Chapter 16

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

T he carriage inched along the road, but at least this time Scarlett knew not to enquire as to why they did not simply walk. It was simply not done, arriving at a ball on foot.

When at last they arrived, she followed Lady Leighton, Leighton, and Bess into the grand entryway of Duncombe Hall. Scarlett paused for a moment, her chest suddenly tight, as she surveyed the vast quantities of gentlemen and ladies, many of whom appeared to be staring at her. Murmurs began, audible only in snatches.

“Richmond? Pah!”

“Raised by some vicar…”

“I do not think she looks at all…”

“So many nieces to come from nowhere…”

Gathering her courage, she hurried past them. Adelaide had told her to expect this. “The competition for a man’s attention is fierce,” she had advised as they tried on gowns yesterday. “You are a beauty and now connected to one of the first families. Do not expect that the other ladies will be glad to see you.”

It was a new experience to be envied, and Scarlett found she did not much enjoy it thus far.

The Duchess of Duncombe was vastly different from Scarlett had imagined a duchess would be. Everything about her was excessive: the pile of red curls atop her head, festooned liberally with ostrich feathers; the mounds of flesh that threatened to escape her bodice; the lace overlay on her gown; and even her height, which it was rumoured she augmented by raising the heels of her shoes. The multitude of rings on her fingers bit painfully into Scarlett’s as she grasped both of her hands and then held their arms wide so that she could thoroughly inspect her. “Beautiful!” she said in an incongruously deep voice. “Worthe did not exaggerate in that quarter, although what he meant by taking you to Rotten Row instead of coming to see me, I shall never imagine.” She shook her head with a smile. “Men. What is there to do with them?”

“Dance? Or at least I hope that is Miss Scarlett’s intention.” Worthe had arrived at his aunt’s side and offered Scarlett a captivating grin that made her quite weak in the knees. Thankfully his aunt still held her hands tightly; the pain in her fingers kept her steady.

“Yes, but you cannot command all of her attention.” The duchess turned a gimlet eye onto her nephew. “I have it on good authority that Miss Scarlett will be much sought-after as a dance partner. I hope you have a sturdy constitution, my dear.”

“I believe that I do,” Scarlett replied, then breathed a sigh of relief as at last her hands were relinquished.

“Well, go and get to it then, and pray do have a wonderful time.” The lady beamed. “I do so love a riotous ball, loud music, cheerful laughter, and if one or two ladies are ruined in the corners, so much the better!”

Scarlett laughed at that. “She is not in earnest?”

“One never knows with Aunt Dorothea,” Worthe said with a laugh. “But I can tell you that her punch is likely far stronger than any you might have had in the past—so pray do drink cautiously.”

Lady Leighton interrupted them then, asking Scarlett if she minded if they continued on into the party, leaving her in Worthe’s care. “Of course not,” Scarlett replied. “I am sure I shall meet up with you in just a little while.”

The others walked off and Worthe returned to the subject of his aunt. “Did she crush your fingers when she was holding them? I thought I might have to wrench you loose.”

“Oh, well…” Scarlett did not wish to say that yes, her fingers had indeed been thoroughly crushed and even now throbbed painfully. “It was pleasing to have such a friendly reception.”

Worthe stopped then and pulled her around the corner of the hall. They had been just about to enter the large room where the musicians were situating themselves in preparation for the dances. She looked up at him questioningly.

“Let me see,” he said in a low voice.

She showed him her gloved hand. “No, really, I am well, it was just…”

Her words died as, with a meltingly warm look, he peeled away her gloves, revealing reddened fingers which had suspicious indentations where his aunt’s rings had gone. He frowned looking at them. “Do they hurt?”

“A little,” she admitted and then watched, her heart pounding in her throat, as he raised both of her hands to his lips. His kisses were soft and warm and absolutely curative as they gently tended to each and every indentation.

When he had finished, he looked into her gaze. “Better?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Too bad,” he whispered in return. “For if you said ‘not quite’, I should have had to do it again.”

Scarlett swallowed hard. “Actually, now that I consider it, I do think they still ache.”

Raising one of her hands again, he kissed the back of it, smiling when she sighed.

“I daresay we should go and dance,” she said regretfully and took her gloves from him, putting them back on.

“I daresay we should,” he agreed and then took her into the ballroom .

As ever, Worthe was as agreeable during their dance as he was romantic. I simply enjoy being with him , she thought. The times when they were not moving through the patterns were spent talking and laughing together. He was a superb dancer, and she was glad she knew enough not to embarrass herself. Adelaide and Kem were in the same part of the line, as were Oakley and a lady she did not know, and she smiled at them happily as they all went to and fro.

As the duchess had predicted, Scarlett was much sought-after as a dance partner. Fortunately Lady Tipton was on hand to assist Lady Leighton in guiding the introductions such that Scarlett did not find herself partnered with a scoundrel. Scarlett found herself greatly enjoying the evening, dancing with many agreeable and charming men, though there was not one among them who could even faintly compare to Worthe.

And so this is love. No one else stands a chance when your heart is already held by another.

Hard on the heels of that thought was a strange sensation—exhilaration commingled with no little amount of fear. What if he did not love her back? What if heartbreak ensued? Back in St Albans, he had told her that she held his heart in her hands, but what if he did not mean it, or worse, what if she did something to lose it?

So be it , she decided. After all, was this not what she wanted? The colour of life, the darks and the brights, all of it. No more trudging along in greys and drab; she sought a life in every hue imaginable. Oh, but she did hope he might love her back!

Worthe came to meet her just as the musicians began to set their instruments down. Her partner, a painfully reticent but kindly man named Sir Geoffrey Allchin, seemed relieved to relinquish her to him.

So hard on the heels of her recent revelation to herself, she felt unaccountably shy taking Worthe’s arm. “I confess,” she told him, “as much as I am enjoying my evening, I am not sorry to see it end. I feel like I have danced through these slippers!”

“See it end?” Adelaide said, overhearing her as they approached. “The evening is not at an end. It is only time for the supper.”

“Are you in earnest?” Scarlett asked.

Adelaide laughed at that, and Oakley, standing nearby, enquired about their humour. “Scarlett thought the ball was ending.”

“Are you tired?” Oakley asked. He lowered his voice then, telling her, “The duchess would not like it if you left, but if you were absolutely?—”

“Oh, no. No, I should not want to offend anyone,” Scarlett assured him. “I am only unaccustomed to town hours, I suppose!”

“Drink coffee at supper,” Worthe instructed her. “It will help. Two cups if you must, and something with sugar in it.”

It did help, the coffee and the cakes Worthe brought her, although she again felt slightly guilty to be consuming such things, and in such quantities. I need to keep up my energy , she thought defiantly as she took another bite of a delectable sponge cake.

“Where have you kept yourself all this time, Lord Worthe?” Adelaide asked as they all sat round a table. “I do not think I caught a glimpse of you among the dancers, not after you danced with Scarlett.”

Worthe suddenly looked a little bashful himself, playing with the remains of his own piece of cake on its plate. “Did you not? I suppose I was playing cards.”

“You suppose you were, or you were?” Adelaide asked, while Oakley chuckled.

“Adelaide, I did not realise it was your night to keep track of Worthe,” he chided teasingly. “The man says he was playing cards and therefore he was.”

Kem and Oakley exchanged a look that was not lost on the ladies, although the meaning of it was. Adelaide shot Scarlett a questioning glance to which she replied with the faintest shrug of her shoulders.

“Our dear Scarlett has been quite the belle of the ball,” Oakley said brightly. “You have surely not wanted for a partner!”

“Everyone has been very kind,” Scarlett said. “I can have no complaints, to be sure.”

“I saw that you danced with the Duke of Penrith,” Oakley pressed. “He lost his wife last year.”

Scarlett was unsure what to say to this information, given in such cheerful accents. “Yes, he did mention that while we danced. He said he had only just begun coming into society again.”

“And you danced with Lord Bickford too, I believe? A very distinguished man, Bickford. Did you enjoy dancing with him?”

It was an awkward line of questioning, particularly with the echoes of her understanding of her feelings for Worthe still in her mind, and the man himself beside her. She glanced at Adelaide, who seemed bemused, and then back at Oakley. “Yes, both Lord Bickford and the duke were very kind to me.”

“Good,” Oakley said. “Good!”

“Well, agreeable dukes or not,” Worthe said, “dare I hope I may have a second dance?”

“Of course,” she said, smiling up at him. “I confess I quite ignored the other side of my dance card—I did not think to turn it over.”

He took it from her and pointed to the waltz, causing Scarlett’s heart to skip a beat. She had heard of the waltz, and knew it involved hips pressing against hips, and a man’s hands—Worthe’s hands!—pressing her against him by the small of her back. It was an intimate, scandalous dance…and she shocked herself with her eagerness to dance it with him.

Pulling the little pencil from her reticule, she wrote his name in on the line beside the word Waltz and then smiled up at him. They sat that way, smiling at one another until the pointed clearing of Oakley’s throat recalled them to the rest of the table .

“Forgive me,” Scarlett said, suddenly realising someone had asked her something. “What was that?”

Oakley smiled. “Adelaide tells us you have had greater success in meeting friends tonight than she ever had.”

“Oh, I am sure that is not true,” Scarlett said with a little roll of her eyes towards Adelaide. “But yes. Miss Lilly Gladstone and Lady Sarah Lawson have promised they will call upon me at Stratton Street in the next few days, and Miss Eliza Crofton asked me if I might like to come and take tea with her on Saturday. And Miss Crofton’s invitation extended to Adelaide as well, for she tells me she has been eager to make her acquaintance before she marries.”

“As long as she is not a nitwit,” Adelaide said, “I should be glad to go.”

Scarlett laughed. “She did not seem like one, no.”

“It seems a very successful evening, then,” Oakley concluded. “It is so important to meet as many people as you can, Scarlett.”

“Thank you. I am enjoying myself enormously,” she assured him.

There was something in the air in the supper room that seemed to be tickling her nose—a particular cologne or perhaps the pomade in a gentleman’s hair—that smelt good but made her sneeze. She had noticed it during one of her dances, and had struggled throughout not to sneeze too much, but now it seemed to be overcoming her once again. She sneezed several times in succession.

Worthe leant in with his handkerchief. “Shall we go and get some air?”

“Thank you,” Scarlett said. “I would appreciate it.”

“Where are you going?” Oakley asked, half-rising as if he meant to accompany them. Some words from Adelaide, delivered in low tones, settled him back in his chair. “Bring her back to us quickly, Worthe,” was all he said.

The fresh air of the spring night greeted them as they exited into the courtyard located at the back of the house. It was a charming space lined with topiaries and potted flowers. Scarlett looked up at the sky, marvelling at the number of stars above her.

“So who has been your favourite dance partner so far?” Worthe asked.

“Need you ask?”

“I meant besides me.”

She thought she detected the faintest bit of insecurity in the question and slid her hand into his, taking care to keep their clasped hands in the shadows of her skirts just in case any other partygoers came out. “They are all one and the same when I am not with you. Truly, I can scarcely remember half the names.”

He tapped her lightly on the nose with one finger. “A very good answer and one that suits my male conceit very well.”

She laughed. “But it is true! ”

He pulled her closer, almost into an embrace, and for a moment, seemed only to wish to be near her. Bending slightly, he said softly, “You see those stars? I must thank them profusely, for they have surely sent me an angel.”

They remained that way for several long moments. She thought he wanted to kiss her and knew she wanted that too, but there seemed some impediment that he would not move past. Then I shall have to kiss him. Before she could lose her nerve, she rose up on her toes and quickly pressed her lips to his.

His eyes went wide for a moment, seeming thrilled by what she had done, but she had little time to think of it before he pulled her against him, kissing her deeply.

How long it went on, she knew not, but eventually he pulled away from her, brushing his thumb lightly over her lips. “Good lord, Oakley is going to have to call me out,” he said, his voice husky.

“Oh! Forgive me.” She pulled back from him. “I-I shall tell him it was all my fault that I?—”

“Scarlett.” He extended his hand, pulling her near again. “I was only teasing.”

She felt bashful then, under his tender regard. “I…I fear I am too brazen…a-and I would not wish to do anything to embarrass Lord and Lady Tipton…or you, for that matter.” She reached behind her to smooth her hair and ensure her appearance did not give her away.

“Of course not,” he said. “But it is good that we should stop, for I see Oakley inside looking for something, and I daresay it might be us.”

Lord Worthe gestured over her shoulder and she turned, looking through the terrace doors to see that Oakley did indeed seem to be seeking something.

“I ought to go to him, I think. I suppose I shall not be with you again until our waltz?” she asked, surprised by the pang that gave her.

“I am already counting the minutes,” he said, then gave her one last quick kiss on the cheek before leading her back indoors.