Chapter 24
Chapter twenty-four
Valeraine had thought the ball at Netherfield was extravagantly grand.
The ball at Rosings outshone it completely.
The ballroom was easily twice the size, a cavernous space with oil paintings on the walls of dragoneers from Rosings house.
There were five chandeliers throughout the room, each hung with dozens of glittering candles, sparkling light through clever glass facets.
The wood floor was painted with a damask pattern — a design that certainly needed regular refreshing as the dancing guests wore away at it.
A full quartet played on a raised stage, performing reels and waltzes in turn.
The room was comfortably full, enough to give life to the space without being overly crowded.
Some of the guests Valeraine recognized: dragoneers and their families.
Some were people who must have come from Kinellan City, with fashions that looked unusual and flamboyant to her provincial eye.
Mamma had many plans for Valeraine to dance with every eligible bachelor and dazzle them with her beauty, wit, and proficiency with dragons (which would likely translate to excellence in hatch-mothering).
Valeraine had plans to rest her weary arm and support Alyce in wooing Mr. Nethenabbi. Alyce’s ankle had recovered enough to give a few dances, at least, and all of them were earmarked for her suitor. They were standing on the side of the ballroom, watching the beautiful crowd, watching for —
“There he is — in the yellow,” Alyce said. She gave a little sigh of happiness to punctuate her discovery. “I believe I’ve seen him in that jacket before, the day we had the peppermint tea together.”
“Go on,” Valeraine said. “If you’re with him when the music starts, he’ll ask you to dance.”
“I don’t want to twist him into anything,” Alyce protested. “What if he doesn’t wish to dance with me? I shall wait here.”
Nethenabbi, across the ballroom’s elegantly painted floor, was laughing at something Nedine had said while Pemberley loomed next to him.
Valeraine offered her arm to Alyce. “I will go to them. You won’t leave me to fend off Pemberley by myself, will you?”
Alyce smiled, happy to be caught in her sister’s manipulations.
Approaching the group, Valeraine regretted her resolution to play matchmaker.
Pemberley had spotted her coming, and his grim face had become more severe.
Did he suspect she was the masked rider?
He couldn’t. He thought it was a boy, not yet into his full stature, not a woman in a dark blue gown and delicately styled hair.
Who would ever suspect a lady of derbying?
It was unthinkable, Valeraine comforted herself.
Pemberley only glared at her because he found her unsightly, too independent in how she used her dragon for transportation, and overly outspoken.
In short, he hated her because he was an odious fool.
Alyce and Valeraine curtsied to the group and received bows and curtsies in response.
“Miss Alyce,” Nethenabbi greeted, “It’s wonderful to see you. I’ve reserved the slowest dances of the night for you, so you needn’t strain your ankle. If it isn’t too much of an imposition for me to say, that is.” He added as an afterthought, “And Miss Valeraine, it’s good to see you as well.”
“The pleasure is ours,” Alyce said. “Without your generous introduction, Longbourn would not have been invited to the derby.” She said to Pemberley, “Congratulations on your victory.”
“My dragon is well bred and trained. I win a majority of the derbies that I enter,” Pemberley said.
Nedine laughed as if he had said something especially witty. “He does! Pemberley house produces the best dragons, after the Nethenabbi nests.”
“In a hundred years, Netherfield will be the best,” Mr. Nethenabbi declared.
The musicians started an introductory prelude, calling the dancers to the floor.
“Miss Alyce,” Nethenabbi said predictably, “May I have this dance?”
Alyce shyly nodded, and he escorted her to the center of the floor.
This left Valeraine standing with Nedine. And with Pemberley.
Nedine said, “Did you hear about the Wintgomery family? What a tragedy that all their menfolk are dead or in prison.”
Pemberley nodded. “Yes, I read the Scaleheart coverage on it. It’s quite a dramatic turn.”
“Those poor dears were in such dire straits, and then Lady Scaleheart rubbed salt to the wound by publicizing it. When Scaleheart critiqued me and my brother, three suitors who had been calling on me stopped! (Of course, I have many other gentlemen still calling on me.) So I completely understand the misery of being so publicly ridiculed. You must feel the same way, Miss Valeraine?”
“I wouldn’t say —”
“She was quite disparaging of Longbourn, was she not? The masked rider may be the darling of some scandal sheets, but we all know who the ton actually listen to. If Scaleheart were ever unmasked, I’m not sure what would be longer: the line of people wanting to strangle her, or the line looking for autographs. ”
“And the erudite would do neither,” Pemberley said. “Scaleheart is only a writer after all, and the wise of Kinella will reason for themselves.”
“Of course, I never read Lady Scaleheart myself,” Nedine reassured. “What about you, Valeraine? Do you agree with Scaleheart’s assessment of the embarrassing masked rider?”
Kesley joined the group. “Miss Nethenabbi,” he said, “you are resplendent, as always. What are you and your clever tongue discussing now?”
Valeraine could kiss him. Nedine’s attention was wholly caught on Kesley, and she could slip away without too much trouble.
The prelude music concluded. The musicians exchanged the sheets on their stands, preparing for the first dance.
Pemberley seemed to remember his friend’s previous hints toward manners, and begrudgingly said, “Miss Longbourn, would you do me the honor of this dance?”
“I’m sorry; I have already promised it to Mr. Sidton.” She would not dance with Pemberley. She still remembered his steady grip on her arm, pinning her in place. It kept playing in her head: him making sure she was all right, his neat stitches, him insisting she shouldn’t race.
She certainly didn’t want him to touch her again with his firm, cold grip.
Kesley gently took Valeraine’s hand and led her onto the floor, only a little late for the first dance. It was a slow song, opening the ball with a ponderous magnificence.
He put a small pressure on her left shoulder, moving in the routine of the dance. Valeraine flinched from the twinge of pain.
Kesley immediately adjusted his touch, only brushing her shoulder with the most delicate of caresses.
“Don’t worry my dear, I know how to handle you.
Sorry I forgot your wound.” He was good to his word, being gentle throughout the dance, never tugging on her arm or making it seem as if he was behaving oddly. A perfect partner.
“You did wonderfully in the race,” he said into her ear. “Your performance was incredible.”
Valeraine felt a blush rise in her cheeks. “Thank you. I couldn’t have pulled it off without your help.”
“I think you could pull off anything,” he said confidently. “Fiery Val, so full of passion and intelligence. You could do the impossible, and the rest of us would be so lucky as to be able to see your star shoot by.”
“And you, daring Kesley, will change the world with your smiles and spirit.”
Kesley laughed. “I’ll settle for upstaging my older brothers, thank you.”
After the dance, Kesley escorted her to a chair between Mamma and Merna. Kesley took Selaide to dance next, at her belligerent insistence.
To head off Mamma’s unfortunate matchmaking, Valeraine told her, “My headache is returning. I need to sit here peacefully.”
Merna put in, with dubious helpfulness, “When someone has a headache, they must lie down in darkness and quiet. Valeraine certainly should not dance.” Mamma was more likely to do the opposite of Merna’s recommendation, to spite the daughter she could not control.
Mamma, blessedly, was too distracted watching Alyce to pay either of them any mind.
Her commentary and chatter continued throughout the ball, remarking on every development.
“That is the fourth time Nethenabbi has danced with Alyce. I think we must get Alyce a new gown, perhaps also buy a wedding gown in preparation.”
Valeraine was content to watch the ball, noting pairings.
Alyce and Nethenabbi danced together enough times that it was no secret to anyone they were courting, though Valeraine did worry about Alyce’s sore ankle.
She would keep dancing on it, too shy to complain of the pain.
Selaide had a new partner for every dance, flirting outrageously with all of them.
Valeraine made comments to Merna, who always had additional details to provide on the person in question.
Kesley danced with Valeraine once more, rescuing her from wallflower status.
Valeraine wished she could be out there, capturing dance partners and hearts, but her fresh wound stopped her.
Near the end of the ball, Mr. Pemberley approached their group.
He had danced a few times with Nedine, once with another lady, but had spent most of the ball lightly chatting with dragoneers.
“Miss Longbourn,” he said formally, “may I have this dance?” It was clear from his gaze that he did not mean Merna.
Likely Nethenabbi had engineered this, trying to repair the mess of the last ball.
Valeraine said, “I do not think —”
“Of course she will dance with you,” Mamma exclaimed. “She would be delighted to accompany the winner of the derby.”
Pemberley nodded, accepting this as his due, and held out his hand to Valeraine.
She could protest; she wanted to protest. There was nobody she wanted to dance with less.
A dance with Pemberley would be minutes of being insulted and belittled.
However, if she protested, her mother would only counter.
They would attract attention, and embarrass Longbourn in front of a crowd of dragoneers.
The prelude to the song was starting, a sedate waltz.
Valeraine took Pemberley’s hand. Through the gloves he wore, she couldn’t tell if his hand was warm or cold. It was just assured as it glided along and led her onto the floor.