Chapter 9 #2
“It tastes like little more than sugar water. But if you do get thirsty, it is better than nothing,” Marianne replied.
James grinned. “I do have something better than lemonade and sugar water.” He opened his pocket and pulled out a small flask.
“Your Grace,” Marianne gasped in mock horror.
“It was your aunt who gave it to me,” he defended himself.
Frances shook her head, but she could not deny that she, too, would not mind a sip.
“Now, if you ladies do not mind, I will find myself a corner to hide in and enjoy my beverage. Then, I will return and dance the quadrille with you,” James told her without waiting for her answer.
As he walked away, Frances remained by Marianne’s side. Almost immediately, a woman joined them.
“Lady Wexford,” she greeted as she approached, her feathered turban bobbing with each step.
Marianne smiled graciously. “Lady Foxworthy. Allow me to introduce you to my cousin, Miss Frances Langley.”
Frances bobbed an awkward curtsy and rose with a smile, hoping she had gotten it right.
“Oh yes, the relation from Bedfordshire. I was most surprised when I heard that your aunt is trying to find you a husband. What a valiant effort she’s making on your behalf.”
“Thank you,” Frances said, though it did not sound like a compliment. The woman’s tone suggested it was more of an impossibility than a valiant effort.
“Lady Eugenia told me you were caught up in that dreadful situation a few nights ago. How perfectly frightful that must have been.”
“It was.” She nodded. “The Duke of Somerset and I were separated from Lady Eugenia. It was quite frightening.”
“Oh yes, and that poor boy who was killed. What an unfortunate situation. He was a midshipman, you know. Just nineteen years old. Had his whole life ahead of him.”
“I heard someone was killed, but I was unaware of his station,” Frances said, that horrible feeling that had sat in her chest since earlier this evening growing.
Nineteen years old. The same age as me.
“How terrible, and how ruthless of those hooligans to shoot someone just passing by. These radicals are getting out of hand.”
“Excuse me,” a deep voice sounded from behind them.
A portly gentleman Frances didn’t recognize stepped forward, his mutton chop whiskers twitching.
“I heard it was Mr. Frederick John Robinson who shot him from inside his house. In fact, my brother is in the military, and he says that such a shot could have only come from inside a building, not from a mob in the street.”
“Impossible,” Lady Foxworthy said, her voice rising indignantly. “Mr. Robinson is the most refined of gentlemen. He would not shoot out of his window at peasants, no matter how provoked.”
At the word peasants, Frances gulped, feeling quite out of countenance.
Was she a member of the peasant class to these people? Probably. Her father was a farmer, after all, even if he owned land.
“In any case, it is a terrible tragedy,” Marianne interjected, attempting to steer the conversation to safer ground. “Whoever did it—”
The gentleman shrugged dismissively. “It might’ve been one of his servants. Probably somebody who overreacted to the mob. Likely someone newly arrived from the ends of the world, unused to London crowds.”
Frances looked down at her shoes, feeling decidedly put out. Everything about this conversation made her uncomfortable.
“Excuse me,” a familiar voice called from behind. “I think this is my dance.”
She turned and saw James. It was, in fact, not their time to dance. She was to dance the quadrille with him, and at the moment they were dancing some sort of reel.
He offered his arm, and the two of them walked away from the gossiping group.
“I do not know how to dance this dance,” she said quietly as they approached the floor.
“It is not difficult. Just follow my lead. I take it you were somewhat uncomfortable back there? You looked it. In fact, you looked like quite the damsel in distress.”
“I assure you, I was not in distress, nor am I a damsel,” she replied. “But I do appreciate your interrupting the conversation. It was most unpleasant.”
“Were they talking about the shooting?”
She looked up at him as the music started, and he placed his hands on her waist, guiding her into the steps. “Yes. Do you suppose it was the man we saw?”
“Must’ve been,” he said grimly. “He was going in the direction where the gunshot came from, and we heard it moments later. Poor boy. I wish he had listened to me. But I suppose it cannot be helped now.”
“No, I suppose not,” she sighed. “What a dreadful business.”
“Pray, what did they say?” he asked. “Lady Foxworthy and Lord Holmquest?”
Frances shrugged as they danced, her feet following his lead more easily than she had expected. “They could not agree on who fired the shot. But they referred to the crowd as peasants and all manner of things, as though the people protesting were less than human.”
“I see. Well, do not let them upset you. Lady Foxworthy is only one generation removed from being a commoner herself, and Lord Holmquest is… shall we say, not the sharpest knife in the drawer.”
She looked up at him sharply, her lips pressed together. “Why are you seeking to comfort me now, when you haven’t spoken to me in days?”
He ground his teeth, a muscle working in his jaw. “I am merely being kind. I am capable of it. Besides, I am not usually the sort who enjoys company. I have had to put on a mask since arriving at my godmother’s house.”
“Is that so?” she said, unable to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. “But you seem rather a master of debate for someone who does not enjoy company.”
He shook his head, not meeting her eyes. Then she saw him glance to the right. Two other attendees had joined Lord Holmquest, and now they were all chattering away, their laughter carrying across the ballroom.
“You do not care for him, do you?”
“No,” James said flatly. “He was a friend of my brother’s. Not that I dislike all of my brother’s friends, but him…” He shuddered.
“I heard about what happened to your brother. What a terrible way to die.”
His head snapped toward her, and his eyes narrowed, his grip on her waist tightening slightly. “My brother’s death was a tragedy. I am not inclined to discuss it.”
“I beg your pardon, I meant no offense,” she said quickly, feeling as though she had been slapped.
“None was taken.”
They continued to dance, but Frances did not speak further. She had said the wrong thing and somehow upset him.
Perhaps she shouldn’t have mentioned his brother at all. But it had seemed a natural turn of conversation, given they had been discussing death and tragedy.
In any case, she allowed him to twirl her across the dance floor. A couple of times, they switched partners, only to be reunited again a second later.
Every time she returned to his arms, there was a sense of relief because at least he knew how to lead her properly. With him, she didn’t have to worry about treading on toes or missing steps.
Still, there was also some discomfort. The same discomfort that had bothered her when they had first met. Something heavy hung between them. What a puzzle he was.
However, it wasn’t what bothered her most. It was the thoughts of the poor midshipman.
The young man they had met moments before he was shot to death.
And the way these titled people had spoken about him, as though he were only a byproduct of their quest to prove that those who were not of higher birth were beneath them.
As though his death mattered less because he was not one of them.
“I did not mean to upset you,” James said quietly, his voice barely audible over the music.
“You did not,” she replied, looking up at him. “I was thinking of the poor lad who was shot. And how tragic it is that he will never have the chance to live his life.”
“It is tragic, indeed. Any death is a tragedy. Well, most are.”
“Most?” she echoed, wondering what he meant.
“There are people so rotten that they do not deserve to walk this earth. At least to my mind.”
Frances didn’t know what to say. The words came out so strongly, with such conviction and such bitterness, she didn’t know how to respond.
Who was he referring to? The man who had killed his brother in the duel?
He looked at her, his expression softening slightly. “I’ve heard that there will be a vigil for the young man tomorrow. For Edward Vyse.”
Her brows flew up. “That was his name?”
“It was.”
“I would like to go.”
He nodded. “You should ask Aunt Eugenia if she will go with you. She is prone to such things, attending vigils and charitable events.”
“Oh,” she murmured.
For secretly, she had hoped that he would come with her. He had been with her when it had happened, after all. He had been there, had tried to warn the young man.
As if he had read her thoughts, he cleared his throat. “Dash it, I cannot accompany you. I would like to go, but I must meet a business associate in Brighton. I am leaving this evening, directly after we return from Almack’s, and will not return for three days.”
“I see,” she replied, unable to hide her disappointment.
“But do not fret. Aunt Eugenia will go with you. She would never miss such an occasion. Then, when I come back, you can tell me how it went.” The music hit its final notes, and he slowed their pace. “You are not as terrible a dancer as I had anticipated. Quite creditable, in fact.”
“Coming from you, that sounds almost like a compliment,” she said with a slight smile.
“If you wish to take it as one,” he replied dryly, though she thought she detected the ghost of a smile at the corners of his mouth.
The music ended, and the two of them stepped off the dance floor, the other couples applauding politely.
James bowed formally and took a couple of steps back. Frances opened her mouth to call him back—to say what, she didn’t know. Perhaps to thank him for the dance, or to wish him a safe journey to Brighton. But then she heard a shuffle of feet to her left and turned.
Marianne approached her, a gentleman at her side. He was pale-faced, with short-cropped blonde hair and an eager expression.
“Frances, allow me to introduce George Wentworth, the Baron Blatt.”
“Good evening, Miss Langley,” the young gentleman greeted with a bow. “Lady Wexford told me that you did not yet have a dance partner for theboulanger . Would you do me the honor?”
Frances looked at him and saw that his eyes were eager and kind. There was no glower, as there had been in James’s eyes. He seemed quite amiable, pleasant even.
She shouldn’t compare them, of course, but she couldn’t help it. Plus, she was here to meet gentlemen. James was supposed to do nothing more than show off her dancing skills, even though they barely existed. That was his role, nothing more.
“Of course.” She smiled warmly.
The Baron bowed again, and she took his proffered arm.
As he walked her to the dance floor, she could not help but notice out of the corner of her eye the way James stood in an archway, looking Friday-faced and black as thunder, his jaw set in a hard line as he watched them go.