VII
VIEWED FROM THE OUTSIDE, the Castle Ballroom, directly across Castle Square from the Marine Pavilion seemed to be nothing more than a tall, rather ordinary red-brick building with arched windows.
The interior, however, expressed all the grace and elegance that the architect, Mr. Crundon, had plagiarized—as was his custom—from such masters as Robert Adam and Henry Holland.
There were actually four rooms, the principal ones being the ballroom itself and a card room.
The ballroom’s dimensions much impressed Rory, who had seen nothing larger than the assembly rooms at Tunbridge Wells, for the elegant room was eighty feet long, forty feet wide, and forty feet high.
Recesses at either end and along one side were framed by the sort of columns Adam favored, with capitals like plain inverted bells with single rows of acanthus leaves, and the walls were decorated with plaster reliefs in panels and medallions, delicate Adamesque moldings, and scroll ornaments.
Facing each other above the frieze from opposite ends of the room were elaborate but nonetheless commonplace portraits of Dawn and Night, while the ceiling, a shallow arched vault, was a direct copy of Henry Holland’s design for the subscription room at Brook’s Club in London.
Neither Nell nor her charge had any reason to despise such details, of course, and it was their opinion—as well as that of nearly everyone else in Brighton—that the Castle Ballroom was most elegantly appointed.
Nell had not attended an assembly there since the year of her own come-out, and her first impression of the place, from the anteroom as a haughty footman stepped forward to take their wraps, was that her mother’s friend Mrs. Calvert had had the right of it.
The place, besides being much more crowded than she remembered, seemed to contain a vast cross-section of society among the guests.
“Aunt Nell, look at those peculiar women!”
Following the direction of Rory’s astonished gaze toward a group passing through to the ballroom, Nell hid a smile.
At least the two women drawing her niece’s attention were not cits’ wives.
The first, an enormously fat lady with a vast, undulating bosom, wore an odd, green-striped garment that more nearly resembled a circus tent than an evening gown.
Her squat little companion, though wearing a blue gown that was nothing out of the ordinary, had rendered herself quite as much a figure of fun by wearing an inordinate amount of glittering jewelry, including a multitude of bracelets on each of her plump arms, rings that flashed from every finger, plus any number of diamonds and watches pinned to her person.
“The larger of the two,” Nell said diplomatically, in a discreet tone, “is Lady Pomfret. I do not know her scintillating friend.”
Rory giggled and shook her head, but beyond glancing complacently down at her own slim, muslin-clad self and wondering in a low voice if Lady Pomfret meant to astonish the company by dancing, she soon lost interest in the pair, though she continued to cast curious glances hither and yon.
As she preceded Nell into the ballroom, her gaze came suddenly to rest upon a pair of broad, blue-and-gold draped shoulders.
Her attention riveted and she actually came to a halt, causing Nell to remind her that there were others behind them and that if they meant to find chairs for themselves along the far wall, it would be best if she kept moving.
“Oh, yes, of course,” Rory answered vaguely, narrowing her eyes.
“Aunt Nell, do you see that gentleman ahead of us in the Hussar uniform?”
Since a great number of the gentlemen present were wearing if not the scarlet uniform of the King’s Dragoons then the blue and gold of the Prince’s Own Hussars, Nell had all she could do not to laugh at such an absurd question.
She managed to preserve the gravity of her countenance, however, and merely requested that her niece indulge her by being more precise in her description.
“The one with the shoulders,” replied Rory helpfully.
“Rory, they all of them have shoulders!”
“Not like his,” declared her niece flatly.
“I do like a man with decent shoulders, don’t you, Aunt Nell?
’Tis one of Huntley’s few attributes, I think.
But, Aunt Nell, I am persuaded—indeed, I am nearly certain—that that is the same extraordinarily handsome young man we met in Donaldson’s on Friday. ”
“We did not meet him, Rory, and I utterly forbid you to seek him out or in any way to call his attention to yourself,” Nell said hastily, careful to keep her own voice down. “Do you understand me, young lady?”
“But I want to meet him!”
“Then we must try to discover—discreetly, mind you—if we enjoy any mutual acquaintance. But that is all I will allow, and you would do very well to mind me.”
“Very well, ma’am.”
The mournful tone did little to relieve Nell’s mind.
With a sigh she thought—and not for the first time—that it would be a deal easier to prevent Rory’s doing something utterly shocking if they had a proper male escort for the evening.
To be sure, she had taken courage in hand and had made a strong attempt to persuade Kit that he would find the assembly an amusing pastime.
But he had merely laughed at her, reminding her that Rory was her responsibility and recommending with a sad want of civility that she acquire the services of a strict governess if she truly meant to keep the chit out of mischief.
Fearing that Rory would persist in her determination to make the young officer’s acquaintance, Nell did what she could to prevent her from going beyond the line by introducing her to everyone she knew, including several stout matrons who could be trusted to know nearly everyone who was anyone.
She could not feel, however, that the younger girl had been much impressed by the advice that she cast her bread upon the waters and hope that eventually someone who knew him would present the young Hussar as a desirable partner.
Indeed, Nell placed little dependence upon her niece’s patience and was therefore not so surprised as she might have been when, at the end of the second set of country dances, Rory’s innate grace seemed to desert her and she stumbled, falling heavily against a young man who had not been part of her set but who seemed, in fact, to be wending his way toward the exit.
Nor was she surprised that the young man was clad in blue and gold, nor by the fact that he possessed a pair of shoulders magnificent enough to have rivaled Huntley’s.
Rory’s partner, a shy young sprig who had already shown distinct signs of being besotted, stepped forward anxiously to assist her, but Rory clung—quite unnecessarily in her aunt’s opinion—to the man she had fallen against. He had reacted quickly enough to keep her from falling to the floor and seemed willing now to set her on her feet again, but Rory appeared to be quite unable to rest any weight upon her right foot.
She spoke to the young officer, ignoring her own partner shamelessly, and a few moments later Nell watched with a jaundiced eye as her niece approached, limping, but supported on either side by the two gentlemen.
Rory practically quivered with pent-up mischief, the young sprig looked resigned, and the officer shot Nell an apologetic look that nearly caused her to shake her head in a gesture of shared understanding.
He was tall, very likely taller than Huntley, she thought, watching him.
His hair, coarsely textured and medium brown in color, was tied back in the regulation pigtail, and he sported the bushy sidewhiskers and thickly curling mustache generally preferred by Hussar officers.
His features were regular, and the lines at the sides of his dark brown, heavily-lidded eyes seemed to suggest both an outdoor life and a habit of laughter.
He was a nice looking young man, Nell decided, although in her opinion he looked pretty much like any other Hussar officer, and she could not imagine for a moment why Rory should fancy him to be better looking than his lordship.
“Aunt Nell, you are cursed with a clumsy niece,” Rory said cheerfully after her two aides had helped her to the gilt, harp-backed chair next to Nell’s and the young sprig had taken his reluctant departure.
“I have twisted my ankle and, in the process, nearly knocked poor Major Talcott off his feet. Oh, this is Major Gideon Talcott, ma’am,” she added as an afterthought.
“And this is my aunt, sir, Miss Lindale.”
“At your service, Miss Lindale.” His voice was pleasant, and his bow was polished. Nell nodded but was given little opportunity to speak.
“He is the same gentleman we saw at Donaldson’s, Aunt Nell, and he remembered me—that is, us—as well, for he called me by name when he apologized for his clumsiness, and when I asked how he knew who I was, he admitted he had looked in the visitors’ book after we had departed.
” She cast a roguish look at her by now acutely uncomfortable companion, which made Nell long to shake her. “Was that not naughty of him, ma’am?”
“’Tis not an uncommon practice, however,” Nell said evenly. “I am persuaded that my niece will do very nicely now, sir. Thank you for assisting her.”
“’Twas the least I could do after nearly mowing her ladyship down in my path,” he replied gallantly, making no effort to accept Nell’s broad hint.
Rory, her right foot daintily extended, had taken the brief moment to inspect it, turning it first one way, then the other. She looked up in response to Talcott’s words and chuckled disarmingly.
“You are most kind, sir, but you know perfectly well that that is not what transpired at all. ’Twas I who fell against you. If you were not so strong—”
“Rory, please!” Nell expostulated under her breath.
“But he is strong, and he saved me from a fall and very likely from being trodden upon, as well, so why should I not speak of it?”