Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Nineteen
Anna
“Our shades are so complementary,” I said to Ginny, who twirled in her apricot-colored gown just outside my door. Mine was blue with white embroidery.
“This one makes me feel like a queen,” Ginny sighed, watching her skirt fly out. How she’d changed these past few days. No longer the defensive, huffy thing from our first acquaintance. She’d softened, sharing secrets instead of keeping them.
Mariah adjusted my shawl, a soft, sheer gold that matched the flowers on the hem of my dress. “A rose for your hair?” she asked, motioning to the bouquet Mr. Cross had sent. He’d been one of the few gentlemen Papa had approved at the beginning of the Season. He’d escorted me to the opera once early on, and out for a ride in his gig. It had been some time ago, but I could not for my life think of why I’d ultimately chosen Mr.Lennox over him.
“No. Thank you, Mariah.” Though I bent over for a last sweet inhale of the blossoms.
Ginny and I had spent the day preparing. We cleared our faces of any imperfections and moisturized thrice over, during which I’d given her tips on how to engage when conversation stalled. Then, since we were nearly the same size, we’d tried on every dress in my armoire.
“Are you certain you do not want to wear the pearls?” I called to her. We’d pilfered through my jewelry as well.
“Yes, but thank you. I’d rather like my neck plain. Mama said its long and lovely and that men take notice of such things.”
I tried not to laugh at her seriousness. “Oh, indeed.”
I dabbed perfume on my neck, chest, and wrists, and just as I set down the vial, the door to Graham’s room opened.
“So handsome!” Ginny crooned, and I looked up.
I’d seen Graham dressed well before. But this time, instead of blinking away, my gaze washed over his slicked-back hair, his smooth, muscled jaw, then lingered over his broad shoulders in a finely cut coat. Graham tugged at his sleeves, straightening them, and I imagined those arms, firm and strong, inviting me in, pulling me close enough to where I could breathe in the spice of his shave.
I touched my hair. Heavens, how much perfume had I inhaled?
Regardless, I could not deny the swift uptick of my pulse. Something within me fancied Graham Everett. I chewed on my lower lip. Was that so terrible?
He smiled at his sister while she spun a final time, his entire countenance brightening. Then his gaze met mine.
His smile faded; the light in his eyes softened.
“Handsome, indeed,” I said, stepping forward. I offered him a smile and a little curtsey, like we were already in a ballroom and not the cramped hall of his second floor.
He grinned and bowed in return. His eyes grazed over my hair, my face, my gown. “Miss Lane. You are ...”
“Isn’t she lovely?” Ginny grabbed my arm, hugging it to her side, beaming up at me.
Her features were so similar to Graham’s, so happy and excited. I wanted good things for her. I wanted her to dance with her favorite gentleman and to be admired all night long. I wanted her to shine.
“Extraordinary,” Graham said, and I blushed, realizing he was still watching me. He cleared his throat, a faraway look on his face. “Shall we?”
“Mama is already downstairs,” Ginny said, releasing me and running ahead.
Graham waited at the top of the stairs for me. He hesitated, then offered me his arm. “I am aware that you can safely descend the stairs alone, but—”
I laced my arm through his. “Thank you, Graham.”
He smiled to himself, carefully taking each step as he led me down to his waiting mother and sisters.
Tabs’s cheeks were still puffy from the fit she’d thrown at being left behind, but her eyes were alight with the excitement of it all.
We kissed her goodbye, promising to tell her all in the morning, then settled in the carriage for the short drive to the assembly hall in the center of Brighton.
The setting sun cast a shadowy glow on the pathway leading up to the Assembly Rooms. It was a tall building made of light-colored stone and ensconced with lamplight. A servant awaited us at the door, and we were greeted by a boisterous sound and music carrying from inside.
“Mr. Everett!” An older man strode over.
“Mr. Ryan,” Mrs. Everett whispered to me. “And his wife.”
The woman beside him, whose brown hair had started to gray, held out her hand to Graham before waving over—
Miss Ryan.
Introductions were made, and thankfully excuses offered for Mr. Lennox, who’d taken off on some errand out of town. Good riddance.
I watched Graham, how he bowed to the Ryans, smiling broadly and sincerely. But, despite their clear familiarity, my host never left my side. He took his responsibility seriously. Honorable in every way. I felt immense pride toward Graham and for all he’d done for his family. He could have abandoned them too. He could have declared the burden too heavy.
Look at them now.
“Miss Lane!” a man called from behind us. Mr. Cross. My heart stuttered a beat—from nerves or anticipation? I nodded my appreciation to the Ryans before I turned.
“Good evening, Mr. Cross,” I said, and heavens, the man had made an effort. He smelled musky and sweet, his wavy hair sleek and shiny, and he wore an olive coat that complemented the fair color of his skin.
His brows lifted in appreciation as his eyes traveled every inch of me. “You are a vision.”
I swallowed. This was what I’d wanted, wasn’t it? A man who needed nothing from my father. Who made my heart stir with the possibility of more. Had I any reason to deny Mr. Cross my sincere attention? At present, no one else had sent me flowers or declared their intentions or affections.
His words were kind, his attention so flattering. Yet ...
I glanced to Graham, who stood alone with Miss Ryan. Her small hand reached out, touching his forearm, and I felt fire fume in my lungs. Consuming me with ... anger? Well, that would be silly. Whatever it was, though, it felt right. Deserved. I did not like her, not at all.
“I am so pleased you could come,” Mr. Cross said, drawing my attention back to him.
“As am I. Thank you for the beautiful bouquet you sent. The roses are lovely.”
“I am glad.” He smiled, pleased. There was quiet between us for a beat. A few flickering gazes. Strange, not knowing what to say.
“What brings you to Brighton?” I asked, then flinched. Would he perceive the question as too intimate?
“Visiting my younger brother, actually,” he answered quickly. Like he aimed to please me. But that wasn’t necessarily a terrible thing. Of course a man would want to please the lady he wished to spend time with. I should let him try. “He and his wife recently welcomed their first son, and I did not want to miss an opportunity to see him. It’s been years.”
“Oh?” I heard the trill of Miss Ryan’s laughter, and my muscles seized. I fought the desire to move far away. And to take Graham with me.
“He’s a vicar—well respected. We are quite proud. And the baby is so still and quiet, often sleeping.”
“As newborns are,” I said, and he grinned. Focus on him, Anna. Full attention. “Congratulations,” I added. I tried to think of something more to say, another question perhaps, or a compliment. But some corner of my mind warred for control of my eyes, flicking them every so often toward Graham.
What did I care if he relished in Miss Ryan’s attentions? She was wealthy, obviously, and more than interested in him. He’d do well with a wife like her, already established in Society, pleasant ... scratch that last.
“Are you hungry?” Mr. Cross smiled at me, offering his arm. “There are refreshments in the room across the way.”
I nodded, determined to be amiable, going through potential topics of discussion in my mind. The Season, sea-bathing, his hobbies, if he liked goat cheese ...
Indeed, as we walked together to the refreshment table, and as he poured me a glass of lemonade, I learned that Mr. Cross was not a Shakespearean but a hunting man. Hunting foxes and elk, to be specific, and his one great pride was his hunting dogs, the four of which he missed greatly when away.
I listened intently, reprimanding my gaze when it wandered down the line to Graham, who kept Miss Ryan in raptures with stories told with bright eyes and moving hands.
Mr. Cross filled a plate with cheese and bread, fruit, and a little cheesecake, all the while asking after my time in Brighton, politely nodding as I described my time with the Everetts. In between bites, I told him about my love for the sea, my hopes for traveling more in the future. He spoke of his own adventures and his family, but all too soon, conversation slowed. No questions about my hobbies or reading. No probing for personal details. And, unfortunately, I remembered why I’d forgotten our brief time together.
No, this would not do. I’d rather sit alone at dinner than have to work so hard for conversation. Besides, I did not care much for hunting and hounds. As handsome as the man was, the interest I felt stalled there, and I wanted more. I wanted easy. Perhaps finding a husband would take more effort on my part, but if I’d learned one thing from my pursuits, it should absolutely feel easy.
I could tell him about my favorite flowers or recite my favorite lines from Romeo and Juliet. I could ask if he enjoyed playing cards or the alphabet game.
Mr. Cross straightened, hands on his thighs, then with a tilt of his head and a small smile, he said, “Miss Lane, might I have the cotillion?”
“I’d like that,” I said, and I let him lead me toward the music.
Neither of us said much as we found our place in the line. He offered a kind smile and a nod to those gathering around us. Graham stood down the line with Miss Ryan as his companion, but before I could react, the music started, and Mr. Cross took my hands.
Around and around we danced, and I forgot everything but the steps. Mr. Cross moved effortlessly, his motions graceful and practiced, thoughtful and sure. Until the dance separated us, and our eyes met only with every few spins.
Halfway through, I caught sight of Graham moving closer up the line. He danced with focus, giving attention to each partner he joined. I thought I saw him miss a step, and I laughed to myself as he recovered.
Closer, closer, and my belly knotted with anticipation to meet with him; each step, each turn brought us closer. But as nervous as I felt to dance with him, there was something else that stirred my heart. A feeling of being reunited with an old friend whose face you’d forgotten you’d memorized. The snug fit of a perfectly tailored coat. Climbing into bed with fresh sheets and a bed warmer at your feet after dancing all night.
Moments passed, then, finally, Graham stood adjacent to me. I hardly registered his partner at my side.
Graham’s brown eyes, flecked with green and gold, were so familiar they took my breath away. And I realized as he grasped my hands—it felt so obvious, I almost wanted to cry—that I hadn’t needed to pretend with Graham since that day on the beach with Tabs. Even when Mr. Lennox had surprised me and those women had spoken so harshly, he’d let me fall apart. He’d listened and he’d stayed by my side until I’d settled. He asked after me without judgment. Then he’d distracted me in exactly the way I needed. I’d never felt more myself, more understood and cared for, with anyone.
“Have we ever danced together?” he breathed.
I turned, suddenly shy to meet him again in the middle. “I cannot remember if we have. Though,” I turned again, my heart stuttering wildly, “this is hardly dancing together, Mr. Everett, as you did not ask me.” Formality, of course, in mixed company.
“Shall we remedy that with the next set?” Graham asked.
I bit my lip to keep from grinning. A strange sensation paired with my already breathless lungs and heated my neck and into my cheeks.
He came back round. “I hear the next is Wilson’s waltz.” He winked, and we laughed. The same dance I’d taught Tabs in the drawing room.
“A waltz, then,” I agreed before grabbing the hands of my next waiting partner.
I danced down the line, around Ginny and Mr. Anderson, with Mr. Ryan, and over again, until the music ended. The second song in the set went by in a blur and a hundred stammering heartbeats. I thanked Mr. Cross and curtseyed.
I did not have to look for Graham. He was already there, beside me, hand outstretched and waiting.