Chapter Five #3
She had agreed and nodded approvingly, hoping he was not assuming she would accept him on so little acquaintance.
He was nice enough, and very sincere. But when she talked to him, she felt nothing stronger than nebulous admiration.
She was most relieved when he suggested a visit to the Royal Menagerie in the coming week.
It would give them a chance to speak of something other than his aspirations to give her more of the life she’d already had.
Tonight, she would associate with the polar opposite of the young clergyman. The men who danced with her would be offering her a life of idleness and privilege. They would have one house in the country and another in town, tenants, servants and all the other trappings of wealth.
Such things would be nice. But she’d much rather be excited by the spirit of the man who held them than the material goods themselves.
The men she’d spoken to thus far had acted as if she was not so much a person as another item that could be added to the inventory of their successes.
Was it too much to wish for a man who wished to hear of her hopes and dreams, so they might choose a future that pleased them both?
Perhaps tonight she would meet such a person. After a final glance in the mirror, she went down the stairs to where Julian and Portia waited for her in the foyer. Her brother offered an arm to each of them and they went out to the carriage for the ride to King Street.
When they arrived at the assembly hall, he helped them down from the carriage and escorted them again into the ballroom, looking more stiff and formal than she had ever seen him.
He was arrayed in knee breeches and a black evening coat, as were all the other men there, a stark contrast to the many white muslin dresses, the sparkle of jewels and the few splashes of colour from the gowns of the bravest ladies.
‘It is splendid, is it not?’ Portia said leaning close to whisper to her. ‘I was not here often. My mother and I lost the vouchers before I could finish my Season. But I enjoyed the few visits I had.’
Cassie nodded back at her, too awed to speak.
‘Now that we are here, you are free to do as you like.’
‘Really?’ she said, giving her sister-in-law a doubtful smile.
‘Within reason of course,’ Portia said stifling a laugh. ‘Tonight, Julian and I will not be watching over you like hawks over a chick. We will not have to. The patronesses will do so for us.’
‘Are they really so strict?’
‘Very,’ Portia assured her. ‘You will not be allowed to waltz until they give you permission. They will choose your partners as well and see to all the introductions.’
‘How comforting,’ Cassie said, bidding farewell to her plans to exercise some control over her future.
‘Beyond that? You have nothing to worry about. You have but to be as lovely as you are.’ Portia patted her hand.
‘It will be fine,’ Cassie said, to steady a sudden rush of nerves.
‘Better than fine,’ Portia assured her. ‘It is only a dance, and you are more than skilled in the popular steps. If at any time it becomes too much? Fan yourself and ask the nearest gentleman to fetch you a lemonade. It will pass the time and spare your toes from being trod upon.’ Her advice finished; she led Cassie to stand by the velvet rope that separated the dance floor from the rest of the room.
It was only a few moments before Lady Jersey arrived at her side to introduce her to her first partner, Mr Gerald Balard.
Mr Balard was pleasant enough, though he laughed too loudly and talked too quickly.
But he was a fair dancer and led her through the Scottish reel with no trouble.
As they stood out at the bottom of the set, she pretended to listen as he chattered about a carriage horse he’d purchased, a little relieved that he showed no signs of caring to know more of her.
Perhaps Portia had been right. Her job this evening was to look pretty and dance. If all the gentlemen were like Mr Balard, her intellect would not be required. So she kept smiling, scanning the crowd for familiar faces.
It was then that she noticed the Duke of Westbridge, watching her intently from the side of the room.
She looked away quickly, for she did not want to seem too interested in someone with whom she should be barely acquainted.
Especially not the most notorious man in the room.
Beside her, Gerald had gone on to describe the phaeton that the new horse would pull.
She had no idea when the topic had changed, so she redoubled her smile and increased her nodding until the next part of the dance began and they had no time to talk.
When the song ended, her partner led her back to the side of the room where another man waited for his dance, and the game began again.
The gentlemen chosen for her were all equally pleasant and ranked no higher than baron.
She wondered if this indicated the maximum height she was to aspire to, given her deficiency of birth.
Or perhaps, because it was the first ball of the Season, she was expected to prove herself worthy of more noble partners.
It did not really matter. A title was not an indicator of character. Westbridge was proof of that.
She stole another glance in his direction. He did look fine in knee breeches, his cravat snowy white and his chapeau-bras tucked under his arm.
Appearances could be deceiving.
She turned away, concentrating on her latest partner, equally well dressed but devoid of charm.
As she was led to the side of the room for the fourth time, the man she’d been spying on appeared at her side, smiling expectantly at her last partner until he blanched under the scrutiny and walked away. Then, he looked down at her and smiled. ‘Alone, at last.’
‘We are not alone,’ she said glancing at the crowded room around them, hoping to see the next man who would partner her. But the orchestra was tuning up for a waltz and no one was coming to save her.
The Duke seemed to sense her dismay and ignored it, smiling. ‘When I am with you, no one else matters.’
She snapped her fan open and waved it vigorously in front of her, trying to cool the blush that must be rising in her cheeks. Perhaps now was the time to ask for lemonade. If she did so, he might go away.
Or perhaps she could allow herself some small interaction. He would likely disappoint her, as all the other men here had, and it would be that much easier to forget him. ‘That is very flattering, Your Grace. Do you use it often, when trying to turn heads?’
He laughed. ‘Actually, yes. But there are rare times when I mean it.’
She nodded. ‘So, you are telling me that I am one of a small group. I suppose I should be honoured.’ She stared out at the dancers, pretending that his presence did not matter to her. ‘Assuming your last comment referred to me and not another.’
‘Touché.’ He stared out into the room as well, then said, ‘I was indeed, referring to you. I can honestly say you are the only person that has mattered to me in a very long time.’
Her fan froze in mid flutter as she tried to think of an answer to this florid compliment.
Then, she remembered that she did not mean to complicate her life by admitting to visiting his bedroom.
She snapped the fan shut and let it dangle from her wrist. ‘Three days, at least, Your Grace. That was when you met me, wasn’t it? At my ball in the Argyle Rooms?’
Now he stared at her for a moment, then said, ‘So you say.’ He glanced towards the orchestra. ‘They are tuning up for the waltz.’
‘I suspect so,’ she replied. Would she have to contend with his attentions for the whole of the dance? She wondered how long she would be able to stay ahead of him, for he was far more experienced with this verbal fencing than she was.
‘You must dance it with me,’ he said in a voice as smooth and sweet as honey.
‘Must?’ She gave him another sidelong look. ‘That is quite impossible. I am not permitted to waltz.’
‘Rules are made to be broken,’ he said and took her hand, pulling her gently towards the opening in the velvet barrier.
She looked around her, trying to contain her panic. She could not waltz or she would offend the patronesses. By tomorrow, all of London would know of her lapse in propriety.
But neither could she fight against his lead without creating an embarrassing scene. Where were Portia and Julian? She needed a rescue.
‘They are out on the dance floor already and have eyes only for each other,’ he said, as if reading her thoughts.
‘I will lose my vouchers,’ she said in an urgent whisper.
‘Not over something as small as this,’ he said, swinging her easily into his arms.
‘They will evict you as well,’ she added.
‘Nonsense.’
‘They would not admit Wellington himself, and he was just a few minutes late and wearing trousers instead of breeches.’
‘That was Wellington. I am me.’
‘He conquered Napoleon.’
‘And I shall conquer Lady Jersey,’ he replied, spinning her around until she was quite dizzy.
She wanted to laugh, but the situation was far too serious.
As she turned, she cast a frantic look in the direction of the lady he’d mentioned, trying to relay the wordless message that she’d had no real say in the predicament she’d landed in.
But judging by the frown she received in response her side of the story might not matter.
‘You are an excellent dancer, despite your lack of attention to your partner,’ Westbridge said, smiling as his hand tightened on her waist.
The sudden stop forced her to look up, into his eyes.
‘Better,’ he said, beaming at her. ‘It crushes my fragile spirit to think you would rather look at others than at me, now that I finally have you in my arms.’
‘You are the most conceited creature alive,’ she said, unable to contain herself.
He laughed again. ‘Yes, I am. But you knew that already, didn’t you?’
‘I beg your pardon?’ she said, giving him what she hoped was a confused smile.