By a Lady

by Amanda Elyot

  Jane was clearly enjoying herself, pressing her point that a difference indeed existed. “You will admit that in marriage the man is supposed to provide for the support of the woman, and the woman to make the home agreeable to the man. He is to purvey, and she is to smile.” Jane beamed triumphantly. “But in dancing, their duties are exactly changed. The agreeableness and compliance are expected from him, while she furnishes the fan and the lavender water.”

  C.J. found it difficult to maintain her gaze on her partner and still keep up with the exchange between Mr. Chiltern and Miss Austen, not wishing to miss a word Jane uttered. “Were I to have the opportunity to know your cousin well,” she told the earl, “I should become fast friends with her. There is already much to admire.”

  “Miss Austen has expressed the same desire to better acquaint herself with you, Miss Welles. But do not deny your own ability to fascinate. There is an unquenchable energy to your spirit, a strength of character, and—if you will forgive me—a certain contradiction in your nature that compels me to discover the cause. Forgive my bluntness, Miss Welles, but from the moment I made your acquaintance, you have never ceased to haunt my thoughts. I am but a poor suitor in your thrall.”

  “You give me far too much credit, your lordship,” blushed C.J. “Were your countenance not so earnest, I should scarce believe such pretty words!”

  “Oh but you must, Miss Welles! You may apply to your aunt as my character witness should you doubt my integrity on the matter.”

  The tune ended and the musicians laid down their instruments. The couples parted, moving toward the gilded doors of the ballroom to take advantage of the break in the dancing by enjoying whatever light repast was available.

  “I do love dances,” Jane told C.J. as they joined their families and the Fairfaxes at the perimeter of the room. “And, as for gentlemen,” she added whimsically, “all I want in a man is someone who rides bravely, dances beautifully, sings with vigor, reads passionately, and whose taste agrees in every point with my own.”

  Not such a bad aspiration, when all is said and done, thought C.J.

  “And you have met him, Jane,” the earl teased. “But fortunately—for Miss Welles’s sake—he is your cousin!”

  THE FOYER WAS A CRUSH of people rushing to crowd into the Tea Room to locate glasses of cold punch or warm negus, depending on their age and preference. As the evening progressed and the ballroom grew increasingly more populated, the temperature rose, causing many of the ladies in particular to require a cool refreshment. Apparently, the warmer the ballroom, the greater success the ball. The smell of sweat and of well-tanned leather, commingled with the aromas of various perfumes—from hyacinth to jasmine to rose to honeysuckle—was overpowering and not entirely pleasant. In fact, the odor did much to dampen C.J.’s appetite.

  Mrs. Fairfax, with Miss Austen in tow, fairly elbowed her way past those who had recently been on the dance floor and were flushed from their terpsichorean exertions. The parvenue’s husband was nowhere to be seen, having decided to avoid the crowd by remaining sedately in his chair along the wall of the ballroom, and trusting that his good wife would no doubt bring him his glass of wine soon enough. To endure her complaints about his complaisance was an acceptable barter for the punishment he would have had to suffer packed among hundreds of other patrons in a hot, stuffy anteroom.

  “If there is anything disagreeable going on, men are always sure to get out of it,” Miss Austen slyly remarked.

  The two smaller parties had joined, and now C.J., Lady Dalrymple, and the Fairfax family brought their chairs over to where the Leigh-Perrots, their remarkable niece, Darlington, and the redoubtable Lady Oliver had positioned themselves earlier in the evening. The dragon was doing her best to create distance between her noble nephew and the object of his inappropriate fascination. Whenever Darlington attempted to maneuver himself closer to C.J., his aunt managed to insinuate herself between them or impede his advance by discreetly adjusting the angle of her chair.

  Miss Austen seemed to derive a wicked little pleasure in baiting Mrs. Fairfax, who had not the slightest inkling she was a subject for the writer’s gentle raillery. C.J. listened to Miss Fairfax prattle on about some inconsequential nonsense to Captain Keats. The girl appeared to have very few subjects, and a discussion of the merits of her military beau seemed to be the chief topic of any conversation she began. C.J. would have much preferred to spend the tea break enjoying the clever observations of Miss Austen. “I can never fathom why so many gentlemen seem to prefer such empty-headedness in women,” she remarked to her new friend.

  Jane squeezed C.J.’s hand and smiled beatifically in the direction of her handsome cousin. “A woman especially, if she have the misfortune of knowing anything, should conceal it as well as she can.” Miss Austen then turned directly to the earl for confirmation of her assessment. “To the larger and more trifling part of your sex, imbecility in females is a great enhancement of their personal charms, and there is a portion of them too reasonable and too well informed themselves to desire anything more in woman than ignorance.”

  Darlington, however, was ready for the riposte, and C.J. was developing the opinion that the two cousins relished their banter as a sort of sport. “I will allow that a good deal of men may share the sentiment you have just expressed, Miss Jane, but as I have informed Miss Welles, I am not one of those gentlemen who disdains the company of intelligent women. To be sure, I often find greater stimulation in the sharing of ideas with one of the brighter members of the fairer sex than I do in the company of men, all of whom have been schooled to believe the same credos and frequent the same clubs.”

  C.J. smiled. “Then you are sui generis, your lordship.”

  He blinked at her use of a Latin phrase. It may have been in common usage, but issuing from her lips, it sounded uncommon indeed. What an extraordinary specimen of womanhood! The earl saw his opportunity to take advantage of his aunt’s occupation in animated conversation with Lady Dalrymple. “Miss Welles, could you kindly spare me a moment or two of your time?” He rose on the pretext of obtaining another round of refreshments for their party, indicating with the merest inclination of his head and an intense expression in his eyes that he wished to speak to C.J. alone. The young lady rose as well, and the couple withdrew a few feet from their companions.

  “Your lordship?”

  “I shall come straight to the point, Miss Welles. I have already compromised you too much. That is what I desired to speak to you about.”

  “Compromised? How do you mean?”

  “It was both forward and thoughtless of me to walk with you unchaperoned to your aunt’s home a few mornings ago.”

  “But you assured me that every propriety was observed.” Feeling wounded, C.J. looked up at Darlington, worrying that this might signify an immediate end to their acquaintance, which, brief as it had been, she had found exceedingly enjoyable. “I was not offended, nor did I feel in any way violated,” she hastened to add.

  “Your forgiving nature, Miss Welles, does not excuse my impertinence and my heedlessness. My waggishness could have caused you—an innocent and trusting party—irreparable harm. You are blameless of course, but it will not cease any censure. I am entirely at fault. If you and your aunt will permit me to call upon you, I shall take care in future to see that you are properly chaperoned. Miss Austen has but recently arrived in town and has lamented her lack of friends and companions here. She enjoys long walks and shopping expeditions as well as any young lady, and as you have expressed the wish to know her better, I shall endeavor to enlist her company so that you will not become exposed to idle gossip and speculation. And no doubt, her aunt, Mrs. Leigh-Perrot, who is equally fond of shopping, would also welcome an opportunity to show you the sights along Milsom Street.”

  “Percy.” Lady Oliver’s command had the effect of cold water on a wintry morning. “I should like some punch. Surely there must be some refreshments remaining.”

  “Happy to oblige, Aunt Augusta,”
Darlington replied as pleasantly as one might between clenched teeth.

  The exchange did not pass unnoticed by Miss Austen. C.J. drew Jane aside to ask, “Whatever might I have done that Lady Oliver should so fear my association with her nephew? Surely I have never given her occasion to be displeased with me.”

  Jane took her new friend’s hand. “Where there is a disposition to dislike, a motive will never be wanting.” She shook her head and agreed that a specific objection might offer some degree of consolation. At least one knew where one stood, and why.

  Mr. King opened the second half of the evening’s dancing. According to Lady Dalrymple, he was ordinarily the Master of Ceremonies in the Lower Rooms. None of the young ladies in C.J.’s party wanted for a partner during the remainder of the evening; and in one instance, a red-faced but amiable gentleman led C.J. to the top of the longways set. She felt somewhat nervous in so prominent a position but summoned her theatrical training to overcome her anxiety. Thank goodness, the tune was “Apley House,” one she had the good fortune to know well from her New York English country dance workshops. When it ended, the ladies, rosy-cheeked and giddy, made their way across the crowded dance floor to their chairs, although in the crush, Harriet Fairfax’s gown was trod upon by a gentleman displaying the staggering effects of too much mirth.

  “Sister, look!” cried Miss Susanne, pointing to Harriet’s tattered hem.

  “Oh dear!” Miss Fairfax surveyed her gown. “Mother! My best frock!”

  Mrs. Fairfax rose to inspect the damage. “What a boor of a partner to tread so clumsily on my daughter’s finest muslin. Don’t you agree, Miss Welles? Still, had the offending gentleman been a man of means, it would have been a lucky turn of events,” she loudly declaimed, and turning to her husband, who was looking upon his good wife’s ranting with a degree of mild bemusement, added accusingly, “It’s thanks to you, Mr. Fairfax, that a suitable class of gentlemen shies away from our girls.”

  “Mama, I should like Miss Welles to accompany me downstairs so that my gown may be repaired.”

  Miss Fairfax took C.J.’s hand and pointed the way to the retiring room where a few seamstresses remained on call, employed expressly to remedy such unhappy occasions. While her hem was being mended, Miss Fairfax treated C.J. to an enumeration of Captain Keats’s finer attributes, not the least of which was his stunning scarlet coat with its buttons as shiny as newly minted coins.

  When they returned to the ballroom, the earl was being presented by his aunt to a pretty young heiress identified by Miss Fairfax as Lady Charlotte Digby, and to an elegant couple in their forties who must have been Lady Charlotte’s parents. Lady Digby, tall, with an angular face, was expensively gowned in seafoam-green silk. Her fashionable turban, striped in shades of pale green and rose, accentuated her regal cheekbones. The daughter, though fairer complected, clearly took after her rather than Lord Digby, a slightly florid gentleman with thinning auburn hair. The earl appeared to smile quite favorably upon Lady Charlotte, his manner nothing like the cool formality he had exhibited when he was introduced to the Miss Fairfaxes earlier in the evening.

  C.J. suddenly felt sick to her stomach and doubted that it was the negus that was making her queasy, although she was admittedly unused to drinking the warm wine. Perhaps it was nothing more substantial than her intuition, but something about the picture before her made her heart sink. Preoccupied by the discomfiting scene, she returned to the Fairfaxes in the company of their elder daughter. Lady Dalrymple, who was pretending to listen to Mrs. Fairfax express her displeasure regarding the latest fashion of bonnets, was nevertheless keeping an interested eye and both ears on the conversation between Darlington and the Digbys.

  It could not have been more than a minute later that the countess began to fan herself furiously. “Cassandra! I am having a pain!” she announced loudly, her hand flying to her heart.

  C.J. paled. “Aunt—”

  “Our carriage is not to arrive for another half hour at the earliest. I must return home as soon as possible so that I may loosen my stays and lie down in comfort.” C.J. bent over her “aunt” to assure her that she would do everything in her power to see her home swiftly and safely. “Here, Niece,” Lady Dalrymple exclaimed, pressing C.J.’s hand to her chest. “Feel how my heart palpitates.”

  In the fuss that ensued as the other members of their party scrambled to give the countess some air, her ladyship’s hand firmly encircled her “niece’s” delicate wrist, pulling the young lady toward her. She winked at C.J.

  The young woman gasped. “I beg you never to do that again! You gave me such a dreadful fright,” she whispered. The countess was embarking on another performance equal to her elaborate improvisation in Lady Wickham’s drawing room. Miss Welles was beginning to wonder which of them was the greater, or more prolific, play-actor—herself or her eccentric benefactress.

  Darlington had hastily excused himself from the Digbys and now approached C.J. and the countess, a study in solicitousness. “Miss Welles, may I be of some assistance?”

  C.J. looked up at him, her eyes swimming with gratitude, until something in his expression made her realize that the earl seemed somehow in on the game. What, C.J. wondered, had transpired between his lordship and Lady Dalrymple when she had repaired downstairs with Miss Fairfax?

  “Lady Dalrymple, may I offer the use of my carriage? I find that I, too, must leave the assembly posthaste, and it would grieve me terribly should anything happen to you while you were waiting for your own equipage to arrive. It is but a small distance from the Royal Crescent to my town house in the Circus, so you will not be putting me to any hardship.”

  The countess gratefully clasped Darlington’s hands in her own. “Oh, your lordship,” she gushed. “I am most grateful for your kind generosity. Are you absolutely certain you will not be too much incommoded by the aches and pains of an old woman?”

  C.J. thought that perhaps her “aunt” might be hamming it up a tad, but the rest of their party did not seem the slightest bit suspicious, or even remotely aware, of the charade being enacted before their eyes.

  The Digbys and Lady Oliver, several yards away on the opposite side of the ballroom, appeared unconcerned with Lady Dalrymple’s discomfort. Evidently, claims of bosom friendship notwithstanding, Darlington’s aunt elected not to join the others in expressing concern for the countess’s health. Whatever subject she was discussing with the Digbys evidently took precedence.

  Her ladyship was graciously helped from her chair by her “niece” and Lord Darlington, who supported her on either side as they made their way to Darlington’s handsome black and burgundy barouche. His exit went unnoticed by his ordinarily hawkeyed aunt. Darlington exchanged a few words with his coachman, then handed in Lady Dalrymple and offered an assist to C.J. before ascending himself, taking the seat facing the countess and her niece.

  Indeed, it was not a long ride to the Royal Crescent. The coachman halted at Lady Dalrymple’s door and rang a bell produced from a pocket in his voluminous coat. Folsom came out of the house to open the carriage door for his mistress and assist her descent, handing C.J. down as well.

  C.J. looked back at Darlington, who had joined them on the pavement. “I am most grateful to your lordship for your kindness toward my aunt,” she said softly.

  The night air smelled of jasmine. How wonderful to discover that it bloomed in Bath! Lady Dalrymple surveyed the young people before her. “Cassandra, it is quite musty inside the house. I have not been airing the rooms as often as is my wont, due to my condition. Perhaps you should like to take an evening constitutional before retiring. You are no doubt fatigued from dancing and enduring the crush and the heat in the Assembly Rooms; the night air will renew your spirits. I shall have Cook make a tisane for me. You may bid me a good night at your leisure.”

  The coachman gave a short command, and the horses advanced several paces, creating a discreet distance between the carriage and the couple.

  “Your aunt is a better actor th
an her brother was,” remarked Darlington slyly, as the dowager entered her town house. He gave C.J. a searching look as if to ask, “May I?” before he reached for her hand.

  In an instant she was enfolded in his arms, inhaling the heady combination of the perfumed night air and the earl’s own musky scent. This was not the time to play the surprised virgin. “My lord,” she whispered, as her lips met his with the same eagerness, her tongue performing the same ardent dance as his. Yielding and pliant to his desire, she felt Darlington’s body, hard and muscular against hers, enveloping her softness.

  His hands expertly roamed from the small of her back, tracing the curves of her supple torso, up through her hair, sending tingles down her spine, while he pocketed a handful of tortoiseshell pins that had secured her upswept curls. His tapered finger twirled a glossy tendril. C.J. felt no regrets about succumbing to her hunger for his touch, for the taste of his mouth on hers, or for the craving his body inspired in her. She was masquerading as the daughter of a dissolute marquess, but she didn’t also have to pretend she was coy about sex. Not now.

  Darlington tenderly kissed each eyelid, allowing C.J.’s soft lashes to flutter against his lips. “Percy,” she whispered, addressing him in the most familiar way. It flouted all rules of decorum to use his nickname, but to do otherwise under the circumstances would have been ludicrous. At that moment she would have surrendered herself to him entirely without any hesitation.

  “Sweet, sweet Miss Welles.” Darlington’s hand traced a path down her cheek. “So soft,” he whispered, “like the petal of a rose. Sometimes, I admit, you confound me, but Mr. King—the Master of Ceremonies—was right. You are an ‘original.’ ”

  “I can assure you, sir, that Mr. King and I have never embraced like that,” C.J. teased. “Nevertheless, I shall take your remark as a compliment.”

  And then it was as though a cloud had passed between them and lingered in the air. The earl became quite formal, stepping back a pace or so, leaving C.J. utterly confused by such a profound shift in his manner. “Miss Welles, in my position in society there is only one way that I may consider it proper to address you more familiarly, and for that I must speak to your aunt.”