Chapter Seven
Thank goodness Giselle was good with needle and thread.
There was precious little time to adjust a gown before a society ball, so she quickly set to work.
Susanne swore it was an old cast-off gown that she wouldn’t have worn anyway, but to Giselle, it was by far the most luxurious gown she’d ever worn.
Rich rose silk shot with silver trim, the gown was too bright for Susanne to wear just out of mourning. But it perfectly suited Giselle after an extra flounce was added to account for her larger height. And the quick needlework kept her mind off the truth of tonight.
She was going to a real society ball!
Certainly, she had all the training. There was blue blood in her family tree.
Her father was the product of several generations of younger sons, but eventually the tree sprouted from an earl.
And there was a baron in her mother’s ancestry.
Which meant—in practical terms—that she had the education of a lady even though she never used a silver tea service.
Except, of course, now she was going to a ball with dukes and earls and all manner of the aristocracy, and surely, they would see that she was an odd country mouse who had been labeled one of the Troubled Twins.
It was enough to make her stitches uneven.
Susanne realized none of this. She was filled with questions about ghosts and spirits and the afterlife. But all of it was a mirage to cover the real problem. And that, of course, came out five minutes before they were to leave for the ball.
“Gwenivere wouldn’t even look at me,” Susanne said, her tone low. “We used to be so close and…”
Yes, well that was what happened when best friends were ripped apart. “I suspect all her anger at your brother was really about you.”
“She’s angry at me?” Susanne looked away. “Well, of course she is. I wrote to her, you know. But Papa found out and burned the letters in front of me.”
“Did you ever receive the letters she sent to you?”
Susanne’s eyes widened as she shook her head. “I suppose Papa would have destroyed those as well.”
Probably. The old viscount had much to answer for. What he had done to tear their two families apart had been vicious, not to mention incredibly cruel to children who had grown up in each other’s pockets.
“Perhaps you two will find a way to be friends again. Once this is all over.”
“Do you really think so?” Susanne asked.
“I do. Assuming you speak to her. You accused her of never looking at you, but you never tried to say something to her.”
Susanne flushed. “I didn’t know what to say.”
“And neither did she. But if you can screw up the courage, I think you can be friends again.”
Susanne was excited by that thought. And Giselle realized it was good advice for herself.
She’d gone to a first-rate finishing school.
She’d made friends with lots of blue-blooded girls.
She need only screw up her courage to face this night, and she would be fine.
She might even find her old friends. Or make new ones.
She only needed to believe it was possible.
At her first society ball.
On the arm of the only man she’d ever truly loved.
Now that the alterations were complete, and she was dressed and primped—as much as possible—there were no distractions to keep her from her memories.
She recalled all the ways the young Jonathan had teased her out of her shyness.
The times he had made her laugh or made her believe she wasn’t the awkward, forgotten half of a set of twins.
He’d pulled her out of her shell and made her feel so many wonderful things.
Not about him, although that came with it.
No, the things she felt were about herself.
Around him, she felt special. As if he saw her for who she really was, and he liked it.
He liked her. No one else had ever looked at her that way.
Not before or since. Even now, ten years later, she remembered how she felt with him, especially when he looked straight into her eyes and whispered…
“Time to go.”
That was not what he had whispered. It was what he was saying now, calling up the stairs to where she and Susanne had been doing their toilette.
She and Susanne shared a look, both scanning the other from head to toe.
“You look stunning,” Giselle said.
“I was going to say the same thing to you!”
Giselle grinned. It was impossible not to in the face of Susanne’s enthusiasm. “Then we should both take our stunning selves downstairs before your brother comes up here to see what has kept us.”
“Oh it’ll take another two calls before Mama is ready,” Susanne said blithely. But then she opened her bedroom door and all but skipped out the door. Giselle might have done the same, but she had to remind herself that a mature woman did not skip. Certainly not while wearing a ballgown.
And so she walked. And then she stopped halfway down the stairs when Jonathan gazed up at her.
Oh, she remembered that look. It was the expression of a man struck dumb. It was the look he’d given her when she’d told him she could see ghosts. And it was also the look he’d given her the first time she’d let him touch her intimately. He was robbed of breath then, and she…
Her face heated at the memory. And then she looked into his eyes and saw such stunned appreciation that her cheeks blazed even hotter.
“You are so beautiful,” he murmured.
He meant it. She could hear it in his voice, see it in his expression, and best of all, she felt it all the way down to her toes. He made her feel beautiful.
“Then we are a pair,” she said, “because I have never seen a man look so divine.”
Black superfine coat, a snowy white cravat, and a whimsical rose waistcoat with silver threads stitched in an intricate design. Such elegance that she could not imagine a king looking more refined.
“Oh!” she gasped, just now realizing that his waistcoat matched her dress. “These are your colors!” Oh dear. “I shouldn’t be wearing them. They’re your—”
“Don’t be silly,” Susanne interrupted. “It’s just a dress. No one pays any attention to that stuff anyway.”
Her brother rolled his eyes at his sister. “Well, obviously you don’t.” He held out his hand to Giselle. “And I wouldn’t have you change for all the world. The colors suit you.”
He held her gaze as she descended the last of the staircase, and she was powerless to look away.
How many times had she dreamed of just such an event?
Of descending the stairs to have him there waiting for her.
Of him taking her arm as he swept her into the steps of a dance.
And of him undressing her in their marriage bed as they joined together as man and wife.
In one breath, all those fantasies rushed back into her. They swept her along on a tide of emotions. Longing, happiness, and desire wove through her body, stealing her breath and her sanity.
He seemed to have remembered, too. As if he were thinking of all the things they had said to one another. Of all the times he had kissed her senseless. And of all the secret plans they had once made for their children and grandchildren.
Such things they had planned until…
Until the day she’d told him she could see ghosts.
She looked away, quietly withdrawing her hand from his. He didn’t fight her. He let her fingers go, but she felt his gaze on her. Then, as the clock ticked the minutes away, he undoubtably gave up waiting for her to look at him again. Instead, she heard him bellow up the stairs.
“Mama, please! We shall barely make it before the dancing begins.”
Eventually, the countess descended the stairs.
She was dressed in fine silks and an enormous headpiece.
It suited her. She’d always had an excellent eye for clothing.
And so Giselle said as she complimented the lady.
That seemed to surprise and mollify the woman.
Her grumpy demeanor softened as they climbed into the carriage.
Then she grew even more animated as she and Susanne discussed everyone who would be there.
Giselle knew none of the names except by reputation. If they weren’t already in a moving carriage, she would have changed her mind right then and there.
“Did you write your friend?” Giselle asked Susanne. “Does she know I’m coming?”
“Yes and yes! You will not be turned away at the door.”
At this point, she really wished she would be.
“Never fear,” Jonathan said. “It’s just like a country dance only with taller hair and more gossip.”
She arched her brows. “Clearly, you have not been to a country dance in ages. Every word spoken is gossip of one kind or another.”
He frowned. “That’s not true. I rarely hear gossip there.”
She snorted. “That’s because most of the gossip would be about you.” He would be, after all, the highest ranked man at most dances. Certainly, the most handsome and eligible one.
He snorted. “You overestimate my consequence.”
She did not. But maybe he did. He looked embarrassed by the idea that people would gossip about him.
And wasn’t that a stark contrast to his father?
The late viscount preened wherever he went.
She remembered him as a man who made sure everyone knew who he was, and indeed, he would feel an affront if people didn’t talk about him.
But Jonathan had never had such pride. He’d once said that people should be proud of what they’d done, not to whom they’d been born. And she had thought him amazingly enlightened. So much so that she’d kissed him for the very first time. One that he enthusiastically returned.
“You’ll save a dance for me, won’t you?” Jonathan asked. “I waltz, I think.”
“A waltz! Don’t I have to get permission to dance that?”
His brows rose. “You know about that, do you?”
Of course she did. She might not be going about in society, but she had friends who had debuted in the last few years. Friends who had shared every detail of their Seasons, including the unwritten rules of society.
“Never fear,” he promised. “I shall be sure that you can dance it.”
And so it was agreed. Excitement flooded her body. She really was about to go to her first society ball. Indeed, the only one she was ever likely to have. And she was going to dance with a viscount. Not just any viscount, but Jonathan himself.
For one night, she would live out the fantasy of her youth. How the idea filled her with joy.
And then he reminded her of the real reason she was here. With one sentence, he ripped away the illusion she’d been building.
“You don’t see… I mean, the ghost isn’t here, is he?”
Suddenly, she was not a girl heading to her first ball with a handsome gentleman on her arm. She was a woman hired to do a specific job regarding an angry ghost. And any other dreams she built upon the situation were just dreams.
She was a servant. The gown was tonight’s livery. And though she remembered what the two of them had meant to one another, he obviously did not. Or he cared not.
“No,” she whispered. “There is nothing supernatural here.” And neither was there anything of love.
She had best remember that.