Chapter 10 #2
“Married? Not if I can help it,” he said, provoking more laughter from Lady Gidding-Wedmore and more side-eye from the Lackington woman.
Lady Gidding-Wedmore turned her gaze on Cassie. “And how lovely to meet another Miss Blake.”
“I have to admit,” said Cassie, “this is way cooler than I thought it would be.”
“Much cooler,” Annabel interrupted helpfully, “than at home, I daresay. Right, dear sister?”
“I do daresay,” said Cassie, taking the hint.
“And where might home be for the Misses Blake?” Mrs. Lackington was eager to know.
When Annabel hesitated, Cassie charged in with what she clearly considered a brilliant idea, slipping into her southern drawl.
“Our home sweet home is in Virginia!”
Annabel winced on the inside, wishing Cassie were a little less brazen.
“Ah, Virginia!” said Lady Gidding-Wedmore with a titillated twinkle. “Then surely you know Sir Roger de Coverley?”
“Is he a ‘young man of large fortune’?” Cassie said with a wink to really sell it.
Lady Gidding-Wedmore laughed. “How witty and clever your family is, Miss Blake.”
“Indeed,” said Annabel, giving Cassie a pointed look. “For my dear sister knows the Roger de Coverley is a dance. Our very own Virginia reel!”
“I knew that. Dear sister.”
“Everybody at Oxford knows that,” said Billy.
Annabel took a slug of her champagne, now wondering how she’d get through the night.
“Of course, we save the Roger de Coverley for last,” said Lady Gidding-Wedmore, “as it sends the guests home in the best possible humor!”
“Why, at all properly regulated balls, it is the finishing dance!” added Mrs. Lackington unnecessarily.
“Regulated balls are the best,” said Cassie, looking out over the ocean of young Englishmen in their white ruffled shirts, red coats, epaulets, and tight breeches. She looked like a kid in a candy shop.
“Nice outfits.”
“Uniforms,” said Annabel under her breath.
“Whatever.”
“Indeed,” said Lady Gidding-Wedmore, “what pleasure there is in seeing a man’s regimentals!”
Cassie laughed. “I daresay, you and I are going to get along great.”
“Indeed!” Lady Gidding-Wedmore threaded her arm through Cassie’s. “Now, as you are the elder sister, it seems only proper we should find you a suitable partner first.”
Annabel shot Cassie a warning look but got a gloating wink back.
“Oh, I am elder. And used to going first, in all things. Indeed.”
Helpless to intervene, Annabel watched Lady Gidding-Wedmore lead Cassie away, with Mrs. Lackington devoutly chasing after them.
Things were not going to plan at all. When she turned to Billy to suggest he hurry to the card-playing room, she found him making eyes across the room at Althea Warnaby, who was making eyes back.
He ran a hand through his mop of hair. “That one’s into me, big-time. I’m going in.”
***
Annabel soon found refuge between two bronze figures where she could blend in nicely with the walls.
It seemed a safe place to sip her champagne and watch the coming disaster unfold, whatever it was going to be.
Now she was glad there was no sign of D’Evercy or Fanny.
Her mortification was at least contained, though she was sure word would get out about the hopeless newcomers at the Norwood ball, which would no doubt be their last.
Cassie, being taller and blonder than most, was easy to spot.
To her right, Lady Gidding-Wedmore’s spouting ostrich plume quaked whenever she laughed; on her left, Mrs. Lackington’s feather seemed trained not to move at all.
Cassie’s head turned from one to the other, lips moving, an occasional sip of champagne.
Annabel dreaded to think what she was saying, but at least their hostess seemed delighted.
Billy looked to be holding his own with Althea and her friends, who giggled behind gloved hands at every word he said.
As the crowd grew, Annabel lost track of them both, which sent her into a momentary panic until they reappeared on the dance floor.
Cassie was partnered with a good-looking officer, dark eyes, black-oiled hair, a shadowy scruff on his face; Billy was paired with Althea.
Annabel watched nervously, relieved when the musicians struck up a simple quadrille.
It was at least possible they could manage the easy steps.
Cassie was alluring in her red gown and sure-footed enough.
What she lacked in grace, she made up for with confidence.
Billy had timing and athleticism—but mostly he could mirror any step.
Annabel quickly realized that they were having fun, the two of them, and she wasn’t.
It crossed her mind that she cared too much what people thought of her, in this world, anyway, and now cared what people thought of them, too, as if their presence might spoil her evening.
The uncomfortable truth was that she liked “fitting in” to Wakefield’s Regency Society, but tonight, Cassie and Billy were the ones “having a life,” while she was hanging back watching.
You need to relax, Annabel reminded herself as she finished off her flute of champagne.
It was then that she caught sight of Fanny, looking dutifully bored dancing with Warnaby.
She hadn’t seen them come in but was glad when Fanny mouthed a stealthy hello.
At least she’d have an ally for the evening who’d no doubt find a way to make Cassie and Billy make sense in this pretend Regency world, and without breaking character.
Maybe the night could be saved, after all.
But then she heard, on the other side of one of the bronze figures, the nails-on-chalkboard voice of Mrs. Lackington. Annabel stepped back to listen.
“On the catch for a husband, no doubt. Along with that coquette of an elder sister! Did you see the way she nearly threw herself at Lieutenant Revell?”
“But such a grand house!” said Lady Gidding-Wedmore. “Why, they must have a very large income, indeed!”
“Why else would Mr. D’Evercy have deigned to dance with the younger sister last night, unless he took pity on the poor girl, so plain compared to my Harriet. And with such vulgar relations!”
Grand house? Large income? Vulgar relations? What had Cassie told them? And who was Harriet?
Annabel exchanged her empty flute for a full one from a passing tray and downed it.
She wiped her glove across her mouth, embarrassed and offended all at once, and now tipsy too.
When she looked back at the dancing couples, there was Cassie, stiff curls and bosom bouncing.
Annabel turned away from the gossiping ladies, plotting her escape, when she ran right into the arms of . . .
“Mr. D’Evercy!”
“I’m sorry, Miss Blake. Did I startle you?”
She glanced quickly behind to see that the two women had moved away. She turned back, steadying herself on a pedestal, unaware she was holding the bronze figure’s foot.
“No, no. I suppose the champagne’s gone to my head. I’m just . . . a tad wobbly.”
D’Evercy tried not to smile. He took her empty glass, set it on a tray, and held out his arm. “I believe I may know just the remedy.”
Something happened to Annabel when she was in his presence; it called up a deep well in her—a feeling that she’d waited for this, for him, all her life; read about it, written about it, practiced it in her head, and now here he was again, a real man (even if it was make-believe) in the flesh.
His performance was flawless and precisely what she needed, or wanted. The two things seemed the same.
She placed her hand atop his and let him lead her to the center of the room.
They took their place in the longways formation with the other couples—Billy and Cassie were nowhere in sight—and danced with the same ease they had the night before.
D’Evercy was a fine dancer but not at all flashy.
His cues were subtle and assured, his attention tuned only to her.
Playing a man practiced in self-possession, he didn’t seem to notice, or care, that people were watching them.
Annabel found it contagious and held her head high.
When the dance ended, he bowed his head, she curtsied. He offered his arm again and suggested they quench their thirst.
When he procured two cups of iced punch, he raised his to hers in a sort of toast. “You see, Miss Blake? You did not wobble in the least.”
Annabel looked into his eyes, so believably kind and sincere, when past his shoulder some distance, Mrs. Lackington came into view again.
My god, the woman was everywhere, and hard to ignore—looking straight at them while whispering in Lady Gidding-Wedmore’s ear.
Annabel had no idea what she was up to, even if she admired her commitment to the role-play.
But, flush with the pleasure of her dance with D’Evercy, and a certain champagne resolve, she decided not to let “Mrs. Lackington” of all people spin some tale about her and her sister and spoil the night.
If this ball was to be their last, she’d spin a tale of her own, however short-lived.
She turned her attention squarely back to the gorgeous man in front of her to clear the air of any misunderstanding and preempt whatever Mrs. Lackington was plotting.
“Mr. D’Evercy, I want you to know that I am not pretending to be the sort of girl who expects a proposal after a few dances.”
He looked at her, surprised by her forthrightness. “I am relieved to hear it.”
“And am decidedly not on the catch for a husband.”
“Noted.”
“Nor would, under any circumstances want . . . a pity dance.”
“A pity dance?” Lines grooved across his forehead. “Miss Blake. The only pity is that no other possible partner here dances half as well as you.”
The compliment stopped her. How arresting he was, direct and sure of himself. She wanted to be the same, but when she stole another look at Mrs. Lackington, there she was with her laser gaze.
“I just don’t want to step on any toes, if you know what I mean.”
D’Evercy raised a teasing eyebrow. “Yet you were content to step on mine last night.”
“Oh.” Annabel forgot Mrs. Lackington. “I’m so sorry you thought so.”
“Why, I could hardly banish from my mind your rather expert summary of my deficiencies.”
“And your merits.”
D’Evercy smiled unaffectedly, doubling his good looks.
She took it as his real-life smile, since he seemed genuinely charmed.
But it didn’t matter. Real or not, Annabel felt the thrill again—the music, dancing, candlelight, champagne—thrumming through her body.
This was the magic she’d tried to tell Cassie about. This was the magic she meant.
She had a sudden sense that this must be what it felt like, having a life. Because here she was, doing just that. Mrs. Lackington, whoever she was, couldn’t take that away from her. At least for one more night, she could be the Annabel she’d always wished to be, in a world she’d always wanted.
It was then that a butler appeared in the entrance to the ballroom.
“Supper,” he announced, “is served.”