5. Chapter Five #3
Margaret’s head spun. The room seemed to cave in, suffocating her with heat.
“I apologize, Dr. Fairfax, but Miss Nicholson and I plan to dance again,” Mr. Clarkson answered in Margaret’s place.
He can’t be serious. Margaret had read about suitors competing for women, but her experience wasn’t very romantic.
Marjorie had expressed the thrill of having men fight for her affections, but this was an utter nightmare.
Even if these two had captured her well-being, she’d never desire to be in the middle of such tension.
She wanted to back into a corner and never come out.
Mr. Clarkson extended his arm. “Shall we, Miss Nicholson?”
Margaret turned her attention towards Dr. Fairfax, whose face was red.
His shoulders slumped, and he wiped his nose with his hand, avoiding her gaze.
Margaret didn’t desire a dance with either of them, but she hated this poor man had been rejected.
A wave of guilt washed over her, making her want to disappear.
No wonder Mama and Daddy dreaded these social events.
Nothing about this ball was magical. It was horrifying!
“Excuse me, gentlemen.”
Margaret looked behind her, seeing the towering, attractive gentleman from earlier. Her heart skipped a beat, rendering her speechless. How embarrassing. Competition is so humiliating!
He stepped in front of Margaret, causing the two men to back away. The man towered over her, making her feel small, but his presence was warm and safe—those baby blue eyes, so bright and sparkly, like a dreamy prince charming.
“I deeply, sincerely apologize, Miss Nicholson. There are no words to express how ashamed I am to have kept you waiting. I understand if you no longer desire a dance with me.”
The hair on Margaret’s arms stood straight up as she processed this man’s words.
What? This must be a mistake. This man’s accent was thicker and more musical than anyone Margaret had ever heard.
He almost sounded English if she wasn’t mistaken.
The gentleman winked at her, assuring Margaret he was covering for her.
This was her deliverance, the one she had prayed desperately for on the dance floor.
Keep your act together, Margaret. The man smirked at her as he waited for her reply, but Margaret stood, gaping at him.
Margaret cleared her throat. “Why . . . yes . . . I’d love to dance with you, sir. I gladly accept your apology.”
The man extended his arm, and Margaret grasped it with gratitude.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Mr. Clarkson’s face flushing with anger, his caterpillar-like eyebrows arched and his lips pursed.
She hoped the man wasn’t too offended—he was a lovely dancer, after all, despite his peculiar behavior.
The gentleman led her onto the dance floor and took a bow. “Allow me to introduce myself, Miss Nicholson. I am Eugene Ashcroft.”
Margaret’s eyes locked upon the gorgeous man. “I—uh . . . It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir.”
As the orchestra started to play “Les Patineurs,” Mr. Ashcroft extended his hand towards Margaret. The gentle touch sent a delightful shiver to her toes. Without hesitation, he assumed the lead in the dance.
“You didn’t have to do that, Mr. Ashcroft,” Margaret said.
A smile graced Mr. Ashcroft’s lips, revealing his teeth. “I hope you are pleased that I intervened.”
Margaret nodded without thinking. She prayed Mr. Ashcroft wouldn’t think it rude for her to admit her gratitude for his rescue.
“You see," Mr. Ashcroft said. “Where I am from, we gentlemen are held responsible to protect our ladies. Seeing your discomfort as the two men argued over your time, I couldn’t help but step in. I pray you aren’t offended.”
“I take no offense, sir,” Margaret said.
She couldn’t help but delight in being in this man’s arms. His hold was firm, providing not only an emotional sense of safety but also a physical one.
In Mr. Ashcroft’s arms, she found herself not only secure but fastened within his very being.
Unlike Mr. Clarkson’s wandering gaze, Mr. Ashcroft’s remained fixated to her eyes, his smile unwavering.
Trust had never come easily to her, but this man was an exception with his heroic rescue and respectful understanding.
“And may I inquire about your place of origin? Do I hear an English accent in that voice of yours?” Margaret asked, her curiosity sparking.
Mr. Ashcroft sighed. “You’ve indeed caught me, Miss Nicholson. I am from the beautiful countryside of Yorkshire.”
Margaret’s eyes rounded. “Yorkshire? As in England?”
“The only one I know,” Mr. Ashcroft teased.
“My, my, you are a great deal away from home. What brings you here?”
“Just . . . you might say . . . vacation time.”
“Vacation? In Virginia? You must be mad, sir. What about the Caribbean, Italy, or Paris perhaps?”
“You can think what you will, but I find myself amused by the American ways.”
The orchestra stopped playing and each partner bowed.
Mr. Ashcroft offered Margaret his arm and escorted her away from the dance floor, but Margaret’s nightmare returned as Mr. Clarkson moved swiftly through the crowd, followed by three more middle-aged men.
Their eyes were locked on her, displaying smiles of admiration.
Margaret lowered her head, her breath catching as she realized she was gripping Mr. Ashcroft’s arm far too tightly. Embarrassed, she quickly pulled away.
“Oh, please pardon me.”
Mr. Ashcroft chuckled. “No harm done.”
The four men were approaching, and Mr. Clarkson was practically pushing people out of the way. Mr. Ashcroft took her hand, pulling her in the opposite direction.
“Come, hurry,” Mr. Ashcroft said, anxiousness in his voice.
Margaret didn’t have time to ask questions and wonder if it was proper for her to charade herself through the party with a man she hardly knew, but the thrill of being led away by him from the problematic display made the night more to her liking than before.
Mr. Ashcroft pulled her behind a wall in a far corner. Margaret’s throat pulsed as she waited for Mr. Ashcroft to say the area was clear. A few moments later, he took her away.
“They’re gaining on us,” he said. “But we’ll lose them shortly.”
Mr. Ashcroft pushed open a door and led her through a long hallway, then up a staircase.
Margaret had never seen this wing of the house, and she was more amazed that Mr. Ashcroft seemed to know where he was headed.
He stopped at another door, held it open, and a cool breeze hit Margaret’s face like a wave crashing against the shoreline.
As the dark night enveloped her, her pulse raced, and her stomach twisted, but as the moonlight hit her skin, her heart slowed.
Atop the balcony, they faced the James River.
The moonlight reflected over the body of water, making it sparkle.
The stars twinkled, adding another aspect of glory.
Never had she seen a night so beautiful, mostly because she remained indoors as soon as the sun set.
She did everything she could to avoid the darkness.
“How did you know how to get here?”
Mr. Ashcroft chuckled, pulling a cigar box out of his jacket. “I’ve been in my share of mansions. Most of them are the same in structure.”
Margaret leaned over the balcony and closed her eyes as she listened to the orchestra, which was now a faint whisper, being replaced by the chirping choir of crickets.
Mr. Ashcroft lit the cigar in his mouth.
Margaret expected the smoke to blow in her face like her father’s business partner, Mr. Lenard, would when he came calling.
However, Mr. Ashcroft smoked in the opposite direction.
“I don’t know how I will thank you, Mr. Ashcroft. Twice tonight you have aided my escape from discomfort.”
Mr. Ashcroft removed the cigar from his mouth and blew. He turned towards her and smiled. “You can start by calling me Eugene. Calling me by my last name reminds me too much of the English. I want to be reminded that I’m in America.”
Margaret’s eyes widened. She had never called a man by his given name on such a short acquaintance.