Chapter Nineteen #2
“By scarcely sleeping or even sitting down for weeks on end before the fete,” he said. “And then by appearing relaxed and happy on the day as though all the perfection had just happened.”
“I am so glad she has Matthew now,” she said. “She deserves a happily ever after, does she not?”
It was as close as she had ever come to referring to the past. He wondered how badly she had been affected.
He could remember her crying inconsolably when Devlin and Ben left so abruptly, almost in the middle of the night, and then breaking down in tears again and clinging to him when he left less than two months later. Poor nine-year-old Steph.
She had adored their father. He had been her idol, and she had been his special pet.
“I am certainly happy that other people are doing all this,” he said, indicating the floral arrangements that had turned the ballroom into an indoor garden and the long tables lining the wall and covering one set of the French windows on the other side, with their crisp white cloths ready to be loaded with refreshments.
An inner room was bustling with activity and the sound of voices, most notably that of Jim Berry, landlord of the inn, who had been in charge of all the food today, a gigantic task he had undertaken for years past with great enthusiasm and delicious results.
Mrs. Berry did much of the cooking, with the help of volunteers, but he worked just as hard as she. They were a good team.
“And yes, I am happy for Mama,” he said, looking across at her. She was talking with Pippa and Lucas. She exuded happiness, and Matthew Taylor, watching her as she talked, her arm drawn through his, was beaming with pride.
“The ball is always both a happy and a sad occasion, is it not?” Devlin said, strolling up to them. “Happy because it is the culmination of the day’s festivities and sad because the fete is almost over for another year. Ah. I believe people are beginning to arrive.”
They were no longer the official hosts, but the ballroom was part of Ravenswood, and they would hover close to the doorway to shake hands with guests as they arrived and make them feel welcome.
Nicholas’s leg had been aching earlier from all the walking and standing he had done today.
But he had forgotten it now. He would dance all evening and suffer any consequences tomorrow.
The ball never continued late into the night anyway, as ton balls in London tended to do.
Many of the folk here had chores to get up for.
Cattle and other farm animals would not wait to be fed or milked or exercised just because the farmer had danced the night away.
And babies would show no mercy to their mothers when they were hungry in the early morning.
Nicholas shook a number of hands before he saw the person he most wanted to see.
She came with her parents and her siblings—except for the very young ones, who would have remained in the nursery, to be joined by other infants from the neighborhood.
They would enjoy a party of their own under the supervision of nurses and a few volunteers from the village and be put to bed when they were ready.
Winifred was not dressed formally, as indeed none of the family were, but she looked pretty in her light-colored floral muslin dress with her hair high on her head in a style that made her look youthful and flattered her neck.
She wore no jewelry—though even as he thought it, Nicholas noticed the daisy brooch pinned to the bodice of her dress.
Owen was the first to greet the Cunninghams and stand chatting with them for a few moments before turning his attention to other new arrivals.
Pippa came to greet them too and kissed Winifred and Sarah on the cheek.
Nicholas shook hands with a young couple, tenant farmers from a few miles away, before greeting the Cunninghams himself.
“Thank you for painting such a lovely portrait of my mother,” he said, shaking Joel Cunningham by the hand. “And thank you, ma’am, for taking on the gargantuan task of bringing all your family here. You have all been a delight.”
He thought anew, looking into her bright, happy face, that she could not be more than a year or two older than he. It was not a comfortable thought under the circumstances.
“I have never seen anything more breathtaking in my life,” Sarah said when Nicholas took her hand and patted the back of it. “All the flowers! And the candles all alight in the chandeliers! Is this what a ton ballroom during the Season in London looks like?”
He smiled in some amusement. “There is never such a warm, festive atmosphere there as we have here tonight,” he said.
He shook Robbie’s hand and commended him on his archery skills. And he shook Andrew’s hand and winked at him. The boy smiled back and indicated all the flowers, making circular motions from them to his nose as he did so, inhaling and half closing his eyes. What a wonderful scent.
Yes. Nicholas nodded.
Children over eight were allowed to attend the ball until just before the supper hour, when they would join the younger children in the nursery for a light banquet—if there was such a thing—of their own.
But the young Cunninghams had already dashed off to join Gareth and Joy and a host of other friends they had made during the day.
Nicholas turned to Winifred. “You are looking delightful,” he said, taking her hand and raising it to his lips.
“Would you be willing to postpone our dance to the second waltz of the evening? It is the supper dance, though I promise not to use the time interrogating you over your credentials or discussing with you the dubious merits of refusing to engage in warfare, no matter what the provocation. I hope if you are not ravenously hungry you will step outside with me instead. It is a warm evening and will be perfect for a walk in the moonlight.”
Had he gone too far, too fast? But dash it all, she was leaving with her family on Monday. He might never see her again.
She bit her lower lip.
“I do not believe I will be hungry,” she said.
He smiled and let go of her hand to help his family greet the remaining guests. There would be very few lingerers. Country folk were generally not given to being fashionably late to social events.
—
Winifred would indeed have thought this one of the happiest days of her life had she not been constantly aware that on Monday—the day after tomorrow—she would be going home to Bath with her family, and all this would become a distant, bittersweet memory.
She tried desperately not to dwell on the future, even when it was as close as Monday, but to live for the moment and enjoy every one as it came.
And there had been so much to enjoy, with the ball still to come.
And her waltz with Colonel Ware. She had dared not read too much into his reserving the dance with her.
They had become friends of a sort during the past couple of weeks.
That was all. Both of them had come here half hoping—more than half in his case—to be betrothed to other people by today.
But it had not happened for either of them, and it was perhaps understandable that they should turn to each other in a sort of friendship.
And thus she rationalized his interest in her today—and hers in him.
She had tried to convince herself all afternoon and again this evening that there was nothing more than friendship between them.
There were too many valid reasons why they should not mean more to each other, not least of which was the age difference.
Mama had had a birthday just before they came here, her thirty-fifth.
He was thirty-four. It was true that Mama was less than fourteen years older than she was.
She had not given birth to Winifred, after all.
But even so…Well, Winifred was in the habit of looking upon her parents as being one whole generation up from her own.
Any relationship with Colonel Ware was impossible anyway, for all sorts of other reasons.
Her realization of that fact had threatened to drag at her spirits all day.
She had fought back by remembering that day, the happiest of her life.
The day when Mama had asked her to go with her and Papa as their daughter when they married.
The trouble was, though, that she always heard those words in her head in his voice—remember that day.
She even tried to imagine what her life would be like now if there had not been that day.
But it was impossible to do, and pointless anyway.
For there had been that day and all the myriad blessings it had bestowed upon her.
It really was not a terrible fate to be going back home on Monday to the life and surroundings that had always brought her happiness and a sense of purpose.
But now…
Well, now he had shifted their waltz to coincide with the supper dance. But it was not so he would be able to sit and converse with her at supper. Instead, he had invited her to step outside with him to enjoy the cooler air of evening and a walk in the moonlight.
She felt sick with apprehension. And excitement. And forgot all the reasons why she ought to have said no. She very much feared she was in love with Colonel Nicholas Ware.
In the meantime, she chatted with villagers she had met today and with the family and guests from Ravenswood, including Mrs. and Miss Haviland, both of whom had looked more relaxed in the past couple of days, especially today, when Winifred would swear they had both been enjoying themselves.
Miss Haviland had picked up an impressive court of followers.
They would surely be clamoring and vying with one another for her hand when the dancing began.
All would be well, Winifred decided.