Chapter 37
It was the night of the local celebration.
Cecilia drove there, before it was fully dark, and Miss Macintyre said that she would drive back under the helpful light of the full moon.
The Constantines were all attired in new evening gowns from Madame Lisette in London that they had had no opportunity to wear yet, in soft shades of violet trimmed with black velvet or silver-grey silk ribbons.
Pure, unrelieved white would have been acceptable too, but they had all inherited their mother’s Italianate colouring and it did not become them.
Cecilia was aware that she was dressing with unusual care and wondering more than once, as she brushed her hair till it shone and tied her ribbons, if Alistair would consider her new gown becoming, and tell her so.
But she was too busy, she scolded herself, looking in the mirror and seeing nothing, to fuss just now over what this might mean, and whether it was not illogical behaviour in a woman who knew she must not marry or contract herself for a year.
They made their way to the town’s largest inn, and left the cart in the yard with the ostler.
The assembly was to be held, as was the time-honoured tradition, in Mr Marjoram’s auction room.
This was, after all, essentially a barn, and had been largely cleared of its content for the occasion, apart from a great number of miscellaneous chairs and sofas that had been arranged around the periphery of the large room to enable the elderly, the exhausted, and other non-dancers to take their ease and observe the proceedings.
The cost of refreshment and hire of musicians was to be defrayed by the subscription charge, which varied according to the social standing of the guests; the Constantines, guided by Mrs Bartrum, had put their household down for half a guinea, which she judged generous without being too ostentatious.
Mrs Pritty, Lucy, and even Mr Fisk were here, having been brought by Lucy’s young man Tom in his carrier’s cart; in fact, every single person Cecilia had laid eyes on since she’d come to Suffolk seemed to be in the room, dancing already, sitting, or standing gossiping, including Mrs Bardwell, whose gold silk gown and exuberantly plumed turban were things of wonder, and the elderly, wizened man who had sold her the excellent potatoes.
There was no ceremony to be observed here, no lady of highest rank opening proceedings with the most distinguished gentleman, and no dance cards to be marked.
The sisters were soon pulled into the whirling throng by men they did not know, but when her first hectic set ended, Cecilia found Major Bartrum waiting for her.
‘You look very handsome tonight, Miss Cecilia,’ he told her. His face was quite composed, but his grey eyes were smiling with private significance, and she found herself blushing.
‘So do you, sir,’ she said a little breathlessly.
It was true. He was more formally dressed than she had ever seen him, and the dark coat and knee-breeches became him excessively.
He might not be a London dandy, but his jacket was well cut and clung lovingly to his broad shoulders and muscular chest. And as for his thighs…
Best not to look at his thighs, for both their sakes.
‘Thank you. Will you honour me with the next dance?’
She placed her gloved hand on his, and they joined the nearest set just before the musicians launched into a lively air.
Cecilia had already heard that it was not the custom here for a lady to call the figures which everyone else must follow; Mr Marjoram seemed to serve that function, and in this dance, at least, he was keeping it simple, with country steps that everyone could manage, all of which the Constantine sisters had learned in childhood, as probably had everyone else of all ranks.
‘I presume there is to be no waltzing tonight,’ she said, as the figure brought her and the Major together, and he twirled her under his raised arm.
‘No, that would be far too modern and shocking for Debenbridge,’ he responded.
‘Marjoram is a good fellow, for all his irritating bluster, and he suits his choices to his audience.’ When she returned to him again, he said with a little smile, ‘I might almost suspect him of keeping this set childishly simple because he sees that I am dancing, and for the first time in years. Perhaps he colluded with my mother; I wouldn’t be at all surprised. ’
‘Do you mind?’
‘I would have minded enormously just a few weeks ago, consumed as I was with self-pity and hurt pride. Now I don’t.’
She looked up at him. ‘Why not?’
‘Because I am dancing with you.’
There was a light in his eyes that she thought she had not seen there before – but then, most of their recent encounters had taken place at night, and in the shadows.
She had seen desire there, and in every lineament of his face, she had seen irritation, at first, and pain, then later, interest and even amusement.
But this tenderness was new. She felt her heart beating faster, but did not have time to consider exactly what it might mean, and what answering feelings it called up in her.
The constant movement of the dance meant that she was not obliged to give him a response if she did not choose to, and he did not press her for one.
She was not to be granted leisure to think on her discovery, though; Lord Pallant was waiting for her as soon as the set finished.
Cecilia at least could tell from the Major’s mask-like expression that he had no wish whatsoever to surrender her hand to this man.
But unless he planned to fall to brawling here in front of everyone, he had no choice, and nor did she.
Alistair stepped aside, unsmiling, and was able to secure Bea as his next partner. At least they’d all be in the same set.
Honesty compelled her to admit that the Baron was an excellent dancer; most people would have considered him better than the Major.
He too was elegantly dressed, and his dark evening clothes set off his blond good looks to perfection.
As they danced, he was smiling down at her in a manner that he no doubt considered charming, and she hated it.
‘I hope you are quite recovered from your shock the other day,’ he said solicitously.
He knew she was; they’d had this conversation already when he’d called again with his sister and brother on Wednesday afternoon, and she had in the end been obliged to admit herself restored to health and receive him.
On that occasion, the Pallant men had tried very hard to tempt the sisters out for a turn about the garden with them, which would no doubt have been a prelude to separation into couples, which might have suited Bea but would not have pleased Cecilia or Bianca in the slightest. Cecilia had refused, saying that it was far too cold outside, which was possibly the most ridiculous opinion she’d ever advanced in her life, since at present, it was unseasonably warm for May and there was not a cloud in the sky, nor a breath of wind.
His Lordship’s mouth had tightened disagreeably at her words, and he’d looked at her as if he wanted to shake some sense into her silly head.
He’d tried only a little more persuasion – without going so far as to tell her outright that she was mistaken – but had soon been forced to admit defeat in the face of her stubborn and irrational resistance.
His making a dead set for her again tonight showed that he still wanted to woo her, despite the fact that in his company, she’d consistently shown herself to be a complete ninnyhammer with an enormous fund of entirely wrong-headed opinions and a penchant for violent fits of the vapours and self-indulgent invalidism.
And she was only two and twenty and in excellent health; imagine what she’d be like when she was forty or fifty and really had something to complain about.
She might serve as a warning of the dangers of excessive sensibility allied with negligible intelligence, and no rational man would want such a stupid creature for his life’s partner.
But then, she had five and forty thousand pounds, which apparently rendered the most ridiculous things she said both fascinating and witty.
He was plainly determined to spend this evening at her side, which looked set to ruin all pleasure in it for her, giving her no leisure to think about anything more agreeable; even when she danced with someone else, when she left the floor, she always found him there, hovering.
As time passed, she found it harder and harder not to show her distaste for his persistence openly on her face.
Surely he could not imagine she felt flattered?
But perhaps he was so full of his own conceit that he simply could not conceive that any woman would not eventually fall at his feet in gratitude.
Mrs Bartrum provided a temporary escape by presenting her son Rory to Cecilia as her next prospective partner; the Major was to dance that particular Highland reel with Bianca, and they naturally all stood together chatting amiably when it ended.
Rory was very like his brother, in height and colouring, but of a much less robust build, no doubt because he had spent his youth studying rather than soldiering.
He seemed a serious young man, apart from when he was running wild in the reel with Bianca or one of the other more impetuous young women; the dancers were already beginning to separate by set into crazy youth versus more restrained and older participants.
Cecilia wondered whether the Major had once been one of the mad, exuberant young dancers, and whether he missed that lost part of his life now if he had.