Chapter 16
“You look like a princess.” Emily stood in the doorway of Louise’s room, wearing her own party dress of pale blue silk.
The butterfly comb sparkled in her hair, and her eyes were wide with excitement.
She had insisted on dressing up even though she wasn’t attending the ball.
Cook had promised her a special supper in the kitchen with Buttercup, complete with iced biscuits and her very own pot of chocolate, and Emily had declared this far superior to any stuffy grown-up party.
“Do I?” Louise turned from the mirror, smoothing the cream silk gown for the tenth time. The fabric whispered against her skin, the silver embroidery catching the candlelight with every movement. “I feel rather silly, truth be told.”
“You’re not silly. You’re beautiful.” Emily crossed the room and tugged at Louise’s hand. “Can I touch the sparkly bits?”
Louise kneeled so her sister could examine the delicate beadwork along the neckline. “Careful, darling. They’re sewn on delicately.”
Emily traced one finger reverently over a cluster of seed pearls. “Will there be cake at the ball?”
“I imagine so.”
“And dancing?”
“Lots of dancing.”
“And will the duke dance with you?” Emily looked up, her expression hopeful.
Louise’s cheeks warmed. “I don’t know, darling. His Grace will have many important people to dance with.”
“But you’re important,” Emily said with the simple certainty of a child who saw no reason to doubt. “You’re the most important person I know.”
Louise’s throat tightened. She pulled Emily into a fierce hug, careful not to crush either of their gowns. “And you’re the best little sister anyone could ask for.”
“I know.” Emily wriggled free, already distracted by something new. “Louise, look! Buttercup is wearing a ribbon!”
From the doorway, Buttercup padded into view. Someone had tied an enormous silver bow around his neck. He looked simultaneously dignified and ridiculous.
“Lady Merrow’s doing, I suspect,” Louise said, laughing despite herself.
“He wants to go to the ball too.” Emily threw her arms around the dog’s neck. “Don’t you, Buttercup? You want to dance with all the ladies.”
Buttercup’s tail thumped against the floor in apparent agreement.
“Dogs aren’t allowed at balls, I’m afraid.” Louise rose and checked her reflection one last time.
The woman staring back at her looked like a stranger. Elegant. Polished. Nothing like the harried sister who spent her days balancing ledgers and worrying about creditors.
“That’s not fair,” Emily declared. “Buttercup dances better than anyone.”
“He does have natural rhythm,” Louise agreed, thinking of their lesson in the music room.
And so, she went downstairs along with Emily and Buttercup.
Aaron stood at the bottom of the stairs, adjusting his gloves with meticulous precision.
He looked up as she descended, and his hands stilled completely.
His evening clothes fit him perfectly, the dark gray coat emphasizing his broad shoulders, the white of his cravat turning his eyes into the deep blue ocean.
He looked what he was: powerful, controlled, devastatingly attractive.
Louise forced herself to breathe normally, to ignore the way her pulse quickened at the sight of him. Whatever she felt watching Aaron’s gaze travel slowly from her face to the hem of her gown meant nothing.
“You look …” He stopped, swallowed, started again. “The gown suits you.”
Four words that somehow felt more intimate than poetry. Louise managed with a steady voice. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
“Finally!” Lady Merrow swept into the hall, resplendent in midnight blue. “I thought we might miss the first waltz. Though given how stunning we all look, a fashionably late entrance might be perfect.”
A clatter of footsteps drew their attention to the stairs, where Emily appeared with Buttercup at her heels. The dog still wore his enormous silver bow.
“Cook says the biscuits are ready!” Emily bounced on the top step. “And Buttercup already tried to steal one, but Mrs. Hammond caught him.”
Buttercup’s tail wagged without a hint of remorse.
“And Miss Whitfield is setting up charades in the schoolroom for after!” Miss Whitfield appeared behind Emily, her usually serious face softened with a smile.
“Lady Emily and I have planned quite the evening, Lady Louise. Games, stories, and I believe Cook mentioned something about making snow candy if the weather cooperates.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Louise said, grateful for the governess’s steady presence. “Thank you, Miss Whitfield.”
“It’s my pleasure. Lady Emily has been practicing her French phrases for charades. Haven’t you, ma petite?”
Emily giggled. “Oui, Mademoiselle!”
“Excellent pronunciation. Now, shall we go and see about those biscuits? Cook mentioned something about letting you help with the decorating.”
“With real sugar roses?” Emily bounced on her toes, nearly losing her balance on the top step.
“Yes, but carefully,” the governess murmured, steadying her.
Emily turned back, her small hands clasped. “I wanted to say goodbye first. You look like a queen, Louise. Doesn’t she look like a queen, Buttercup?”
Buttercup barked once in apparent agreement.
“Have fun at your party, darling.” Louise blew her sister a kiss. “Don’t let Buttercup eat all the cake.”
“I won’t. Cook is guarding it.” Emily waved enthusiastically. “Dance lots! And tell me everything tomorrow!”
“I promise.”
“Come along, Buttercup.” Emily tugged at his ribbon. “We have icing to put on biscuits.”
With that, the governess guided her toward the back stairwell with the dog following her happily toward the kitchen, his massive tail sweeping against the banister as they went.
Lady Merrow watched them disappear with a fond smile. “That child has the entire household wrapped around her finger.”
“She does,” Louise agreed, her heart full. “I don’t know how to thank you for all of this.”
“Nonsense. Cook has been looking for an excuse to make iced biscuits for weeks.” Lady Merrow took her arm. “Now then. Our carriage awaits, and I intend to make an entrance.”
The Ashworth mansion blazed with light, every window glowing against the winter darkness. Footmen in silver livery helped them from the carriage, and Louise heard the whispers begin before they even reached the door.
“Is that the Sulton girl?”
“I heard her brother fled the country …”
“Gambling debts, they say …”
“No, no, he’s ill. Recovering in Bath …”
“She’s Lady Merrow’s companion now …”
“Living on charity …”
Louise kept her chin high, but her hands trembled slightly. Lady Merrow linked their arms firmly.
“Ignore them,” she murmured. “Gossips have the memory of a goldfish. By next week, they’ll have moved on to someone else’s misfortune.”
“She’s right.” Aaron’s voice came low near her ear. “And I won’t allow anyone to taint your name. You have my word.”
The protective fury in his tone made something warm bloom in Louise’s chest. She wanted to thank him, thank them both, but they were already being announced, and the entire ballroom turned to stare.
The theme had been executed magnificently. Crystal chandeliers had been adorned with glass icicles that caught and scattered light like frozen stars. White silk draped the walls, and silver trees created intimate alcoves for conversation. It was like stepping into a winter fairy tale.
“Calborough! Finally decided to grace us with your presence!”
A man approached them with the easy confidence of old friendship. Tall and fair, where Aaron was dark, with laughing blue eyes that took in their party with obvious appreciation.
“Wilstone.” Aaron’s greeting held genuine warmth. “I didn’t expect to see you at an end-of-season ball.”
“Couldn’t miss the event of the winter season” The Marquess of Wilstone bowed to Lady Merrow with theatrical flair. “Lady Merrow, you grow lovelier each time I see you. Have you discovered the secret to eternal youth?”
“Flattery and good wine,” she replied, clearly charmed. “Lord Wilstone, may I present Lady Louise Burrows, my companion.”
Ernest turned his attention to Louise, and his smile widened with masculine appreciation. “Lady Louise. Aaron, you didn’t mention you were harboring such beauty in your household.”
He took Louise’s hand, bowing over it with practiced grace. “I claim the first dance. Or the second. Or all of them, if you’ll permit.”
Louise felt heat rise in her cheeks at his obvious flirtation. “You’re very kind, Lord Wilstone.”
“Ernest, please, my lady. Any companion of Lady Merrow’s must be exceptional.” His thumb brushed her gloved knuckles before releasing her hand. “And beauty such as yours deserves to be properly appreciated.”
Aaron made a sound that might have been a cough or might have been something else entirely. When Louise glanced at him, his jaw was tight, his hands clenched at his sides.
“Cecilia!” A voice called across the ballroom. “There you are!”
Lady Harbury approached in silver tissue that made her look like moonlight personified, Lady Densham and the Dowager Duchess of Raynsford flanking her like an army.
“If you’ll excuse us, gentlemen,” Lady Merrow said, already moving toward her friends. “Lady Louise, come. Let me show you off properly.”
Louise found herself swept away before she could respond to Ernest’s flirtation or interpret Aaron’s reaction. The group of dowagers surrounded her with surprising warmth.
“Oh, my dear, that gown!” the Dowager Duchess of Raynsford clasped her hands together. “You look absolutely luminous!”
“Like a snow nymph,” Lady Harbury agreed. “Every man in the room is staring.”
“Let them stare,” Lady Densham said crisply. “Looking costs nothing.”
“Speaking of looking,” the Dowager Duchess of Raynsford turned and waved imperiously. “Duncan! Catherine! Come here immediately!”
A couple approached, and Louise recognized the Duke of Raynsford from the society pages. Tall and imposing, with golden brown eyes that missed nothing. His wife was lovely in emerald silk, with an open, friendly face that immediately put Louise at ease.
“Lady Louise, may I present my grandson, the Duke of Raynsford and his wife, the Duchess.” The Dowager Duchess of Raynsford performed the introductions with obvious pride. “Duncan, Catherine, this is Lady Louise Burrows, Cecilia’s companion.”
“A pleasure,” the younger Duchess said warmly, and Louise genuinely smiled for the first time since entering the ballroom. “Grandmama has told us about you. How are you finding life with Lady Merrow?”
“Never dull,” Louise answered honestly.
The young Duchess laughed. “I can imagine. These four together are a force of nature.”
They chatted easily about London, about the theater, about anything except Louise’s missing brother or precarious circumstances. Catherine had a gift for conversation that made Louise feel included rather than interrogated.
“Lady Louise?”
She turned to find a gentleman she vaguely recognized from various social events.
Mr. Sheridan, she thought.
Tall, reasonably handsome, with kind eyes and a gentle smile.
“Mr. Sheridan.” She curtsied slightly.
“I wondered if you might honor me with the next dance?” He seemed genuinely interested, not merely polite. “And perhaps you could tell me about your brother’s health? I heard he was recovering in the country.”
“Yes, the London air didn’t agree with him.” The lie came easily now.
“These things happen. My own brother required a year in Italy for his lungs.” Mr. Sheridan offered his arm. “Shall we?”
Louise accepted, allowing him to lead her onto the dance floor.
He was an accomplished dancer, guiding her through the steps with practiced ease.
He asked about her interests, her time with Lady Merrow, and her thoughts on the unusual winter weather.
He was everything a gentleman should be: attentive, appropriate, and complimentary without being forward.
Louise felt absolutely nothing.
No spark when their hands touched through their gloves. No flutter when he smiled at her. No warmth when he said she danced beautifully. He was perfectly nice, perfectly suitable, perfectly forgettable.
Her gaze found Aaron across the room. He stood with Ernest, but his attention was fixed on her, his expression unreadable but intense. Even from this distance, even surrounded by others, that single look made her pulse race in a way Mr. Sheridan’s proximity never could.
“You seem distracted,” Mr. Sheridan observed gently.
“I apologize. The grandeur of the decorations rather overwhelmed me.”
“Understandable. Lady Ashworth does nothing by halves.” He guided her through a turn. “Perhaps some refreshment after this dance?”
“You’re very kind.”
But Louise knew she would make excuses. Would return to Lady Merrow’s circle to chat with. Anything to avoid encouraging this perfectly nice man, who made her feel nothing, while the imperfectly difficult man across the room made her feel everything.
The dance ended, and Louise curtsied politely. “Thank you, Mr. Sheridan. That was lovely.”
“The pleasure was mine.” He seemed about to say more when Lady Merrow appeared at Louise’s elbow.
“My dear, you simply must come see what Lady Berrington is wearing. It defies description.”
Louise allowed herself to be rescued, but not before catching Aaron’s gaze one more time. Whatever had been building between them since that night at George’s apartment couldn’t be ignored much longer.
Tonight felt like a precipice, and she wasn’t sure whether she was about to fly or fall.