Last Ball … Last Chance

LAST BALL … LAST CHANCE

Juliana

After the tumult of the aborted challenge, Margaret and I decamped to recover at her mother's cottage in Barton, where we spent several pleasant weeks enjoying country pleasures. We strolled the neighborhood, rode occasionally with Colonel Brandon and his wife, Marianne, when the weather permitted, attended dinners with local gentry, and spent afternoons drinking tea and playing whist with other ladies in the village. Several concerts were held, and even a ball. At the beginning of December, the snow was deep, and we enjoyed a sleigh ride before decorating the cottage for Christmastide.

Now recovered, I proposed to return to Rochester and Margaret elected to join me. Her mother, who would spend the festive season with Marianne and Elinor, encouraged this idea after she learned of Ralph Hodgson and his burgeoning interest in her youngest daughter. I wasn't sure Kintleford's cousin meant more than flirtation but held my tongue.

My father had sent several anxious letters, begging my return. He had apprised me of the events in Rochester. Viscount Kintleford and his cousin had returned to Brayton Manor after the completion of the relief commissions sessions but would return in the spring to supervise the work. Jacob Townsend disappeared from Rochester. His father believed he dallied at Spa.

Unpropitious weather discouraged travel and Mrs. Dashwood entreated us to remain, but I was increasingly concerned for my father's welfare. Colonel Brandon had business in London and proposed to hire a post chaise to convey us to Rochester. Marianne and her maid would also accompany us.

In abominable weather, we spent two restless days stranded at an inn in Andover while a blizzard raged. Unable to read or have an intelligent conversation, my needlework suffered from pricked fingers and tangled threads. Meantime, Margaret and Marianne reminisced about their girlhoods, not sparing their brother, John, and his wife in their commentary.

After six long days of travel, we reached my father's house on St. Nicholas Day. Bone weary, we supped lightly and retired early. Our traveling companions stayed the night. We exchanged small gifts before they continued their journey to London the next day.

At breakfast, I was presented with an invitation to attend Lady Fitzherbert's ball. As it was only two days hence, I told my father I intended to decline after the fatigue of travel, but my father demurred strongly.

The entire community knew of our return and visitors began to call within a day of our arrival. Lady Willoughby was one of the first.

"My dear Countess, how fortunate you have returned. Lord Willoughby and I are having a dinner party before the dance being held at Lady Fitzherbert's home and would be delighted if you and Miss Dashwood would attend. I am sure after all that time buried in the country, you long for more sophisticated entertainment."

With no polite way to refuse, we agreed. Perhaps I could plead illness and return home before the private ball. Margaret could choose to go on with Father or return home with me .

On the morning, I awoke with a slight headache and mentioned it to my father and Margaret at breakfast.

Frowning, Father spoke sharply, "My dear Juliana, do not try to feign illness. The deception ill becomes you."

My spine stiffened at the implication. "I have no intention to deceive. The headache is slight. I will eat lightly and spend the day at leisure to be in health for the evening."

Father went on as if he had not heard me. "And you have no reason to fear the appearance of Jacob Townsend. His father tells me the rascal has written from Spa, importuning him for money. He has become a dissolute gambler and drunkard in short order. I am certain he will not return to England."

"That is a relief, Mr. Beauvillier," Margaret said between bites of toasted bread.

After the meal, Father went out and we retired to the morning room, where we spent a pleasant day in conversation and sewing. Later I did some reading and wrote letters to Mrs. Dashwood, Colonel Brandon and his wife, and my aunt, Sophia, in London, accepting an invitation to visit at Easter.

Willoughby House was only steps from our own on Crow Lane. Father took us each by the arm and we walked carefully on the icy path, glittering branches cracking underfoot. A footman strode before and another behind, acting as link boys to light our way.

Lady Willoughby brimmed with excitement when we were announced. She had told Father there would be twenty at table and much of the company was already assembled. A footman handed around champagne and after a short toast, we all drank. Margaret and I found a settee from which we could comfortably scrutinize our fellow guests.

A loud rap upon the front door alerted the company the final guests had arrived. After a pause, the elderly butler ushered in two tall gentlemen. My breath stuttered at their familiar faces.

The brass buttons of his uniform gleaming, the man stood martinet-like at the entrance to the room and intoned, "Viscount Kintleford and Mr. Ralph Hodgson. "

"We are so sorry to be late," the viscount said. "Just as we were leaving our lodging, a messenger arrived from my father. He has taken ill. Ralph and I will leave for the estate tomorrow morning."

"I hope it is not serious," Lord Willoughby said.

"The doctors are not sure. Perhaps by the time we reach Brayton, matters will be clearer. Meantime, pray do not let this news cloud the pleasure of this gathering."

Kintleford's eyes had been scanning the company. His cousin elbowed him discreetly to point out Margaret and me. He gazed intently in my direction.

With a simper, Lady Willoughby said, "We are so pleased you and your cousin are able to join us, Lord Kintleford, but sorry that you will have to quit our community again so soon."

Kintleford gave a bow, took a proffered flute, and sat where he could stare at me easily. "Thank you, Lady Willoughby. We would not have been able to stay long in any case. My father expects us to attend all of the family festivities for Christmastide."

When we proceeded to the dining room, Lord Kintleford escorted me and Mr. Hodgson did the same for Margaret, who glowed like a candle.

During the first course, my attention was claimed by a Mr. Barrington, a canon at the cathedral. He discoursed on church music and the training of young boys to sing in the choir. He only stopped to eat, swallowing each mouthful with haste to go on with his lecture.

I pretended to listen, but my mind spun with thoughts of the viscount on my other side. Sure he had not come for my benefit but to further his connections with members of Rochester society, I could not stop dreaming about the kiss near the observatory of Mr. Alexias and telling myself he really had returned to see me. The few times I glanced in his direction, his fiery gaze was trained on me as he conversed politely with the bishop's wife.

When the dishes were removed and the second course handed around, I crashed back to the present. My mood was thoughtful and somewhat melancholy as I turned to the man on my right .

"So pleasant to see you again." Lord Kintleford's voice was cool, as if greeting a distant acquaintance. "I hope you have been well these last weeks. Your father told me you had gone to Devonshire with Miss Dashwood."

"The peace of the country was a great balm after the pandemonium of those last days in Rochester." I blinked away unlooked-for tears and swallowed to dislodge a lump in my throat. "Your work with the committee was satisfactory?"

"Plans were outlined and approved. Much debris must be removed before reconstruction starts."

His eyes fastened on mine with something like entreaty. "Will you attend the ball?"

"I suppose I must, but I would rather return home after dinner."

His hand brushed mine under the table. "Countess, I must speak to you on a matter of urgency. If you wish to leave, could I offer to escort you home?"

"My father would never allow it."

"I do believe he would," Kintleford said, flashing a mysterious smile. Then he proceeded

to talk of new astronomical discoveries as we ate our way through the second course.

As the cloth was replaced, I let out a gasp of sudden pain. Both the canon and the viscount turned to me with alarm, as did my father from farther down the table.

"My dear," he cried. "Are you ill?"

My fingers fluttered in front of my mouth. In a low voice I said, "A sudden pain, Father." Then I moaned softly. "I must lie down."

"You live close by," Kintleford said. "I will escort you home, if you wish, Countess. Are you able to walk?"

"I will try," I said, my voice weak.

"Thank you, Kintleford. One of my footmen will escort you with a torch to see you safely returned."