Chapter Thirteen #5
"That's probably wise." Edward offered his arm to Vanessa. "Come on. We'll go through the servants' corridor. With any luck, we can get you to the retiring room without anyone seeing."
Vanessa hesitated, looking at Martin. There was so much still unsaid between them. So much that needed to be discussed, decided and resolved.
But Edward was right. This wasn't the time or place.
"Tomorrow," Martin said, as though reading her thoughts. "We'll talk tomorrow. Properly. There are things I need to tell you, things you should know before we go any further."
A flicker of unease passed through her. "What things?"
"Nothing bad. I promise." He reached out, brushing his fingers against hers, a brief, secret touch. "Just... things. We'll talk tomorrow. Two on the hour, at the bookshop on Piccadilly."
"I'll be there."
Edward was already steering her toward the doors. But just before she stepped inside, she looked back.
Martin was standing where she had left him, half in shadow, his ruined cravat fluttering in the nonexistent wind. He looked disheveled and disreputable and utterly, devastatingly handsome.
He also looked happy. Genuinely, incandescently happy with an expression she had never seen on his face before.
It made her heart ache with joy.
"Tomorrow," she called softly. "Two on the hour."
"I'll be there."
She turned and followed Edward into the bright chaos of the ball, her lips still tingling from Martin's kiss and her heart lighter than it had been in years.
***
The retiring room was mercifully empty when Vanessa arrived.
A maid in the Castleton livery helped her repair the damage to her hair, pinning up the loose strands and rearranging the curls to hide the worst of it.
It was not a perfect restoration as it was highly impossible to recreate the elaborate arrangement that had taken her own maid an hour to construct, but it was passable… It would have to be.
There was nothing to be done about her swollen lips or flushed cheeks, but a splash of cold water helped somewhat. She pressed the cool cloth to her face, willing her racing heart to slow, willing the heat in her cheeks to fade.
It didn't work. Every time she closed her eyes, she was back on that terrace, Martin's mouth on hers, his hands in her hair, his voice rough with years of suppressed longing.
His heart belongs to me…He is utterly devoted to me…
I have wanted nothing but you.
She opened her eyes and stared at her reflection in the mirror. She looked different, somehow. Transformed. As though the kiss had changed her at some fundamental level, rewritten something essential in her being.
Perhaps it had.
"You look as though you've been thoroughly kissed," Helena observed from the doorway.
Vanessa met her friend's eyes in the mirror. There was no point in denying it. "I have been."
"Montehood?"
"Yes."
Helena's face broke into a wide, delighted smile.
"Finally." She crossed the room and embraced Vanessa from behind, careful not to disturb her newly repaired hair.
"I was beginning to think the two of you would dance around each other forever. Six years is quite long enough for a courtship, do you not agree?”
"It wasn't a courtship. We weren't…he never said anything before tonight."
"He didn't need to say anything. The way he looked at you said everything." Helena released her and perched on the edge of the vanity table, her expression softening. "So. Tell me everything. What happened? What did he say? Are you betrothed?"
"Not yet. I don't…we haven't discussed…" Vanessa pressed her hands to her cheeks, which were heating again. "Helena, he cherishes me. He said he's cherished me since are first encounter. All this time, and I never knew."
"Of course he has. Anyone with eyes could see it."
"I couldn't. I thought…I was so certain he didn't feel the same way…"
"Because you're both foolish." Helena said it fondly, without malice. "Brilliant, beautiful fools who couldn't see what was right in front of you." She squeezed Vanessa's hands. "What happens now?"
"I don't know. We're meeting tomorrow. To talk. He said there are things he needs to tell me…things I should know before we go any further."
Helena's brow furrowed. "What kind of things?"
"I don't know. He didn't say." A flicker of unease passed through her. "It's probably nothing. His past, perhaps. His reputation. Things he thinks might change my mind."
"And would they? Change your mind?"
Vanessa considered the question carefully. She knew Martin's reputation, the gambling, the women, the reckless behaviour of his youth. She knew the whispers that followed him, the speculation about his affairs, the raised eyebrows when his name was mentioned in certain circles.
None of it mattered to her. None of it had ever mattered.
"No," she said firmly. "Whatever he has to tell me, it won't change how I feel."
"Then you have nothing to worry about." Helena smiled and rose from the vanity. "Now come. We should return to the ball before people start to talk. Well, talk more than they already are. Your extended absence has probably been noted by half the matrons in attendance."
"What will I say if someone asks where I've been?"
"You felt faint. The heat of the ballroom. Perfectly understandable after your recent injury." Helena linked her arm through Vanessa's. "Leave the lying to me. I'm much better at it than you are."
They made their way back to the ballroom together, Helena keeping up a stream of bright chatter designed to deflect any curious looks. The supper was in full swing; most guests were occupied with food and conversation, paying little attention to their return.
Vanessa found a seat at a table with her mother and several of her mother's friends, who were too engrossed in gossip to pay her much attention. She ate without tasting the food. She smiled and nodded at appropriate moments. She pretended to be present, engaged and normal.
But her mind was elsewhere. Her mind was on a dark terrace, in a pair of strong arms, pressed against a pair of warm lips.
He is devoted to me
He has always held me in high regard.
And I cherish him with all my heart.
She had said that. She had meant it. And tomorrow…tomorrow she would discover what came next.
The thought was terrifying. It was exhilarating.
It was everything.
***
The ball wound to its inevitable conclusion.
Vanessa danced two more sets, obligation dances, with gentlemen her mother had arranged. She smiled and made small talk and counted the minutes until she could escape.
Lord Deane did not approach her again. She saw him once, across the room, watching her with an expression of quiet resignation. Their eyes met briefly; he inclined his head in acknowledgment, then looked away.
He knew. Somehow, he knew.
She would speak to him tomorrow. After she spoke to Martin. After she understood what her future held.
She owed him that much, at least.
The carriages were called at midnight. The Wayworths made their farewells to Lord and Lady Castleton, to various acquaintances and the endless parade of people who seemed to require acknowledgment.
Edward was conspicuously silent beside her, his expression thoughtful as he processed the events of the evening.
In the carriage, Lady Wayworth chattered about the evening's successes, who had worn what, who had danced with whom, which matches seemed imminent, which scandals were brewing beneath the surface of polite society.
"Lady Haberton's daughter was seen in the garden with Lord Hartley's younger son, can you imagine? After everything that family has been through this season. And did you notice Miss Crawford's gown? Entirely inappropriate for an unmarried lady. I don't know what her mother was thinking..."
Vanessa listened with half an ear, contributing nothing. Her thoughts were elsewhere…on a dark terrace, in a pair of strong arms, pressed against a pair of warm lips. Her skin still tingled where Martin had touched her. Her heart still raced when she thought of the things he had said.
He cherishes me.
He has wanted nothing but me.
I am the only one who could make him happy.
"You're very quiet," her mother observed eventually. "Are you feeling unwell?"
"Just tired."
"It was a long evening. But a successful one, I believe." Lady Wayworth smiled with satisfaction. "Lord Deane was very attentive. I noticed him watching you all night. I believe we can expect a formal offer within the week."
Vanessa's stomach lurched. "Mama…"
"Don't worry, dear. Your father and I will take care of everything. You need only say yes when the time comes." Lady Wayworth patted her hand. "It's all going to be wonderful. You'll see. Lord Deane is such a respectable man. Such a steady character. You'll be very comfortable with him."
Comfortable. The word landed like a stone in Vanessa's chest. She didn't want comfortable. She didn't want respectable or steady or any of the other lukewarm adjectives her mother used to describe Lord Deane.
She wanted fire. She wanted passion. She wanted a man who looked at her the way Martin had looked at her tonight, as though she were the most important thing in the world, as though nothing else mattered, as though he would burn down everything he had built just to have her.
Edward caught her eye across the carriage. His expression was unreadable in the dim light, but there was something in it, understanding, perhaps. Support. A silent acknowledgment that he knew what she was feeling, and that he would stand by her no matter what she decided.
"I'm not certain…" Vanessa started.
"Nonsense. Lord Deane is an excellent match. Respectable family, good fortune, pleasant temperament. What more could you want?"
Martin, Vanessa thought. I want Martin.
But she could not say that. Not yet. Not here, in a carriage with her mother, without having spoken to Martin properly, without knowing what their future would look like.
"We can discuss it tomorrow," she said instead.