Chapter 11 #2
Everyone was watching, aghast. Even D’Evercy seemed to have no idea what to do next.
“Here. Let me try!” said Billy, instinct taking over. He stood behind the reverend, put his arms around his girth, knotted his fists under his diaphragm, and squeezed as hard as he could, once, twice . . .
“Mr. Doofus! How dare you!” said Mrs. Lackington. “Unhand the reverend at once!”
With the third thrust, the chunk of meat flew with impressive velocity out of the reverend’s mouth and hit Mrs. Lackington point-blank in the eye. She squealed with disgust.
Reverend Tudor wiped his tearing eyes and red face with his napkin and looked at Billy. They all looked at Billy, who felt, for the first time in a very long time—at least as long as he could remember—self-conscious.
“Voilà?” he said, actually blushing.
Fanny began the spontaneous clapping, looking at him with genuine admiration. “Such presence of mind, Mr. Doofus!”
“Indeed!” said Lady Gidding-Wedmore.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” said Warnaby, joining in.
“An heroic display, Doofus.” D’Evercy was clapping too. “Well done.”
“Here’s to our new Mr. Doofus!” said the reverend, recovered enough to raise his glass.
Now they were all toasting him, even the wary Lackingtons. Billy bowed his head, awkward. Annabel looked around, perplexed. What a strange evening it was.
***
When the music and dancing resumed, the guests were so ripe with drink, even the rules seemed to relax.
It was clear to Annabel that Harriet intended to corner D’Evercy for the rest of the evening, though she did think he glanced her way once or twice, even as his companion whispered coquettishly in his ear.
She’d never seen a man laugh without smiling, but D’Evercy had perfected it. It was hard not to admire.
Her heart sank a little when he slipped out quietly soon after.
“So, the cute guy’s taken,” Cassie said, appearing at her side. “He seemed stuck-up, anyway.”
“Was I that obvious?” Annabel asked.
“Well, you could at least act like you’re not crushing out on the guy playing the richest man in the room. Although he is killing the ‘main-character energy’ thing.”
“He is . . . just so . . . dashing,” said Annabel.
Cassie gave her that look. “Okay, Miss Fantasy Dreamworld. But I wouldn’t mess with that Harriet bitch.”
“We probably won’t get asked back, anyway.”
“Are you kidding? They love us,” Cassie said. “I mean, Bloomingdale’s? Stroke of genius, I daresay. You can thank me later.”
Billy joined them, wide-eyed. “I just pissed in a chamber pot in the card room!”
“Right?” said Cassie. “I went to the ladies’ cloakroom, and seriously, what is that?”
“I know,” said Annabel. “This whole ‘Norwood Manor’ must be a Regency museum or something.
“If that’s what you call an indoor pimped-up porta potty with, like, five wood seats in a row.”
“I’m kinda digging the whole Regency vibe.” Billy rubbed his hair. “Except, not to be all what’s up with these weirdos, but seriously, what was up with these weirdos and the whole Heimlich deal?”
“Yeah, acting like they’d never heard of it,” said Cassie. “Who does that?”
“That was weird,” said Annabel.
“Although not as weird as their teeth,” said Cassie. “I mean, have these people not heard of veneers?”
It was then that a violin struck up a slip-jig in nine-eighth time. The whole drunken room seemed to know what was coming, breathless with anticipation.
“And now, in honor of our American guests . . .” Lady Gidding-Wedmore announced it herself with an arm extended toward the musicians. “The Virginia reel!”
Annabel saw Warnaby closing in with a sweet, pleading look. He extended his arm.
“Please say yes. Fanny has commanded me to ask you. I am the lesser dancer, I’m sure, but it will help me in my cause.”
Annabel liked Warnaby, and would in any world he was in. Here, he was playing a particular man from the novels, good but not best, a semi-Darcy, the one who might win the object of his affection or might not. She felt, in some ways, a kinship.
“I’d be honored,” she said, and took his arm.
“Okay, then I’m asking Fanny,” Billy whispered to Cassie when Warnaby escorted Annabel away. “She was really scoping me out after the Heimlich thing.”
“Go for it. I’ve got incoming.” Cassie was watching Lieutenant Revell peacock his way toward her with a come-hither look.
The couples formed two lines down the length of the room under the chandelier, ladies on one side, gentlemen on the other.
The nondancers watched in a circle around them, clapping to the rhythm of the Sir Roger de Coverley.
It was the easiest dance, good for the tired, the drunk, the loose, the lost. Even those who hated to dance loved the dance sometimes called the Virginia reel.
It began in orderly fashion. First lady and last man met in the middle and retreated, then last lady and first man, and so on until all but Billy and Cassie had advanced, retreated, locked arms, swung around, threaded the needle, and promenaded up the middle to let the next couple advance to top set.
When it was Billy’s turn, he missed his cue, happily spaced-out and clapping to the music, five flutes of champagne to his credit.
Warnaby leaned in, helpful. “I should make an advance, if I were you.”
“Hey, no offense, but back off.”
“But you are bottom man.”
“Speak for yourself, dude.”
Warnaby looked at him, puzzled, then pointed to Cassie advancing to meet him. Billy snapped to and joined her. They were mostly holding their own, smiling and laughing, extracting every last drop of fun there was to be had. Annabel found herself clapping for them too.
On Cassie’s third promenade, emboldened, she suddenly bent her knees, tapping her heels side to side, swinging her arms, and throwing Bs to her eyes all the way up the middle. There were gasps in certain directions and continuous clapping in others.
Lieutenant Revell leaned toward Billy. “What is she doing?”
“The Griddy!” said Billy. “Very popular in America right now.”
“I like it,” said Revell.
“So does Althea. Look, she’s doing it too!”
There was Althea, every bit the party girl, falling in behind Cassie, throwing her Bs too, followed by the next, and the next. The musicians seemed to pick up the tempo.
“That’s not the Virginia reel!” said Mrs. Lackington, scowling from the sidelines.
“It certainly isn’t,” said Lady Gidding-Wedmore, delightedly drunk. “But it appears to be contagious!”
Swept up in the fun, Billy started off with his own Griddy, when he paused midway, slicked his hair, crossed his arms and legs in a break dance two-step, flipped onto his shoulder for a spinning airflare, popped back up, and moonwalked back three steps to his place opposite Fanny.
Everyone froze, on the dance floor and off, eyes big, jaws slack.
The music dwindled, notes hanging in the air.
Annabel glanced across at Warnaby, who glanced at Fanny, who glanced back at Annabel, who could do nothing to save them now.
But when Billy spread his arms and bowed theatrically, the crowd erupted in raucous applause.
Fanny joined in, and Warnaby too. Apparently, “Mr. Doofus” could do no wrong.
The musicians struck up their tune again, and the dancers rejoined their steps.
Mrs. Lackington blew steam out her ears, but Lady Gidding-Wedmore laughed her singular laugh, the final note of the evening.
“What a strange and wondrous country America must be!”
***
The adventure ended as it began, with our three partygoers squeezing back into the brougham in the wee hours of the clear moonlit night.
Cassie and Billy were tired but laughing and talking over each other, reviewing the high points of the evening, congratulating each other on their “moves,” and amazed what they got away with, given Annabel’s warning about the strict rules.
Apparently, the Regency Society wasn’t quite so stiff after all.
Billy pulled off his buckle shoes and rubbed his sore feet; Cassie let down her hair.
Annabel leaned against the window, quietly gazing at the moon.
By the time the carriage arrived back at Kidlington House, the clip-clop and claret had lulled them all to sleep. They tumbled out, thanked James for the ride, and waved a fond goodbye as the brougham disappeared down the drive.
“James was cool,” said Billy, swaying a little. “Like his energy.”
They tiptoed through the gravel—Billy and Cassie with their shoes in hand—to the door that, lo and behold, did not stick at all. But they were all three too knackered to notice.
Inside, Billy closed the door and felt behind it on the wall. “I can’t find it. The switch.”
Annabel tried too. “Hm, I can’t either.” She shrugged. “Personally, I’m glad it’s dark so I don’t have to see the Hepplewhites gone again. It hurts my heart.”
“You gotta let the Hepplewhites go, A-bel,” said Cassie, verging on sympathy but tempered by pragmatism. “That’s why you’re here, remember?”
“You’re right. It’ll be better in the morning. It’s always better in the morning.”
Cassie found her way to the bottom of the banister and started up the stairs. “Anyway, we don’t need light, we need sleep.”
Billy wrestled off his coat and flung it over his shoulder, when it caught something on the console table and sent it crashing to the floor, where it shattered, loud.
“Shit.”
“What the hell was that?” said Cassie, halfway upstairs.
“Oh god. Probably the pitcher, with the flowers.” Annabel stepped toward it, crunching pieces under her shoes.
“Sorry, Annabel,” said Billy. “My bad. I’ll clean it up.”
“We can’t clean it up in the dark,” said Annabel. “Let’s just deal with it in the morning.”
Within minutes, Cassie was fast asleep, face down on top of the covers in Peach Blossom, her gown unbuttoned at the back but still on.
Billy passed out in his white shirt and breeches across the bottom of the Pea Green bed.
Annabel had stripped down to the light chemise she wore under her gown.
She climbed under the covers but found herself gazing out at the moon, arms under her head, not wanting the night to end.
She couldn’t help but think of D’Evercy.
He was, in any society, any company, the most elegant, handsome man she’d ever met, whoever he was.
He’d enchanted her, but she’d enchanted him, too, somehow.
That part felt real, and she wasn’t ready to let the feeling go.
She wanted to keep him alive in her imagination as she’d met him, and herself alive as she’d felt in his presence.
When she closed her eyes and drifted to sleep, it would all slip away.
And still, she wouldn’t trade it for anything.