Chapter 14
The ballroom was drowning in kissing balls.
Everywhere Adrian looked—the mantelpiece, the wall sconces, the brightly lit chandeliers above his head, even the backs of the gilt chairs arranged around the outskirts of the ballroom —were smothered in kissing balls.
If there was a flat surface or an unadorned protrusion to be found, Lady Codswaddle had draped or dangled a kissing ball atop it.
Or rather Helena had, at her ladyship’s insistence.
Christmas had come to Hawke’s Run with a vengeance, and cast up its accounts all over his ballroom.
Between the kissing balls, Lady Codswaddle’s imperious demands, and Cook’s hysteria over the supper menu, he could hardly blame Helena if she was heartily sick of the Christmas fete, and spent the entire evening hiding in her bedchamber.
He could blame her for other things, though.
It had been three days since he’d kissed her in the stillroom—three days that had spun into an eternity because since then, he’d scarcely spoken two dozen words to Helena.
Every time he got within touching distance of her, she either fled in the other direction, or somehow maneuvered it so he was obliged to shift his attention to Lady Anne.
It didn’t make any bloody sense.
It had been, of course, the height of impropriety for him to have kissed her at all. A proper gentleman didn’t kiss his sons’ governess, particularly not a proper gentleman who wasn’t proper at all, but rather a scandalous rake.
Helena was an innocent, for God’s sake. Even if she did agree to listen to him, what could he say? He hadn’t any excuse for losing control as he’d done. None of the thousand words that rushed to his lips whenever he saw her face felt like enough.
Yet as tangled as things with Helena had become, he couldn’t make himself regret kissing her.
No man could ever regret a kiss like that one—a kiss that seized his body and soul, a kiss that left him so shaken it was as if Helena had reached directly into his chest and wrapped her warm, gentle fingers around his beating heart.
He’d only ever experienced one kiss like it before, and that was the first time he’d kissed Sophie. He’d recognized that kiss as the revelation it was then, and he recognized it again now.
For reasons he couldn’t fathom, fate had gifted him with a miraculous second chance at another great love, and he had no intention of squandering it. Helena might duck and dodge and evade him as much as she liked, but he’d never give up chasing her until he made her his.
He’d chase her to the ends of the earth if he had to, and since they’d shared that dizzying kiss, it was beginning to look as if he would have to do just that.
Over the past few days, he’d spent so much time skirting around corners and wandering empty corridors in search of her, he’d begun to feel like a dull-witted cat doomed to chase a very beautiful, very clever mouse though his very large castle for all eternity.
She was driving him mad—
“Oh, Lord Hawke, here you are.” Lady Goodall swept up to him, her face lighting up as she took in the ballroom. “Goodness, how pretty everything looks lit up with candlelight! The decorations committee outdid themselves, did they not, my lord?”
“Indeed, my lady.” He bowed over Lady Goodall’s hand, then turned to Lady Anne with a smile. She was wearing a gown of cream-colored silk tonight, and had little sprigs of holly scattered through her fair hair. “You see the fruits of all your labors tonight, Lady Anne. Are you pleased with it?”
“My, yes! It’s perfectly lovely, my lord.” Lady Anne glanced around, and her bright smile turned mischievous. “Though I can’t help but notice there are quite a surfeit of kissing balls.”
Lady Goodall laughed. “Hush, Anne, you naughty thing. Go and fetch my wrap from the carriage for me, won’t you, dear? I’m a trifle chilled.”
“Yes, aunt.” Lady Anne paused at the window on her way to the door, and her eyes went wide. “My goodness, it looks as if there are a dozen carriages waiting in the drive! I daresay our Christmas fete is going to be a crush.”
“You’d best hurry then, Anne,” Lady Goodall said, “Or you’ll be caught in the crush and it will take ages for you to make your way back to the ballroom.”
“Yes, aunt. I’m going.”
Lady Goodall waited until Lady Anne was gone, then she drew Adrian aside. “If I might have a quick word, Lord Hawke?”
“Of course, my lady. How can I help?”
“I thought it would be lovely if you opened the ball by dancing the first dance with Anne. Is that agreeable to you, my lord?”
“Dance with Lady Anne?” He hadn’t given any thought at all to dancing, but he’d have to, wouldn’t he?
“Anne is the chair of the Ladies’ Benevolent Society, as you know, my lord, and as you are the evening’s host it only seems proper that you dance the first dance together, but if you have some other young lady in mind—”
“No, no. I’d be delighted to open the ball with Lady Anne.” It wasn’t as if he could refuse, and he had no objection to Lady Anne. They were friends, after all, and it wasn’t as if he could have the lady he truly wanted. Helena was certain to keep well away from the ballroom tonight.
“Lovely!” Lady Goodall beamed at him. “Here comes Anne now. I daresay she’ll be delighted to dance with you, my lord.”
Lady Anne accepted his invitation to dance with her usual grace, then she and Lady Goodall made their way into the ballroom while he remained where he was to see to his guests as they arrived.
It was a crush, just as Lady Anne had predicted.
The Ladies’ Benevolent Society fete was always well attended—one couldn’t be seen to be slighting the Poor Fund, after all—but the throng that made their way up the stairs and into Hawke’s Run’s ballroom put every previous year’s fete to shame.
Some of the guests had even come from as far away as Chipping Norton, but judging by the way some of them gawked at him and whispered behind their hands, it wasn’t the generous Christmas spirit that had lured them here.
No, they’d come to get a glimpse at one of London’s most notorious rakes for themselves.
Whatever the reason for the crush, the guests were still arriving by the time the grandfather clock chimed the ten o’clock hour, so he made his way over to Lady Anne, and bowed over her hand.
She offered him a pretty curtsy in return, and he led her to the dance floor to the opening strains of a minuet.
And so, the St. Mary’s Ladies Benevolent Society Christmas Fete had begun.
Despite the cold and the threat of snow, guests continued to stream into the ballroom over the next hour.
It was so crowded that by the end of the first two dances two young ladies had swooned from the heat, and they were obliged to open a window.
The entire party was in high spirits, and encouraged in their merriment by generous servings of negus and mulled wine.
Even Lady Codswaddle pronounced the evening to be ‘perfectly agreeable’ and deemed the guests to be ‘the very height of elegance.’
Adrian smiled and laughed and danced, but there was one face missing amongst all the pretty faces surrounding him, a young lady with golden-brown curls and blue-gray eyes.
The ballroom felt empty without her.
“Why didn’t you go to the ball, Miss Templeton?” Ryan asked, tugging on Helena’s hand. “Don’t you like to dance?”
Helena did like to dance, but there’d never been any question of her doing so tonight. Servants didn’t attend their employer’s Christmas fetes.
Ninety-four kissing balls notwithstanding.
It had never bothered her before, being a servant. Governess was a perfectly respectable occupation for an educated lady of slender means, yet now, peering down on the ballroom below from behind a screen on one of the balconies, her stomach was twisting with bitterness, jealousy and regret.
Goodness, when did Christmas become such a miserable holiday?
She would have done well to keep far away from the ballroom tonight, but the boys were excited about the fete, and it didn’t seem fair to deny them a peek at the festivities.
So, she’d given them each a piece of Cook’s gingerbread and taken them to the balcony, once she’d secured their promise to go to bed without a fuss afterwards.
“Do you even know how to dance, Miss Templeton?” Etienne gave her a doubtful look.
“I do, indeed, but I’m here with you and Ryan. I can hardly be in two places at once, can I?”
“I think you should dance, if you like it, Miss Templeton. All the other ladies are dancing.” Ryan peered down at the whirl of couples below them, his green eyes alight with interest. “Papa can dance.”
She stifled a sigh. He could, indeed. It was impossible not to watch him, as tall and graceful as he was, and so handsome in his formal evening clothes.
More than one young lady had cast an admiring glance at him as he’d led Lady Anne to the floor for the first dance, and he’d danced every set since then, just as a proper host should do.
“But maybe Miss Templeton doesn’t have a ball dress.” Etienne nibbled at his gingerbread. “I think it’s a rule that a lady has to have a ball dress to go to a ball. Is that right, Miss Templeton?”
“Not a rule, perhaps, but yes, a lady wouldn’t wish to appear at a ball without the proper attire.”
“Jewels, too.” Ryan leaned so far over the balcony railing Helena was obliged to snatch him by the collar and pull him back. “A lady has to have lots of jewels. Isn’t that right, Miss Templeton?”
“I suppose so, yes.” Certainly, most of the ladies here tonight were wearing them. Lady Codswaddle was so smothered in emeralds she looked like a kissing ball herself. It was rather disconcerting, really.
“Lady Anne is wearing jewels,” Etienne observed. “Sparkly ones, in her ears.”
“Those are diamonds, and she has a string of pearls around her neck.” She drew in a breath, and forced the next words from her lips. “She, ah…she looks very pretty, doesn’t she?”
Dear God, that had taken an effort, and it shouldn’t have. Indeed, she was ashamed of herself for the jealousy burning a hole in her chest. Lady Anne did look pretty, and if Lord Hawke thought so too, as he certainly appeared to do, well…that was what she wanted, wasn’t it?
She’d be gone from Hawke’s Run soon enough. All that mattered was that Lord Hawke remained here with Ryan and Etienne once she was gone.
Ryan, Etienne and…and Lady Anne.
“She’s not as pretty as you are, Miss Templeton,” Etienne announced, with all the sweet loyalty of a six-year-old boy.
“Her gown is white,” Ryan added in a disapproving tone. “I don’t like white gowns. The bright colors are prettier. I like Lady Codswaddle’s gown. It’s pink.”
“No, it isn’t! It’s brown!” Etienne inspected what was left of his slice of gingerbread, then stuffed the last bite into his mouth. “Brown isn’t a pretty color.”
No, and even less so when paired with emeralds, for pity’s sake. “That color is called puce, and it’s a combination of brown, pink and purple.”
“Well, I don’t like it,” Etienne said. “And I don’t like Lady Codswaddle.”
“Neither do I,” Ryan agreed. “She’s always scolding.”
“Papa doesn’t like her, either. I heard him call her a harridan.”
“Etienne!” Helena snorted back a laugh. “That is not a nice thing to say. I beg you will never repeat that in Lady Codswaddle’s hearing. Or in anyone else’s hearing, come to that.”
“Papa likes Lady Anne, though.” Ryan devoured the remainder of his own slice of gingerbread with such gusto crumbs scattered everywhere.
That chased the smile from her face quickly enough. “Does he? How, ah…how do you know that, Ryan?”
“I saw him kiss her,” Ryan said around his mouthful of gingerbread.
“Kiss her?” Helena repeated faintly. “You saw your father kiss Lady Anne?”
“Mmmhmm.” Ryan swallowed the last of his gingerbread and wiped his hands on his nightshirt.
“No, he didn’t!” Etienne let out a little shriek of laughter, the idea of his papa kissing a lady being too much for his six-year-old sensibilities.
“Did too,” Ryan said stoutly. “Last night, in the ballroom.”
Adrian—that is, Lord Hawke—and Lady Anne had been kissing in the ballroom?
That was…well, it was…perfectly splendid, of course! Just what she’d hoped would happen. Why, her stomach was absolutely rolling with…happiness. Rolling and turning with it, especially when Lord Hawke once again took Lady Anne’s hand, and led her out to the dance floor.
It was their second dance of the evening, though who was counting?
Not her, that was certain.
Though two dances in one evening…that was sure to give rise to speculation amongst the other guests. No doubt they were all even now whispering about how well Lord Hawke and Lady Anne looked together, how wonderfully they suited each other.
Because they did. It was all very…wonderful.
Given the way Lord Hawke was smiling down at Lady Anne, it looked as if it might well be three dances before the end of the ball.
As for Lady Anne, she was stepping gracefully through the figures of a quadrille, her lovely cream-colored silk skirts swirling around her ankles, and gazing up at Adrian as if she’d like nothing more than to find a kissing ball and put it to good use.
Which wouldn’t be terribly difficult, given there were ninety-four of the blasted things. “Come along, boys, it’s getting late. It’s past time for you both to go to bed.”
“No! Can’t we watch for a little while longer, Miss Templeton?”
They hung onto her hands like two clinging limpets, their eyes wide and pleading.
Usually, she had a dreadful time resisting those big green eyes, but this time, she couldn’t bear to stay where she was for another minute.
“You recall, do you not, boys, that we had an agreement? I permitted you each a bit of gingerbread and a peek at the party, and in return, you’re meant to go to bed without a fuss.
It’s not gentlemanly to break your word. ”
Ryan exchanged a guilty glance with his brother, and let out a defeated sigh. “Yes, Miss Templeton.”
They didn’t object again as she led from the balcony down the corridor, and soon enough she had them tucked into the beds, their eyes drooping. “There we are. Sweet dreams, my little gentlemen.”
Ryan gave a great yawn. “Will you go and see Hecate before you go to bed, Miss Templeton? I think she may be lonely.”
She smoothed his dark hair back from his forehead. “I will, indeed. Now, go to sleep, boys, and when you wake tomorrow morning, it will be Christmas Day.”
But as she closed the boys’ bedchamber door behind her and made her way through the darkened corridor and down the back staircase—taking care to give the ballroom a wide berth—it didn’t feel much like Christmas to her.
It felt like something was slipping through her fingers, and no matter how she clung to it, how she clawed and scratched and struggled to hold onto it, in the end she would have to let it go, and a piece of her heart along with it.