Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“Are you enjoying yourself, sweet Beatrice?” Henry asked as the dance came to an end.
Beatrice beamed at him.
“I am,” she readily confessed.
It was the truth. She had been most reticent to attend, especially after seeing herself in her new dress, but as the night continued to unfold, she found herself having a most wonderful time.
The gardens, as Henry had promised, were positively breathtaking, and the people thus far had been kind and warm.
In fact, most if not all had been quick to praise her dress and simply delighted by the mystery Henry created by not giving out her name, calling her instead ‘His Lady of the Blooms.”
Then there was the dancing. She had discovered that she loved dancing. It made her feel giddy and free to twirl and step with the others.
“I am so very glad,” Henry replied, his tone sincere as he led her toward the refreshment table. “Come, let us get you a drink.”
Beatrice nodded, and as she stayed a few steps behind Henry, she took a moment to look around. It seemed everyone was gathered in tight groups, whispering something or other.
Worry not, she told herself. It is not about you. Or if it is, they are simply discussing your gown.
“Beatrice!?” a feminine voice said from behind her.
Fear trembled down her spine as she heard her real name, and she whirled around. For a moment her heart stopped, then, as her eyes settled on a familiar face, she exhaled a breath of relief and opened her arms to the woman before her.
“Deborah!” she greeted excitedly. “You made it out!”
Deborah’s smile was wide and genuine as the two women rushed into another’s arms and embraced tightly.
“But do be careful,” Beatrice whispered in her ear. “I am not using my rightful name here.”
“Noted,” Deborah whispered back, and then two pulled apart, taking each other in.
Deborah had been clean and pretty at the auction, but now, at the ball, she was beautiful and radiant.
“You look remarkable,” Beatrice praised.
“As do you,” Deborah replied readily. “I had heard rumors of a mysterious “Lady of the Bloom” attending the party, but I never would have guessed it was you. Oh, and this discovery so makes me so very happy!”
Beatrice’s heart swelled with gratitude.
“It is because of your advice that I am so,” she confessed, low enough that only the two of them could hear. “I did as you said and won the bid of a gentleman. The situation is… interesting but not at all unseemly. Come, I shall introduce you.”
Beatrice began to tug on Deborah’s hand, urging her toward Henry, but her friend quickly let go.
“I wish I could,” Deborah said, taking a step back, “but my freedom is temporary. I was just leaving as I spotted you and had to say hello.”
The warmth in Beatrice’s chest faded to worry.
“What do you mean temporary?” she asked.
“Worry not. I shall be fine,” Deborah replied hastily, walking backward a little faster as if pulled by some invisible force. “As will you! Best of luck, my Lady in Bloom!”
Then Deborah was gone, disappeared behind a crowd of nobles as if she was never there in the first place.
“Have you made a friend?” Henry asked.
Beatrice glanced toward him as he held out a flute of something bright yellow. She gave him a small smile and took the drink.
“I suppose I have,” she murmured then lifted the glass to her lips.
She caught the scent of lemonade, but as she tipped the glass back, tiny bubbles burst on her tongue, and she tasted something stronger mixed in with the sweetened citrus. She swallowed and felt a delightful buzz alight in her head.
“What is this?” she asked, holding up the drink.
“Champagne and lemonade,” Henry stated, making quick work of draining his glass. “You do not recognize it? The combination comes from France.”
Beatrice felt her cheeks flame, but she did her best to cover it by following Henry and draining the glass quickly.
“I was more inclined to wine during my time there,” she mumbled the lie. “Though now I regret not being more adventurous with my taste in drinks. This is delicious.”
Henry beamed at her and sat their empty glasses down on the refreshment table.
As he went to turn back to her though, a rather lithe, handsome gentleman with blonde hair, startling pale blue eyes, and wearing an ensemble that matched such eyes, tapped him on the shoulder, and the two began to whisper.
Beatrice did not miss the furtive, if not slightly panicked glance he flicked toward her, but she turned away, letting them have a private moment to talk. As she did so, Algernon came into view. As usual, when she saw him now, her stomach tightened, her skin tingled, and her heart fluttered.
He was like an onyx stone glittering among the colors the rest of the guests wore, standing out with a sharpness that took her breath away. If she did not know him, she wagered she’d be frightened of him. Instead, she found herself smiling as she took a step towards him.
“I see you have not quite finished with your brooding,” she teased.
Algernon’s stoic features almost lifted up into a smile.
“I see you still look like a cake,” he remarked.
Beatrice could not help it. Whether it was the champagne lemonade or because she liked his teasing, she laughed.
“The others seem to like it,” she retorted, sweeping her eyes around the crowd.
Though as she did so, she noticed that some that had smiles for her earlier were looking at her peculiarly.
Some ladies had even drawn their fans to their faces, revealing only their inquisitive, narrowed eyes as they spoke in hushed whispers.
“Or perhaps not,” she murmured, feeling her insecurities take over.
Then suddenly Algernon was there, stepping so close to her that all she could see was him.
“Do not focus on them,” Algernon demanded. “Focus on your own happiness. Did you enjoy the dance?”
Beatrice fought the urge to lean around him, her curiosity piqued as to how or if the whispers about her had turned.
“Um, yes,” she answered, distracted.
Algernon held out his hand.
“Then allow me to lead you into another,” he invited.
She looked up at him, shocked.
“You? Dance?”
Algernon let out a low chuckle.
“Not in a long time, but I still remember the steps,” he murmured.
“Ah, here you are again, trying to steal my Lady in Bloom,” Henry said loudly, shouldering into Algernon.
Beatrice’s eyes widened at his words, and as she glanced at the two brothers, she found Algernon looked none too pleased at Henry’s loudness.
“A bit in your cups are you, brother?” Algernon mused.
“I might have had two or three more while talking with my friend,” Henry replied, giving him a clumsy smile.
“Speaking of,” Henry went on before either Beatrice or Algernon could respond, “said friend has asked me to speak with him about some business.”
Disappointment began to slide down to Beatrice’s stomach. Henry had promised that he would not leave her. That was one of the conditions of her agreeing to go.
“It could take a while. Would you be so kind as to keep my Lady in Bloom company?” he further asked.
Confusion joined Beatrice’s disappointment. Henry had been almost furious with Algernon’s presence at the beginning of the evening, yet now, he was depending on his brother to keep her company? What was going on?
She turned around, looking slowly across the faces surrounding her, and found even more narrowed gazes than before.
Then she felt a hand on her shoulder, and before she could even take a breath, she was spun around to face Henry and Algernon again.
Only now, Henry was not there. Gone as if he had never been with them in the first place.
“Come, Beatrice,” Algernon invited, his deep voice laced with a slight urgency. “Time to enjoy another dance.”
“What is happening?” Beatrice asked as Algernon led her to the dance floor.
“I assure you, I do not know what you mean,” Algernon replied as a new, slower song began to rise from the orchestra.
A waltz, she believed. A dance far more intimate than the one she had shared with Henry, but still, one she had been taught the steps to it. For the next few moments, Beatrice focused on ignoring the tingles that erupted over her and putting effort into taking the proper steps.
With Algernon leading her, though, she found it very easy, and soon, despite her rising anxiety, she felt herself beginning to enjoy the dance.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” Algernon asked.
Beatrice attempted to muster a smile, but it did not meet her eyes.
“I am. Or was…but something has shifted,” she confessed. “I do not know quite what, but I can feel it.”
As she said so, her gaze trailed to her left. It did not go very far though before Algernon suddenly pulled her tight to his chest, making her gasp and turn her sight up at him.
“Ignore it,” he calmly commanded, swaying her softly. “Whatever it is you may feel is going wrong, ignore it.”
She gave him a frustrated look.
“It is not that simple,” she whispered. “The whispers… I do not know why, but I feel as if they are turning on me.”
“The only whispers out there are of your great beauty,” Algernon replied, and the praise astounded her.
“You… you said I look like a cake,” she stammered out, feeling excitement and warmth tingle from the palm of her hands all the way up her arms and into her chest.
Algernon smirked.
“You do,” he said wryly. “But a very beautiful cake. One that is certainly most delicious.”
Beatrice blushed furiously at his words. She had met many sides of Algernon. The strong, brooding silent type most knew. The overprotective, but surprisingly gentle side of him. But this version? The one that said such provocative flirtations? This side of him flustered her most of all.
“You should not say such things,” she whispered, losing focus on those surrounding them entirely.
“Why not?” Algernon purred, his eyes drawing slowly down her person. “They seem to elicit such delightful reactions.”
Beatrice felt her mouth go agape as heat spiked through her core. No. Stop. This is wrong. I am to feel this way for Henry, not Algernon!
Yet as she willed her body to stop reacting so strongly, she found her efforts futile.
“You enjoy it,” Algernon mused, a wicked smile slowly forming on his lips as he continued to lead her. “I can see it written so very plainly on your pretty face that you like what I say.”
“What has come over you?!” Beatrice whispered vehemently.
“What is the matter?” Algernon mused. “Do you find yourself distracted?”
Beatrice drew in a shuddering breath, her heartbeat picking up speed as she picked up the purely seductive tone in his deep voice.
She should push him away. She should tell him to stop, to remind him that it was Henry she was supposed to be distracted with.
Yet as she spoke, those were not the words she let loose.
“Of course, I am,” she whispered.