Courtship In The Regency Ballroom: His Cinderella Bride / Devilish Lord, Mysterious Miss
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At that very moment, as if he was aware she was thinking about him, he turned his head and his eyes locked with hers. For a breath, a heartbeat or two, it was as if there was nobody else in the room. She had never felt anything like it before. The physical distance between them faded to nothing as she connected with him in a way that was beyond rational explanation.
She blinked, determined to free herself from the spell Lord Lensborough’s obsidian eyes had cast over her. She stumbled, Mr Farrar gently corrected her false step and the contact with Lord Lensborough was broken. She could hear the music again, the babble of conversation of the other dancers.
‘Mama,’ Julia trilled when that dance came to its courtly climax, ‘would it be improper to have a waltz next?’
Hester felt her hard-won composure shatter. A country dance was bearable when the only contact was brief, confined to the holding of hands, and the gentleman who partnered you was as considerate as Mr Farrar, or his lordship. But a waltz, when a man held the woman in his arms and forced her to submit to every manoeuvre he cared to make? It was a vile public demonstration of male domination over womankind in which she would never participate.
‘I see no reason why not.’ Impervious to the message Hester’s entire body was silently screaming, Lady Susan gave her blessing to the enterprise. ‘This is just a private family gathering. There can be no impropriety in it.’
Having caught the horrified expression on Hester’s face, Em rose from the piano stool. ‘I beg to differ, my lady. Not all present are members of the same family. We have here three single gentlemen quite unrelated to your daughters or your niece.’
‘Don’t be such a prude, Emily,’ Lionel drawled. ‘Must I sit out watching, while others enjoy themselves, because of your antiquated notions of propriety?’
‘By no means. You could waltz with me, I suppose, since we are cousins of a sort. Lady Hester may take my turn at the piano, since it would be unfair to put her in the position of having to refuse any of the guests in her aunt’s house.’
As the two girls crossed the room to swap positions, Lord Lensborough’s brow arched in the gesture with which Hester was becoming all too familiar.
‘You do not waltz, Lady Hester?’
Throwing him a defiant look, she shook her head. Well, now she would see him in his true colours. He would be bound to sneer—the decency she had thought she could discern beneath that haughty exterior would prove to be nothing more than a mirage after all.
‘Well, I see nothing wrong in waltzing either,’ Julia declared. ‘When I was in London, I waltzed with all manner of gentlemen to whom I am not in the least related.’
‘Then you must certainly waltz with me.’ Lord Lensborough ceased his contemplation of Lady Hester, and walked to Julia’s side. But his voice was gentle as he remarked, ‘And we will have the pleasure of hearing Lady Hester play, for the first time during my visit.’
Hester sank down on to the piano stool. Once Stephen had asked Phoebe for the dance, each lady who wished for it had a partner, and Hester struck up a waltz.
Her fingers caressed the keys softly as she followed the printed notes across the page. She was not mistaken, not this time. By upholding her decision to play the piano, Lord Lensborough had enabled her to avoid dancing without looking ridiculous.
Poor Em seemed to be suffering for her generous impulse to rescue her, though. She did not appear to be very good at waltzing. From time to time she heard Lionel mutter an oath as she stepped heavily upon one of his feet, and once, as they passed by her station at the piano, ‘Em, I swear you have all the grace of a performing elephant.’
‘I never claimed you would enjoy dancing with me,’ she retorted. ‘You cannot suppose I get a lot of practice at this sort of thing at the vicarage.’
‘You will never get much practice, wherever you go. No man would risk dancing with you a second time without the protection of hobnailed boots.’
As his back turned towards Hester, she could have sworn Em winked at her over his shoulder. Stifling the urge to giggle, Hester brought the piece to a conclusion.
The dancers applauded her playing, and negotiated for new partners. Lord Lensborough, having waltzed with one sister, quite properly asked Phoebe for the next one. Hester decided to perform a piece she could play from memory. For some reason she wanted to see how Lord Lensborough behaved with Phoebe, now that her opinion of his character had shifted somewhat.
How strange. He did not appear to be making much attempt at conversation. He looked, if anything, faintly bored. She frowned. Perhaps that tension about his mouth was not indicative of boredom, but something else. When he had danced with her, he had seemed far more relaxed. Even with Henrietta he had been more animated than this. It was only with Phoebe and Julia that he seemed so brooding.
Of course. He was on the verge of taking an irrevocable step, one that would affect his entire future. Though he had initially approached her cousins through a third party, he did now appear to be weighing the pros and cons of each prospective bride most carefully. Perhaps he took his duty to marry far more seriously than she had previously suspected.
As she watched the dancers swirling about the Great Hall, she noted with a frown that Em did not appear to be faring any better with her next partner, Mr Farrar. She had not stepped on his toes; indeed, he had her gliding about the room with a grace that seemed effortless, their steps perfectly matched.
But she was not enjoying herself. Her face was flushed. Knowing her as she did, Hester deduced Em was on the verge of losing her temper. Oh, dear, she hoped Mr Farrar was not teasing her in the manner he adopted with her cousins. They found it endearing, but Em detested flirting almost as much as Hester did. Moreover, she had very strong views about the dandy set, men, she had often stated vehemently, who lavished money on so shallow a thing as their own appearance, when there were families on the verge of starvation begging, unheeded, at their doors.
That waltz ended, but since her young cousins were clamouring for another, and Lady Gregory gave her permission, Hester struck up a third waltz tune.
Lord Lensborough became Em’s partner, and to set the seal on Hester’s confusion, promptly set about soothing her ruffled feathers, while Lionel managed to coax a smile out of Phoebe, who had come from Lensborough’s embrace looking thoroughly downcast.
The waltz, Hester concluded, was a dance that appeared to have the effect of turning everybody’s feelings upside down.
Sir Thomas declared that three waltzes on top of a set of energetic country dances was quite enough excitement for one evening, and that it was high time they removed to the drawing room, where light refreshments had been laid out.
Hester automatically began to tidy up the sheet music that was strewn across the piano lid.
It was only when Lionel materialised at her side she realised how careless she had been. With everyone else heading for the exit, she had given him an ideal opportunity to catch her on her own.
‘It is no use trying to avoid me, Hetty,’ he hissed ‘You know full well why I am here. I told you when the time was right I would come back and marry you.’
Marriage? No, not that. She would rather he blackmailed her!
He laid one hand on top of the piano, leaning over her seated form like a vulture hunched over its prey.
‘And here you are, still single, waiting for me.’
She fought the urge to cringe away from him, determined not to betray the sickening feeling of helplessness that roiled in her stomach.
‘Please move away from me,’ she managed to gasp.
Lionel laughed. ‘Why, Hetty, if I did not know you better, I would think you did not like me.’
‘I don’t.’ She forced the words between lips that were stiff with outrage. ‘And I won’t marry you.’
For an instant, as he straightened up abruptly with a curse, Hester feared he was going to strike her. It took a second or two to register that he had responded to the fact that Lord Lensborough was standing not five feet from them, with Em on his arm.
‘Miss Dean wishes to go home, Mr Snelgrove.’ His voice was icily polite. ‘She is not easy about leaving her father too long alone.’
‘It is quite a long walk across the park,’ she explained, her voice somewhat higher than usual, and far louder than it needed to be. ‘Papa will be worried if I return too late.’
Hester realised that the words were not intended so much for her, as Mr Farrar, who was standing behind the couple, looking every bit as furious as Mr Snelgrove.
‘Of course,’ Lionel replied, bowing stiffly to Hester. He escorted Em from the room, Stephen Farrar trailing moodily along behind them.
It was only once he had gone that reaction set in, and Hester began to tremble violently. She could not have got up and left the piano stool had her life depended on it. Head bowed, she waited till the trembling subsided, and it was not till she looked up that she discovered Lord Lensborough was waiting patiently some few feet away.
‘I…’ Her face flushed. She felt she owed him some explanation, but he curtailed her, shaking his head and merely holding out his arm with a rueful smile.
‘No explanations necessary. Allow me to escort you to the drawing room. You look as if you could do with a refreshing glass of lemonade.’
‘Thank you, my lord.’ She placed her hand on his arm, and rose shakily to her feet. ‘That would be most welcome.’
Lord Lensborough contented himself with walking Hester along the passage to the supper room in sympathetic silence. It would be crass to allude to the exchange he had overheard, unfeeling to talk of anything else as if he was unmindful of her emotional state.
They paused on the threshold, and he watched her face intently as she scanned the occupants of the room, her fingers tightening convulsively on his sleeve.
She looked at Julia and Phoebe, giggling together in a corner, cock-a-hoop because they had each waltzed with their intended. How little it took to set them in alt! There sat Henrietta, gazing up at her husband with foolish, untrammelled devotion, basking in the glow of impending motherhood.
Even her aunt and uncle were locked in a little world of their own, side by side on a sofa, sipping tea from matching china cups.
Never had she felt so excluded, so utterly alone.
She sighed, exhaustion washing over her. She was glad that her family were all too content to probe into her life. If any of them were to guess what lay beneath the carefully maintained mask she wore…She shuddered. Pray God nobody would ever guess the secrets she harboured.
‘Will you excuse me, my lord?’ She looked full into eyes that once she had thought were dark with menace. They held no fear for her now. He might not want anybody to know it, but Lord Lensborough could be kind.
‘I find suddenly that I am very tired. It has been a busy day.’
She needed her sanctuary. She would feel far less lonely up in her attic than down here with people who were oblivious to her lacerated feelings.
Lord Lensborough hesitated for only a fraction of a second before bowing and bidding her goodnight. He was content with the progress he had made tonight. Snelgrove had played right into his hands. Twice the fool had pushed her too far, and she had accepted his offer of help. Before long she would be eating out of his hands.
Chapter Eight
Hester was too worked up to fall asleep for a very long time. And when she did, the nightmare came back.
Even though thick smoke was blinding her, she knew she was in the summerhouse. She could hear the rain thundering on to the roof. The smoke was getting thicker, choking her. She tried to get to the door, but he caught her round the waist and dragged her to the floor, crushing her beneath the weight of his body. The harder she struggled to free herself, the louder he laughed. Then he was grinding her cheek into the rough floorboards with one hand and leaning down to open his breeches with the other. The blackened hem of her muslin gown crumbled to ashes in his hands as the flames licked up her legs. If she couldn’t stop him, she would burn to death.
She took as deep a breath as she could, her mouth opening wide.
The sound of her scream, thin and reedy at first, quickly grew to a howl that was loud enough to wake her.
Her heart pounding, she fought free of the blankets that were tangled round her thrashing limbs and rolled from the bed to land on all fours on the floor. Sweat was pouring from her body. Kicking the blankets away, she reached up and grabbed a glass of water from the bedside table, gulping it fast to try to wash the acrid taste of burning flesh from her mouth.
There was no way she was going to lie back down on that bed again tonight. She shook the eiderdown free from the rest of the bedding that littered the floor, wrapped it round her shoulders and padded barefoot from her windowless bedroom. Taking the lighted lantern from her hall table, she went down the stairs to make sure the only door that gave access to her rooms was locked. Then she climbed on to a straight-backed chair and pushed at the latch on the skylight. It was secure. She was safe. Nobody could get in.
Not physically. But her imagination—oh, that was a differ-ent matter.
Lionel had come back, and his return had stirred up all the memories she had fought so long and hard to suppress. She padded into her sitting room and stoked up the fire, then settled into the armchair, knowing from bitter experience there was no point in trying to get any more sleep.
That was why she was so grateful she had these attic rooms. Nobody could hear her up here, when she woke screaming. Nobody could see her obsessively checking and rechecking the locks. Nobody would urge her back to bed, when she knew the only way to get any rest was to doze, propped upright in a corner somewhere with a poker in her hand.
She rubbed her creased forehead with two fingers. Fortunately the house party was breaking up tomorrow. Saying farewells and tidying up would provide plenty of activity. By the time night fell again, she would hopefully have worked herself to a state of exhaustion that would ensure she got at least a few hours of deep, dreamless sleep. Hard work had always proved an effective remedy in the past.
But the quieter the house became, as the guests departed one by one, the more vulnerable Hester felt. By early after-noon her nerves were so jittery, she decided her only recourse was to find some work to do in a room where the presence of at least a couple of other people would give her an illusion of security. She knew her cousins would be in the library, discussing how to while away the rest of the day. So she gathered up the books that various guests had left in their rooms to return them to their proper places.
Lord Lensborough and Mr Farrar were there too, but for once she was glad of their presence. Her cousins would concentrate all their conversational efforts on impressing Lord Lensborough. She would have the advantage of company without needing to dredge up a steady flow of chatter herself.
She was doubly glad of their presence when, not long after arriving in the library, Fisher announced that Lionel Snelgrove had come to pay a call.
Why had he come here so soon after she had refused him? Did he think he could make her change her mind? That he could bully her into submission? Well, he could think again! She would not even speak to him.
Seizing a random selection of volumes, she strode to the farthest corner of the room and began to thrust them into any vacant slot she could find.
After making the appropriate greetings, Lionel turned to Lord Lensborough.
‘I was a little surprised that you did not ride over this morning, my lord. I trust you are well?’
Hester slammed a copy of The Monk into a gap between two improving works penned by Hannah More.
‘I thought it might be more appropriate if we were to make up a party including the ladies next time we ventured out.’
Hester’s ears pricked up at Lord Lensborough’s icily civil tone. Lionel had somehow managed to offend him.
Julia clapped her hands in glee. ‘Oh, yes, I should love that, and so would Phoebe. How clever of you to think of it, my lord.’ From the corner of her eye, Hester could see her batting her eyelashes at him quite shamelessly. ‘Everything always seems so flat after guests leave.’
‘And, Lady Hester, perhaps we can persuade you to leave your household duties for one afternoon and join the party?’ Lord Lensborough said.
‘Yes, do come with us, Hester.’ Julia rose from her chair impulsively and crossed the room to stand beside her. Turning to Lord Lensborough, she added, ‘Lady Hester is a much better rider than either of us, but then she goes out so much more often.’
‘And Lady Hester knows the country even better than I, since I have been so long away.’ Lionel added his weight to Lord Lensborough’s invitation. ‘I am sure she will know of a delightful route we could take, suitable for less experienced riders than us, my lord.’
Lionel had followed like a shadow in Julia’s wake, rendering her tactic of making for the far corner of the library quite useless. Still, she had the table between them, and Julia at her side. Taking a volume from the pile, she cleared her throat, saying, ‘That will not be possible. Strawberry is stabled over at Lady’s Bower. It would take an age to send for her.’
Damn. Lord Lensborough had forgotten that her riding privileges had been withheld because…He frowned—that could not be right. He had assumed that she was being punished for dallying with him, whereas in fact her family were shielding her. Was she so averse to being alone with a gentleman that she would voluntarily have her horse sent to a neighbour’s stables?
Apparently, he thought glumly, since he knew Lady’s Bower was the manor that Snelgrove had pointed out to him, laughing, because it was so inappropriately named. The eccentric Captain Corcoran, the current tenant, would only employ men, particularly ex-seamen like himself.
‘You must all go, though,’ she continued. ‘I would not like to think of his lordship forgoing his daily ride on my account.’
Damn again. The whole purpose of suggesting this expedition was to make Lady Hester a part of it.
‘Oh, come on, Hetty.’
Lord Lensborough bristled at the familiarity with which Snelgrove addressed Lady Hester, at the way he leaned his hands on the table, thrusting his face towards hers. ‘A bruising rider like you? You could manage any of the mounts Sir Thomas has in his stables, or even one of his lordship’s, if you put your mind to it. Borrow a horse, Hetty, and come out with us. It will be just like old times.’
She flinched. Instantly, Lord Lensborough forgot all about his own desire to spend some time in her company, in the more urgent need to protect her from a situation she would clearly find intolerable.
‘Perhaps Lady Hester is a little tired after all the work she has put in over the past weeks for our benefit, and is too polite to say so, Snelgrove.’
Julia put out her hand, taking hold of Hester’s. ‘Now that his lordship mentions it, you do look dreadfully worn, Hester. I am so sorry, I did not notice before. Are you quite well?’
The fleeting look of gratitude Lady Hester flashed him more than made up for Lord Lensborough’s disappointment at her refusal to come out. At last. She had recognised that he was deliberately defending her from Lionel’s unwelcome pursuit.
‘I admit I do not feel up to racketing about on horseback today.’ Hester shamelessly grabbed at the lifeline Lord Lensborough had thrown her. ‘And I have been neglecting Em—that is, Miss Dean,’ she explained to his lordship, the germ of an idea causing a surge of wild excitement to go winging through her, ‘during the past week or so. I may walk across the park to visit with her.’
Lionel shot her a glance loaded with such malevolence that the words died in her throat. It shook her for a moment, until she realised that, with his back to the rest of the occupants of the room, she alone was able to see it.
Lord Lensborough remarked, ‘Let us hope you return refreshed from your visit, my lady. And do you dine with us this evening, now that you are released from your duties towards the nursery party?’
‘I…’She frowned, dragging her gaze from Lionel’s spiteful countenance. Truth to tell, having a tray alone in her room was the last thing she wanted in her present state of mind. And she no longer felt the need to avoid the marquis. He could be pleasant enough when it occurred to him to bother. She had already come to the conclusion that once he’d made up his mind which of her cousins should have the honour of taking his name, he might even make a fairly kind sort of husband, in an offhand way. He would want the mother of his children to be content in her role, and though she could not imagine him doing anything as vulgar as actually developing a tendre for his wife—Abruptly she brought her woolgathering to a halt, and, with flushed cheeks, murmured, ‘Yes, my lord, I will.’
She missed the exultant gleam her response brought to his eyes as she hurried from the room. All she could think of was escaping Lionel. If he was here at The Holme, she would be safe to go and fetch Em from the vicarage. Not that she had any intention of staying there, and risking being there when he returned.
Because Lionel had more or less told her where he was going to ride—he planned to revisit their childhood haunts. The tarn where she and Gerard used to swim would offer Julia and Phoebe a gentle enough ride, or perhaps along the course of the beck where they had fished, or through the park to the copse where there were trees they used to climb. In any event, all those destinations lay in the opposite direction from the gypsy camp on The Lady’s Acres.
In no time at all, she was ensconced in Jye’s caravan, a mug of hot sweet tea in her hand, her beloved little girl sitting at her feet with her head resting on her knee. Once she had drunk the tea, and the half-dozen or so children who were squashed together on the caravan floor had devoured the macaroons Hester had purloined from the kitchens on her way out, she opened her satchel, and distributed sheets of coloured paper and crayons.
In spite of the fact that the children only had instruction from her, just once a year during the time when they camped in The Lady’s Acres, at least a couple of the boys had clearly been putting the intervening months to good use.
‘Any advantage we can get over Gorgi,’ one of them cheekily remarked, knowing full well that Lady Hester had not a drop of Romany blood in her veins, and so qualified as Gorgi herself, ‘is worth a bit of effort. If we can read their writing, when they still can’t know our signs and ways, well, we got the edge over ’em, don’t we?’
She was on the point of gathering up the primers and rounding off the session, when Jye, who never stayed within hearing when she was playing the part of school ma’am, came clattering up the steps and put his head through the top half of the door.
‘Gorgi,’ he panted. ‘Men. A bunch of them on horseback. Could be trouble, Lady Hetty.’
Their eyes met. Trouble not just for the gypsies, who were prey to all sorts of oppression by suspicious locals, but for her too, if she was found here. She drew herself up, ‘I’ll come at once, Jye,’ she assured him. ‘They won’t attempt anything while I am here.’
‘I’ll finish off in here.’ Em began to gather up the primers and crayons that were scattered about the floor. Hitching Lena on to her hip, Hester nodded to show she understood Em’s reluctance to show her face. Though people fully expected the vicar’s daughter to visit the poor of the parish, most would also feel she ought not to be encouraging a band of rogues and vagabonds to linger in the parish either.