Amy Lake (24 page)

But several of the girls giggled a bit, and it was eventually determined that none of them had ever, in fact, done so.  They were quite astonished to hear that Cassie and I were experienced in the waltz, and this segued quite naturally into a discussion of town fashions, a subject in which the men present—for as a group we had attracted several—were equally interested.

Especially the latest ideas of how one tied a cravat.  Honestly, I do not understand the male fascination with that article of clothing.

Maisie seemed quite in spirits compared to the first time I had seen her, and I wondered if Mr Howarth—to whom I had just been introduced—had somehow managed to come up with a sufficiency.  My question was answered later that evening, when the girl danced with him; Mrs Polkinghorne watched her daughter and the young man with a look of irritation and distress.

Cassie had said she would not leave me until the viscount made his appearance, but I told her not to be absurd, and she was soon on the floor for a quadrille.  I continued chatting with several individuals, and I do believe one of the gentlemen—a Mr Woods—was about to ask that we join the dance when I saw him look up in surprise.  He immediately stepped back with just a flicker of alarm in his eyes.

I knew.

“Lady Regina.”

I turned slowly and curtseyed to the viscount.  “Lord Davies.”

“May I request your hand for the waltz?”

I nodded.  “Of course.”

He left, and Mr Woods smiled ruefully at me.  “I beg your pardon, I did not mean to abandon you.  But that gentleman looked ready to call me out.”

I laughed.  “Do not worry.  That gentleman is the Viscount of Cardingham.  He can be enough to startle anyone.”

“And if we participated in the quadrille?  I should like to restore my honour.”

“I believe you would survive.”

So Mr Woods and I walked onto the floor.  Our conversation, or as much as the quadrille permitted, was easy and pleasant.  He was one of the few natives of Bath I had met, having been born in the same house in which he still resided, and was able to give me glimpses of the city as it had existed some years prior, filling in a few of the gaps left by Aunt Sophie.   

Occasionally during the dance I caught glimpse of Lord Davies, who stood with a glass of punch in his hand, off to one side.  His expression was impossible to read.

* * * *

As the evening went on Miss Barre and I could boast of a flattering number of partners, and eventually we both claimed sore feet; this is always the best excuse at a ball, as it is always true.  We retreated to the table of refreshments.  Lord Davies was not in sight, no doubt waiting somewhere to pop up when least expected.

“Do you suppose that the punch is drinkable?”

“One hopes,” I said.  ’Twas a tea punch, from the colour, with curls of lemon rind and bits of orange.  “Surely the people in Bath have more sense than those in London.”

“I don’t see why they should have,” said Cassandra, taking a cautious sip.

“I believe fresh air aids the intelligence.”

“Umm.”  She took another sip.  “It’s tolerable.”

“How is my hair?” I said, resisting the urge to raise my hands to the bandeau.

“You doubt my handiwork?  It is still quite lovely.”

I felt somehow that the waltz with Lord Davies was to determine my fate, my entire life, and told Cassie so.

“Those are high expectations from one dance.”

I made a face at her. 

But it wasn’t just the one dance.  It was all the dances, and the conversation in the garden at Roselay, and standing in front of my grandfather’s portrait, and the ride through Bath in a high-perch phaeton—

I felt like I had known Lord Davies for a lifetime.

“Please remember,” said Miss Barre, “that he asked you for the waltz.”

“Well—”

“Pray do not continue with this nonsense about friends.”

* * * *

Cassie left me to myself as the orchestra returned from a short interval and began re-tuning.    If I stood with my back pressed against the wall perhaps Lord Davies could not surprise me.  And indeed, on this occasion I saw him when he was halfway across the room.  He smiled in greeting and made his way through the mob.

“Do you prefer a London ball?” I asked him, as he took my hand.  The first strains of music echoed in the chamber and the pattern of couples shifted as some left the floor—one converses during the interval, of course, and the dance floor is as good a place as any—and others stepped forward for the waltz.   

“It depends on my partner,” said Lord Davies.

I had heard a thousand such sallies, and replied a thousand times.  The response was simple—“Oh!  And what do you think of your present partner, Lord So-and-So?”—said with a coquette’s look, from under the eyelashes.  The gentleman then added something very flattering and gallant, the lady gave a soft laugh, and the dance went on.

But the viscount’s face was grave, with no trace of flirtation.  We had made several turns by then, circling the floor effortlessly, as if we had practiced together for years.  The gauze overskirt of my gown swirled at my ankles and my slippers flew over the ballroom floor, scarcely touching the wood.

So easy, to dance with him.  I could feel the viscount’s hand pressed against my side, the tiny freshets of warmth that spread from each finger.  My other hand, bound in his.  And yet the satin of the gown’s bodice felt constricting, as if I could not catch breath.  And I was at a loss.  If we could not tease and banter, I did not know where to begin.

Why could I not say what I felt?  Why was it so difficult to be open with Lord Davies?

I care about you as I have cared about no-one else in my life.  I want to dance with you forever.

Impossible.

And so I said nothing. 

Chapter 48:  A Glass of Punch

Lord Davies was tired of waiting.

He was waltzing with the woman who consumed his thoughts, both awake and in his dreams.  He felt the satin of her gown beneath his fingers, her hand in his, and he longed to take her in his arms, and kiss her as they had kissed at the Marquess of Larkinton’s ball, or in the gardens at Roselay.

He was tired of waiting.

And ’twas not as if Lady Regina had been without other partners, standing alone at the side of the dance floor for whenever he should choose to make his approach.  No, she had been annoyingly popular with the young gentlemen of Bath—apparently a species with some sense—and he could not be assured of any other time in which to communicate his thoughts.  It had to be now.

The waltz was ending, and the viscount realized that the Upper Assembly rooms at Bath were not a ballroom in London, where one could rely on a convenient terrace or garden walk of some kind.  He could hardly take her back out into the streets—

“Reggie,” he said, and then caught himself.  “Lady Regina.”

She regarded him solemnly, her eyes large and clear.

A kiss.  My kingdom for a kiss.

“Perhaps a glass of punch?” said the viscount, desperate to keep her at his side.

She nodded.  They proceeded hand in hand to the refreshments, making their way slowly across the room, which had become very crowded.  A line of couples was forming for a longways dance, and there was much laughter, and jostling for position.

“All of Bath must attend,” said Lady Regina.

They heard that you would be here
, thought Lord Davies.

The banquette of food and drink was finally within reach.  The selection was perhaps not the equal of a large London ball, but there were wafers, cakes, and cracker-bonbons on silver trays, along with fruit and plates of cold roast beef.  The viscount had never known a young miss willing to eat under these circumstances, while standing, and Lady Regina was no exception.  She shook her head slightly at his questioning look, and he turned his attention to the bowls of punch, examining them with some care.

“’Tis drinkable,” said Lady Regina.  “Or I should say—it was.”

The viscount poured each of them glass.  People were on all sides and Talfryn noticed that, as usual, the young men present were availing themselves liberally of food and drink.  A gust of male laughter broke out, suspiciously near the punch.  Spills were common, and a thoughtful gentleman did not ask his partner to remain long in the vicinity.  The noise of the throng was such that Lord Davies thought one might manage a few private words without danger of anyone overhearing, if they could make their way to a corner of the room.

And then somehow they were
there
, in exactly such a place—a nook half-hidden behind a potted palm—which was as removed from the others as was possible in the ballroom, and he did not know how to begin.

“My fondness for you has greatly increased,” said Lord Davies, finally.

Lady Regina’s eyes widened, and she tilted her head slightly, as if wondering what nonsense she had just heard.  His fondness, indeed!

The viscount made another attempt.  “’Tis only that—I believe—we have allowed circumstances and expectations to determine our behavior toward each other—and I—”

“Lord Davies.”

They were a step apart.  He wished more than anything to throw the damned glass of punch away and take her in his arms.  “Can we not be . . . Talfryn and Regina?” he said.

She smiled slightly.  “Reggie.”

“Reggie.  Please do not allow my former—my mistakes—to separate us.”

Chapter 49:  Miss Polkinghorne Interrupts

As declarations go, I thought it was nearly perfect.

Do not allow my mistakes to separate us.

I won’t! I thought.  I won’t!  But I hesitated, awkward and lost in the moment—such was my luck with Lord Davies—and a voice intervened.  Calling my name.

“Lady Regina!  Oh, hallo, Lady Regina!”

’Twas not Miss Barre, of course.  Cassandra would have known better.  No, this was my dear new friend, Maisie Polkinghorne, hurrying our direction with another young woman in tow.  I believe Maisie’s head had been rather turned by the ‘lady’ in front of my name, and she had been attempting to cross paths with me all evening, usually to make introductions.  I would have been happy to widen my circle in Bath under other circumstances; at the moment I wished her, silently, to the devil.

Unkind, I know.  But—

“My lady,” said Lord Davies. 

He made his bow and I curtseyed.

He was gone.

Gods.

* * * *

In the small hours of the morning, as the viscount’s carriage took us back to Sydney Place, I confessed the whole to Miss Barre.  I began to cry—in sheer frustration, I believe.

“Do not worry,” said Cassie.  “He will be round tomorrow—today, I should say.  You will be engaged before tiffin.”

“Unless he has given up!” I sniffed.  Cassandra gave me her best handkerchief, which I used, rather noisily.

“Lord Davies,” she said, “does not seem the type.”

Chapter 50: I Must Have Brandy

I did not sleep well that night, waking up on several occasions in a panic, wondering if I could have possibly misheard Lord Davies’ words.

Do not allow my mistakes to separate us.

But what else could he have meant?

* * * *

Cassandra and I were up early the next morning, at the first signs that the household was stirring.  We were investigating the meager offerings of my wardrobe when there was a knock at the bedroom door.

“Miss Reggie,” said Alice.  “A young man is here to see you.”

Cassie and I looked at each other, frowning.  So early?

Alice left. 

“Maybe he could not wait to propose,” said Cassandra.

I was staring at my wardrobe in panic.

“The pale green muslin,” said Cassie.  “I’ll do your hair.”

* * * *

We were downstairs in good time, with Cassandra giving me advice the entire way.

“Do not put him off any longer.”

“But—” 

“He’s ridden to Cumbria for you, and now to Bath.  I think the viscount has established his bona fides in this matter.”

“But—”

“Do not argue with me, Regina Knowles.  You know I’m right.”

The truth was I had no intention of putting off Lord Davies for even a moment, and wished only to assure him of the strength of my affections and my regard.  I just wasn’t sure how to accomplish that task without seeming impossibly forward. 

The door to the salon was closed, and it loomed ever larger and taller as we approached.  Lord Davies was just on the other side.  My heart was beating so fast I felt faint. 

“Breathe,” said Cassie.  “I will make my curtsey to the viscount, and remain for a few minutes—”

“Do not leave!”

“Well, I’ll have to, won’t I?  His lordship can hardly offer for you with me standing there.”

“I don’t see why not!”

“Don’t be a ninny.” 

I drew a deep breath and Miss Barre opened the door.

“’Tis about time!” came the familiar male voice.  “You have taken Bath hours to heart, I see—I dare say I have been waiting half the morning!”

Freddie.

* * * *

Miss Barre took over, as for a moment I was unable to speak.

“Don’t be a goose, Wilfred,” said Cassandra.  “And how did
you
arrive at this hour?  You cannot have started from London.”

“Of course not!  I arrived last evening, but no-one in this bedlam of a household could tell me where my sister might be.  I was forced to take rooms!”

I found my voice.  “Freddie.”

“I have never been so discommoded.  You must dismiss that woman at—”

“
Freddie
.  Why are you here?”

He turned to me, his mouth open and eyebrows drawn together, the picture of indignation.  The expression was so familiar that I could have laughed.  What is wrong now, brother?  In what manner has life again failed to meet your needs?

“Why?” he exclaimed.  “Why?  You ask me that, dear sister, when you left—left!—your home without a by-your-leave, left us without—”

Cassie intervened.  “Wilfred, lower your voice.  Or you can make your protests to me alone.”