Chapter 4
Four
And so, all of Lucy’s predictions came to pass. Jack Orton did laugh at her, he hadn’t lost any of his looks, and he was pounced upon the moment they entered the enormous ballroom.
The two very grand ladies who swept up to claim him were—Lucy overheard Nell’s excited whisper to Nora—two of Almack’s patronesses, those leaders of fashionable London who held the fate of many a debutante in their soft, scented fingers.
Though she’d met one of their number before, during a morning call at Nell’s, now that she was here under the glittering chandeliers in the hallowed inner sanctum itself, Lucy found herself regarding them with new curiosity.
She herself was invisible once Jack’s arm was disengaged, and so she was at perfect liberty to study the women and find little of interest other than their clear sense of self-importance—but that was an attribute she was often awed by, having so little of it herself.
One or two swift, critical glances were all she received from the lofty hostesses.
Nora was hastily loaded with some fulsome compliments, and then the two ladies cleaved Jack from the pack and took him away to the other side of the room where he was introduced to the eagerly waiting mamas and their eligible, blushing daughters.
It was something to look at, she supposed, while she tried to calm the whirlwind in her mind.
So that was Lord Orton. Still exactly Jack. But taller and broader. Just more…more mass with which to tyrannise her.
“Come on, Min, say you’re glad to see me.”
“Well!” preened Nell, apparently entirely satisfied by their hostesses’ fleeting attention.
“To be so singled out the very moment we arrived! That is a feather for your cap, Nora. Let us capitalise on it. There is Mr Warde looking our way. I know him well—he is a friend of Jack’s—so I may introduce you. ”
It was the first of many such introductions, and soon “This is my darling sister, Eleanor! Doesn’t she look the very image of me at her age?
” and “Oh. This is Miss Fanshaw,” began to echo in Lucy’s ears.
Her jaw ached from smiling. Her fingers had stopped itching and started burning instead.
She was glad when Nell and Nora’s attention was engaged by the lively conversation of Mr Warde and one of his handsome, fashionable friends.
The four of them moved away, Mr Warde taking them to a larger party of chattering young things, and Lucy was left to stand beside Lord Ashburton, the two of them deposited out of the way at the side of the room like a forgotten shawl.
What Nell’s husband lacked in conversational brilliance, he at least made up for in reassuring solidity, and Lucy was grateful for the anchor of his stolid bulk.
It was better than being entirely alone with nothing between her and the frowning, dissecting stares of strangers.
And she was glad of his silence in the big, crowded room where the lights glittered so dazzlingly from the chandeliers and bounced from the mirrors along the walls.
It would’ve been easy to get lost in the colour and the noise, dissolved, a speck of paint washed away by the gushing water…
But no! She gave herself a mental shake.
She had chosen to come to London! This was an opportunity, this was inspiration.
So she tried to close her mind and ears and do nothing but look at the scene before her: the colours, the movement, the compositions that came and went as the crowd endlessly rearranged itself.
How the light shone on satin and diamonds!
How the faces blurred. A crowd from a distance became a mass, shifting colours in a packed, windswept flowerbed—
“Hello.”
The voice made her jump. She startled back from her wandering thoughts and found a short, slender man with a nervous, boyish face addressing himself to Lord Ashburton, though his timid gaze flickered to her.
“Ah, it’s George Simmons,” Lord Ashburton pronounced, smiling with the air of one pleased at his own deductive powers.
“Y-yes,” agreed Mr Simmons. “It is. How do you do, Ashburton?”
“Very well, very well, I thank you. I’m having an evening at Almack’s.”
“Y-yes…so I see! Um, and so am I.”
“Capital! I’m very glad to hear it.”
Mr Simmons nodded quickly, his glance going once more to Lucy, a pleading sort of apology in his eyes.
“Ah, the thing is, Ash, I was just with your brother-in-law, and he happened to mention that…that the young lady with you was a close friend of the family, so…” He trailed off in a confusion of blushes.
“I suppose you mean Orton?” Lord Ashburton pondered. “He’s the only brother-in-law I have. Don’t have sisters myself, you see. Stands to reason then that my brother-in-law must be my wife’s brother.”
“Quite right!” agreed Mr Simmons, politely encouraging. When nothing more was forthcoming, he ventured to add, “And so I thought perhaps it wouldn’t be too presumptuous of me to…ah…to wonder if you’d be so good as to make the introduction?”
Mr Simmons blushed furiously again, clearly well aware, as Lucy was, of the awkwardness of needing to prompt Lord Ashburton. But the gentleman took no offence, a light of comprehension dawning in his eyes.
“Well of course, dear Simmons! Quite the right thing to do, you know, to make introductions. And a ballroom is a very good place to do it because in a large one, there are so many people one doesn’t know.”
Mr Simmons nodded.
“And my brother-in-law is otherwise engaged,” continued Lord Ashburton.
The three of them glanced over to where Jack was laughing, deep in the midst of a circle of beauties, the satin trains of their skirts like petals around a flower.
“So it stands to reason I ought to do the job. Happy to! Very happy.”
He finally turned towards Lucy. “Miss Fanshaw,” he announced significantly, “may I introduce Mr George Simmons?” Before the other man could speak, he added, “He’s a great friend of Jack’s, you know.
They were at Oxford together. And I also know George myself because our fathers were friends.
Though mine is dead now, I’m sorry to say.
It is unfortunate, but not uncommon, fathers being, as you are likely aware, often so very much older than their sons. ”
Lucy absorbed all this in silent awe, waiting until Lord Ashburton had subsided once more into satisfied immobility before turning to Mr Simmons. The pause was necessary. She needed to take control of her features.
But Mr Simmons met her barely suppressed amusement with an answering smile. He gave a bow. “You’ll forgive me being so forward as to make myself known to you, Miss Fanshaw?” he asked, blushing again.
“Of course, sir.” In fact, she was quite touched. But equally confused. Why had he made the effort?
“It was only that…well…the dances are starting soon, and I saw you were alone, and I thought that, especially as this is your first time here, you might perhaps wish to dance. And so, well… I’m making a sad muff of it, Miss Fanshaw, but I wondered if you might do me the honour of dancing with me?”
Oh! It was Lucy’s turn to blush. “I…”
“As you are Lord Orton’s friend,” Mr Simmons continued quickly, “and I am his friend, and as he is likely to be engaged for some time…”
He trailed off, and they both glanced again to where Jack was surrounded by his admirers. His head was bent to one now, an elegant blonde with diamonds in her hair, a smile brimming on his lips, just the right side of mischievous.
“So I…I thought,” Mr Simmons continued, “that you might not take it remiss if I sought to do…do what I consider a brotherly sort of duty, Jack being almost that to me, and myself ever-ready to do him any favour I might—and serve his friends likewise also.”
He finished in an awkward rush. She’d assumed no one would ask her, she’d hoped no one would ask her…
Her chest gave a complicated squeeze, of which the largest twist was certainly gratitude.
It could be no pleasure for a young man to stand up with the ugliest girl in the room.
And there was embarrassment too, she had to admit, at being clearly so neglected as to invoke this young man’s pity.
But there was also regret and guilt, there being only one reply she could give the man, and it was poor repayment for his kindness.
“I thank you, but I’m afraid I cannot dance with you.”
The man flushed redder than ever, and Lucy hastened to reassure him.
“It is not that I do not want to, Mr Simmons. I am very grateful! Very grateful indeed. And…and conscious of the kind consideration you have shown me, but the truth is, I… I cannot dance with anyone. I cannot dance at all.”
“You are injured? Your health…?”
“No, no,” she said quickly but wishing she could have gone along with the excuse he’d offered. It would’ve been less embarrassing, but it wasn’t the truth. “It is because…because I do not know how. I never learnt to dance, Mr Simmons.”
His eyes widened, and the pity that flooded his face made her more embarrassed than ever.
“I had a very secluded upbringing, you see,” she added in her own hasty rush. “In a remote house without company nearby, and my guardian was my elderly aunt, who took no enjoyment from parties and balls…”
“I see. I am very sorry, and sorry to have put you in an awkward position—”
“Not at all! I am so grateful! Truly I am! And a thousand times sorry I cannot dance with you, but—”
“What’s this?”
Jack’s sudden voice startled them both. Still blushing heavily, she looked up and found his tall, dark figure looking between her and Mr Simmons with amusement.
“Can’t dance with George?” he continued. “Whyever not? Shame on you, Min, cutting poor old George’s hopes up like that.”
“No, Jack,” began his friend, “it is not—”
“And George is such a lovely dancer!” Jack said, irrepressible. He grinned. “And just the right height for you too, Min. You’d suit perfectly.”
“No, you don’t understand—I am not—”
“Card filled up already, is it?” Jack teased.
“I am not dancing with anyone!”
“Whyever not?” he demanded.
“Jack—” tried Mr Simmons, but Jack waved him to silence, his eyes fixed on her face. The brimming smile he’d worn earlier was back. But now it deepened far past amusement and all the way into devilish mischief.
It never boded well when Jack looked like that.
“I can’t,” she muttered.
He leant closer to hear her better. “You can’t?”
“No.”
“Fiddle! Why not?”
“I don’t know how!”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Min. Everyone knows how to dance. Listen to that!” The musicians were just starting up. “It’s a country dance, not the quadrille. Come here.”
To her horror, he took her hand and started to tow her towards the assembling lines of dancers.
“Jack!” she hissed, desperately trying not to draw anyone’s attention though everyone was already looking in their direction, Lord Orton’s choice of dance partner being a source of great interest. “What are you doing?”
“Proving you can dance.”
“But I can’t!”
“Of course you can. You used to caper around back home easily enough, Nell murdering the poor harpsichord, don’t you remember?”
“Only because you made me. And that was seven years ago.”
“So? You’ve danced since, haven’t you?”
“No!”
He flashed her a disbelieving look and shook his head. “Then it’s high time you did.”
They were nearly at the assembled lines of dance partners. She tried subtly to tug her hand free even as several heads turned in their direction.
“Please…” she whispered frantically. “What about your partner, surely they—”
“What partner?” He gave her a laughing look, then leant closer, his low voice a confiding brush of air against her ear.
“I’m not dancing with anyone tonight, Min.
I’m no fool. Breaking the hearts of sundry virgins isn’t at all to my taste.
” He leant back a little, leaving the touch of his voice lingering on her jaw as he glanced down the line with a dark grin.
“And neither is fending off their ambitious mothers. If I dance with anyone tonight, most of London will decide by breakfast that we’re to be married by summer.
” He grimaced, depositing her in her position at the end of the set, and taking his place opposite her.
“But we’re safe, Min. No one’s going to think that about us.
And besides…” He might as well have winked, the way his smile hooked up.
“I want to dance with you. It’ll be just like old times. ”
Yes, exactly like old times, Jack doing what he wanted.
But her furious whisper died unspoken behind her gritted teeth.
There were too many people listening. And now the music started in earnest, Min’s heart thudding in time with it.
Anxiously watching the line of women next to her for clues, she made the first step almost correctly and only a half second too late.
The one after that was a disaster, and people were already staring at her.
Jack eyed her, eyebrows lifting in concern.
Devil take him for forcing her into this!
A whole column of white and cream silk swayed away to the left of her, all the ladies stepping left—no, right!
She crashed into the girl next to her and ricocheted off, Jack taking a hasty step forward to stop her falling.
His foot caught the hem of her dress. The rip was loud enough to be heard over the music—and over the shocked gasps and giggles as the line of dancers came to a staring halt.
But she was still stumbling, Jack’s foot all caught up in her hem, tangling it around her ankles.
She lost her balance completely, the world tilted, and she cried out in alarm.
Jack’s hand shot out to grab hers—another rip!
Her glove this time, half the tattered remnant hanging from his outstretched fingers, horror on his face as she fell and hit the floor.