Chapter 3
“I am entirely convinced that Lady Whitmore paved her driveway with loose boulders specifically to ruin my nerves,” Eleanor announced, gripping the velvet hanging strap of the carriage and closing her eyes in fervent prayer.
Vivienne patted her mother’s gloved hand with a soothing, if slightly distracted, smile. “The sweep is perfectly flat, Mother. You are simply letting your anxiety get the better of you. Do try to sit back, or the damp air will ruin your beautiful curls before we even step inside.”
Corinna watched from the opposite bench as her sister expertly smoothed a hand over her own pale golden skirts.
Vivienne looked positively radiant. Her blonde hair was swept up into an intricate knot, threaded with tiny pearl pins that caught the dim carriage light, giving her the appearance of a general preparing to conquer every bachelor in London.
Corinna glanced down at her own perfectly adequate gown of sage green muslin. While it fit well enough and flattered her pale skin, she had already forgotten she was wearing it. Finding a loose thread near the cuff of her sleeve, she absentmindedly began to pick at it.
“Oh, Corinna, please stop that,” Vivienne murmured, reaching across the small space to gently bat her sister’s hand away. “You will unravel the entire sleeve. We want you looking lovely for the first ball of the Season, not as though you dressed in the dark.”
“It is a single thread, Vivienne,” Corinna reasoned, folding her hands neatly in her lap. “I doubt the ton will cast us out into the cold over a fraction of an inch of cotton.”
“The ton notices absolutely everything,” Eleanor fretted.
Leaning forward, she attempted to pinch some color into Corinna’s pale cheeks.
“Your sister is right, darling. We must all look our best. The Earl of Ravenswood is attending tonight, and our entire arrangement hinges on this first impression.”
Sighing, Corinna leaned away from her mother’s pinching fingers. “The earl is here to meet Vivienne. I am merely the decorative background foliage. I assure you, he will not spare a single glance for my sleeves.”
The carriage lurched to a final halt outside the Whitmore estate. A footman opened the door, letting in the chaotic roar of arriving guests, shouting drivers, and the distant swell of a string quartet.
The Whitmore ballroom proved to be a terrifying, gilded assault on the senses.
The air was thick with the heat of a hundred beeswax candles and the deafening noise of London society in full motion.
Eleanor puffed out her chest and proudly marched her daughters toward the receiving line.
They had barely made it past the entrance before a voice capable of shattering glass cut through the din.
Swathed in an alarming quantity of purple feathers, Lady Sophronia Quill stood firmly by a marble pillar, cheerfully narrating the room to anyone trapped in her vicinity.
“I tell you, Mr. Finch,” the feathered woman declared loudly, waving her fan like a conductor’s baton toward the dance floor.
“The Duke of Bedford is wearing a waistcoat that makes him look precisely like an overstuffed sausage. I give those gold buttons ten minutes before they yield and take someone’s eye out.
And look at Lady Abernathy! I have it on excellent authority she locked her husband out of their bedchamber last night because he purchased a notoriously flatulent hunting hound. ”
Corinna bit the inside of her cheek to stifle a highly inappropriate burst of laughter.
She glanced sideways at Vivienne. Having heard every single syllable of the scandalous gossip, Vivienne instantly froze her radiant smile into a terrifying mask of polite joy.
Tilting her chin up a fraction of an inch, the elder Ashwell sister glided past the feathered menace without offering a single glance, stepping seamlessly into her element.
The moment they stepped fully onto the ballroom floor, Vivienne became the center of a small, admiring solar system.
Young men in dark coats gravitated immediately toward her pale gold dress.
Eleanor was quickly swept into a breathless conversation with a group of older matrons.
Finding herself standing completely alone near a massive potted fern, Corinna took a step backward, fully intending to blend into the shadows near the wall.
“Where exactly do you think you are going?”
Appearing at her side with alarming speed, Vivienne reached out and adjusted the lace collar of Corinna’s gown.
“I was merely finding a quieter spot,” Corinna explained, trying to pull away from her sister’s tight grip.
“You look completely lost,” Vivienne whispered under her breath, keeping her bright public smile firmly in place.
“Standing by a plant makes you look like a frightened rabbit. It reflects poorly on the family, Corinna. People will think you lack basic manners. Please, stand up straight, smile at someone, and for heaven’s sake, do not start quoting historical facts at any gentleman who happens to approach you.
Just smile and agree with whatever they say. ”
“That sounds incredibly tedious.”
Vivienne gave the collar one final tug. “Society is not supposed to be entertaining. Try not to ruin my evening by behaving like an eccentric.”
Turning away to greet a newly arrived viscount, Vivienne instantly replaced her harsh tone with a musical, entirely artificial laugh.
Corinna rubbed her neck. The stifling air in the ballroom, thick with the scent of a hundred different heavy perfumes and the burning heat of the candles, was making her feel slightly sick. Looking past the swirling dancers, she spotted a set of tall French doors standing open to the night air.
Without waiting to see if Vivienne was watching, Corinna slipped through the nearest gap in the crowd. She expertly dodged a waiter carrying a tray of wine, squeezed past two gossiping dowagers, and finally stepped out into the cool dark.
The Whitmore garden offered a vast improvement over the chaotic ballroom.
Lanterns hung from the branches of ancient oak trees, casting soft, uneven pools of yellow light across the gravel paths.
The clean night air carried the pleasant scent of damp earth and crushed roses, allowing Corinna to take a deep breath and let the tension drain completely out of her shoulders.
She walked slowly down a narrow path, her soft shoes making very little noise on the stones as she sought to put as much distance between herself and the loud music as possible. Rounding a sculpted hedge, she discovered a small ornamental pond.
The dark, still water beautifully reflected the faint glimmer of the lanterns above. Mesmerized by the quiet ripples caused by a passing breeze, Corinna stepped closer to the edge.
She took one step too far.
Her foot caught hard against a slick, moss-covered stone bordering the water, twisting her ankle sharply.
“Oh no!”
Pitching forward, Corinna flailed her arms wildly as the dark water rushed up to meet her. A startled gasp tore from her throat.
Large, incredibly strong hands suddenly clamped down on her upper arms. The jarring grip halted the momentum of her fall so abruptly that it knocked the breath straight from her lungs. Before she could even process the shock, she was hauled backward away from the dangerous edge and pulled upright.
Corinna stood frozen, her chest heaving. She looked up.
He was much taller than the young men hovering around Vivienne inside. His broad shoulders fitted perfectly into a dark blue coat of excellent make. Unlike the fashionable gentlemen of the ton, his dark blond hair was cropped close to his head.
But his face caught her attention completely. He possessed a hard, square jaw and sharp cheekbones, anchored by startling blue eyes that were currently fixed on her with an intensity that made her stomach drop.
Despite having saved her from a watery humiliation, his hands remained firmly wrapped around her arms.
Staring up at him, Corinna could feel the heat of his callused palms right through the thin muslin of her sleeves. The music from the ballroom seemed to fade away entirely, leaving only the sound of the water lapping against the stones and the heavy, rhythmic thud of her own heart.
They stared at each other for a moment that stretched considerably longer than society would ever deem appropriate.
Neither of them spoke. Corinna knew she should pull away and apologize for her clumsiness.
She knew standing in a dark garden unchaperoned with a stranger was a terrible idea. Yet her feet refused to move.
Finally, the man blinked. The intense focus in his blue eyes shattered. Abruptly releasing her arms, he took a large step backward to put a respectable distance between them, then took a seat by the bench.
Instead of asking if she was injured or offering a polite platitude, the tall stranger reached into his coat pocket, withdrew a small leather-bound book, and opened it to a marked page.
Lowering his head, he began to read in the dim lantern light, acting as if studying beside a pond during a formal ball was the most natural activity in the world.
Corinna stared at him in complete bewilderment. She waited for him to speak. He simply turned a page.
“Thank you,” Corinna finally managed to say, her voice sounding entirely too loud in the quiet garden. “I would have ruined my dress completely.”
“You should watch where you step,” the man replied, never lifting his eyes from the page. “Moss is remarkably treacherous.”
His deep, smooth voice held absolutely no trace of amusement.
Frowning, Corinna knew she needed to leave immediately.
Being discovered here alone with a gentleman would create a scandal her mother would never recover from.
But the sheer oddity of the encounter pinned her to the spot.
The ease of his silence and his complete lack of expected social performance fascinated her.