5
When Maxwell first received the invitation to the ball, he didn’t even open it, and it sat on his mantel for an entire day. He was so sunk in depression that the delicate, feminine handwriting his name and address were written in failed to arouse much curiosity.
It was only later, after he learned who had sent it, that he traced the words with an unsteady finger, hardly daring to believe that she had written to him.
He had spent the fortnight or so since she’d called on him in a fever of self-castigation and vacillation. That he, a so-called gentleman, should disconcert a lady so! His regret and indecision kept him awake at night. He was finally able to reach the conclusion that he should, at the very least, prevent any more copies of the directory from being sold, but he found when he went to the printer that the only way to accomplish that was to pay an exorbitant sum that he did not possess. Still, he wondered if he should somehow acquire the funds to stop distribution. Surely it behooved him to do so.
His worries were only amplified when he ventured out to dine at his club and chanced to overhear a few men discussing the directory and comparing notes on the ladies they were acquainted with or planned to meet. The discussion finally deteriorated into a squabble, as two of the men insisted that they be given a clear field to the same lady. He winced at talk that would have probably amused him in his former ignorance, and he wondered that he had ever been so blind. His only consolation was that Diana’s name was not mentioned during that discussion, or he might have so forgotten himself as to become involved in an altercation.
So it was quite a surprise—nay, a shock—when he finally broke the seal, opened the mysterious invitation, and read:
The company of Mr. Maxwell Dean is requested
at a BALL at No. 46 Berkeley Square
on Thursday, May 29th at 6 p.m.
Hosted by
Lady Regina Townsend, M. Diana Boyle, Lady Gordon
and the other Ladies of the Registry
Scribbled across the top were the words:
Hope to see you there. — D. Boyle
Maxwell read it multiple times, trying to make sense of it. But even after studying it thoroughly he could not surmise what deeper meaning it held. He wanted to believe it meant Mrs. Boyle had forgiven him, but he had done nothing to deserve such a boon, and wondered instead if it could be some elaborate ploy to take revenge on him. But how could an invitation to a ball be an act of revenge? And the very fact that it was being held at Lady Gordon’s townhouse and was being hosted by the “Ladies of the Registry” showed that it was no longer Diana alone who was aware of his much-regretted directory, but the other women had also become involved, no doubt at her instigation. The prospect of emigrating to America had never seemed so appealing. But then a sudden image arose in his mind of Diana standing before him in his rooms, those glowing amber eyes raised to his, and he doubted he could bring himself to stay away. It was an opportunity he never thought he’d have, to see her again, perhaps even to dance with her. And even if she were not seeking vengeance she’d have it, because he’d be taunted again with the knowledge of what could never be.
It wasn’t that he was in love with her; he knew that he was not. He was not a believer in love at first sight, thinking it only occurred in books or between fools who thought they could judge by appearances. But he had found her very attractive, and she’d had such an air of vulnerability that it had stirred within him a protective desire he’d never felt before. So far was he from wanting to be the source of her distress, he wished he could keep any distress from touching her at all. And knowing that she did not, could not, feel similarly about him made her unattainable and thus somehow more desirable. Though there had been something that had passed between them; some instant connection that he was sure she had felt as well. Even the maid couldn’t have been unaware of it; so strong a force was it that even the air around them had seemed to vibrate.
He knew it was the height of folly to wish for what one could not have. That had been the reason behind his drawing up his directory in the first place, so that he, and other men, would not waste time and energy longing for what could never be. And yet in a perverse twist of fate, his directory had put him in the very position it had been created to help him avoid.
While the invitation to the ball didn’t eliminate Maxwell’s anxiety, it did relieve it to some extent. Obviously, as the ladies had made a public espousal of the directory, there was no longer any question of him having to raise funds to halt its distribution. And Mrs. Boyle’s brief note demonstrated that she considered herself to be on speaking terms with him, at any rate. So when Lord Jerome invited him to attend a farewell performance by John Kemble at Covent Garden, he readily agreed, pleased at the prospect of a mindless evening of entertainment with no thoughts of his directory or Mrs. Boyle to torment him.
However, at the intermission, Lord Jerome’s first words to him were “Did you happen to receive an invitation to this ball at Lady Gordon’s?”
“I did,” Maxwell said.
“It appears the ladies are no longer in ignorance of their inclusion in your directory,” Lord Jerome said, and Maxwell winced to hear it described as his, though Lord Jerome had been aware that Max had authored it all along.
“It appears not. Do you mean to attend the ball?” Max asked.
“I do. In fact, I plan to astound them with my promptitude.”
“I’m sure we’ll all be astounded,” Maxwell replied, as he had watched the first two acts of the play alone before Lord Jerome had finally joined him halfway through the third.
“I wonder how Mrs. Boyle made Lady Regina’s acquaintance,” Lord Jerome said. “It appears they’re fast friends, but I doubt they could have known each other long. And they’re hosting this ball together as well.”
Mr. Dean was confused by his friend’s observation, as it seemed to have come out of nowhere, until he followed Lord Jerome’s gaze and saw Mrs. Boyle sitting with another lady, barely twenty feet away.
He could hardly believe that she was real; he felt as if he must have conjured her up from the force of his imaginings. But she was not dressed in unrelieved black as she’d been at their first meeting, and seeing her again in person made him realize what a paltry thing his memories had been. She was even lovelier than he’d imagined her to be.
As if she felt the weight of his stare, she suddenly turned, meeting his eyes directly. He was still grappling with the confusion and excitement generated by her unexpected appearance but retained enough presence of mind to incline his head in greeting. She returned his nod and her lips parted in a slight smile. Then her eyes shifted to take in the other inhabitant of the box before she quickly averted her gaze.
Max realized Jerome had nodded to her as well, though it seemed as if Mrs. Boyle had turned before she’d noticed him. “Are you acquainted with Mrs. Boyle?” Maxwell asked.
Jerome smiled a twisted smile. “Apparently not.”
Before Maxwell could pursue this further, the other lady in the box had glanced in their direction. Her eyes passed over Maxwell without recognition, but she appeared startled to see Jerome. She did not nod but after a moment her severe expression relaxed and a hesitant, shy smile appeared. Jerome inclined his head, and her smile widened as she returned his nod.
“Is that Lady Regina Townsend? You’re acquainted with her as well?” Max asked his friend.
“I was,” Jerome replied. “She’s been out of society for many years now.”
Maxwell had a vague recollection of some scandal attached to Lady Regina in the past, but not being interested in gossip, he couldn’t call it to mind. However, he did remember her name had been linked with Jerome’s at some point. “Am I remembering correctly—were you two engaged?” he asked, after pulling that tidbit from some dank and dusty corridor of his brain.
“I thought so, at any rate,” Lord Jerome replied, and Max wished his friend wasn’t always so dashed flippant. Jerome must have sensed Maxwell’s annoyance because he then said more seriously, “Our parents arranged it when she was fifteen and I was nineteen. She called it off two years later.”
Their conversation was interrupted when the curtain rose again on the operatic drama The Libertine, a condensed version of Mozart’s Don Giovanni. Max was sorry it was on the program that evening, however much he might enjoy Mozart. Even though Max knew Don Giovanni would receive the punishment he deserved, he wasn’t entirely comfortable watching him play the role of heartless libertine and ravisher of women, knowing Mrs. Boyle was watching as well. It could do nothing to raise her estimation of his sex. He could only hope Don Ottavio’s loyalty and love for his fiancée would do a little to offset the villainy of the title character in Mrs. Boyle’s mind.
Max was not even aware he was studying Mrs. Boyle with more intensity than he watched the onstage antics until Jerome brought it to his attention. “I begin to wonder why you did not keep your knowledge of such a prize to yourself, instead of announcing her name and direction to the world,” he said, his gaze following Maxwell’s, at which point Max turned his attention back to the stage. It wouldn’t do for Mrs. Boyle to catch them staring at her as if she were a bonbon in a confectionery shop window.
“I hadn’t met her until after I published that directory. I’ve regretted doing it a thousand times since,” Maxwell replied.
“But would you have met her if you hadn’t published it?” Jerome asked.
“Most likely not.”
“Then you shouldn’t waste your time on useless regrets,” Jerome told him. Maxwell had no reply to this, and they sat silently through a particularly loud duet before Jerome suggested that they visit the ladies’ box at the next intermission.
Diana was completely overwhelmed. She had never experienced anything like this, her first visit to the theatre, and had never even seen such a large group of persons gathered together in one place. She couldn’t venture a guess as to how many were there, but it had to be thousands. She no longer felt like plain, ordinary Diana Boyle, but had entered a fantasy world where she wore expensive jewelry (loaned to her by Lady Regina) and dressed so elegantly she did not even recognize herself when she looked in the mirror.
The fantasy had begun days earlier when Regina had insisted that Diana have a new dress for her first visit to the opera and had taken Diana to her own modiste. Diana had considered her wardrobe more than sufficient, as she had only recently purchased new clothing after putting aside her mourning clothes a few months ago, but it was true that she had very few dresses for evening wear. And it had been such fun to have Regina, who was the most stylish lady Diana had ever seen, to advise her. Though it had been a trifle bittersweet as well, as it made Diana think how much she would have enjoyed treating her mother to a fashionable new wardrobe. Her mother had sacrificed almost every presentable gown she’d owned to remake them for Diana, and it pained Diana to think she would never have the opportunity to repay her mother for all of her sacrifices. However, Diana firmly put those thoughts aside, as she knew Susannah would not want her memory to evoke such sadness. In an effort to cheer herself, Diana looked admiringly down at her new gold lamé gown and shifted in her seat so that she could see once again how it sparkled when it caught the light from the nearby candelabra.
She had enjoyed the play far more than she was enjoying the opera; she was dismayed by the wickedness of the titular character (as Mr. Dean had foreseen), and so found her mind wandering. She made a concerted effort not to let her eyes wander as well, because she was very aware that Mr. Dean’s head was frequently turned in her direction, and it was as if she could feel his eyes roaming over her face, so intense was his stare. She did not want him to know she was also affected by his presence and that it took all her self-control not to stare back at him, devastatingly handsome as he was in his evening dress.
His appearance at the theatre had been quite a surprise. She had not thought to see him again until the ball—and there was no guarantee he would even attend—so she had resigned herself to the fact that she might never meet him again, and then chided herself for her disappointment at that eventuality. But she couldn’t deny the thrill she’d felt when she’d caught sight of him tonight, as if she had unexpectedly run into an old friend. However, seeing Lord Jerome seated next to him had ruined some of her pleasure. It could only remind her that it was because of Mr. Dean that Lord Jerome and Mr. Pryce had called on her in pursuit of her fortune, and that Mr. Dean was little more than a fortune hunter himself.
Her initial surprise at seeing him there was nothing compared to her feelings when he and Lord Jerome walked into her box during the next intermission. She had glanced in their direction a moment before and had noticed the men were gone but assumed they had left the theatre, so she’d been completely taken aback to suddenly find them bowing to her and Regina. Her heart thumped so loudly she could only hope no one else could hear it, and she struggled to get her breathing under control.
Diana hadn’t realized that Regina was unacquainted with Mr. Dean. Neither had she previously been aware that Lord Jerome and Lady Regina did know each other. Though it seemed to Diana they were uneasy in each other’s company, as she watched Lord Jerome greet Lady Regina somewhat stiffly before introducing his companion to her.
“So you’re the infamous Mr. Dean,” Regina said, after he’d pronounced himself honored to make her acquaintance.
Max glanced at Diana and smiled slightly, almost apologetically, before answering Regina. “My reputation precedes me, I see.”
“We are two of a kind, Mr. Dean, as I have a reputation myself,” Lady Regina replied, with an enigmatic look at Lord Jerome.
“Not the reputation you deserve,” Diana quickly responded, as she couldn’t bear to hear Regina denigrate herself. “Lady Regina is the most patient, gracious hostess you could ever imagine,” she told the gentlemen, forgetting her shyness in her eagerness to defend her friend. “I am sure she could find a thousand better things to do with her time than escort me around London, but she has kindly done so, and shown great forbearance in the face of my complete lack of sophistication.”
The gentlemen, watching Diana as she smiled sweetly at her friend, were both thinking there would be no forbearance required, and that they would gladly take Lady Regina’s place as her escort. “Such a loyal friend you have, Lady Regina,” Lord Jerome drawled. “I’m glad to hear you value her as you ought.”
“So formal, Jerome? I believe we can dispense with titles. You used to call me by my Christian name.”
“Very true. However, I was not sure what degree of acquaintance you expected me to claim. Our last correspondence, prior to your recent invitation, taught me not to presume too much.”
Despite the dimness of the theatre, it was obvious that Regina blushed at Lord Jerome’s words, and she began plying her fan furiously. There was an awkward silence, and Diana wondered if Regina wanted her to somehow rid them of their callers, though she had no idea how to do so. She was grateful when Mr. Dean began speaking; his calm, low tone carried no hidden messages as Lord Jerome’s did.
“I am glad you’re enjoying your visit, Mrs. Boyle. Have you seen the Elgin Marbles?”
“We have not, though we hope to do so after the ball. It’s one of the few sights Lady Regina has not yet seen, so it has the virtue of novelty for both of us,” Diana said, looking at Regina with a smile, and she was pleased to see that her friend had regained her usual composure.
“Gentlemen, you must wonder how Mrs. Boyle could praise my skills as a hostess when I have not yet invited you to take a seat. Please do so, if you’d like.”
Mr. Dean was quick to move to Mrs. Boyle’s side before Lord Jerome could, but Lord Jerome did not display any disappointment and seemed just as happy to take a seat next to Lady Regina. Diana, who had begun to suspect that Lord Jerome might be Regina’s former fiancé, hoped Regina was not too disturbed by his attentions. However, Lord Jerome’s first words to her were inquiries as to the health of her family, and Diana was pleased to note his voice was not tinged with sarcasm as it frequently was, but that he sounded sincere. Seeing Lady Regina and Lord Jerome conversing easily about people unknown to her, Diana turned her attention to Mr. Dean, wondering if she would have the courage to flirt with him a little, as she’d previously determined to do.
“I was very surprised to receive the invitation to your ball,” Mr. Dean said softly, and Diana inched a little closer to him so as not to disturb the other couple’s conversation.
“I imagine you were,” Diana said, embarrassed, as she did not know how to explain to him her complete reversal from her previous stance.
“I hope it means that you have forgiven me, at least a little, for publishing the directory.”
Diana hesitated before replying. Though her initial anger had faded a great deal, she still thought it was wrong of Mr. Dean to do what he had done, despite it leading to her current, happier situation. She felt it was unconscionable for any person to marry another for their fortune, regardless of their sex, but knew that she was the last person who could say so. Whenever she recalled his question about her motives for her first marriage, she felt the same pang of excruciating embarrassment she had at the time he had asked it.
But seeing him frown at her continued silence, Diana did what she could to reassure him. “You have the forgiveness of most of the ladies, at least. They were not so horrified as I was. Indeed, it was their idea that we embrace the fame the directory has given us.”
“But you still cannot forgive me?” Mr. Dean asked, and she wondered that it mattered so much to him, as she could see by his expression that it did.
“I didn’t say that, exactly. I’m not so angry as I was at first, and I can’t deny that its publication has inadvertently had some beneficial effects; it led to my friendship with Lady Regina, for one. But I still find the very notion of such a directory troublesome. And I do wonder why a gentleman would be under the necessity of marrying a fortune when he could acquire one by engaging in a profession, unlike we ladies, who have almost no options at all.”
“Gentlemen, too, have fewer options than you might think. It’s no easy task to make a fortune, or it would be a much more common occurrence,” Mr. Dean said, with a slight smile.
“But you could go into the military, or the church. I know such professions do not make a man a fortune, but they do provide some income.”
“I realize we live in an age where it’s considered manly to kill one’s fellow creatures, whether in war or a duel, but I have a difficult time reconciling my conscience to such a thing. And a gentleman must purchase an officer’s commission, so it’s not a career for the truly impoverished. Nor am I desirous of having a moneymaking sinecure in the church, which is frequently attained through social or family connections and has very little to do with a man’s qualifications or even his piety.”
Diana stared at him a moment, completely taken aback. She’d never heard any man express such odd opinions. Was he a member of that group—what was it called—the Quakers? But surely he wouldn’t be here at the theatre if he were.
“Do you hunt?” she asked.
“On occasion. I’m not as opposed to killing a fox as I am a human, though it does seem strange that we have glorified the process of doing so. Do you hunt?”
“No, but not because I have a strong ethical objection to it. It’s just—I’ve never learned to ride,” Diana said. She imagined such a confession would immediately make obvious to Mr. Dean the lowness of her origins. However, his admiring expression did not change.
“Would you like to?” he asked.
“Are you offering to teach me?” The question did not come out coquettishly as Diana had intended but almost as if she were issuing a challenge. She couldn’t seem to get the knack of this flirting business.
“I am. I would do much to overcome your initial poor impression of me. Though if you spend too much time in my company it might have the opposite effect,” Mr. Dean said, with a self-deprecating smile.
Diana smiled back. “Oh, I don’t know. We’ve been able to converse quite amiably for all of five minutes. Who knows how far our relationship could progress at our next meeting,” she said, and then wished she could withdraw her last sentence. It sounded less like flirtation and more like an invitation. The poor man’s head must be spinning at how she switched from cold to hot and back again. However, though a glint in his eyes betrayed an awareness of her words, he was too gentlemanly to embarrass her.
“I hope it will at least progress to the point that we might dance together. May I claim two dances at your ball? The supper dance, perhaps? And a waltz?”
Diana shyly acquiesced, and as Lady Regina and Lord Jerome had reached a lull in their conversation and had overheard Mr. Dean’s question, Lord Jerome also requested a dance from Lady Regina and Diana, and Mr. Dean likewise asked one of Lady Regina.
The intermission ended shortly thereafter, and the gentlemen took their leave of the ladies, assuring them they would see them next week at the ball.
When they were back in their own box, Maxwell turned to Lord Jerome, asking him how he’d made Mrs. Boyle’s acquaintance.
“I called on her at her home in Twickenham,” Jerome replied.
“So it was you,” Max said, rather enigmatically.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Jerome asked, ignoring the drama onstage in favor of their discussion, even though he usually disliked conversation during a performance.
“She complained to me that, because of my directory, gentlemen unknown to her had called at her home, angling for a dinner invitation,” Max replied.
“Well, it wasn’t just me. That idiot Pryce was there as well, and I wasn’t exactly thrilled to be thrown into his company myself. I suspect he’s the one who gave the whole game away. She certainly didn’t learn about it from me.” Jerome watched the opera for a moment before turning back to his friend in exasperation. “You have some nerve complaining that I called upon Mrs. Boyle. What did you expect me to do when you made me a present of that blasted directory? I thought by choosing someone unknown to society I’d at least be sparing myself a reputation as a fortune hunter.”
“I told you; I regret the entire thing. I should never have done it. She doesn’t want a bunch of strange men paying court to her.”
“I resent that description, although I assume you mean ‘strange’ in the sense that we’re unknown to her,” Jerome said. “It seems that she has changed her mind, however, or why else would she be throwing this ball?”
Max shrugged. “I get the impression the other ladies suggested it. It doesn’t seem as if they mind the attention.”
“Lady Regina certainly does not. Gives her an excuse to rejoin society after all these years.”
Max eyed his friend curiously. Jerome didn’t give away much, but it seemed to Max he displayed a lingering bitterness toward Lady Regina. “Do you still have an interest there?” he asked Jerome.
“I’d be a fool if I did. Oh, I was fond of her during our betrothal, but she was still little more than a child. I was waiting for her to grow up. And then she did, and decided she had no interest in me. And it’s entirely owing to her jilting of me that I’m now forced to look around for a wife I’m not even sure I want.”
“But you wouldn’t have minded being married to Lady Regina?” Max asked.
“I was fond of her, like I said. And our families were close, though that changed after she ended the betrothal. Before that, everything was wrapped up very nicely. My future was assured. And then—” He stopped suddenly, as if conscious that he was about to divulge too much.
“She was involved in some scandal?” Maxwell prompted him.
Jerome hesitated, then nodded. “I wasn’t going to tell you; I still feel this urge to protect her, probably since we were affianced for two years. But since it’s common knowledge I suppose it can do no harm for you to know. She eloped. Her father tracked her down before she made it to Gretna Green with the man, but not in time to prevent her from losing her reputation.”
“And he didn’t marry her?” Maxwell asked, shocked.
“I was never apprised of the exact details, but it appears she no longer wanted to marry him.”
“Poor girl,” Max said sympathetically. “I hope she wasn’t mistreated in any way. How old did you say she was?”
“She was seventeen,” Jerome said, darting a quick glance at Lady Regina, his brow furrowed. “I hadn’t ever really thought, I mean, I just assumed—” he said, in an uncertain tone Max had never heard him use before. “Do you think I should have called the scoundrel out? But she had already jilted me, surely her father would have taken action if it was necessary?”
“You know my opinion of dueling. A bout of fisticuffs, on the other hand . . .” Maxwell said, his voice trailing off suggestively.
“Yes, that would have been very satisfying. I’m sorry I didn’t think of it at the time,” Jerome said, a little absently. He was still staring at Lady Regina with a frown, as if reconsidering his view of their past history.
Maxwell, turning his attention back to the stage in time to see the villainous Don Giovanni descend into the flames of hell, reflected that it was no more than some men deserved.