Chapter 6 #2
When the quadrille ended and the dancers below parted company to resume their posts, a sudden murmur rolled through the crowd.
Necks craned and heads swiveled to the entrance, where a dashing, achingly perfect Regency gentleman strode in, slapping his white gloves in his palm, dripping with self-importance, clearly above it all, and straight from central casting.
“Ah, the moment we’ve all been waiting for,” said Fanny, directing Annabel’s attention to the door. “Entering now, fashionably late, of course, is our very own Henry Leighton D’Evercy.”
Annabel’s breath caught at the sight of him.
He was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, anywhere, but this milieu suited him especially.
How well he wore the tight white breeches, fitted fine-wool coat in deep black, white silk neckerchief setting off his strong jaw, sun-kissed skin, just-right tousled hair. Out of her league, times infinity.
“On cue,” said Annabel.
“You know him?
“Only the type. Being a great reader of novels.”
“Novels, you say,” said Fanny with a curious twinkle in her eye. “Do go on.”
Annabel studied him, poised at the entrance with his dignified but aloof countenance, quite aware that every female watched him, while every male sagged a little in his own coat.
If Fanny was playing at boredom, this D’Evercy person was playing at dread—a begrudging nod to anyone who passed nearby hoping to tempt his attention.
Annabel tried to picture what sort of man he’d be if she met him at the butcher tomorrow, or Bunty’s Books & Bobs.
But hard as she tried, she couldn’t see him as anything other than this man here, now.
He probably got his first choice of everything—costumes, characters, women.
She was glad to be watching him from afar and fully planned to steer clear, but delighted in the spectacle of it all, now complete, as the entire ballroom seemed to agree: what a sublime specimen of a Regency man, who changed the weather just by walking in.
“Hm,” Annabel ventured. “Do you see how the corners of his mouth turn down just slightly, as if smiling would simply be too much effort?”
“Exactly,” said Fanny, entertained. “Are you sure you don’t know him?”
Being at a safe distance, Annabel’s confidence grew. “It’s clear he’d rather be anywhere else and might even think a country dance beneath him.”
“Indeed! For he’s just returned from his Grand Tour and has hardly deigned to speak a word to anyone since.” Fanny gazed at him tenderly. “Yet I adore him.”
Annabel’s shoulders dropped. It caught her off guard that Fanny, however briefly, lowered her defenses and dropped the act. Just because they were all pretending didn’t mean feelings weren’t real.
“Of course,” said Annabel. “What a stunning couple you make—”
“Oh, not in that way!” said Fanny, wincing at the thought.
“He’s my cousin, nearly a brother to me.
We were children together—dirty hems, muddied shoes, faces smeared with jam we stole from the larder.
” She sighed and looked back at him. “But when dear Henry grew to be so very handsome, as he was already so very rich, every woman in every nearby county wished to know him, and he retreated, as anyone would who is hunted like prey.”
Fanny was so convincing in her delivery, genuine in her reminiscence, that Annabel floundered for what to say. It being the oldest society in England, maybe they’d played these roles for years, inhabited them like second skins.
She followed Fanny’s gaze to D’Evercy, still hovering in the doorway as if deciding whether to stay or go. She was tickled when a nice-looking man joined him, of the same pedigree, it seemed. Auburn hair, not quite symmetrical features. Second best, and content to be.
“And that, if I am not mistaken,” said Annabel, “is his good-natured friend.”
“Yes. Mr. Warnaby. Elder brother to Althea and D’Evercy’s closest confidante. Who stands to inherit a significant fortune of his own, and a fine example of an English gentleman, Mother reminds me every morning as I butter my toast.”
They watched Warnaby lean toward D’Evercy, who remained stoic, while Warnaby seemed to enjoy poking fun.
“I’ve known them both all my life,” said Fanny. “I can hear Warnaby now.” She affected a lighthearted voice. “‘It’s been some time since I’ve had the pleasure of watching you squirm at one of these things, D’Evercy.’”
Annabel laughed. “And D’Evercy? What does he say back?”
Fanny found a deeper, more serious tone. “‘Well, the sooner we begin, I suppose, the sooner it will end.’”
Annabel loved the game. “How well you put words in their mouths. You ought to be a writer yourself!”
“A writer?” Fanny choked on a laugh. “Oh, I’m afraid for a young woman, or any woman of my status, being a writer is . . . forbidden. There are certain rules, you know. We all agree to abide by them. Marriage is the thing to want.”
Annabel admired Fanny’s quick rebound to the rules—further evidence that they were strict, as Bunty had warned. She watched Fanny eye the two men with a well-played look of resignation.
“Warnaby is the better tempered,” said Fanny. “I suppose I should learn to love him.”
“It’s all a bit prearranged, is it?” said Annabel, hoping for some clue without coming right out and asking.
“Practically from birth,” said Fanny.
“Well, Mr. Warnaby looks nice,” said Annabel. “And reliable.”
“This is England,” said Fanny. “The rain is reliable.”
Annabel admired Fanny’s cutting wit, perfect for the role she was playing. It egged her on.
“Then, being reliable, Warnaby will no doubt suggest his friend find a suitable dancing partner, knowing he will refuse.”
Fanny swallowed a laugh.
“Look.” Annabel raised a discreet finger toward the two men. “How Warnaby stealthily points out various prospects, while D’Evercy is careful not to make eye contact.”
“Indeed, the last girl Henry danced with was struck so dumb, he told me he would sooner have danced with a post!”
“Perfect!” said Annabel.
They shared a laugh until Fanny settled into a sigh that might as well have been real.
“Henry dances not at all anymore, for fear any partner will expect a proposal the next day.”
“A marriage proposal?”
“Indeed,” said Fanny, looking at D’Evercy with seeming sympathy for his plight.
“Wow,” said Annabel, unable to take her eyes off him.
Fanny looked at her. “‘Wow’?”
Annabel covered her slip. “A silly interjection from home. Never mind me.”
Fanny took her hand. “Never mind them! It’s time I introduce you to the one and only Lady Gidding-Wedmore. It won’t take long. She has the attention of a fly! Bzz-bzz-bzz!”
Annabel was grateful that Fanny led her downstairs and around the punch bowl table, thereby avoiding D’Evercy and Warnaby, to where Lady Gidding-Wedmore stood with her entourage.
“Mother, I should like to introduce my new friend, Miss Blake!”
Annabel curtsied with due respect. “What a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Oh, the pleasure is all ours! We’ve been awfully curious, you know, to meet whoever took Kidlington for the summer.”
“It was so kind, your invitation.”
“And how delighted we are that you’d accept!” She leaned in. “I do hope Kidlington’s treating you well and that you’ve everything you need. If not, just say the word—gardener, servants, the loan of a carriage, anything at all!”
“Thank you. But it’s just me, I’m afraid. So really, I have everything I could want.”
“Just you? Rambling around Kidlington? Why, that won’t do at all!
At least you’ve made a friend of dear Fanny .
. .” She put a hand on Fanny’s cheek and looked at her with a sheen of almost convincing tears.
“My first and only born. The very light of my life. And our lovely Wakefield. As anyone who has eyes can see!”
Fanny gave Annabel a quick glance: I told you so.
“I couldn’t agree more,” said Annabel, grinning.
“And look at you, Miss Blake. Aren’t you lovely? The two of you are clearly best in the room, in my humble opinion.” She turned to Fanny. “Why in heaven are you both not twirling dizzily about? Were I fifteen years younger, I should have filled two dance cards by now!”
“Fifteen years?” said Fanny with a wry smile.
“Oh, thereabouts,” said her mother, spotting a handsome old widower chatting up her competition. “Fanny, you must engineer an introduction to a worthy partner for our Miss Blake. Perhaps Mr. D’Evercy!” she said as she scurried away.
“Oh,” said Annabel. “Please, do not. I couldn’t bear the rejection.”
Fanny’s chin inclined in the other direction. “Prepare yourself, nonetheless.”
Annabel turned, alarmed to see D’Evercy, with Warnaby at his side, almost upon them.
Up close he was even better looking, with a noble Roman nose and eyes a gray-washed blue, like twilight on the edge of a storm.
But his mouth was taut, giving nothing away.
Even so, her heart galloped. She was determined to keep her cool.
“Not bidding us good night, Henry, I hope,” said Fanny, in her teasing way.
D’Evercy kissed Fanny’s gloved hand, saying not a word.
“One might suppose,” said Warnaby, “that all the fun has gone out of him.”
“Not even one dance, really?” said Fanny, smiling as if to torture him.
“And ruin an otherwise average evening?”
Annabel could see he and Fanny were completely at ease with each other, just as she’d said. She supposed they might even be cousins in real life.
“At least allow me to introduce Miss Blake, of America,” said Fanny, touching Annabel’s elbow. “Mr. Warnaby, Mr. D’Evercy.”
“Miss Blake! What a pleasure.” Warnaby bowed his head and smiled warmly.
Fanny and Warnaby looked at D’Evercy: your turn. He managed a restrained bow in Annabel’s direction. Nothing near a smile.
“How do you do, Miss Blake?” he said stiffly.