Courtship In The Regency Ballroom: His Cinderella Bride / Devilish Lord, Mysterious Miss

‘In some ways,’ Hester mused, ‘it is going better than I expected. Aunt Valeria is so overwhelmed by Lord Lensborough’s magnificence…’ she stuck one hand on her hip, flicking an imaginary coat tail out of the way in the process, and looked down her nose at Em, raising one eyebrow in mimicry of Lord Lensborough at his most haughty ‘…that she hasn’t thrown a single tantrum. And Mr Farrar,’ she confided, dropping her pose, ‘who I at first thought was nothing but a dandy, is in fact doing his level best to put my cousins at ease. Not entirely successfully, I might add.’

‘Oho! What has the monstrous marquis done?’

‘Oh, hardly anything worth mentioning,’ she replied airily. ‘Apart from sneering at Phoebe’s watercolours and yawning over Julia’s embroidery, depressing Aunt Valeria’s pretensions and taking up with Lionel Snelgrove so that he does not have to go out riding with my uncle.’

Em giggled. Dinner had been one of the most strained occasions she had ever attended at The Holme, which was normally one of the most informal of venues. Julia and Phoebe, Hester had told her, were becoming increasingly agitated as the allotted week drew to a close and neither felt any nearer knowing which was likely to receive the formal offer. The marquis himself had not spoken a word throughout the entire meal, but sat with his mouth drawn into a line as though he were biting back scathing retorts. He even raised his haughty left eyebrow at Stephen Farrar for repeatedly provoking Phoebe into fits of giggles.

‘Has he ever spoken about running you down that first day? Or apologised for just taking off afterwards?’

‘Oh, that.’ Hester fanned herself with a sheet of music with a languorous air. ‘He has quite forgot all about that. I dare say he runs so many women off the road he cannot differentiate between all his victims. When he deigns to speak to me at all, which is not all that often, I promise you, it is on the subject of politics.’

‘P…politics? Oh, dear.’ Em laughed. ‘Does he try that with Julia? Or Phoebe?’

‘I wouldn’t put it past him.’ She glanced at where they stood by the fireside, heads close together in a frantically whispered conversation. ‘The one good thing to come from his insufferable attitude was my uncle’s decision that I need not be a part of any entertainment that involved him. Except…’ she heaved a sigh ‘…for tonight. Since you and Mr Snelgrove are technically my guests, I may not withdraw until you have gone home.’

Em drew herself up, giving Hester a direct look.

Hester could have kicked herself. ‘You know if it were just you I would gladly put up with…I mean, I would have had a tray in my room and we need not have even…oh, you must know it is Lionel. I do not know what I shall do if he should ask me to dance.’

Impulsively she reached out to clasp her friend’s hand. Em patted it, but her tone of voice was brisk.

‘Really, Hester. What harm do you think would come from dancing with him in your own home, with all your family about you? I fail to understand how you can march into a gypsy camp and confront that dirty ruffian Jye one minute, then quiver like an aspen leaf at the prospect of taking part in a perfectly civilised pastime with a relative of mine.’

Hester hung her head. ‘It is not because he is your relative. It is the way he—’ She blushed crimson.

Em pursed her lips. ‘I know he is rather a flirt, Hester, but don’t you think you are overreacting?’ She sat down firmly on the piano stool. ‘Now look, the gentlemen are coming in, and the first set will be forming soon. His marquisness will no doubt solicit the hand of one of your cousins, and Mr Farrar the other. The other men will dance with their wives, so Lionel is bound to ask you to stand up with him. And you must.’

Hester blenched.

‘Don’t be a goose. It is only a dance. You’ll feel better once you’ve got it over with.’

Em’s words were prophetic. In moments, Lionel was the only man without a dance partner, and he was bowing over her hand. And standing far closer than she liked. So close that she could feel his body heat through the flimsy barrier of her primrose gown. She backed into the piano, shivers of revulsion coursing through her limbs.

‘A pretty show of reluctance,’ he teased. ‘But you will not refuse me this dance. Another couple is entirely necessary to complete the set.’

With a sudden flash of clarity, Hester saw that when they got on to the dance floor, Lionel would only be able to touch her hand briefly, when the movements decreed it. He would not at any time be able to stand as close to her as this. She levered herself off the piano, and walked, stiff legged, to join the bottom of the set.

Em struck the first chord, the gentlemen bowed to the ladies, and the dance began.

It seemed to go on for ever.

By the time it was over Hester’s head was spinning with the effort of pretending she was unaffected by the taunts he whispered into her ear whenever they drew close enough to converse. Her entire body was trembling from the effort she had expended in taking mincing little steps when all she wanted was to hitch up her skirts and run a mile. The only thing that had prevented her from doing just that was her refusal to let him triumph. She would never let him beat her again!

While everyone else was applauding Em’s playing, Lionel sidled up behind her.

‘You look delightfully flushed.’ His voice oozed down the back of her neck. ‘Let us sit the next one out, while you recover your breath. I have something I particularly want to say to you.’

She was ready to drop; she needed to sit down and recover, but not with him.

Before she could collect her wits enough to make some excuse, he had taken her by the elbow, and was steering her towards a shadowy alcove beneath the minstrel’s gallery.

And then Lord Lensborough was blocking their path, he was bowing, and through the roaring in her ears she heard him ask if she would do him the honour of being his partner for the next dance.

Hester had never dreamed a day would come when she would seize at the opportunity to dance, let alone with Lord Lensborough, but it had come now with a vengeance.

She could not yet control her voice, but when she tugged her arm from Lionel’s grip, decorum decreed he had to relinquish it. She stretched her hand out to Lord Lensborough; wordlessly he took it, and with a profound sense of relief Hester walked back to the dance floor.

‘I believe you do not care for dancing any more than I do myself, my lady,’ he said softly as they took their places in the new set that was forming. ‘Convention demands that we appear tolerably amused, however, lest a shadow be cast over the pleasure others take in the exercise.’

Why had he asked her to dance, then, if he really had noticed she did not enjoy it? Did he take some kind of perverse pleasure in making her uncomfortable?

She glared straight ahead at the tiger’s-eye pin that nestled in the deep black folds of his silk cravat. As for taking pains not to cast a damper on others’ enjoyment…well, what a plumper! He didn’t care if his mood cast a shadow. He’d had the whole household on edge ever since he’d arrived.

‘And I shall not be offended if you do not make any attempt to speak to me.’

Well, that she could believe. Whenever they had spoken they had come to cuffs, and for the last two days he had been as much at pains to avoid her as she had been to avoid him.

Then he confounded her by finishing, ‘I do not wish to make this more of an ordeal for you than it need be.’

Hester stumbled through the opening sequence in a perplexed silence.

‘You are doing well,’ he said as he took her raised hand and turned her. ‘I have often found myself that going through some dull, repetitive task enables me to restore my composure when I have been sorely tried by some idiot or other.’

Hester gazed up at him in frank astonishment. Was he saying that he had noticed how badly Lionel affected her, and was deliberately trying to help her recover? Could this be the same man who had subjected her to a torrent of oaths, less than a week ago, when she had got in his way?

He gave her a rueful smile. ‘I am capable of behaving as I ought, though I have not so far given you reason to believe it.’

Heavens, was he reading her mind now? Before she could respond they moved apart again. But perhaps it was just as well. She could not have framed a fit reply to that remark to save her life.

‘At least I have the satisfaction of knowing that dancing with me is preferable to being drawn into a tête-à-tête with that crass suitor of yours.’

Without thinking, she snapped, ‘Well, anything would be preferable to that.’

Lord Lensborough let out a bark of surprised laughter, a sound so astonishing that everyone, or so it seemed to Hester, turned and stared. It was the first indication he had given during this visit that a sense of humour might lurk beneath that stern façade.

Hester tilted her face up towards him in surprise, and made the discovery that with those little crinkles at the corners of his eyes, his mouth turned up with genuine, rather than sardonic, humour, all the harshness had melted from his sombre features.

‘I beg your pardon,’ she apologised, heat flooding her face.

How could she have been so rude? And how could he possibly find her rudeness amusing? She supposed it must have some novelty value to come across a person, especially a female, with so little regard for his rank that they would dare say exactly what they thought.

Did he appreciate the unconventional? Was that why he favoured the tiger’s eye, whose swirling bands so exactly matched the varying shades of brown that twinkled in his own eyes, rather than a diamond, or even just a plain gold pin?

He had not responded to her apology before they moved apart again. Really, it was vexing trying to hold a conversation during a dance. The figures separated them at the most inopportune moments.

‘Don’t mention it.’ He smiled down at her when next they came together. ‘I think we both owe each other roughly the same number of apologies now. Shall we just cry quits?’

She nodded as she twirled away, reflecting that perhaps she did not need to pity her cousins. After all, they kept on saying they wanted to get married. And she was beginning to suspect Lord Lensborough might be the kind of husband Uncle Thomas was to her Aunt Susan. Blunt of manner and speech, more used to the society of men and sporting men at that. Yet for all his lack of address in company, his preference for the hunting field over the drawing room, her uncle’s rough exterior cloaked a kernel of solid decency.