felt in a while. One that made her feel alive.
Was it reasonable to sacrifice happiness like this because of the fear of what society thought of her?
No, it wasn’t. This was the answer Edwin had been trying to give to her in a long while. The truth he had been trying to make her see. Alas, she had turned blind eyes and deaf ears. Now, she mustn’t, no more.
Truly, she had grown weary of living in the shadows. Of hiding away. Enough was enough. She had to stop and the time to stop was now.
And to stop, the first thing she had to do was dispose of all her mourning clothes. Oh yes, they had to go. She needed colorful clothes, dresses that were bright as the sun.
Dresses that would lift her spirits and set her mood right.
As her eyes finally fluttered close that night, taking her into the land of dreams, a startling revelation came to her.
It wasn’t only the gentleman’s eyes that had felt familiar. So had his voice.
Chapter 10
Emily Duncan finally decided that she had had enough of wining, dining and dancing, at exactly two a.m.
Charles was more than happy to take her home. His night had quickly become tiring, ever since he realized that his white
angel was gone.
Now, as they sat in the carriage, riding home, his eyes remained outside the window. The night was very quiet and it had become very chilly. However, his thoughts remained on his Angel.
