“Perhaps if I had learned the actual steps of the dance, rather than your interpretation of those steps, he might have been more pleased at my practice. As I recall you were always more for fencing than dancing,” Anne said, noting another activity they shared. “Although either activity passed with you was likely to leave me with bruises.” She poked him in the ribs and laughed as she whirled away as part of the dance.
When Edmund accepted her hand back for the next movement, Anne was startled by the gentleness with which he cradled her palm in his. “I do apologize for my earlier behavior,” he said. “You are far too lovely to be treated in such a rough manner.”
Anne blinked. This time it was she who missed a step and stumbled. “All right. I must know. What have you done with my rather rude best friend? I fear I am dancing with an imposter.”
The hurt look in Edmund’s eyes was startling, but there was no time to talk to him about it. Anne was twirled away and back again, left to concentrate on matters of the dance and not so much on conversation. Edmund seemed likewise not to be inclined to talk, holding her with infinite courtesy when it came time to touch, taking care to not stumble again. For all her teasing, Anne was forced to admit that perhaps her childhood friend had grown up a bit. At least, he was not as poor a dancer as she had remembered, now that he was concentrating on the steps.
Anne remembered hours of practice at both dancing and fencing with Edmund. As he led her through the lively dance, one such clandestine practice in particular stood out in her memory. She had refused to admit defeat and had tackled Edmund rather than parrying with the foil. Edmund had tickled her in retaliation. They had both ended up laughing and breathless, with their faces an inch apart, their bodies pressed together, much as they were now, Anne thought, flushing. Each touch of his hand on hers brought another rush of heat.
By the time the music drew to a close, Anne was looking up at Edmund with a persistent longing, for what she did not know. She only knew her stomach felt as though she had swallowed an entire colony of butterflies, and she had no desire to leave his side. Her hand tightened on his.
“I should probably return…” Anne murmured, breathless from the exertion; although that was not what she wished at all. She wished to dance another set with Edmund.
“Or not,” Edmund teased, reading Anne’s mood. Edmund clasped a hand over hers, and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, escorting her away from where Lord Amberleigh held court. In Anne’s absence, the man had been surrounded by a bevy of young and very available ladies. Anne was uncertain if she should be annoyed or relieved.
“Are you thirsty?” Edmund asked, bringing Anne’s attention back to him. His eyes, heavy upon her, sent another flutter through her. In truth, she could use some refreshment and Lord Amberleigh had not offered.
Anne could not help but look back at Amberleigh and the women clustered around him, wondering if he would notice her absence for another dance, but she waved off the feeling unconcerned. If he missed her, he could find her. She was here to enjoy herself, not to cater to Lord Amberleigh. Anne agreed to Edmund’s suggestion. Linking her arm with his, she allowed herself to be escorted to the refreshment table.
“Actually, I am glad for the suggestion,” she said.
“Sherry or punch?” Edmund asked. He raised an eyebrow as she chose the punch.
Anne raised her glass in mock salute to Edmund after the first sip. “This is far better than wine when a lady is parched. It is quite warm in here.”
“Is it?” he asked. “Then why not allow me to escort you to the balcony for some air?”
Anne hesitated, remembering the last walk she had taken, which included Lord Amberleigh’s proposal and his persistent kiss, despite her hesitancy and fear of discovery. Her current state of confusion was the result of a simple walk outside. She shuddered, and wrapped both hands around her glass as she thought. It was a wonder they had not been caught out in the rain. If they had been, her marriage to Amberleigh would now be inevitable.
Still, this was Edmund. Edmund would not propose or kiss her senseless in a moonlit garden. Why did some part of her wish that he would? Anne looked outside, avoiding Edmund’s eyes.
“Does it not look like rain?” she answered, finally.
“Ah. We are talking about the weather,” he said with a wry smile. “Have you and I exhausted all the more interesting topics?”
“We have not,” Anne said, with a smile at his teasing tone.
“We could discuss other suitably boring subjects, if you wish,” Edmund suggested, “like estate taxes…or Mr. Eldridge’s agricultural pursuits… or the time it takes for grass to grow.”
Anne laughed in spite of herself. How quickly he made her laugh. Still, she had not taken his hand.
Suddenly, he was serious. “Do you not trust me, Anne?” Edmund asked. There was such sadness in his eyes.
Anne’s head come up quickly. Edmund’s tone seemed forlorn and quite unlike himself.
“Of course I do,” she said. It was herself she did not trust. They had not been alone together since that night in Alexander’s study. Anne could not purge the thought of Edmund’s near kiss from her mind. Why had he not kissed her? Was he perhaps being gentlemanly? She was unsure if that made her feel better or worse. There had been no one there to see or censure them. The only conclusion she could draw was that Edmund did not want her in that way, but she had desperately wanted him to kiss her. What did that make her? Was it so wrong to wish to be desired?
Edmund made Anne a gallant bow that made her smile. He held out his hand and waited. “Then will you walk with me?” he asked. His tone was both a challenge and a dare. There was a bright glint in his eye. As children, how often had she allowed such a tone to influence her actions? It felt delightfully rebellious, especially when she noted that Lord Amberleigh had noticed her absence and even now was scanning the ballroom for her with narrowed eyes, clearly showing his displeasure. So be it. She was not ready to give him an answer. She was not yet his, and it was time he stopped acting as though she were. Anne took Edmund’s arm.
Although the clatter of the carriages below was noisy, the balcony was by far the better choice for air after being in the stuffy ballroom for so long. Anne set her glass down on the balustrade and leaned out, inhaling deeply of the fresh rain-washed air. “There are times I quite miss home,” she said wistfully. “I have not grown used to the smells of London and long for the sweetness of the air in Northwickshire.”
“I miss it too,” Edmund said. He stood at her shoulder, a pleasant warmth at her side. His voice was a low rumble. “It is quieter there. Things make more sense.”
“Yes, Exactly,” Anne agreed. “It is strange. I used to love the bustle of Town. But this visit, I have found London most stuffy and unpleasant.”
Edmund shot her a look. “Perhaps it is not the ballroom you find stuffy and unpleasant, so much as you do your companion tonight,” he said his voice dropping to a low growl.
“You mean Amberleigh?” Anne clarified.
“Of course I mean Amberleigh,” Edmund replied exasperated. “He is a bore.”
Anne waved the comment away. “Perhaps what you conceive as boring is just Lord Amberleigh being…” she cast about for the right word. “Gentlemanly,” she said at last.
“Truly?” Edmund said. “You find his flapping arrogance and condescending manner gentlemanly?”
Anne was shocked at the venom with which Edmund spoke. The attack seemed so unlike him. Anne stared at her old friend quite a long time before she realized he was truly not joking. The thought annoyed her. He had no right.
“You indulge in all manner of moods of late, Edmund. I grow quite tired of your unreasonable attacks upon Lord Amberleigh. Why, you hardly know the man.”
“Neither do you,” Edmund retorted sharply.
“I know he dotes on me,” Anne said, although she spoke with uncertainty.
“You are flattered by his attention.”
“Of course I am
flattered. A woman likes to be flattered. No one ever did anything so sweet for me before…”
“I did,” Edmund replied softly. “Before.”
That one word seemed heavy and full of meaning between them. Before they left Northwick. Before they had grown up. Before everything changed. Anne was struck by memories: Edmund climbing an apple tree to pick her the sweetest fruit. Edmund plucking flowers for her from Lady Mayberry’s prized garden. Edmund sharing his ill-gotten flask of spirits to warm her on the ice skating lake. But it was all mixed up. He was just as likely to trip her when skating as to catch her, or dunk her in the lake in the summer, or crowd her into the brambles when they raced pell-mell on horseback. Of course, she had done the same to him. Anne shook her head. “We were children. It is not the same.”
“No. It is not. Now, your head is turned by empty platitudes and pretty lies.”
Anne felt a surge of anger in her bosom. “And you have no respect for proper manners and niceties a man gives when courting,” she spat. “Not that I expected that you would.”
“Because it is meaningless,” Edmund said, his voice rising. “An act. Given to one woman the same as the next. It is all fake, Anne. A pretense.”
Anne’s throat felt tight. “No, it is not,” she managed to say as she turned to leave. She felt angry tears prick at the corners of her eyes, but blinked them away. She refused to let Edmund see how much his careless words stung; as if she was not worthy of flattery and attention.
Edmund must have realized he made some blunder. He reached for her arm, holding her there as she turned to go. “No. Do not go, Anne. Please.”
“Why not?” She met his eyes, challenging him with her stare.
“I never meant…” Edmund paused tripping over his words. He took a breath. “I apologize.”
Anne glared at his hand still on her arm, and he quickly removed it, running it through his already messy hair in exasperation. “I did not mean to argue with you or upset you,” he said softly.
“You never do, Edmund,” she sighed. “But here we are, just the same.”
Edmund didn’t seem to have an answer to that. They stood staring at each other for a long moment. When he still did not answer, Anne turned again towards the ballroom. She had almost made it to the door when his voice drifted over her, so soft she almost didn’t hear it. “So you are going to marry him then? Amberleigh?” Edmund asked miserably.
Surprised, Anne paused, her hand on the door handle. “What?” When she turned to look at Edmund she saw the way he was hunched at the railing, almost as if expecting a blow. He appeared…beaten…defeated. She had never seen him look like that. It gave her a turn. She could not leave him so. She returned to the railing to stand at his shoulder. “Where did you hear that?” Anne asked, not looking at him.
Edmund shrugged, and she caught the movement out of the corner of her eye.
They both stared gloomily down into the street below, where carriages came and went with a noisy clatter. The balcony of this particular residence was not far removed from the bustle of activity making this a poor place for a private conversation. It certainly was not the most romantic of locations. Yet, it felt decidedly more intimate than the Vauxhall pleasure gardens where Amberleigh had proposed. Anne sighed as she was forced once again to consider his offer of marriage.
“I don’t know what I mean to do,” she admitted as she leaned towards Edmund. The smallest fingers of their opposite hands touched. Edmund relaxed at the contact and lifted that single finger to lace with hers. She laid her head on his shoulder, feeling the strength of him. “Everything is confusing now,” she continued. “Although I am not sure you are the person with whom I should be discussing such a matter.”
“Why not?” Edmund asked, softly laying his hand over hers on the rail. “We used to be able to discuss anything.” Back in Northwick. The unsaid words hung between them.
“Things were simpler then,” Anne said sadly.
“I fail to understand why we cannot be as we were… before,” Edmund sighed, his hand tightening on hers.
She shivered in spite of herself. She breathed in the scent of him on the night air. Even here amongst the bustle of London, Edmund still smelled faintly of grass and growing things. He smelled like home.
“We left,” Anne whispered.
“What?” Edmund asked confused.
“You ask why things cannot be the same. We left. You for Eton and me for finishing school. We took different paths.”
“Yes.” Edmund agreed. “And with each passing year, a distance grew between us until I no longer knew how to bridge the gap. Are we not the same, Anne? You and I?” he asked taking her hand in his.
She pulled away. “I have changed Edmund. I am no longer a child.”
“Nor am I an innocent country lad.” His eyes met hers, dark and stormy. “But we are the same people. You seem to forget that.”
“Am I the one forgetting? Or are you?” Anne asked. “You ask why we cannot be as we were, Edmund, but I do not have time for your games. Why did you pull me over to dance? Was it only to annoy Lord Amberleigh? Such was a child’s trick; both petty and unamusing. I have different aspirations than you. I am a grown woman.”
Edmund straightened, drawing himself up and when he faced her, she could see a seriousness to his countenance that felt unfamiliar. He let his eyes rove over her form as if drinking her in, and Anne felt the full weight of that gaze. The feeling of butterflies returned to her stomach in full force. “I know you are a woman, Anne,” Edmund said, his voice a low rumble. “And I know this is no game.”
Anne felt the heat of his words burn along her skin and settle somewhere low in her body. She flushed deeply, but refused to be intimidated…not by Edmund. “Truly?” she retorted sharply. “Is there any woman you take seriously?”
“You mean have I courted?” he snapped, crossing his arms as he looked at her.
“Yes!” She nearly shouted at him. “Anyone longer than a week? Anyone more than a dalliance and a distraction?” She paused, waiting, but no reply came. “No?” Anne queried seeing in Edmund’s expression that she was correct in her assumption. “I thought not. You can play your games for another ten years if you want to, Edmund, but in another Season, I will be on the shelf, an old maid, and no one will want me.”
Edmund seemed shocked at her words. “That is not true,” he attempted to argue, but Anne cut him off with a shake of her head.
“I really do not have time for this.” She turned to go, but once again, Edmund caught her hand, tugging her back to face him.
“Please,” he said softly, transferring his hands to her shoulders. He pulled her towards him. “Please, don’t walk away, Anne.” The words were whispered into her hair.
“Give me a reason to stay,” she answered in the same pleading tone.
“Maybe I have someone in mind,” he said softly. “Someone I wish to court. Seriously, I mean.” He stepped in close to her, his hand sliding down her arm to entwine her fingers with his own. He raised her hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss there, upon her knuckle. The thumb of his other hand traced the line of exposed flesh between the sleeve of her gown and the top of her glove. Anne shivered. She glanced up at him, meeting the intensity of his green gaze. His breath whispered over her skin, the touch was like a promise that left her trembling.
This was Edmund, her childhood friend…yet…he had become something so much more. Anne felt her lips parting as she stepped into his touch, lifting her chin that he might place his lips there upon her own. She burned for him to take the kiss he had promised that night in the study. This was Edmund, and she wanted him in a way she had never wanted anyone else.
Suddenly the balcony door opened. The noise from the ballroom flooded over them releasing the moment, breaking the spell. Anne jumped backwards, her hand her own again as Edmund dropped her fingers. She touched them to her lips wondering why she felt so empty.
Behind her, Lord Amberleigh boomed a greeting. “So there you a
re, my dear. Deuced warm in there. You had the right idea, Ingram, a bit of fresh air. Now, I’m afraid I must steal away my betrothed.” He took Anne’s arm with a look of triumph.
“Betrothed,” Edmund repeated.
“We are not,” Anne corrected almost at once, but Edmund had already closed in on himself, turning and disappearing through the open doorway before the words had even left her lips.
Anne turned on Lord Amberleigh; furious, without understanding why she was so angry. “You are not my betrothed. I have not agreed,” she said.
“Yet.” Amberleigh corrected her, with a finger to the tip of her nose, and then bent to steal a kiss. She avoided it by stepping backwards so quickly she nearly lost her balance.
Lord Amberleigh’s face darkened at her refusal, but Anne seemed not to notice. She was too busy looking after Edmund.
“Funny man that,” Amberleigh said following Anne’s gaze in direction that Edmund had gone. “He is somewhat gauche; would you not say? Certainly not your equal, my dear, in spite of his family’s position.”
Anne felt her lips tighten, her jaw clench. “What are you saying?”
“Only that you might want to watch who you spend your time with. People will talk, you know. Slipping out here alone with him was not wise,” Amberleigh said, putting his arm around her to draw her back towards the door and the crowded ballroom beyond. “You wouldn’t want to make the wrong impression. Speaking of which, have you met Lady Waverley?”
Anne couldn't care less about Lady Waverley. She wanted to chase after Edmund, and explain, but that was impossible now. She had already lost sight of him in the large crowd, and she could not run into the ballroom calling after him. No. She wouldn’t want to make the wrong impression, Anne thought bitterly. She allowed herself to be guided back to the ballroom and be coaxed into a dance with another of Amberleigh’s acquaintances, but her thoughts were uneasy. She no longer felt like dancing at all.
11
Edmund was livid. Amberleigh had proposed to Anne. The sot. He went to seek out Harry, who by rights, should have been easy to find. Harry seemed to have disappeared entirely from the ballroom, and a quick search of the card rooms failed to uncover his friend. Edmund glanced back over the ballroom and saw Anne take the floor with another unknown gentleman.
The Viscount's Wayward Son: A Regency Romance (Ladies of the North Book 2) Page 12
