Chapter 13

The Ball

There were four ladies in the Maxwell coach; Lady Maxwell, Margaret, Helen, and Muriel. Since Lord Maxwell was in Town, which was rare, he decided to accompany his wife and daughter. "I'm sure you three ladies will be busy dancing the night away. Don't be concerned with us. I will likely dance a few with my lovely wife, then find the cardroom."

"My dear husband. You know the ton only allows the husband to dance with his wife once in the evening." She kissed his cheek.

"It seems that we have this conversation at every ball we attend. I don't care one whit what the ton dictates. I will dance with my wife when I bloody well feel like it." He kissed her hand.

"Lord Maxwell, we have children in the coach with us."

My lady, if these three beauties require introductions, would you do the honors for me if I'm in the cardroom?" He squeezed his wife's hand and kissed her cheek. She blew him back a loving kiss. Lord and Lady Maxwell often brought a blush to Margaret at her parent's demonstrative displays of affection.

Yes, of course, my lord. I do believe the ladies know most of the gentlemen." She looked to Muriel. "Except the lovely Muriel. You should be brought back to me after dancing. Of course, Margaret and Helen as well. You are all free to roam as you please. Only, make sure I know where you are going. I'm responsible for all three of you. This is going to be a mad crush so I expect anything to happen. We will all focus on having a wonderful time. Correct, ladies?"

In unison, the three responded. "Yes, Lady Maxwell." Helen and Margaret tittered. Muriel was so nervous; she could hardly breathe. This was her first official ball. She was hoping she would make a good impression. She knew that the gown she was wearing was stunning. She only hoped that she was worthy of it. She thought about her Benefactor . She wondered if they would be there to see her in the beautiful gown he, she, they purchased solely for her.

"I'm so nervous. I fear if I'm asked for a dance, I will be trembling inside." Muriel had experienced many kinds of social events; those were nothing like what she was going to experience tonight. "I hope I stay on my feet. I walked around in these shoes the rest of the day yesterday and today, until it was time for me to dress. Pray I don't do something foolish or clumsy."

"Muriel, you are most graceful. As for the shoes, you said you have been wearing them. Have you fallen at home?" Helen wanted to bring awareness to Muriel.

"No, of course not. This is different."

"There are going to be so many people in that ballroom, you could not fall even if you wanted to." Lord Maxwell smiled a reassuring smile at Muriel. He had known her father very well. Lord and Lady Maxwell would get together with Mama and Papa to play whist, enjoy hor d'oeuvres, imbibe, and indulge in conversation. That is how Muriel and Margaret became the best of friends. Muriel and Margaret were born the same year. Papa used to say the ladies planned it that way.

"Well, ladies, we are here." The footman assisted the ladies out, then Lord Maxwell. They had arrived late. Lady Maxwell was having difficulty finding the right jewelry to wear with her dress, so she changed gowns. Twice. Since he was waiting on his wife, Lord Maxwell had the coachman and footman gathered Helen and Muriel at their homes, then return to the Maxwell townhouse and still had to wait. At last, they were finally at the Seymour's ball.

"I'm so nervous, might you both hold my hands?" Muriel was beyond nervous. She was so worried she would not be noticed. She hoped not to be a wallflower.

"Muriel, you must be announced. You have to stand alone for that." Margaret tried to explain.

"I hope I can remain standing." Muriel moaned.

"You will be fine, Lady Muriel. Try to relax and enjoy it. That is what Lord McDonnell would have wanted for you." Lord Maxwell patted her hand and smiled down at her.

"You are correct, Lord Maxwell. I will do my best for Papa." "That is the spirit."

"We have been standing here since nine o'clock. It is now after eleven. Perhaps your Lady Apparition is not coming tonight. You know, with the break-in and the injuries their butler incurred that Dr. Haynie told Frank about, she may have had to stay to care for him. And I think Lady Apparition's mother is mentally absent. Frank said she had already gone to bed after the break-in. Now, what mother would leave their daughter to deal with that alone?"

"Yes, Lady Apparition has a lot to deal with. Unfairly. We must play the hand, as the saying goes." Martin was not looking at Fred. His eyes were on the door where the master-of-ceremonies was standing.

"We were looking for you two. How long have you been here? We usually make it to the balls before the two of you." Henry had arrived. John was walking up right behind him.

"How long are we staying before it is acceptable for us to leave?" John, much like Martin, detested these events.

"Martin is waiting for Lady Apparition." Fred elbowed John.

"Ah, yes. The elusive Lady Apparition. I have heard. You must make sure you point her out." John had not had the pleasure of observing her at the theatre.

"You'll not need a cue. You will know her the moment she enters the building." Fred left out any description.

"Should we at least find a chit to dance with whilst we wait for Lady Apparition?" Henry was more like Fred. He enjoyed flirtations.

"I'm very tired of these chits coming up and batting their God-awful eyes at me." Martin complained, leaning against the post on the dais where extra seating and tables lined that side of the room. About that time, either the sixth or seventh young lady walked up to him.

"Lord Claymont, do you dance?" Martin rolled his eyes.

"No." Like the others, her face suffused a pinkish tone, she stammered, then walked away.

"Has anyone ever told you how rude you can be?" Fred was goading him.

"Yes. You do, constantly. I have failed to see you accept any dances."

"Yes, that is true. I'm a bit more subtle about it." Fred was much more amiable.

"I think it makes no difference. The end result is that you say ‘no' and–I say ‘no'."

"If she is not here by eleven-thirty, could we leave? I have that bar wench at Venus, that has my preference down. I would like a repeat performance. John had rather walk through fire than be here. Henry will stay with you. He loves to dance."

"I noticed how well she had your preference down. Tell her, next time to make sure your fall is buttoned properly."

"Someone is coming that seems to have gathered attention." Fred looked at Martin.

"Oh, is this the one? My goodness. Every man in the room is looking if that is she." Henry's mouth was wide open.

"There she is. My God. Look at her. My God." Martin was fixated.

"You said that." Fred retorted.

"She is–what – ?" John asked. As fixated as the rest.

"Frank said she was not of this world." They were seeing Lady Apparition for the first time. "I have to agree." Henry finally closed his mouth.

She walked to the entry, at the top of the stairs, handed the master-of-ceremonies her card and he announced her name. She walked down the stairs as if she was floating. As she walked into the ballroom, she prayed she would not fall. Helen came down next. Helen looked lovely. Her hair was in an up-do with ringlets around the temples and nape. Her dress was a mild lavender with thin straps at the shoulders, and a sheer silk lavender overlay. Margaret came down with her parents. With her dark hair, the modiste had chosen a royal blue, empire with a silk royal blue wrap, much like the wrap Muriel had in gold. Margaret looked stunning.

"Well, are you not going to sweep her off her feet?" Fred again was goading.

"She is nervous. Let her get her bearings. I don't want her to fly away. And she might if she is crowded."

"Now, how do you know that? She may enjoy being the center of attention."

"I think not. She either flies too high or too low. She does not mix well with mortals."

"Martin. You are completely besotted." John could see how any man would be.

"Yes, I believe I am." He murmured. His three comrades looked at Martin in disbelief. That he would think such an endearment, let alone confess it.

He stood and watched her. As she moved through the crowd, he could see the looks she was getting from both the men and the woman. The men wanted her and the women wanted to be her, and she was completely oblivious. How could that be. For someone to be that beautiful and not know it.

"There is another dance starting. Martin –"

"Watch, there are what – now three, five gentlemen that have approached her to dance. She curtsied. Now, she is shaking her head. She is thanking them. She is walking away with her two friends."

"Perhaps she does not know how to dance."

"No, she knows how. She is uncomfortable." He stood at attention. "Fuck. When did he get here?" Martin watched. Michael Crumb. The moment Crumb eyed Muriel, he scurried to her side. Reached for her wrap.

"Damn. That fucking rat. Martin, we need to go down there and snatch the bastard." John was ready.

"She is looking at him. Oh, that should have turned him to stone. The bastard is bowing. She shakes her head and walks away from him." Martin smiled. "That's my Lady Apparition. Specter's know who to trust."

"Martin, are you ever going to go and ask her to dance?" Fred tapped Martin on the shoulder. "Is that not why we came tonight?"

"I'm not sure. I would like to watch her for a while. You three want to go, you need not wait on me."

"No, Martin, we will stay a bit longer. I'm waiting for the show to start." Fred looked at Henry and John and winked. "Should be good."

"Who was that man that grabbed my wrap?" Muriel did not like him.

"I failed to see him. Sorry Muriel." Margaret was looking at all the people.

"I saw him. His name is Crumb. Michael Crumb. His father is a Baron. So, that gives him only an honorary title. Younger. What an obnoxious title. That is more than he deserves. He has a terrible reputation for accosting women, gambling away his father's money, and drinking to excess," Helen turned her nose up. "He is despicable."

"From what you have said, I would have to agree. I do hope that he stays away from me." Muriel pulled her wrap a little tighter.

"Now, what would you like to do? Walk around some more or go and sit?" Margaret was asking Muriel, yet she was getting more uncomfortable. Smothered by the massive crowd. Helen and she could tell Margaret would like to keep moving.

"Shall we continue our walk?" Margaret suggested.

"Do you see any of the gentlemen you were doting over the other day?" Muriel asked. She assumed that was who Margaret was looking for.

"No, I have yet to see them; it is so crowded in here. I would suspect either they are here and it is too crowded to see them or they have not yet arrived. I know they will be here. It is the first ball of the season. I believe almost everyone comes to the first ball. There are exceptions." Margaret's eyes still continued to scan the room.

They had made it around toward the other side of the ballroom. There was a railing with tables and chairs around the periphery. There were four men standing there. One was very tall. He was leaning against a post with his legs crossed at the ankle. All four were handsome men. Except the tall one kept his eyes solely on Muriel. And he had a kind of look on his face, like he knew some kind of naughty secret about her. His coal black hair was long. All the glances the ladies made his way were all more like ogling. "Don't look, right this minute, four of the most eligible men in Town are standing right there." Margaret opened her fan and moved her eyes in the direction of the four standing.

"There is Lord Addams. He is handsome." Margaret was happy to be looking so stunning. She thought Lord Fredrick had been looking at her. She dropped her wrap slightly lower off her shoulders.

"You look beautiful, Margaret. Any man would be a fool not to notice you." Muriel thought Margaret did, indeed, look prettier than she had ever seen her.

"I think they are all looking this way." Helen smiled up at them.

"Muriel, the Marquess of Stafford, Martin Claymont is staring at you. I don't believe he has taken his eyes off you since we walked over this way." Helen had been watching. Muriel looked over. He was still watching her. He had the broadest shoulders. "He is boring a hole through you." Muriel was compelled to look his way, only for a moment, then she turned away from him. She was beginning to feel awkward. He had a beautiful face. Manly, strong. Enticing. Why is he looking at me so?

"And who is the gentleman next to tall, dark, and handsome?" Muriel asked.

"That, my dear, is the Marquess of Shropshire. He is gorgeous. He and Lord Claymont spend a lot of their time together. There are four of them. The Earl of Newcastle, Lord Addams; The Earl of Powis, Lord Herbert; Lord Windham, and Lord Claymont, who seems to be ogling you, Muriel." Margaret would know the most noble of the eligible men.

"I think Lord Addams is looking at you, Margaret." Helen touched Margaret's elbow and spoke quietly into her ear.

"Is there something wrong with my dress? Or is my hair askew? Why is he staring so?" Muriel was beginning to think her gown was unraveling.

"Because you are the most beautiful lady in the room. I would not be too concerned. He has never danced with anyone, and that is if he even bothers to come. It is most likely that Lord Windham dragged him along so he can at least say he came." Helen was funny. She would always tell Muriel she was the most beautiful lady wherever they went. Muriel loved that Helen always tried to bolster Muriel's confidence.

They were about to make another turn around the exterior of the ballroom when Muriel noticed a man standing next to a pillar at the back of the ballroom. "Excuse me ladies, I see that solicitor. What is he doing here?"

As she walked toward him, Herbert realized it was too late to avoid her. He forgot she might be here. He knew they had no money to speak of. He had it. He could see by the look on her face she was not exactly pleased to see him. He had to admire her. She was beautiful. He knew she hated him. He understood that. He would most likely hate him, too. He had to be ready for the barrage of questions he was going to get.

"Mr. Trenchard, what brings you here this evening. I believe this is a private affair."

"Yes, well, I'm a baronet, so, although on the fringe, I'm nonetheless welcome, by some, at any rate."

"I want to know where my family's money is. I think you are more than aware that the McDonnell estate is suffering from your executorship, yet you seem to have not one whit of concern for me, my family, or the estate."

"I do though. You misunderstand. You money is secure."

"Then why are we financially suffering? Tell me that, Mr. Trenchard."

"You are hardly in any financial difficulty. Where would you find the money to purchase such a gown as this?" He reached out and touched her wrap. She jerked, pushing his hand off her wrap.

Martin had watched Muriel walk away from her two friends and made a direct line for the man standing at the back of the ballroom. "She does not look happy."

"They appear to be arguing. Who do you think it is? I was to understand that she knew hardly anyone in Town." John was concerned for the beauty.

"Except for a very few. That is correct." Martin continued to watch.

"I have no idea who the bastard is; I do say, he had better not touch her again." Martin walked down the steps. With his long strides, he made a direct line for Muriel. While he was watching her, the entire ballroom was watching Martin. No one had ever even seen him walk onto the floor. He got to her and bowed. "My lady, apologies for my tardiness. I was preparing something special for us later this evening." Then he looked at Trenchard. "And who might this be that has the utter audacity to touch Lady Muriel?"

Trenchard looked ashen. He bowed to Martin. "How do you do, Lord Claymont. I–I–am Herbert Trenchard."

"Ah, yes, you failed to answer my question, Mr. Trenchmouth. I would like an answer."

"It is Trenchard, Lordy Claymont. I was only admiring her beautiful gown. There was nothing unsavory, though I'm willing to apologize."

"Not to me, Mr. Trenchmouth, to my betrothed, Lady Muriel McDonnell. Now, if you please."

"Beg pardon, Lady Muriel, if I offended you in any way."

"You offend me by withholding my family's money. The money my father so erroneously left in your hands. Not only do I want it, the family needs it. If I have to, I will hire a barrister to have you investigated. I will do what I will to get the money that belongs to my family. I will have –"

"No, my darling," He took her hand, tucked in the crook of his arm, then looked at Trenchmouth.

"I will see to it that you lose you solicitor's certification. I can do that tomorrow, if I'm so inclined. The lady wants her money. I think it is time you handed it over."

"It is safe–" He looked at Muriel. "You will have it all. Only, please give me a little time."

"For what? What have you done with it?" Muriel demanded an answer.

"As I said, it is safe." He stepped back. His voice had lost its aire of confidence.

Martin grabbed his lapel. "If you have squandered the McDonnell money, I will have you hanged. Do you understand? I will be sending someone to your office tomorrow to conduct the finalization of your business relationship with the McDonnell estate."

"My lord, tomorrow is Saturday."

"Be there by nine o'clock or I will tear your office apart. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, my lord. Nine o'clock. I will be there."

"Come darling, I think they are getting ready to play a waltz."

He caressed her petite hand tucked in his mammoth arm as they walked to the dancefloor. As the orchestra warmed up for the waltz, the rest of the ballroom was mum. "Who are you? I have never met you before in my life."

"I'm the Marquess of Stafford, Earl of Suffolk, Lord Martin Claymont. You may call me Martin, if you like. As we are betrothed, it would only make sense." He smiled down at her. She was even more beautiful up close. Not a flaw anywhere. Her golden hair had tresses in the back with a golden lace ribbon running through the hair so intricately designed. The décolletage was perfect. No more than enough bosom to intrigue without being gauche. She was absolutely perfection.

"I do thank you Lord Claymont fo –"

"Martin, remember."

"Yes, Martin. I do thank you for your stepping in on my behalf. My family...well, I...or well, Mr. Trenchmouth –" she became flustered. He looked down at her. She had the most mellifluous laugh. Not at all like a donkey, Fred. It was beautiful. He had to laugh.

"I think it most appropriate. Trenchmouth. Do you not?" Martin gave her a mischievous grin.

"Oh, more than appropriate." The music began. No one moved. "Martin, the music is playing. Are we to dance?"

"By all means." And he swept her up in his arms. After the whispers behind fans subsided, the dance floor began to fill.

"I was beginning to feel a bit self-conscious. We were the only ones on the floor. Do you think we look too obnoxious to have other dancers on the floor with us?"

"No, my darling. They are as mesmerized by you as am I." He could see the tips of her ears turning pink and her face began to flush.

"I hardly warrant such compliments, my lord."

"Martin." He spun her. "And, yes, you do."

"Martin. It is inappropriate for me to address you as such. We only met minutes ago."

"Remember, we are betrothed. Society allows such familiarities. Besides, it is my request. You do put the most lovely lady in the room to shame."

"I do what?" She looked at him with such earnest. "I know none of these ladies. Well, Helen and Margaret. Do they count? Anyway, I would never shame another lady." The one side of his lip turned up.

"Are you from here?" He thought, surely she was not an earthling.

"I am not from this room. I'm from somewhere. I am trying to remember exactly where. I am, truthfully – I am."

"You am? You am what?"

"I'm not sure what the question is, Martin."

"I bid you dance with me, you little Apparition."

"Is that good or bad? Apparition?" It could be either, I think."

"It is only good, my darling. Only good." They danced the waltz, not the scandalized French version, which Muriel was anxious to learn. They would dance an English version with very little touching other than the hands; always with gloves on. So droll. But it was nice and slow and she felt at times that this rather large, strong, imposing man came a little too close for propriety. As he was a Marquess, it was likely of little concern to anyone who was watching. As he was a Marquess, it seemed obvious that he cared not one whit of others' opinions.

She had no idea who he really was, yet when he interceded on her behalf to Mr. Trenchmouth, she took an immediate interest in him. And he is very easy on the eye. "Martin?"

"Yes, darling?"

"The dance is over."

"Ah, and so it is. Shall we go for a glass of champagne?"

"I suppose it would be socially acceptable as we are betrothed." She looked up at him with the most adorable look of caprice. "And I love champagne. The bubbles. And so yummy with strawberries and cheese. Does not do much for the breath though...the cheese, I mean."

Martin began to laugh. "My word–you are the funniest little thing. More unearthly talk."

"I think not. You may pinch me if you wish. I'm a human, of sorts, I think, most of the time."

"Whatever you want me to believe, I will believe. Now, may I escort you to the terrace. All the doors are open. Everyone will be able to see us, so there is no impropriety. I will leave you exactly long enough to get two flutes and a bottle of champagne, then I will promptly return."

"I have two friends that may be looking for me. And what of your friends? The ladies said they are all...something. Lord something and Lord –"

"Yes, that is correct. They are." He escorted her to the terrace, as he said. "I will find your friends for you, or at least, have them found and let them know that you are with your betrothed. They need not worry for you as you are with me." He began to exit the terrace, then turned back to look at her. She was exquisite. Much more than his dreams portrayed her. Much more. Then he left her, hoping he would not have to fight off the herds of gentlemen that would surround her before he could return.

Muriel was not sure exactly what had transpired. Funny, she liked it. A lot. She had never laid eyes on him until tonight, yet he kept referring to her as his betrothed and ‘my darling'. Who does that? Perhaps she should dance with more gentlemen that were at the ball. There were many that had approached her and requested a dance. She was not interested. This man failed to ask. He merely did. Amazing. She was unsure if she should let him, literally, waltz into her life. He was most self-assured, seemed caring, laughed, but was intimidating. Especially to Mr. Trenchmouth. She had to laugh out loud at that. It was the perfect name for the solicitor. And it appeared that Lord Claymont literally enjoyed intimidating the solicitor. Lord Claymont continued to address the solicitor as Trenchmouth. It was difficult not to laugh. She continued to stand on the terrace, overlooking a beautiful landscape with lovely golden lanterns that lighted a pathway to who knew where. She had watched several couples escape down the terrace steps, hand-in-hand, arm-in-arm, into the darkness for what? Kisses in the dark? How romantic. From the corner of her eye, she noticed a man coming toward her on her right.

Evidently, he had come up those steps while she was woolgathering. She turned and the man lunged at her. He grabbed for her. She jerked away. He pulled her wrap off. "Get away from me or I will scream."

"No, you won't–I have ya' now." He reached for her again. He had her arm. She twisted to get away from his grip as he pulled her to him. He put his hand over her mouth; she bit him. "You little bitch." He slapped her. She fell. He was reaching for her again. Suddenly, an arm swung out and hit the man. The man staggered. He looked at Martin. He pulled a knife. "Come on, ya' scum. I'll be takin' ya' to perdition."

Martin stood. Waiting. The man lunged for Martin. Martin grabbed his knife hand and twisted it until he dropped the knife. Martin kicked him, hoping the man would fall to the ground. Instead, he staggered and ran. Martin would have gone after him. He was too worried about Muriel. He bent down. "Muriel, my sweet. Are you alright?"

She was not sobbing, yet she had tears in those beautiful blue eyes of hers. "My gown. I fear he has ruined my beautiful gown."

"I'm more worried about you. I will buy you a dozen gowns like that one if you wish." He picked her up like she was a feather. To him, she weighed no more than a feather. There was a crowd around the doorways to the terrace. Fred broke through. "I'm taking her with me. Please inform Lord Maxwell that I will be taking her to seek medical assistance. Tell him I have her safety first in mind. He should be fine with it. Then will you seek out Frank. Tell him to come to the townhouse."

"Yes, I will. I will come along after I find Frank. John and Henry may want to come as well. This is getting too far out of hand."

"I agree."

"You can't take me, my lord. Think of the talk. You must put me down."

"I shan't. I'm a Marquess. No one will say anything. You are coming with me. There will be no discussion. I want you safe. If you have to stay with me until this nightmare is over, then so be it."

"My lord."

"Martin, remember? Martin."

"Yes – Martin. Did you pick up my wrap? It was so beautiful."

"Please. Don't fret over a wrap. I worry for your life. Have you ever seen that man before?" Knowing full well that she had.

"He broke into our house on Wednesday night. He severely injured our butler, Mr. Sanders. We still are unsure if he will fully recover." She laid her head on his shoulder. She felt so safe in his arms. He was so strong. He was unafraid when that disgusting man pulled the knife. "Why is he doing this? I don't understand why. He has been haunting the house and me since we returned to Town."

"I don't know the answers. I will. I don't want you to worry. I will take care of it. I promise you." And she believed him.