Julianne MacLean (15 page)

“I
believe there must be two hundred and fifty people here,” Harold said, resting his hand on Adele’s waist to step into a waltz, and glancing around the brightly lit ballroom. “You know I have a knack for estimating amounts of things? Go ahead, Adele. Start counting the people. I’ll wager an error of no more than ten.”

Adele glanced around also, realizing it had not even occurred to her to estimate the number of people here, nor did she feel like counting them. She was more interested in admiring the sheer glory of the room—the sound of the music and the magni?cent movement of some of the more skillful dancers. There were also the musicians to watch. They were exceedingly tal
ented, especially the violinists, who controlled their bows with such precision.

“I’m sure you’re right,” she replied, determined to avoid the chore of actually
counting
them. “Two hundred and fifty to be sure.”

Harold smiled. “Yes, two hundred and fifty. I wonder how many hors d’oeuvres they have? They would need at least five per person.”

He proceeded to calculate the total.

“You’re a magnificent dancer, Harold,” Adele said, politely interrupting and gazing up at him with what she hoped was a suggestive grin. “I like being close to you like this.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Really? Even when it’s so warm? Rather unpleasant, don’t you think? All these people dancing…It creates an uncomfortable amount of heat. But the warm air rises. We should be thankful for that.” He looked up at the high ceiling. “Imagine how hot it is up there. I wish I could send up a thermometer. I could hoist it up by throwing a wire over that chandelier.”

Adele looked up, too, then tried to lure his attention back down to her. “Perhaps after this,” she said with a teasing lilt to her voice, “we could go for a walk in the garden. In the moonlight.”

“I doubt we’d be able to see the moon through the fog, but it will be cooler out there away from this heat, so, yes, it is indeed a splendid idea. I’ll ask my mother to join us.”

Adele blinked up at him. “I was hoping…perhaps…that we could go alone.”

Who would have thought flirting would make her feel like such a dunderhead? Was she
that inept? Or was Harold simply not the type to enjoy flirting?

“Alone?” he said. “Well, I suppose we could, but Mother looks rather lonely over there. Look.”

Adele glanced to where Eustacia stood by a table of tarts. True, she did look as if she were waiting for someone to come and talk to her, but one would think that when a gentleman was propositioned for a private walk in the garden with a lady—his fiancée!—he would somehow arrange for some
other
person to entertain his mother.

The waltz ended, and Harold stopped abruptly, waving for Adele to follow him to the tart table.

“Come, my dear!” he said cheerfully. “Those are raspberry tarts, and Mother is about to finish them off.”

Adele followed him off the floor. It appeared that flirting with her fiancé was going to prove to be more difficult than she had imagined.

Later in the evening, Adele and her mother joined Eustacia and Violet near the entrance to the ballroom, where they met Sophia and Lily.

“What a delightful ball this is!” Beatrice said. “But you haven’t been dancing near enough, Lily. Why aren’t you out on the floor? You’re young and full of energy. Unlike Eustacia and I.”

The two older women laughed and exchanged complaints about their sore feet, while Adele noticed Lily smiling uncomfortably. The
fact was, she had danced very little. She could not have enjoyed having it pointed out.

Just then, Lord Whitby approached, looking strikingly handsome in his black formal attire. “Ladies,” he said with a bow. “You all look radiant this evening.”

Violet raised her arched eyebrow, and smirked. “As do you, Lord Whitby—charming all the women as usual.”

His appealing, blue-eyed gaze drifted languidly to Violet’s face, dropped appreciatively to her low neckline, then lifted again to her eyes. He smiled. “Only those who are of a nature to be charmed, Lady Violet.”

The corner of her mouth curled up, and they stared at each other for a few heated seconds.

Adele wondered why
she
couldn’t manage to achieve that sort of exchange with Harold. Everyone else seemed capable of it. What was she doing wrong?

“May I inquire about your card, Lady Violet?” he asked, his smoldering gaze never veering from hers.

“You may,” she replied, tilting her head enticingly.

The next thing Adele knew, Eustacia was penciling in his name for later in the evening, and he was walking away, leaving the entire group of them flicking open their fans to cool themselves.

Adele looked around at everyone uncertainly. She had much to learn. Or maybe it was Harold who had something to learn. Perhaps
he
needed to be awakened—as Lord Whitby undoubtedly was. He was clearly very confident and experienced with women.

Adele glanced at Lily, who was staring after Lord Whitby. He had not inquired about
her
dance card. In fact, he had not even noticed her. He had been too busy responding to Violet. Adele glanced discreetly down at Lily’s card. There were no names written in for any more dances tonight. Lily’s shoulders rose and fell with a sigh, and she consulted her timepiece.

Adele was dressing for Sophia’s At Home—the one day during the week when she was always available to receive callers—when a knock sounded at her door. “Come in.”

The door opened slowly, and Lily walked in. Her dark hair was pulled into a loose bun on top of her head, and she wore a simple gown of dark gray silk. Adele often thought Lily would look striking in brighter colors, but for some reason, she preferred not to stand out.

For a long moment, Adele admired Lily’s beautiful blue eyes, so very striking with her dark lashes and dark hair. Pale skinned, with a tiny nose and full lips, she was an extraordinarily pretty girl.

Lily stood for a few seconds, glancing around uncomfortably before she finally met Adele’s gaze. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course. Please sit down.”

“Thank you.” Lily sat on the sofa, and Adele joined her. “Last night, Lady Osulton men
tioned her nephew, Lord Alcester. Do you know him very well?”

Adele stiffened, wondering where this was going. “I met him at my fiancé’s home when I arrived there. I know him a little.”

“The reason I’m asking is because I met him a few nights ago at a ball, and I danced with him. From what I understand, he is looking for a bride this Season.”

The room seemed to become very warm all of a sudden. Adele shifted in her seat. “Oh?”

“Yes, and, well…I was wondering if you could tell me anything about him.”

Adele stared blankly at Lily. “Like what?”

She shrugged. “Are the rumors true? The ones about his mother, and the ones about his former mistress, the actress? They say he used to go to her dressing room after all her performances, and that he was the first man to ever break her famous, unbreakable heart.”

“He broke her heart?”

Lily spoke quietly. “Yes, didn’t you hear that? Some people are saying that he wishes to redeem himself. He broke off his relationship with Miss Fairbanks two weeks ago, the very day he returned to London after being away at Osulton Manor. Meeting you and your mother, I believe. He told Frances he didn’t love her anymore, and she had to cancel her performance the following night because she couldn’t stop crying. He hasn’t seen her since.” Lily lowered her gaze again. “Well, that’s what the gos
sips say, anyway. Who knows how much of it is true?”

The very day he returned to London? That was the day he had kissed Adele in the teahouse. Was that why he had told Frances he didn’t love her anymore?

The thought that Damien was no longer making love to his mistress made Adele far, far happier than it should. She had to mentally shake herself, however, and force herself to remember all the reasons that she needed to forget him.

“I…I don’t know anything about Miss Fairbanks,” Adele said. “Regarding the other matter you mentioned—about his mother—I have heard that she led a scandalous life, but obviously, you’ve heard that, too.”

“Yes, but may I ask, do you believe him to be redeemable? Do you think he is seriously looking to settle down and live decently?”

Adele could feel the blood rushing to her head. “Are you in love with him, Lily?”

Lily squeezed her hands together in her lap again. “I don’t know him well enough to be in love with him. But he certainly is the most handsome man I’ve danced with in a very long time. I would like to fall in love with
someone
. But of course that someone has to be respectable and trustworthy.”

Adele suddenly envisioned Lily dancing with Damien. Smiling up at him. She loved to ride. She preferred the country over the superficial glitter of the Season. She was very beautiful. She was rich. She was a perfect match for him.

“Would you like me to speak to James or Sophia about him?” Adele asked, secretly hoping that Lily would say no.

Her eyes brightened. “What I was really hoping was that you could tell me what Lord Osulton and his sister, Violet, have said about him.”

Remembering the conversation she’d had with Violet in the carriage, Adele strove to remain objective about the information Lily was seeking. “I’m afraid Violet didn’t have very good things to say about him. She said he was looking rather desperately for a wealthy bride. But in my family, we believe that each person must make up their own mind about the people they meet, and not judge them by what others say. Perhaps he does want to redeem himself, Lily. My advice would be to get to know him better, and follow your own instincts.”

There. That was objective. Well done, Adele.

Lily’s expression changed, as if she were disappointed in Adele’s response. She gazed out the window behind the sofa. “I’m afraid I don’t completely trust my instincts, so I’ve surrendered to the conclusion that I
must
listen to what others say.” She stood up to leave.

Adele wished she knew why Lily was so withdrawn around men, why she didn’t trust her instincts. Adele knew that Lily’s father had been a cruel man. Perhaps that was the reason…

“Don’t be discouraged by Violet’s opinions,” she heard herself saying firmly, with no small amount of surprise. “Lord Alcester might very well wish to change the way he has lived his
life. I would recommend that you keep an open mind.”

Lily smiled down at Adele, but the smile seemed weighed down with a slight melancholy. “Thank you, Adele. You’re very kind, and I daresay very sensible.”

Adele hardly felt sensible lately. She couldn’t even manage to fall in love with her own fiancé. She set her elbow on the armrest and bit down on her thumbnail. She was beginning to think she should just give up on this whole engagement and return to New York and resign herself to spinsterhood for the rest of her life. Wouldn’t that be a relief?

While Lily was sitting in Adele’s bedchamber asking questions about Damien, her brother James was asking similar questions on the other side of town.

“Tell me something,” James said to Whitby, as they sat in front of the fireplace at his club. “You met Alcester recently when you were at Osulton Manor. What did you make of him?”

Whitby raised his eyebrows and sat forward, intrigued by the question. “Why do you ask?”

“For one thing, Lily danced with him the other night.”

Whitby leaned back again and downed the last of his brandy. “That’s all? They just danced?”

James inclined his head. “Odd question.”

Whitby slowly blinked. “You know she’s like a sister to me, James. The fact that you’re asking made me wonder.”

“Ah. Well, I am indeed wondering a few things myself, mostly because I witnessed some wagering yesterday. Bets are being placed on whether or not Alcester will return to Miss Fairbanks’s dressing room after he slips a ring on the finger of a rich wife.”

Whitby laughed. “You don’t say. Which way did the bets go?”

“Most wager that Alcester will be supporting the arts again very soon.”

Whitby nodded, seeming not the least bit surprised. “So you think he’s after Lily’s dowry.”

“It’s possible.”

Whitby waved a finger at James and smirked playfully. “You brought this on yourself, you know, marrying an heiress and making yourself one of the richest men in England.”

“I’m quite aware of that. Fortunately, Lily has a good head on her shoulders.”

“Yes.” Whitby gazed down into his glass. “She does indeed. What do you want to know?”

James crossed one long leg over the other. “I want to know if you think the man is trustworthy. I won’t fault him for looking for money. I was looking for it myself when I married Sophia. But I do need to know if he intends to behave as a gentleman after he gets it.”

“I really don’t know, James. I spoke to him only a few times.”

“But you’ve been getting to know his cousin Violet. What’s
she
like?”

Whitby grinned. “She’s enchanting.”

James narrowed his gaze knowingly. “She’s
rich. At least she will be, once Harold and Adele join hands at St. Georges. Has she ever spoken of Alcester?”

“No.”

“Are you going to propose to her?”

Whitby considered the question. “Probably.”

With a resigned sigh, James smiled. “And I was so sure you’d come home from America with a Yankee bride on your arm and American dollars in your bank account.”

Whitby set his empty glass on the table beside his chair. “In the end, it will still be American dollars. Straight from Adele to Lord Osulton to his sister, Violet. No offense, James.”

James regarded his old friend directly. “None taken. It’s the way of the world these days. I’ll see you at the Wilkshire ball tonight, assuming you’re going, of course.”

“I am.”

“Very good.” He stood up to leave. “It should prove to be a lively affair.”

T
hat evening at the Wilkshire ball, all agreed that Adele’s gown was the most spectacular—the pinnacle of high fashion. It was a satin, cream-colored gown by Worth, with yellow velvet roses woven into the fabric, and an off-the-shoulder neckline, ornamented with lace and velvet trimming. The form-fitting bodice displayed her tiny waistline to full advantage, and the entire ensemble, studded with pearls and gemstones, complemented her thick, upswept golden hair.

On any other occasion, she would not have cared a whit about her appearance, but she had wanted to look her best tonight. She had wanted to stand out among the other London
beauties, and she could not pretend there was no explanation for it.

She felt like an impostor again, and realized that
still
nothing felt right.

She had not been at the ball long when she spotted Damien on the other side of the room. Earlier that evening, before she had gotten dressed, she had promised herself she would not overreact to the sight of him, but she hadn’t seen him for more than two weeks, and now that he was within view, she was quite frankly paralyzed.

He wore a black suit with white waistcoat and white bow tie, and his wild mane of hair was slicked back. He wandered around the perimeter of the room with grace and heaps of charisma, talking and laughing with other gentlemen, attracting the gaze of every woman who looked his way.

It was
impossible
not to look at him, Adele realized miserably. He was breathtaking in every way a man could be—handsome, charming, and most importantly, he was her hero. Her beautiful black knight. He had saved her life. He had been her protector. She had touched him and kissed him and been held by him, and despite the fact that their last conversation had broken her heart, she had spent countless hours conjuring him in her brain. She could not even try to let this opportunity to steal a look at him pass her by.

Just then, he turned, and their gazes locked and held. He started toward her. Adele sucked in a breath. She turned her back on him, and
with a sudden tremor of panic, glanced at her mother and the others. Eustacia was laughing and talking. Violet was looking around the room with a hopeful, searching gaze. Lily was listening politely to whatever Eustacia was saying. No one seemed to know that Adele was screaming inside.

She felt him approach behind her. The others glanced at him and smiled, and their circle opened for him. Adele had to force herself to turn and face him and say hello. He inclined his head in return, then he immediately directed his attention to someone else.

“Lady Lily,” he said with an appealing, heart-stopping smile, “it’s a pleasure to see you again.” He made small talk for a moment, then said, “Perhaps I may have the honor of a spot on your card?”

Naturally, the honor was granted, and he bowed politely and went away.

Adele calmly sipped her champagne and nodded at the conversation that had now resumed, while she struggled to come to terms with the fact that she would like to spit. She hated herself for it, of course, because she knew she had no hold over Damien. She was engaged to Harold, and they had both agreed that what happened between them should be forgotten.

Yet she felt jealous. Jealous of Lily, whom she liked very much.

None of her emotions made any
bloody
sense to her, and now she was using foul language in
her head. She was evidently not as composed about this as she had thought she could be.

She remembered Clara’s advice—that if her feelings didn’t go away after a week, there might be a problem. Well, there was most definitely a problem.

At that moment, Harold appeared beside her with a bright smile on his face. “Ladies! What a crush this is! Three hundred people at least! I just counted them, and there are still others coming in!”

Adele, feeling heat in her cheeks and knowing her face was flushed, turned to her fiancé. She needed to talk to him. She could not go on like this. She needed to resolve her future. “Harold, it is indeed a crush. Will you take me outside for a walk on the veranda?”

“Oh.” His smile became strained, and he glanced around at the other ladies, looking as if he didn’t want to be rude. Adele wished he could have sensed that she needed to be alone with him right now, and had made that his first concern, instead of worrying what the others would think.

Damien would not have given the others a second thought. He would have looked into her eyes, and he would have known.

“All right then,” Harold reluctantly agreed, the smile fading further as he offered his arm.

She and Harold walked out to the flagstone veranda and moved to the far end, where a large oak tree stood close to the house and served as a cozy canopy.

“There now,” Harold said. “Feel the cool air.
You’ll be refreshed and ready to go back inside before you know it.”

Adele closed her eyes and turned her face upward toward the dark sky, inhaling deeply and letting it out. “Yes, it is indeed refreshing.”

After a few more deep breaths, she began to feel better. She slowly opened her eyes. Harold smiled, then he seemed to take a moment to admire her lips.

“You’re a very pretty girl, Adele,” he said.

Sudden hope and euphoria coursed through her, because she had been waiting so long for some sign of affection from Harold, and he had finally found it in himself to express it. Grasping at what felt like a last shred of hope for a happy future with him, she turned to see if there were any others on the veranda. There weren’t. She and Harold were alone. She gazed at him in the evening light, and took his gloved hand in hers. Then she took a tentative step closer to him, needing to test the waters of her future, and rose slowly up on her tiptoes to touch her lips to his. The breeze whispered gently through the tall oak beside them.

“Adele!” He put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back down. Her heels clicked on the flagstones. “What are you doing?”

Adele opened her eyes. “I wanted to kiss you,” she explained. “We’ve never really kissed before.”

“Yes, we have!”

“Not on the lips.” While a part of her felt hu
miliated and mortified having to explain the subtle degrees of a kiss, another part of her wanted to shake Harold. Shake him violently and tell him to wake up.

“We’re in a public place, Adele. It’s hardly the right time.”

Staring up at her fiancé in the dim light, she realized with a sad, sinking feeling, that there would
never
be a right time. Harold was not in love with her, nor was she in love with him.

“And perhaps this is acceptable behavior in America,” Harold continued, “but we are
not
in America, and young ladies do not kiss gentlemen at balls. You’re in England now, and you’re going to have to change a number of things about yourself.”

Adele stared blankly at him. There was no point trying to talk herself into this any longer. She could not marry him.

“Good heavens, Adele. You need to get some color into your cheeks. You’ll feel better if you dance.” He reached for her dance card and pencil. “I’ll write Damien’s name in. He’s free for the next few.”

She pulled her wrist away. “No, Harold, really, I don’t need—”

“Yes, you do, Adele.” He grabbed for the card again. He was not trying to be difficult, she realized. He actually thought he was being helpful.

God! How could he not see that she didn’t want to dance with other men right now, especially his cousin, whom she’d spent three intimate days and nights with?

“You just need a lively dance,” Harold said.

“That’s not what I need!” she shouted, this time losing her patience completely and yanking her hand away.

He stared at her for a moment, looking perplexed. She was perplexed herself by the total lack of emotional understanding between them, and by her own outburst. She was not doing the proper, polite thing. Nor was she doing what someone else wanted and expected her to do. It was completely out of her realm of normal behavior. It felt surprisingly satisfying.

He straightened his shoulders and smiled again. “Perhaps you just need to rest your feet.”

Rest her feet.
Adele labored to control her frustration. They really did not know each other at all.

They returned to the ballroom in silence, and he delivered her to her mother and Eustacia. Adele noticed suddenly that Lily was not with them. She turned her gaze toward the people dancing.

There they were. Lily and Damien, waltzing around the room—spinning and swirling. They made a handsome couple with their matching dark hair, both of them immensely attractive in their own right. They appeared to be having a fabulous time with each other.

Adele tried not to stare, but glanced their way discreetly whenever she could. Each time she looked at them, she was sobered by a heavy sadness that hung over her like a cloud.
She
should be the one out there on the floor with Damien, talking and laughing. Wasn’t she the one who
had shared an intimate bond with him? Or was she the world’s worst fool to believe that? Perhaps he made all women feel that way.

The dance ended, and Damien escorted Lily back to Eustacia. Lily’s cheeks were flushed, and she was glowing with bright smiles and laughter. Damien stayed for a few minutes, standing beside Adele, talking to Eustacia and Harold.

The intensity of his presence beside her, even though he wasn’t touching her or talking to her directly, awakened all her senses. She realized with excitement and a simultaneous measure of sadness that she had not felt so vibrant and alive since he’d left her, more than two weeks ago. She might as well have been asleep all that time.

She shifted her weight and accidentally brushed her arm lightly against Damien’s for a mere fraction of a second. The contact was like a drug…Intoxicating. Debilitating.

She shifted her weight back again. The conversation sustained its ebb and flow, and Damien did not seem to notice the brief contact. Adele, on the other hand, had to take a moment to recover from it.

She knew at that moment that she was doomed. As much as she had tried to talk herself out of her feelings because of Damien’s reputation and the rumors that he was only looking for money, and despite the fact that he was loyal to Harold and claimed he would never betray that loyalty, she
wanted
him. Passionately. With every piece of her soul. And she
was hurt by the attentions he paid to Lily, even when Adele knew it made no sense because she had no claim on his affections.

She took in a deep, steadying breath and glanced across at Harold, whose eyes were wide with excitement and interest as he listened to Beatrice talk about American cowboys.

Adele felt sick. Her emotions had defied the sensible plans she had made, and she was going to have to change those plans and disappoint many people. She could not marry Harold. She wanted very much to board a ship and go home.

“Miss Wilson, perhaps I may have the honor of a dance?” Damien asked, turning toward her.

Adele’s gaze shot to his face.

“Oh yes, do go and dance!” Eustacia said. “You look bored, Adele!”

“Indeed you do, my dear,” Harold agreed. “Damien, take her for two dances, will you?”

Adele felt her heart begin to pound heavily in her chest. She glanced at her mother, who, unlike the others, was
not
smiling.

Damien held out his gloved hand. She met his gaze and realized she couldn’t stop herself from taking it if she tried. Here was an opportunity to spend the next few minutes in his strong, capable arms, dancing with him, looking into the depths of his dark eyes. It was an opportunity to satisfy her longings, however briefly that satisfaction would last.

And at this point, what did it matter? She was going to let her family down anyway, and Harold’s family, too. Why not steal one last
moment of pleasure before she—sensible, dependable Adele Wilson—made the deliberate and conscious choice to leap, for the first time in her life, into the deep chasm of everyone’s disappointment?