Strangely, his ineptitude was endearing to Lady Emmeline. She thought him quite courageous to get on the floor, despite his bumbling feet. Clearly, he knew what a bad dancer he was, for he kept his notes next to his heart. Yet, here he was, unashamedly doing his best in order to be with her.
The duchess was, in fact, watching as Lord Markham and Lady Emmeline danced. She could not miss it, for her eyes had remained focused nearest the orchestra where the highest-ranked were known to dance.
Unable to stay her tongue, although it was Lord Markham's mother who stood beside her, the duchess stated, "Upon my word, I do believe that the two of them are physically incompatible as I see them dance. I have heard it said that 'a man who cannot dance is at a disadvantage to love.'"
“And where on earth did you hear that, Madam?” the Duchess of Marlborough asked with a sharp edge in her voice.
“I do not mean to be offensive, Madam, but your son seems to lack a certain flair for these social events. It is no secret that he has not found himself a wife as of yet,” the Duchess of Bedford stated.
“Perhaps you should mind your own business before you say false things about my son. It is not a good reflection onto your own family. Your daughter who decided against attending the most prestigious ballet school in the world, and you, Madam, who imagines it is appropriate to speak ill of others to benefit your own need for attention. It is rather pathetic, to be frank,” the Duchess of Marlborough muttered in return, not showing any emotion on her stone-cold face, except a slight curve in her brow. “I will let you know that my son may be shy and quiet, and may miss a step or two, but he would make a fine husband for any woman he chooses.”
The Duchess of Bedford pursed her lips and stepped back. It had not been the first incident where she was scolded by her peers, and it would most certainly not be the last. Perhaps she should intervene, save Lady Emmeline and herself the embarrassment of having to converse with Lord Markham and his uncouth mother, but the Duchess of Bedford once again realized that she may well be the one who was at fault. Of course, she would never openly admit it to anyone.
The Duke of Bedford joined his wife and glanced at her. “It seems you have offended the Duchess of Marlborough.”
“I did no such thing,” the duchess defended.
“Her expression and her angered stares in your direction may suggest otherwise, my dearest,” the duke pointed out. He was no stranger to the duchess’ tactless banter, which some people found downright offensive. “There is no need to be high on the instep with me.”
The duchess sighed and turned to her husband. “I may have mentioned to her that her son will never find a wife if he does not remember his steps. Dancing is—”
“Not considered important to everyone, my dearest,” the duke reminded her.
“Now that we are on the subject, she knew,” the duchess uttered, lowering her voice to almost a whisper.
“Of what do you speak?” the duke asked.
“The Duchess was aware of Emmeline rejecting the invitation to the Paris Opera Ballet School,” the duchess explained. “Did you inform her of this?”
“Why on earth would I do such a thing?” the duke chuckled in amusement, but the duchess was not amused in the least.
“This is no laughing matter, Harold,” the duchess hissed. “The reputation of our family is at stake.”
“Please, dispense with the drama, my dear. Do not allow this to spoil your evening in any way.” The duke kissed the duchess on the cheek before disappearing into the mass of guests, no doubt rejoining his group of lords, dukes, and earls discussing business and politics in a cloud of cigar smoke.
“It appears my son has found his rhythm. He is matching your lovely daughter step for step, and is doing so with grace," the Duchess of Marlborough haughtily declared, as she walked past the Duchess of Bedford but did not meet her gaze.
Lady Emmeline's mother would have retorted if she could have found any untruth behind the statement. However, every word was true. The young lord was now the most proficient male on the floor, by far. It rankled her to be without an unpleasant comment.
Once on the floor, the steps usually came back to Lord Markham easily. It was the prickling on his neck, a sign that Mr. Skeffington was glaring at him threateningly, that had him sweating and stumbling. He could feel the anger emanating off the large man, simply for daring to ask Lady Emmeline to dance. He almost regretted putting his name on the second blank space of her dance card. It would most effectively bring the man's wrath down upon his head.
Lord Markham took a calming breath, placed his gaze firmly on Lady Emmeline, and steadied his heart. She deserved his undivided attention, and he would give it to her, even if it was the last act of his life.
Lady Emmeline was proud to see Lord Markham stand straight and tall, thus recovering his senses. His bumbling demeanor changed and his steps were elegant enough to rival that of Mr. Skeffington. How extraordinary it was to witness the change up close and personal. She was liking Lord Markham more with every minute. He was rather heroic in her eyes.
Lady Emmeline glanced at Lord Markham through their dance, her eyes sparkling as she watched him move across the floor. The quiet, shy stumbling man had transformed into a confident and graceful marquess, and she hoped the music would never end.
4
The cotillion was such a lengthy dance that the orchestra paused momentarily to allow the dancers to imbibe in a sip of punch. It slid down Lady Emmeline's throat, soothing the dryness. Quickly perusing her dance card, she saw Mr. Skeffington was next in line. Excitement pulsed in her veins. Not only would she get to float over the floor like an angel once more, she would also have another chance to discover what had occurred in the garden. Her curiosity could not be assuaged.
"My dear, Lady Emmeline, it is so wonderful to be partnered with you once more," Mr. Skeffington proclaimed, as he approached her. "No one here can hold a candle to your beauty nor your dancing ability. It has been absolute torment awaiting another turn on the floor with your perfection."
His gushing compliments came very close to forcing her questions right out of her head. The words were enough to make an innocent lady swoon.
"Thank you, kind sir, for the exaggeration. There are many lovely ladies present tonight. I am quite certain some are far lovelier than I,” Lady Emmeline uttered modestly, her cheeks coloring.
"Ah, but it is only you I see. I have been involuntarily bewitched by your beauty," he replied gallantly.
Lady Emmeline blushed again at his boldness. She fully enjoyed the over-the-top praise, however, she found she preferred Lord Markham's shy attention over such wild abandon. It somehow felt more sincere.
“Did you enjoy your walk in the garden, Mr. Skeffington?” Lady Emmeline inquired, and Mr. Skeffington glanced at her with a furrowed brow. “Pardon me for being frank, but I saw you there, speaking to Lord Markham, when I went out for air. You appeared upset. I hope the encounter did not ruin your time among the flowers," she probed.
"Nonsense, my lady. It was a simple disagreement that you need not worry over. I do believe he may have been jealous over our dance,” Mr. Skeffington said, as he fobbed it off with a shrug of his shoulder. “No matter. Let us forgive and forget. I know I have closed my mind to it already. My time is better spent admiring you.”
Knowing she was not going to receive any more information from his lips, Lady Emmeline allowed the music to soothe her frustrated mind. She smiled as Bethany danced by in the arms of Mr. Maples.
The young woman was radiant, her pale face now flushed with happiness, and Lady Emmeline was pleased for her new friend. It was turning out to be a memorable evening for both of them.
Several partners later, when Lady Emmeline did not think she could last another moment without rest, the orchestra struck the first note of the scandalous waltz. Murmurs went through the ballroom, followed by wide eyes fixed on the dance floor. Who would the first pair be to dance this scandalous dance? The guests were shocked that
their hostess would allow the dance, but defiantly, the host and hostess took to the floor and swayed to the slow and seductive rhythm of the music. Mischievous grins lit the faces of the younger crowd as they joined in, and the dance floor soon filled up with more guests. The older, more primitive guests simply glowered in disapproval at those who dared to dance this provocative dance.
Lord Markham, his cheeks bright red, bowed before Lady Emmeline. "It would give me much pleasure to accompany you in this dance, my lady. Do you dare risk it with me?"
Lady Emmeline was well aware that the Duchess of Bedford would most likely need smelling salts if Emmeline agreed to the dance. Yet, she did not wish to miss another chance to dance with Lord Markham, and she feared to disappoint him would cause him to end his courtship of her. She placed her gloved hand into his and off they went.
It was no wonder the waltz was considered so scandalous by the older generation, as it was intoxicating to dance close to one's partner. Dancing close to Lord Markham certainly did not disappoint. The marquess smelled of sandalwood and leather, which were both very pleasant scents. The warmth of his hand could be felt even through Lady Emmeline’s glove, and it caused her chest to tighten slightly. It was exhilarating to the young lady, and as she raised her chin, she noticed the warm color of his eyes, very similar to her own. Emmeline was forced to catch her breath as his intent gaze caused her to feel rather dizzy. Perhaps it was the fact that she had been holding her breath as well. Her mother would surely not approve of this, but at that very moment, Lady Emmeline did not care in the least.
"Have you had a nice evening, my lady?” Lord Markham politely inquired.
"It has been exceedingly wonderful,” Lady Emmeline beamed happily and sounding somewhat breathless as she continued to gaze into his eyes. “Although, I did worry for a time after inadvertently seeing a small altercation between Mr. Skeffington and yourself in the garden. Is everything well?"
Lord Markham’s shoulder twitched for a moment, but he seemed to compose himself almost immediately. “A slight misunderstanding that will not occur again, I assure you. It was not nearly as bad as it appeared from afar.”
“I do hope so. You seemed rather in the suds.”
“Not at all, my lady,” Lord Markham chuckled. “I do not want you to fret over a petty quarrel. I am so sorry it caused your evening to be less than perfect."
“Perfection is highly overrated. It gave the night extra excitement, almost as much as this dance,” she replied.
It was easy to speak her mind to Lord Markham. He was so kind and understanding, such a gentle soul. Her heart fluttered when he was near. Mr. Skeffington might bring excitement and dangerous longing with his flamboyant flattery, but Lord Markham spoke to her soul. She was growing very fond of him, mayhap even falling in love, and Lady Emmeline held out high hopes that he shared the same regard for her.
Their final dance ended much too soon. Before she could stop herself, Emmeline confessed, "I will miss you."
A confession which she did not expect, but it was undeniable. Her attraction for him was overwhelming, and it would be an injustice towards herself, as well as to him if she did not utter the words which lay firmly on her heart.
Lord Markham paused and glanced around the ballroom before he replied, "I will miss this.”
He left her standing there in the middle of the ballroom, bewildered by his strange choice of words.
The duchess was suddenly beside her, and her unexpected presence alarmed Emmeline.
“Mother, you startled me,” Emmeline gasped.
“Come, child,” the duchess demanded. “Your father has chosen to end the evening over cigars and brandy at Almacks. I wish to go home as quickly as possible. It has been a long and weary evening. But we must discuss some of the unfortunate choices you made tonight. Perhaps, I did not make myself clear when explaining proprietary rules. I must remedy that error.”
Realizing she was already destined for a long speech over her new friendship and the waltz, Emmeline decided she might as well seek out Miss Wilkes and arrange to meet her in the park at a future time. After all, in for a penny in for a pound, as the saying went.
The carriage ride home was a lesson in torture. Without a single word, the duchess managed to express her displeasure towards Lady Emmeline. A frown and a single shake of her head sent shivers down her spine. Etiquette and class rankings were sometimes difficult to maintain. As the only daughter of a duke, they were Lady Emmeline's cross to bear. Few true friends were among her own peerage.
Miss Wilkes, although a country girl, is the daughter of a baron. It might be possible to sneak this friendship by Mother. Emmeline thought to herself while gazing out the window. Time will tell.
Upon arrival at Stonehill Estate, Lady Emmeline retreated to her bedchambers, but not before her mother reminded her of the discussion they were to have before she was allowed to turn in for the evening. Lady Emmeline wished her mother could have been more understanding towards the situation, but she also realized that her mother had been raised in a certain manner by her own mother, and those morals, manners, and customs would not be broken.
Lady Emmeline entered her bedchambers and loosened her hair from the chignon. Her golden hair tumbled down her shoulders, and she sat at her dressing table. Emmeline reached for her hairbrush and slowly ran it through her golden waves, smoothing it out into a curtain of gold silk.
The duchess was still downstairs, as Lady Emmeline heard shuffling noises from the drawing room, and she wondered what was keeping her mother. Perhaps the duchess was preparing a list of things for which to scold her, and Lady Emmeline drew in a deep breath. She briefly glanced at the ballet slippers on the table and sighed.
The duchess’ loud footsteps had an underlying obnoxious tone, and as Lady Emmeline turned on the stool in front of her dressing table, her mother appeared in the doorway.
“Mother, before you start—”
“Emmeline,” the duchess interjected, stopping Lady Emmeline’s words rather abruptly. “My mother taught me how to behave as the perfect young woman. I was always articulate, respectful, and knew my boundaries, as well as those of my mother’s. I respected her wishes and did as I was told. I did not deviate from the path she had for me, and to this day, I am truly grateful for what she taught me.”
“Mother...”
The duchess raised her hand, silencing her daughter once more, and slowly approached her. “I understand your natural defiance comes from your father’s side of the family, particularly his mother, but I have asked you repeatedly to control those urges. Young women such as yourself are required to behave in a certain manner, befriend certain people who would be an asset to her life.”
Lady Emmeline was tempted to speak up, explaining to the duchess that Miss Wilkes was the daughter of a baron and not merely a simple Miss, but Lady Emmeline was well aware that interrupting her mother as she usually would, would not be in her best interest.
“Furthermore, the fact that you are informing people that you will not be attending the Paris Opera Ballet School is a slap in the face. Our private family matters have no right to circulate the rumor mill and gossip circles.”
Lady Emmeline’s brow furrowed, and she shook her head. “I did not utter a word regarding that, Mother, to anyone.”
“Do not lie to me, child,” the duchess hissed.
“I swear on my life, Mother. I informed no one. I am aware of the sensitive nature the subject is to you, and I would not discuss it with anyone. I am not a monster, Mother, and I would not subject you to that kind of embarrassment,” Lady Emmeline vowed.
“But you dare waltz with a man in front of an audience. And not simply any man, but the son of the Duchess of Marlborough,”
“Lord Markham is a wonderful dancer, and a lovely man with a kind heart. He is simply shy, but I find that to be endearing and sincere,” Lady Emmeline pointed out.
“It matters not how wonderful of a man he is. That is not the issue at hand.”
“What is the issue at hand, Mother?” Lady Emmeline said, as she stood from her stool. “I am not you, Mother. I may love to dance, but it is not something I wish to pursue further. I apologize if I hurt your feelings by not wishing to leave and attend the school in Paris. Not only is it far away, and I will miss my life here terribly, it is not something I am passionate enough about. My heart is not committed to it, and you must understand this. The pressure you place on me is unnecessary and I plead with you to stop.”
The duchess was rendered speechless for a moment and cleared her throat quietly. “It seems then that this matter has been settled. We shall continue this discussion in the morning. I am exhausted.”
Before Lady Emmeline was able to thank her mother for her reluctant approval, the duchess turned on her heel and left Emmeline’s chambers without uttering another word.
Emmeline threw herself on her bed, gazing up at the embossed stars on her ceiling. Her heart now felt at ease and light, but she was certain her mother would speak with her again, attempting desperately to change her mind.
But Lady Emmeline would not, for now, she had yet another reason to stay in London.
5
Sadly, Lady Emmeline did not sleep well. She kept returning to Lord Markham's final words. What had they meant? It was a cryptic reply at best. Was he leaving the city? Perhaps, he was required to fulfill some business of his father's. If so, then he could have simply told her. Was he ill? That would explain the profuse sweating and missteps.
Was it possible that the hostess of the ball had been told about the altercation in the garden and used it as an excuse to force others into disallowing his attendance at future parties? No, if that were the case Mr. Skeffington would have most certainly faced the same issue. She set that idea aside as foolish.
Regency Engagements Box Set Page 85
