Chapter Twenty-One #2
“Opinions often masquerade as wisdom, so you lose nothing in not attaining it. As for me, badgers, I believe, are known for their stubbornness, so I do hope my costume does not represent my temperament.”
“At least Lady Margaret in her swan costume looks lovely,” Beatrix said.
“Well I would say owls are lovely too.”
Beatrix was certain she turned positively red. She had not been ready for such a compliment.
“Ah, Lord Harrelston, I’ve just come to get Beatrix,” the countess said. “My earl has just informed me that her favored wine is on the sideboards.”
“The white Bordeaux from Chateau Margaux,” Lord Harrelston said.
Beatrix was deeply flattered that he still remembered which was her favored wine.
“Gracious, yes, that’s the one. Do escort us there if you care to,” the countess said.
“I do care to,” Lord Harrelston said.
Beatrix reminded herself to breathe. All these things Lord Harrelston was saying, she really thought he was making his intentions known, rather than a casual flirtation.
Miss Sprite had warned her backward and forward about casual flirtations.
She said men liked to amuse themselves by it.
Caroline had asked Miss Sprite if that was what Mr. Lechter, the grocer, was doing with all his mooning around their governess.
Miss Sprite had said no, Mr. Lechter was just deranged.
Beatrix was not certain she’d ever witnessed casual flirtation. This was not that, though, she was sure of it. She must be sure of it. Her heart would be broken if she was wrong.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Corbyn escorted Lady Beatrix and the countess to the sideboards to fetch glasses of wine.
He could absolutely do with a generous glass after sailing around in the dark.
He did not see Monroe anywhere yet, he was likely still drying himself off from his unexpected swim in the lake.
He briefly wondered how Lady Dudmore viewed having one of her boats go up in flames, but then supposed that was a risk when you put a gentleman on a boat and then handed him a lit torch.
She probably had not foreseen one of her boats actually sinking, but then she would not know that Lord Chester had drilled holes in the bottom of it.
He also wondered how Monroe had viewed he and Lord Chester’s plan going so awry. He was probably as mad as a bee in cool weather. When Monroe finally did appear, Corbyn would do his best to keep an eye on him, lest he try any other stupid stunts.
Corbyn poured the white Bordeaux from Chateau Margaux for Lady Beatrix, and then for the countess too. It seemed it was a favorite in their household.
Just then, Lady Dudmore had been helped up to the raised platform with the orchestra and dinged a glass. “Attention everybody,” she said.
The crowd quieted.
“Her Majesty, Queen Charlotte!”
The crowd turned to see the queen enter, clothed in the most magnificent costume.
She was a rather glorious peacock. Her robes were a vibrant blue velvet.
Over top were layers of blue and green feathers.
Her headpiece was a crown of sapphires. As peacocks were not generally found wandering round a forest, Corbyn presumed she had not found that costume in Lady Dudmore’s collection.
After everyone had sufficiently bowed and curtsied, the queen waved her hand. “Carry on, Lady Dudmore.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Well, goodness, we’ve come to another forest ball. What fun we’ve had over the past days. Congratulations, gentlemen, for being good humored about the whole thing.”
“We would expect nothing less, of course,” the queen said. “Proper English gentlemen, through and through. Now tell them the surprise.”
“Oh yes, we always do cook up some sort of surprise and this year is no different, though I do believe we have surpassed ourselves.”
The queen nodded, apparently in full agreement.
“Those eggs that were floating in my lake were no ordinary eggs. How were they not ordinary? Well I will not say, just yet. I will only say that they were subtly marked to indicate what was inside them, that was why the footmen gathered them. So we could make a list of who scooped up what.”
Corbyn had not the first idea of what Lady Dudmore was trying to say.
“Now, without having the first idea of what it is, the gentlemen who were able to retrieve eggs are to name the lady who will be gifted them. The ladies will be given the eggs and may crack them open when they return to their rooms after the ball.”
Corbyn smiled. He did not know what the eggs contained, but it was an opportunity to compliment Lady Beatrix and further hint at his partiality.
“Lord Harrelston,” Lady Dudmore said, “as the winner by a large margin you must go first. Who will you give your eggs to?”
“Lady Beatrix, of course,” he said.
“Of course,” the queen said, looking as if she had predicted it all along.
A footman walked to Lady Beatrix and handed her a pretty drawstring bag that had been embroidered with a forest scene. It was obviously much fuller than any of the others would be.
Lady Beatrix appeared very gratified and did not refuse the gift. Corbyn stole a glance at the earl to be sure he was not against it. He looked pleased as well. That was a very good sign.
Corbyn did not pay much attention to the other gentlemen gifting out their paltry offerings.
He did notice Monroe enter and stand in the back of the crowd, dressed as a fox, he supposed.
He would not have a single egg to hand out, which was excellent because if he had, Corbyn was certain he’d have given it to Lady Beatrix. As it was, he had nothing to offer her.
After that little ceremony was completed, Lady Dudmore and the queen, along with Lord Wilton and Lord Gramery, showed the steps to the Russian Ambassador’s waltz.
It did not resemble a usual waltz too very much, but for one section when the partners in the dance would touch each other’s waists as they turned round.
Lord Wilton looked as if he would faint after touching the queen’s waist. Though it was a dance and though he’d been specifically asked to do it, he was probably waiting to be hanged.
Corbyn was rather looking forward to trying it out with Lady Beatrix.
As the ladies did not carry dance cards for the ball, he also wondered how many dances with Lady Beatrix he could get away with. He must find his moment away from the dancing, though, to speak the words that must be said. And then hope for the answer he was looking for.
Lady Beatrix put her bag of eggs and her glass of wine down on one of the tables in the dark corners of the room. Corbyn thought that was serendipitous. He could lead her back there after the dance and that would be his moment.