Forever Waiting (16 page)

John was simmering by the time Charmaine and his sisters left the ballroom. Anne had been his brother’s dinner partner and had returned on his arm, obviously his companion for the entire evening. Charmaine was dressed in her drab governess garb, seeing to his sisters. Apparently, Paul’s invitation had been rescinded.

The twins were already asleep. Charmaine had changed into her nightgown and had settled into the armchair with a book in hand when there was a rap on her door. She was astounded to find John waiting in the corridor.

“I thought Paul was to be your escort for the evening,” he stated directly.

“I didn’t lie to you, John.”

“I know you didn’t lie,” he replied. “What happened?”

“Agatha invited Anne London to the ball on Paul’s behalf yesterday at lunch. She spoke for him, and he couldn’t refuse.”

“So
he
lied to
you
.”

“It wasn’t a lie. He wanted to escort me.”

“Right,” John remarked doubtfully.

“Agatha threw them together. Paul didn’t want to embarrass them.”

“I wouldn’t have cared about embarrassing them.”

“You enjoy embarrassing people, John,” she retorted. “Paul doesn’t.”

“No. Paul enjoys having a woman on his arm while another waits for him in the wings.”

Charmaine smarted from his words. “You’re wrong. He wanted to take me. He regretted what happened and apologized.”

“You humored him and are cheated out of this evening.”

Charmaine didn’t care to be reminded of her disappointment. Still, she knew the slight had not been intentional and felt compelled to defend Paul. “You don’t understand, John, and you are being unfair. He has promised to make it up to me. What does one silly night matter, anyway, when the future—”

She caught herself, certain she’d revealed too much, John’s brow already furrowed in swift comprehension. Embarrassed, she turned back into the room, but he followed her.

“Paul proposed to you?” he asked. “Is that what you’re trying to hide?”

“Is that so inconceivable?” she rejoined, pivoting round to face him, nettled that he didn’t think her worthy.

“What? That he proposed to you, or that you’re trying to hide it?”

“I’m not trying to hide it!” she exclaimed. “And, yes, he proposed to me.”

“So
he’s
trying to hide it.”

“No, he’s not!” she objected.

John’s frown deepened. “So when does Paul plan on announcing this engagement, Charmaine? At the ball tonight, with you in your room and Anne at his side?”

His words stung like salt in a fresh wound. Again, she was baited into saying more than she wished. “We’re not betrothed yet. I told him I would think about it.”

John’s eyes betrayed surprise, but his words were cutting. “How generous of you and convenient for him. One last stand before he’s a happily married man!”

“I haven’t made it convenient for him!” Charmaine countered defensively, her anger and shame melding into one sickening lump of foolishness. “I’ve told you, he was embarrassed by Agatha and forced into a situation beyond his control.”

John snorted in disgust. “So tell me, Charmaine—if Agatha tells Anne tonight, ‘
Anne, Paul has asked for your hand in marriage
,’ my brother will be too embarrassed to tell Anne, ‘
I’ve already proposed to Charmaine
.’ Do I have it right now?”

She glared at him furiously. There was no point in responding.

“Now we’ve figured that out, get dressed. I will take you to the ball.”

She hesitated, stunned and thrilled by his offer. She opened her mouth to accept, but the implications of doing so stopped her. “It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to accompany another man until I give Paul an answer.”

John stood incredulous. “But it’s acceptable for him to escort another woman to the ball with a standing marriage proposal to you?”

Charmaine sighed in frustration. “Why does it matter to you, anyway?”

John debated his answer. He must drop talk of his brother if he were to convince her to accompany him. “It matters to me because I know you’ve been looking forward to this night. You’ve talked of little else the entire week. I could see how disappointed you were at dinner.”

She was surprised. He
had
noticed her. Suddenly, her mood lifted.

“Now, Charmaine,” he coaxed, “there isn’t a woman alive who wouldn’t give her right arm to be downstairs tonight. This opportunity may never come your way again. You can tell anyone who asks we are merely friends.”

Her resolve was weakening, even though she knew no one would believe they were merely friends.

“Please come, my Charm,” he pressed on. “I’ve attended many such parties, and it won’t matter to me if I miss this one. But I will take great pleasure in seeing you enjoy it. If you don’t accompany me, we shall both be disappointed.”

Charmaine mulled over his petition. Why should she miss such a splendid affair, perhaps the opportunity of a lifetime? She desperately wanted to go. Then there was her daring side, chuckling inwardly, wondering how the likes of Mary Stanton and Anne London would react when she arrived on John’s arm.

“Very well,” she capitulated. “I’ll go. But I’m warning you now, if you embarrass me even once, I will leave.”

“I won’t, I won’t,” he replied, waving off her threat as he headed toward the door. “You have ten minutes,” he directed, as he stepped out of the room.

“Ten minutes?”

“Ten minutes.” His face was bright with satisfaction. “I’ll be waiting.”

The door closed behind him, leaving her to her hasty toilette. In a flurry, she was ripping off her nightgown and pulling the evening gown from her armoire. It hugged her bust and waist, flaring out at her hips and falling to the floor. The champagne silk complemented her skin and dark hair, pronouncing her natural innocence, while the sash at her waist accentuated her slim, yet curvaceous figure, and the sheer frill that trimmed her décolletage drew attention to the swell of her breasts. She’d have to get used to the low-cut neckline as well as the feel of the delicate satin slippers on her feet. Already John was rapping on her door. Quickly, she brushed out her hair and swept the curls off her face with ivory combs. Like Mercedes, she left the rest unfashionably loose, a riotous cascade tumbling down her back. With a pinch, she coaxed her cheeks to a rosy hue. Before long, she was standing at the looking glass, wondering if she were the same girl of only twenty minutes ago. She turned from side to side and was pleased with what she saw. She considered her glowing face one last time, then stepped confidently to the door.

John leaned over the balustrade, his impatient eyes on the landing below. At the sound of the door opening behind him, he straightened and turned. The vision of loveliness standing there surpassed any he’d conjured. If he didn’t look away, he’d lead her right back into the bedroom and forget the ball. He trained his eyes on her pretty face. She was oblivious to the effect she had on him, for although her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkled girlishly.

Charmaine was unnerved by his perusal, which compelled her to speak. “Could it be you of all people are speechless?”

He laughed, glad she had broken the spell. “You are a sight to behold, my Charm,” he replied. “A vision of perfection.”

His compliment made her feel attractive and feminine. “And you are very handsome this evening,” she returned. “Black becomes you.”

“Not the first time you’ve voiced words to that effect.”

She giggled, her giddiness rising.

“Be careful, my Charm,” he warned, “you are so beautiful tonight, I may have to live up to my black reputation, and we may never make it to the ball this evening.”

She smiled with his brash flattery, happy to know he found her desirable. He took her arm and led her to the staircase.

A heady blend of apprehension, joy, and excitement reached its pinnacle as they began their descent. She broke away, and he chuckled when she raced ahead, throwing him a backward glance from the landing. Leaning over the banister, she could see into the ballroom, where the mélange of color, fragrance, and music was irresistible. Hems of gowns flashed past the arched doorway, a kaleidoscope of sight and sound. The waltz was fast and catchy—the newest craze—the Bohemian Polka—the instruments perfectly tuned. Only John held her back.

“Am I not the escort, my Charm?” he smiled wryly as he caught up with her. He extended his arm, and she slipped her hand through the bend of his elbow, reveling in the feel of muscle beneath the fabric.

“I feel like Cinderella,” she whispered, “and you’re my fairy godmother.”

“How can that be, my Charm,” he queried devilishly, “when I haven’t taken out my magic wand?” He laughed at her confusion, then guided her down the remaining steps and through the foyer. They crossed the threshold of the great hall together.

The music had stopped and Charmaine looked around the room. Her eyes met those of quite a few guests, who considered her with intense interest. She was dressed like an elegant society lady, yet she knew that had little to do with it. The world had suddenly noticed her because she was with John. Two words—“the governess”—passed in murmurs behind her. Undaunted, John led her farther into the room, tall at her side, his gait unrushed and confident. She felt protected next to him, his firm hand at the small of her back.

“Charmaine, you look lovely!” George exclaimed when they reached him. “I’m glad you’ve returned. Everyone is having a fabulous time!”

With eyebrow arched, Mercedes passed Charmaine a knowing nod.

A bellowing voice called for silence, and the noise of the crowd died down. Charmaine glanced around, and once again, caught many eyes upon her, Mary Stanton gaping from the sidelines. At the center of the room, Edward Richecourt climbed atop a chair, a makeshift platform for his announcement.

John elbowed George. “You slip on the noose, and I’ll kick out the chair!”

George’s raucous guffaws echoed to the rafters, and people turned to see who was laughing.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Richecourt shouted magnanimously. “I’d like to propose a toast.” He lifted a glass of champagne to Paul. “To our fine host,” he continued loudly, “he has treated us like royalty this week, culminating in this exquisite celebration. May this intrepid endeavor become his triumph! Cheers!”

A round of applause gripped the hall. A call went up for Paul to take the platform. As he did, Charmaine felt John’s hand slip around her waist, pulling her close, the feel of his sturdy frame quite pleasing.

“Thank you for your kind wishes,” Paul stated cordially.

Charmaine stiffened as his eyes roamed over the spectators, arcing in her direction. She tried to step away from John, but his arm was like a vise, holding her in place.

“And I thank you all for journeying here,” Paul continued. “I hope this evening will be your best yet on Charmantes—” His gaze alighted on John “—I look forward to a prosperous relationship with each and every one of you—” then settled in blatant astonishment on her. He took them in as a couple, and Charmaine read fury in his eyes, his speech ending between clenched teeth. “My father and I hope you enjoy the remainder of the evening.” Though the audience cheered enthusiastically, he didn’t seem to notice, for his reproachful gaze never left her.

As the clapping died down, John snatched a glass of champagne off the tray of a passing server. He raised it to propose his own toast, his crisp, resonant voice halting Paul before he stepped down. “To you, Paul,” he declared full-voiced. “I admire your persistence. In less than two years, you’ve kindled a budding empire from a deserted island. When you really know what you want,
nothing
holds you back. Here’s to making dreams come true.”

Paul’s mouth flew open to retaliate, but a third round of applause drowned him out. The crowd closed ranks, shouting good wishes and drinking to his success.

“I’m leaving!” Charmaine huffed, her eyes flashing.

“Not yet,” John argued, his voice sympathetic, though he held her fast.

“And how am I to face Paul after this? We both know what he thinks.”

“What does he think, Charmaine?” John demanded evenly.

“That we’re together.”

“And we are,” he replied simply. “That’s his fault. So why worry about facing him? If you’d left it up to him, you’d be up there—” and he nodded toward the ceiling “—reading some goddamn book, wishing you were down here!”

“Why did you have to embarrass me like that?”

“I didn’t embarrass you. He was going to find out sooner or later, wasn’t he? He doesn’t deserve you, Charmaine.”

He released her, acknowledging ultimately, it was her choice to stay or to go. The band tuned up, and the crowd dispersed to clear the floor.

“May I have this dance, my Charm?” he petitioned softly, innocently, prompting her to decide. She wanted to stay, and as her eyes met his, the plea in their soft brown depths gave way to the rogue, chasing the little boy away.

“I’m not sure I remember how,” she hesitated.

“I’m not very good at it, either,” he smiled, pleased with his second victory of the evening. He held up a finger. “But if we stumble, we can always consult an expert.” He nodded in Geoffrey Elliot’s direction, where the solicitor looped around a cluster of dancers, writhing and twisting grotesquely before a comely partner, drawing disdainful glares.

Charmaine giggled when the couple whirled past them.

“With Geffey on the floor,” John expounded, “nobody will even notice us!”

With that, he opened his arms, inviting her into his embrace. She placed one hand in his and the other on his shoulder. His warm hand clasped her waist as they stepped into the beat of the music. She followed his lead, quickly realizing he knew every step. Her lessons with Loretta came back slowly, and her eyes left her sluggish feet for John’s face.

He smiled down at her, and she was bound to his regard until the room and crowd fell away, and there was nothing but the music, the mild air imbibed with the fragrance of tropical flowers, and this man. For months now, not a moment had gone by when some corner of her mind had not coveted precious thoughts of him. Her throat constricted, and a deep flush suffused her cheeks.