Chapter 8
Muriel was quite accustomed to standing along the walls of a ballroom like so many other ladies before her and being, well, a wallflower.
It was a time-honored tradition. She wasn’t alone. She was in the ranks of many an interesting lady who simply wasn’t interesting to society.
And like those many ladies before her, she was quite well-acquainted with every kind of wallpaper there was. Paper, silk, she had seen it all.
Well, perhaps not all.
They had not been invited to Devonshire House or some of the other truly great houses of the ton. But she had been to many good parties and was very acquainted with how those ballrooms looked. She could actually describe the many paintings and tapestries she’d studied to pass the time. In detail.
This house was beautiful, she had to admit, but it was also unique.
The house, if one could call it that, was a colossus. The ballroom itself could have housed her own country estate, she would dare say, three times over.
It was a place of infinite gold and brightly colored hues. Multiple chandeliers glittered, hanging from the ceiling, shimmering rainbows from the crystals dropping from the golden arms. Light danced everywhere, spattering against the cream-colored walls decked with gold filigree.
The ceiling was all but frosted with gold and painted in pink and robin’s egg blue. Painted flowers traced like vines along the panels.
The floor was polished so thoroughly, if she looked down, she could see her face.
The dancers’ feet skimmed lightly along it.
The towering windows, made of delicate glass framed with gold, looked out over an elaborate garden, or at least she assumed it was elaborate.
With the amount of rain still pouring down, and this had to be the rainiest season she could ever recall, the garden was elusive.
Still, the windows were immense and no doubt showed the most beautiful paradise on the other side when the weather was agreeable.
The sound of the rain was oddly magical as it mixed with the orchestra playing a heady waltz.
The couples danced with perfected skill, for ton members did pay a pretty penny to their dancing masters.
And rightly so!
Silk gowns of every color whisked by. Decked with lace and jewels and embroidery, they were a feast for the senses.
The gentlemen were only slightly less decked out.
Their cravats were made of the richest fabrics and jeweled stick pins in sizes varying from blueberries to birds’ eggs winked in the light.
Their waistcoats were embroidered and their dancing pumps gleamed.
Her own gown was quite simple in comparison to the clothes she was surrounded by, and suddenly she wondered if it had been a good idea for the dowager duchess to invite her family to this ball.
They were so far below some of these families. She could hardly make sense of it. Her family had servants, a coach, a good house. They were content.
But some of these people looked as if a single family had the economy to run a kingdom.
They probably did. Perhaps more than one small kingdom.
The emeralds, sapphires, rubies, and diamonds that dripped from elegant necks and pale ears, shimmering on white-gloved wrists, certainly spoke of unimaginable wealth.
Even so, she allowed herself to sway ever so slightly to the music. Usually, she would stand by herself as her sisters were taken out onto the floor. Time after time. Her mother would chatter with the other mamas, arranging more pairings for her daughters in the hopes of finding a decent marriage.
It was sometimes difficult, and mothers had to be very careful.
One could not always tell when a gentleman was on the make and would proclaim that he had a certain number of resources, but he did not.
Or that he actually had quite a bad temper or had a mistress he couldn’t afford or some very serious misdealing in his closet.
The dowager duchess, however, had made it clear that her mother need not worry about any of that anymore.
She would be thrilled to help find the best matches possible for Muriel’s sisters. She was delighted for her sisters. How could she not be?
But usually, when not studying the furnishings, she stood on the side of the room thinking about Christopher Marlowe and Shakespeare, their strange relationship, how one was influenced by the other, and how Marlowe had basically made it possible for Shakespeare to exist.
Those were usually the thoughts that fluttered through her head, but not tonight. Tonight, she could not stop thinking about him and how he had made her feel.
That kiss! Dear heavens, that kiss had transported her into celestial delight she could not forget. And the costume he’d slipped her into, which had made her feel as if she could conquer the whole world, that she could hold an entire room in the palm of her hand? She longed for it. Ached for it.
It appealed to her far more than the gowns about her now.
When Perseus had led her out onto that stage and she had spoken and heard her voice reverberating throughout the room before her like the deepest viola, she had been filled with joy.
And then! Then his grandaunt, Estella, and his grandmother had praised her. Could she be happier? Was there more bliss? That bliss was quickly seized away, quite honestly, when she looked out at the ballroom and knew that this was what waited for her instead.
Granted, it was like the theater in a way, with a different sort of costume and a different sort of gilding, and she should be grateful and glad to belong to it.
After all, this was where all the decisions were made for the whole world, but she didn’t really want to be a part of that.
She wanted to be a part of the imagination of the world.
“Will you dance with me?”
She jolted and spotted Perseus Briarwood.
How had he done that? He’d all but sneaked up on her.
“You were very lost in your thoughts,” he said. “But you looked…”
“What?” she asked, frowning.
“Beautiful,” he said.
“Don’t be silly,” she said.
He smiled. “You looked beautiful, Miss Mitchell,” he insisted, “and I refuse to recant.”
She felt like he refused to do a lot of things, but most of all, he seemed to refuse to stop building her up, and she couldn’t dislike him for it.
How could she? Even if he was potentially leading her down a path to absolute turmoil.
He held his hand out to her.
“I say,” another gentleman protested, “I was about to ask the lady to dance.”
“Too late,” Perseus said brightly.
She glanced to the young man, who was blond-haired with bright eyes. She had no idea what to say?
“Then the next, miss?” the blond fellow prompted, his ruby cravat pin winking.
And then another gentleman pushed his way forward. “After me,” he said, “I was on my way here and have permission from her mother.”
“I apologize, sirs.” She shook her head, utterly confused. Flummoxed, really. “I am not acquainted with…”
“Well, your mother is,” the last gentleman said with a snort. “I am Lord Tidby.”
“Pay no attention to Tidby. I am Lord Spiltfurrow,” the darker-haired one said with the sneer of his lips. “You shall give me attention first. He doesn’t even have a horse at New Market.”
Perseus’s lips twitched, clearly amused.
She was not amused. What the blazes was happening?
“I am overborne, my lords,” she confessed.
And she was. She was not accustomed to three gentlemen asking her to dance at once. “I have already promised myself to this gentleman,” she said, pointing to Perseus.
Perseus clapped Tidby on the back and gave a sympathetic nod to Spiltfurrow. “Forgive me, my lords, the lady has spoken. I’m sure she can fit you in on her dance card. Possibly. If she has room.”
Then Perseus took her hand and quickly led her onto the floor.
“Thank you,” she breathed. “That was a narrow escape.”
“Was it an escape?” he asked. “You just had two very eligible men ask you to dance.”
“Are they?” she asked, surprised.
“Oh, yes. One is an earl and the other is a viscount.”
“Me? They asked me,” she exclaimed. “I’m no one.”
He gave her a strong look. “That’s not true. You’re Miss Muriel Mitchell. Future star.”
“Stop it,” she said.
“I won’t,” he replied before he waggled his brows at her. Then, in all seriousness, he said, “I feel it in my bones. Whether it’s on the stage or in a ballroom, Muriel, you’re going to make everyone look at you one of these days.”
She narrowed her gaze at him. “I have no desire for that.”
“I don’t believe you,” he returned as he swept her up in his arms easily, as if he had done such a thing countless times.
He likely had.
It rather irked her, the idea that he so easily took countless ladies in his arms and whisked them about. Did he do this to everyone he knew? Did he make all the ladies feel like this? If so, it made her quite sad, if she was honest.
“What happened?” he asked, his brow furrowing. “Just a moment ago, you were beaming, and now you look as if you’re a wet cat thrown out into the storm.”
“Well, I was just wondering,” she began, fearing she’d sound jealous.
“Yes?” he prompted.
“Do you do this for everyone?” she blurted. “I mean I rather like the idea that you’re kind to everyone and you want everyone to be happy.”
His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, not with suspicion, but with desire, and that astonished her more than anything.
“No, Miss Mitchell,” he growled, “I do not do this sort of thing for everyone. Yes, I would like everyone to be happy because I think the world would be a far better place if people were less miserable. But I have devoted myself to your happiness these last two days as I have never done to anyone before.”
“Two days,” she mused, her heart dancing at his words. “Such little time, and yet I feel like you have awakened parts of me I did not know existed.”
“Is that bad or good?” he asked.
“I don’t know yet, if I’m honest. But why did they ask me to dance? Did your grandmama—?”
“My God, Muriel,” he said, “do you not understand how you looked just now?”
She frowned at him. “I looked as I always looked. Like a wallflower,” she said.
He snorted. “Well, you’re a wallflower that has suddenly become a rose, twining up with her thorns and glorious petals.”
“That is ridiculous,” she said, looking away, wondering if he was making fun of her. But he didn’t seem to be.
“Briarwoods often are ridiculous,” he sallied, “because it’s the only way to be. Sensible things lead to sensible ends, and that’s boring.”
She looked back to him, curious. “Don’t you think a little bit of a boring life is a good one?”
“No,” he said without hesitation. “We’re here to live, and I’m damn well going to, and I hope you do too. You have a chance to do something exciting, and you shouldn’t pass it up. My grandmother and my grandaunt were quite serious, Muriel. You have a gift.”
“You don’t have to use all your gifts,” she said tightly, “especially if they hurt other people.”
“All right,” he said, “but at least you can make yourself happy.”
He whisked her about the room then, her skirt swaying about her limbs quite easily. And she melted into his embrace. He was so good at this. Dancing with him was like dancing in heaven. He was like being in heaven, and she never wanted to leave that, but what did it mean?
He certainly wasn’t going to ask her to marry him. She was rather lowly in comparison to him, and he was a rogue and one of the brightest lights of the ton. Surely, once he had his fun with her, he’d be off.
“I think,” she ventured, “that a good life is enough. I will make my mother happy and my father happy and my sisters happy, and we shall be safe. And that is good, Perseus. I do not need more. I do not need excitement. I’m not like you.”
He scowled. “So you are choosing enough.” Something changed in his face. Something vulnerable. “Am I so very terrible?” he asked.
“No,” she protested, shocked by his question. “You’re a wonderful, exciting, beautiful gentleman of the ton who’s accustomed to getting his way in everything.”
He winced. “That makes me sound like a child.”
“You’re not a child,” she countered swiftly. “You’re not petulant, and I don’t think you’d throw a tantrum if I told you right now to leave me alone.”
He let out a sigh. “I wouldn’t, but I’d loathe it.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Because I see what’s inside you, Muriel. You are… Well, you’re full of promise.”
She shook her head. “Promise doesn’t mean there’s anything that will truly develop in me,” she said. “Don’t waste your life hoping that something will come from me that won’t.”
He scowled again, but then he blew out a breath. “Fine then. I’ll let it be. You don’t have to be an actress.”
She laughed. “Thank you, sir. So glad to know that I don’t need to tread the boards because you wish it to be so.”
“It’s not me,” he said. “It’s you, you know. It’s there in your heart.”
“The library is enough,” she insisted, even as the words felt like barbs in her mouth. “Studying about it is enough.”
He nodded. “But what if you could do more without anybody knowing? My grandmother said she’d work with you, and you can come to the theater during the day. I’ll give you another tour. You barely saw any of it. It’s the life you love, and it’ll help your research.”
“You are temptation incarnate,” she groaned. “It wasn’t an apple or a serpent in the garden. It was Perseus Briarwood.”
He laughed. “Well, then will you be my Eve and take a bite?”
Her cheeks flushed with heat at that. “I don’t know,” she said. “It ended rather badly for Eve.”
“I promise,” he said, “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“You cannot make such a promise, Perseus,” she said. “That is the most foolish thing you’ve said amongst all the foolish things you’ve said.”
“Be happy,” he said. “Take a chance.”
She swallowed. Could she? Would she? In his arms, perhaps she might.