The Suitor (6 page)

“Ah, Miss Dean,” she said as Julian took his place beside her before the waltz and prepared to sit on a bench with her if necessary, “you look very fetching this evening, my dear. Did your dancing master teach you the steps of the waltz in … Bath, is it?”

She made Bath sound as if it were a distant and uncouth province.

“I have learned the steps, my lady,” Philippa said, curtsying low while Mr. and Mrs. Dean closed in on either side of her.

Lady Jersey’s eyes moved to Julian.

“I have seen Mr. Crabbe waltz,” she said, “though it was some time ago. He performs the steps quite creditably, I seem to recall. I believe he is a suitable partner to lead you into your first waltz in public. With your parents’ permission, of course.” Her plumes nodded graciously in their direction.

“I may
waltz
, my lady?” Philippa’s lovely green eyes were wide with wonder.

“You may, my dear,” Lady Jersey said before sweeping onward to favor someone else with her attention.

“Oh, my love,” Mrs. Dean said, smiling with obvious delight.

Mr. Dean looked hard at Julian.

And then they were on the gleaming dance floor together, waiting for the music to start, and Julian set one hand behind her waist while she lifted a hand to his shoulder and set the other hand in his.

Her waist was warm and tiny and supple. She was wearing a sweet and subtle perfume.

“I can
waltz
.” Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were shining. “Julian? Did you have anything to do with this?”

“Well,” he said, “my mother does happen to know Lady Jersey, and she did happen to call upon her this afternoon.”

“Your mother?”

“The lady in emerald green sitting over by the first window,” he said. “I hope you will allow me to introduce you to her at supper. This
is
the supper dance, you know.”

She turned her head to look at his mother, who was looking back. Philippa smiled uncertainly, and his mother inclined her head and smiled back.

And then the music began.

If there was magic alive in this world, Julian thought after the first couple of minutes, it was surely present in the waltz danced with someone one loved more than life itself. The ballroom about them suddenly seemed enchanted.

Her face was raised to his, wonder and love naked in her eyes. She danced the steps lightly and correctly for those first minutes until he felt her relax fully, and their steps became more instinctive as he whirled her into the turns and steered her past slower dancers without colliding.

He was aware only of the woman in his arms, and yet there was an unconscious
awareness too of their surroundings—candlelight swirling, colored gowns swaying, music lilting, the flowers fragrant and lovely, the sounds of conversation and laughter enclosing them in their own private world of magic and romance.

He supposed, when he thought about it, that his expression must match hers. Certainly he had been making no effort to hide his feelings. He did not care. He would take a few weeks to court her before speaking to her father, and he would show the Deans that he knew how to do it properly, with the proper care for her reputation. But he would make no secret from this moment on of the fact that he
was
courting her. The long wait was over even if a twinge of uncertainty remained.

“Happy?” he asked her.

“This is the happiest night of my life,” she assured him.

Ah, Philippa. Where was the feigned ennui with which most young girls making their come-out armed themselves so that they would not appear overeager to prospective suitors?

“And of mine,” he told her.

Her smile was so openly happy that he almost stopped to gather her into his arms. Almost. But he was not quite dead to his surroundings.

They waltzed in silence for what remained of their half hour before supper.

For really there was no need for words. Words—written words—had been the only medium of communication between them for two years. Now they were together.

And for the moment, for tonight, that was enough.

4

Julian courted Philippa for six weeks.

She continued attending balls, soirees, concerts, the theater, picnics, and Venetian breakfasts just as if nothing had happened to shift her world. She spent an evening of music and dancing and fireworks at Vauxhall Gardens as a member of a party made up by Mr. Mendelhall’s mother. She walked in Hyde Park with her sisters and their governess, and with Miss Ginty and a few of her other lady friends, their maids trailing behind. She was driven there at the fashionable hour by four different gentlemen. She went shopping with her mother and with her friends.

And three weeks after her return from Gloucestershire, her father received an offer for her hand from Mr. Mendelhall.

It pained Philippa to say no to him, for she liked him exceedingly well, and he had been kind to her. So had his mother.

“I daresay,” he said when she refused him in the book room where her father had summoned her before leaving the two of them together, “it is Crabbe, is it, Miss Dean? And that was an unmannerly question to ask. Do please forgive me. I wish you well, and I hope we may remain friends.”

“I hope so too,” she told him unhappily.

She had indeed danced on several occasions with Julian. She had sat beside him at a private concert, driven twice in the park with him, conversed with him at various parties and soirees, and met him once by chance on Bond Street when she was with her mother. He had invited them on that occasion to partake of tea and cakes with him at a nearby pastry cook’s. She and her mother called upon Lady Charles Crabbe one afternoon when she was entertaining, and Julian put in an appearance there and conversed with them for a few minutes before moving on to speak with other ladies.

Lady Charles paid particular attention to Philippa during the visit, even taking her hand in her own at one point and keeping it there longer than was necessary while they conversed with someone else.

It seemed an endless six weeks to Philippa. But she honored Julian’s determination to do
things correctly at last, for of course their two-year correspondence had been anything but correct. He wanted to win the trust and approval of her parents.

And it seemed to be working.

“He is a pleasant young man,” Philippa’s mother commented after the visit to Lady Charles. “A dutiful son and attentive to all her guests, which I know men find difficult when all those guests are ladies. I believe he favors you, Philippa.”

“I was unsure whether to be pleased or disturbed when he called here on his arrival in London,” her father said at dinner one evening when Julian’s name had been mentioned. “He was a wild jackanapes when he came to Bath, and I came very close to boxing his ears when he had the effrontery to take Philippa’s hand in his for all the world to see at Sydney Gardens when she was just a schoolgirl. But I have heard nothing but good of him since then, I must say, and his behavior seems to bear that out. And he appears to like you all over again, Philippa.”

“I like him too, Papa,” she said. “But I like a number of the gentlemen who have been obliging enough to seek out my acquaintance.”

“Oh, I think you like him a little more than you like the others,” her mother said with a twinkling smile.

Philippa could feel her cheeks grow warm. “I
do
,” she admitted. “But I hope I am not making my preference obvious to other people. I always try—”

“And you succeed.” Her mother’s hand stretched across the table to cover hers. “Your papa and I are very pleased with you, Philippa. You are a good, dutiful girl.”

She felt guilty then, for she had not always been good. She had frightened off Viscount Darleigh quite deliberately. And she had written secretly to Julian for two years.

“Your mama is quite right,” her father agreed, beaming genially at her. “And if young Crabbe should come offering for you and can convince me that he is as eligible as he appears to be, then I will allow him to speak to you.”

“I am sorry about Mr. Mendelhall,” she said. “I know you and Mama approved of him and were hoping I would accept him.”

Two days later, her father arrived home late in the morning with the announcement that Julian had found him at White’s Club and asked if he might call upon him during the afternoon.

Philippa sat in the drawing room, stitching at her embroidery. Embroidering was one of her favorite activities, but she had scarcely touched it since coming to London. She had been too busy. And it was hard now to think her way back into the design, which she was creating for herself rather than working from a pattern book. Her thoughts were otherwise occupied.

Her mother sat across from her, similarly employed.

He had arrived. Julian, that was. Her mama had been looking through the window—she herself had studiously avoided doing so—and had seen him come. He had been downstairs with her father for what seemed an endless age.

What if he could not convince Papa that he would make her a good husband? What if he had been sent away already and Papa had neglected to come to tell them so?

The door opened even as the horrid thought came to her.

“Well, Philippa,” her father said after coming inside the room and closing the door behind him. “Crabbe is in the book room waiting to speak to you. I have given my leave for him to pay you his addresses, though I assured him that the final decision is yours and yours alone to make. You know that bringing you here for the Season has been an expensive business and one I could not repeat next year—not with two other girls to bring out within the next few years. Nevertheless, your happiness is of the first importance to me, and to your mama. If this young man does not suit you, then you must tell him so without the fear—”

“Oh, good gracious, Geoffrey,” Philippa’s mother said impatiently. “Can you not tell that Philippa is head over ears in love with the man?”

He raised his eyebrows, set his hands behind him, and rocked on his heels.

“Well, I
can
tell,” he said. “But I—”

“Thank you, Papa.” Philippa had threaded her needle through her cloth and set it aside and got to her feet. She crossed the room to him and hugged him and kissed his cheek. “I do love him, you know, and always have. But I love you too, and I was sorry to disappoint you and Mama two years ago. I hope I will never do so again.”

And she left the room and ran lightly down the stairs, forgetting about the dignity that should have taken her down far more slowly—as if she did not care that all her future happiness was waiting on the other side of the book room door.

The butler opened it and she stepped inside.

Julian was standing over by the window, formally and elegantly dressed in tight
pantaloons and shining Hessian boots and with a form-fitting coat of green superfine over crisp white linen and neckcloth. He looked more handsome than ever and … nervous?

She smiled at him and stopped herself from rushing across the room toward him. She sank her teeth into her lower lip.

“Philippa,” he said.

She blinked away tears.

“My love,” he said, “will you marry me?”

If she had pictured bended knee and a poetic speech and a few dozen red roses, the picture vanished beyond a trace.

“Yes,” she said.

And if she had imagined the pretty speech she would deliver after he had asked, it was gone from her mind never to be recalled.

He took one step toward her and then another, and she released her lower lip and moved toward him.

They met with a rush in the middle of the room, both of them laughing, and he wrapped his arms about her, lifted her off her feet, and spun her around in two complete circles before setting her down.

But he did not release his hold on her waist. She set her hands on his shoulders and gazed into his eyes.

She had never been this close to him before, even when they had waltzed. His arms had never been about her like this, holding her to him as if he would never let go. She had never felt the hardness, the maleness of his body against her own. She had never felt his breath warm on her face.

He had never kissed her. His mouth hovered now a tantalizing inch from her own.

“I love you,” he murmured.

Her lips parted, and she gazed back into his eyes—oh, so close to her own.

“I love you too.”

How lame words could be. Especially such words. But it did not matter. It was not words they were saying to each other. It was all that the words
meant
.

He
loved
her, and she loved him.

He closed the inch of space, and his lips touched hers.

Oh, no, words were quite, quite unnecessary. Except that they echoed in the mind, the words everyone dreamed of hearing from that special someone and dreamed of saying in return.

I love you
.

Her arms twined about his neck, his wrapped more tightly about her waist, and they kissed with all the passion of young love.

Words no longer existed.

B
Y
M
ARY
B
ALOGH