The Wallflowers To Wives Collection

‘Well, if you put it that way, je voudrais rien de plus.’ She gave him a little curtsy. ‘Nothing would please me more.’

He could think of a few things that would please him better than a dance. Perhaps a kiss. The errant thought struck him hard. He wanted to kiss Claire Welton? It was admittedly a bit more tame than yesterday’s chairs and ropes, but where had that idea come from? She was his French tutor, nothing more.

Perhaps it was mere male curiosity. Now that there was another man involved, perhaps he wanted to know what he was missing. There was a difference between wondering and wanting. Wondering was objective and wanting was not. There was that dress to consider, too. She’d worn a deep-yellow gown today, the shade of daffodils, and it brought out the glow of her skin and the darkness of her hair. She looked positively radiant, a beam of sunshine that drew the eye. Jonathon drew a breath. He was a healthy young male. It was natural to be drawn to a pretty girl.

A stray curl had come down and tickled her cheek. Jonathon reached out and pushed it back behind her ear without thinking. ‘Until tonight, then. I am looking forward to our dance. Whoever the man is, he’s a fool not to have noticed you.’

To his surprise, the compliment did not please her. ‘Do you know me so well then after a few days’ acquaintance?’

‘I’ve known you far longer than that.’ His tone was sharper now, sensing an argument coming and warming to it. When it came to discussing herself, she was prickly, defensive. ‘We played together as children.’

That brought a flush to her face. ‘Please don’t remember it. We chased you and Preston. There was very little playing involved. We must have been very annoying little girls. A past acquaintance does not require you to say things you don’t mean.’

How do you know I don’t mean them? He was tempted to say the words for the sake of the debate, but where the words would please another sort of woman, the response would only insult Claire. She was too smart for such elementary banter. She would not accept empty flattery. Most women would. Cecilia Northam certainly would. She ate up compliments like chocolate. He kept her well supplied with both. It was the simplest way to keep her in good spirits. He had enough experience with women to know he should quit while he was ahead.

Jonathon made his bow, determined to leave before he could lose the argument entirely. ‘Think what you like, Miss Welton, I shall look forward to seeing you tonight.’

Chapter Six (#ulink_c386bc3d-cad3-58e0-ac79-12b9a6db08e3)

Jonathon had asked her to dance! Not even the knowledge that the request had come from some notion he harboured about helping her could diminish Claire’s good spirits. She stood on the sidelines of the Griffin ball with her friends, fairly bristling with energy at the prospect and feeling pretty in the most recent of Evie’s re-made creations: delicate cream lace discreetly highlighting the elegance of her olive silk—a gown that had not lived up to its potential with its old black trimmings and higher neckline.

Around them, gentlemen flocked to ladies, filling in the tiny dance cards that hung from delicate wrists while their own cards remained woefully unpopulated except for the usual. Preston had scrawled his name on an obligatory country set. May’s brother always did his duty as did a distant cousin or two of Evie’s, but it was nothing like the traffic of gentlemen gathered around Cecilia and her coterie of young ladies, all of them deemed the ton’s finest flowers. She’d gathered them all to her and Claire felt a brief stab of envy. What would it be like to be sought after? Adored by the masses? Ladies eager to see what you wore? Gentlemen hanging on every word? She knew it wasn’t well done of her to be selfish and covetous, especially when she had chosen this path. After her less-than-successful debut, she’d chosen not to engage society. If society now chose not to engage with her, it was merely following her lead.

A horrid thought took her. What if Jonathon followed that lead? What if he’d changed his mind and thought better of dancing with her? The old insecurities, born of a miserable proposal, and a cruel girl’s prank, flooded back. What if he’d taken one look at Cecilia Northam this evening and decided he had better things to do and better people to spend the evening with? That was the problem with re-engaging, she had to face those old demons.

‘Miss Welton, you look particularly lovely this evening.’ Suddenly Jonathon was there, standing before her, bending over her hand, elegant in his dark evening clothes, his smile warm as his errant lock of hair fell forward, the imperfection serving to make him look more handsome.

‘Mr Lashley, good evening.’ Her smile was so wide she could feel it at the far corners of her face. He had not forgotten her.

‘I would like to request the honour of a dance. That is, if you have any left?’ His eyes glanced expectantly to where her card hung from her wrist.

‘Of course. It would be my pleasure.’ There’s plenty to pick from. She watched as he wrote his name next to the fifth dance of the night, a waltz, and tried to stay cool while her insides were a crazy mess of excitement. Jonathon was going to waltz with her! Surely that alone was worth the cost of actively rejoining polite society.

‘Is your young man here?’ Jonathon leaned in conspiratorially, the sandalwood of his toilette captivating her. For a moment the reference confused her. Then she remembered.

‘Um, yes.’ Standing right in front of me, actually.

‘Then perhaps we should take a stroll about the ballroom before our dance.’ Jonathon smiled and offered her his arm. He gave her a friendly wink. ‘We can practise our French.’

* * *

‘This was actually a very good idea, Mr Lashley,’ Claire said as they concluded their rotation of the room. She’d relaxed, falling easily into the role of instructor as they strolled.

Jonathon laughed. ‘I am known to have good ideas on occasion.’

‘I got to see you in your native habitat. You did well. Your French is coming along nicely,’ Claire complimented. He had done so well, in fact, that it had given her other ideas for improving their instruction.

‘My native habitat? You make me sound like a zoo exhibit.’ His eyes twinkled as he teased her.

‘I don’t mean to. Truly, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you uncomfortable in any setting.’ The words were out before she could take them back for being too bold. He seemed to bring the boldness out in her without even trying. Maybe he even brought out the crazy.

He acknowledged the words with a nod, his eyes losing some of their shine. ‘You are too kind. I suppose a ballroom is my native habitat these days. I spend enough time in them.’ She wondered if he would have said more if the orchestra hadn’t chosen that moment to strike up for the fifth dance. ‘I believe that’s our cue, Miss Welton.’ His smile was back in place, his eyes bright again as he led her out on to the floor, taking up a spot in the centre.

Claire felt her throat tighten. ‘Everyone can see us.’

‘That’s the point, isn’t it?’ His grin was infectious as his hand slid to her back, firm and confident as he guided her into position.

Claire felt a moment of panic creep up. ‘It’s been ages since I’ve waltzed.’ Not since her debut ball, in fact. What if she tripped? What if she stepped on his toes? What if she didn’t remember the steps?

‘You think too much.’ Jonathon laughed, reading her every thought. ‘I won’t let you fall.’

‘Easy for you to say!’ Claire whispered frantically. ‘You waltz every night.’

‘You could, too.’ Jonathon arched a meaningful eyebrow as the music began. He moved them into the dance, his hand signalling her to move with him. Hesitantly, her feet followed, her body followed, picking up the rhythm. Jonathon made it easy to remember. He waltzed as well as he did everything else, effortlessly making adjustments.

‘You’re doing splendidly! You’re a wonderful dancer.’ Jonathon took them through the first turn. ‘Why don’t you dance more often?’

It was a good question. It was hard to remember why when she was whirling away in Jonathon’s arms. Dancing was liberating. The first time she’d waltzed, she’d felt as if she were flying. She felt that way tonight, only better. This wasn’t flying, it was soaring. ‘I don’t know. I just stopped.’

His eyes held hers, bright and merry. ‘Maybe it’s time to “just start” again.’

Maybe it was. But dancing required partners and partners required calling attention to oneself. She’d given up drawing attention years ago. It was too risky. It would have to be enough to enjoy this moment for the singular event it was, something she didn’t expect would ever happen again.

Jonathon was an exquisite partner in all ways. Never once did his eyes stray from her, never did his conversation falter, or his grip slacken. His interest stayed entirely fixed on her. Even in a room crowded with people, there was an intimacy to his attentions.

It was over all too soon. The dance ended and she could think of no way to keep him with her. He’d already walked with her, danced with her. He returned her to the sidelines and took his leave with a promise to see her the next day. He gave her another flash of that dazzling smile and was gone. It was all very proper. What had she expected? Did she think he’d claim a second dance? Take her in for supper? Spend the rest of the evening practising French as they strolled among the guests?

They were silly notions when he had Cecilia waiting for him and other obligations requiring his attention. For a man like him, a man with ambitions, these evenings were for work as well as pleasure. There were people to meet and to impress, networks to be established. Europe to be saved. Claire smiled to herself. How many others knew what dreams he harboured? It felt good to think that for a little while, maybe she knew a piece of Jonathon no one else did. It could be her secret.

Where did that leave her? Considering the weighty matters that occupied his mind, she wasn’t sure where she stood on his list of priorities. How had he viewed tonight’s dance? Was she another piece of work he had to conduct or was she part of the pleasure? Something he chose to do or had to do? She didn’t want to think about it for fear the answer would tarnish the perfection of the moment. She wanted to be part of the pleasure for him, as he’d been for her.

May tugged at her hand. ‘You’re practically glowing so it must have been as good as it looked. Come to the retiring rooms and tell us all about it.’

The girls were excited, talking over each over on the trip down the hall. ‘You looked beautiful, Claire. No one could take their eyes off the pair of you!’ Evie exclaimed.

‘Even Cecilia,’ May offered pointedly. ‘She left the ballroom halfway through.’

‘Even Lashley. His eyes were on you the whole time.’ Beatrice’s voice was wistful.

‘He has that way about him. He knows how to make everyone feel special, not just me.’ Claire tried to establish some perspective. As much as she’d like to believe in the romance her friends were intent on seeing, she had to be practical or she’d get hurt by her own fantasy. ‘It was only a dance.’

‘She’s right, you know.’ Crisp tones sounded from the doorway of the retiring rooms. Cecilia floated in, her entourage of debutantes filing in behind her. She sat down in front of a vanity and studied her hair. ‘Good evening, Claire. It’s good to see at least one of you has any sense.’ She smiled in the mirror and Claire felt her neck prickle in warning. Claire fought the urge to leave the room before she found out what the warning was for, but Beatrice gripped her hand, a clear message that they would not be chased away.

‘My dear Lashley is terribly good with people. He can charm anyone.’ Cecilia reached in to her reticule for a small comb, everything about her suggesting this was merely a casual conversation. She used the gesture to study Claire. ‘Olive is a much better colour on you than pink. Much quieter. I do think your style is improving.’

Claire flushed. With just a few words, Cecilia brought it all rushing back: the humiliation, the cut, the laughter, as if it had happened yesterday and not three years ago.

‘Make no mistake, you looked lovely with Lashley tonight, but he can make anyone look good.’ Cecilia glanced around at the group of girls with her, making sure she had all their attention. ‘I just love wearing Lashley. He’s my new favourite colour.’ She paused to let the girls giggle in adoration of her wit. She tilted her head to one side, catching Claire in the crosshairs of a considering glance. Claire stiffened at the attention, wishing she didn’t feel such a thread of fear, that she was somehow finer, braver, than Cecilia’s threats. ‘Well done, Claire. If I was only going to dance once in an evening, I’d choose him, too.’