7
Regina walked into Diana’s room just as Sally was putting a jeweled comb into her mistress’s hair, atop an elaborate arrangement of braids and curls. Diana was careful not to move until Sally had finished, and Regina waited patiently to speak until after the maid stepped back and Diana had gotten up from her seat at the vanity to turn and face Regina.
“Oh, Diana, you’re an absolute vision! No one will even look my way with you nearby,” Regina said, but in an affectionate tone that made it obvious she was not truly envious of her friend.
“Even if that were true, you have only yourself to blame,” Diana said in a teasing tone of voice. “I would not be looking so fashionable without your expert guidance.” The two ladies smiled at each other in genuine delight, and Diana had a moment to take in her friend’s appearance. “But it’s completely untrue that no one will look your way. You are radiant this evening.”
Regina sparkled from the diamond and sapphire tiara she wore on her head, to the shiny satin slippers on her feet. But nothing shone so brightly as her eyes, which rivaled the sapphires in brilliance. They were even more lustrous at that moment, filled as they were with moisture that she quickly blinked away.
“Diana, I am so grateful to you. I would never have had the courage to venture into London society again without you by my side,” Regina said, pressing Diana’s hand between both of her own.
“And if it weren’t for you, I would be rusticating at Whitley House right now, tiptoeing around my butler and being scolded by my sister-in-law,” Diana replied, and Sally, who was all too familiar with Godfrey and Mildred, gave a small snort of laughter and broke the serious mood.
Reminded of her presence, Diana turned to smile at her maid. “Thank you, Sally, for dressing my hair so well. Shall we go?” she asked Regina, gathering her gloves, reticule, and fan.
A short time later, as she stood at the entrance of Lady Gordon’s ballroom at the end of the reception line, Diana could not believe this was all really happening. There had to be a hundred wax candles burning, their light reflected by dozens of mirrors, and Diana thought back to how she and her mother could not afford even one candle made of wax and had made do with tallow ones that stunk of beef and pig fat. She wished so much that her mother could have been there, but was distracted from her poignant reflections when Lady Gordon turned to her and Regina with a smile and asked: “Are you ready to greet our guests?”
Diana felt her stomach cramp from fear; she had never felt so un-ready, but Regina squeezed her hand and the two women smiled back at Lady Gordon and nodded. Lady Gordon then spoke to her butler, and he began ushering people into the room.
The other Ladies of the Registry were the first guests to arrive, and Diana’s nervousness dissipated a little after exchanging greetings with those already known to her. And then Monsieur de la Tour arrived, whom Regina and Diana introduced to Lady Gordon with proprietary pleasure. He was one of the few persons invited whom Lady Gordon had never met and, though Diana knew he probably didn’t have the money for a fashionable tailor, he wore his evening dress with a typical French flair for elegance and was one of the best-looking men in the room. Diana was smiling up at him and reminding him of the dance he’d reserved, when she heard Mr. Dean announced and turned abruptly away. Monsieur de la Tour looked to see who had caused this reaction before continuing into the ballroom, his departure unnoticed by Diana.
“Mr. Dean,” Lady Gordon was saying, as he bowed to her. “I am not sure whether to greet you with a smile or a frown.” However, Diana was relieved to see—though she couldn’t understand why it mattered to her—that Lady Gordon had a very gracious smile on her lips.
“I’m sure I deserve to be frowned at, Lady Gordon. However, your beauty is only enhanced by your smile, so I’m pleased to be the recipient of it,” Mr. Dean replied.
Lady Gordon smiled more widely and tapped his shoulder with her fan. “It is fortunate for you that Lady Regina thought of a way to turn your outrageous act to our advantage, or a frown would be the least of what you deserved.”
“I am very aware of my good fortune,” Mr. Dean said, and Lady Gordon turned to greet the next guest as Mr. Dean bowed to Regina, telling her, “Lady Regina, it is a pleasure to see you again.”
And then it was Diana’s turn to greet him and his ability to exchange easy chitchat seemed to vanish at the sight of her. “Mr. Dean,” Diana said.
“Mrs. Boyle.” His eyes flitted quickly over her dress before returning to her face. “You are . . . breathtaking this evening.” Since he appeared to be struggling to catch his breath, Diana did not think he was merely flattering her.
“Thank you,” Diana replied, and that was the extent of their conversation as the next guest was at his elbow and he was forced to move on.
One of the most surprising arrivals, in Diana’s view, was Lady Jersey, a patroness of Almack’s and leader of London fashionable society, who was ironically called “Silence” as she never stopped talking. She demonstrated the appropriateness of her nickname as she held up the line while speaking with Lady Gordon.
“Thank you so much for inviting me to your ball; even though I had to beg for an invitation and it was so arduous and lengthy a journey,” she said, laughing, as she also lived in Berkeley Square.
“Just do not become offended if our ball does not conform to the rules of the assemblies you host at Almack’s,” Lady Gordon warned her.
“My dear Lady Gordon, you know that I am not half so formal as the other patronesses. Though it is true I was forced to turn the Duke of Wellington away at the door the other evening. It was seven minutes after eleven. Seven! Had he arrived just a few minutes earlier I might have made an exception, but there were so many people watching I felt it would set a dangerous precedent to allow it. However, you are wise not to impose such stringent requirements at your little affair,” she said, and Diana saw Regina stiffen at the condescending way Lady Jersey referred to their ball. Still, Diana imagined one of the richest women in England wasn’t as easily impressed as poor little Diana Boyle, raised in a cottage in Plymouth.
After Lady Jersey’s arrival the receiving line broke up, though Regina still appeared to be looking over her shoulder for someone.
“I’m surprised Lord Jerome isn’t yet here,” she said to Diana, but no sooner had the words left her mouth then he entered and stood just inside the door, scanning the room until his eyes came to rest upon Lady Regina. He bowed in her direction, and she and Diana nodded to him in acknowledgment.
“It’s a good thing Lady Jersey isn’t manning the door at our ball, or Lord Jerome might have been turned away,” Diana whispered to her friend, who laughed a little too loudly at the joke, and Diana realized that Lord Jerome still made Regina feel ill at ease. Regina had confided to Diana after they saw Jerome at the theatre that he was her former betrothed and that she was happy she’d conversed with him that evening, as it meant there would be no further constraint between them, but Diana thought Regina had been overly optimistic. There was definitely something between Regina and Lord Jerome, though perhaps “constraint” wasn’t the correct word for it. And it didn’t appear to be going away.
Lord Jerome approached the two women, greeting them and reminding them of the dances he’d reserved, before walking over to join Maxwell.
“I thought you were going to amaze the ladies with your promptitude,” Max said.
“This is prompt,” Lord Jerome drawled. “It’s not even eight o’clock.”
“The ball started at six,” his friend reminded him.
“And what did I miss?”
“You weren’t here to greet the ladies.”
“In other words, I missed waiting in a line,” Jerome said, and Maxwell couldn’t help smiling. “They’ve outdone themselves,” Jerome continued, but Maxwell wasn’t sure if he was referring to the sumptuousness of the ball or the ladies’ appearances, as his gaze had settled on them once again.
“Do you intend to dance with any ladies other than our hostesses?” Max asked. “There are a number of other amiable ladies present, and our purpose in coming was to meet them, was it not?”
“Was it?” Jerome asked.
There was a pause, and then Max said, “No, it wasn’t.” And he joined his friend in gazing at the two women who were the real reason for their presence.
As they watched, a distinguished dark-haired gentleman approached the ladies and seemed to be on good terms with both, as the group conversed easily and smiled frequently. When the music began the mysterious man led Mrs. Boyle to join a set, and Maxwell watched as they danced together more harmoniously and gracefully than any couple he’d ever seen.
“Who is that?” he asked Jerome.
“I have no idea,” Jerome said.
The two men were still watching the dancing when Lady Gordon suddenly appeared before them with a lady on each side, and they were forced to give her their attention.
“Lord Jerome, Mr. Dean. May I present Miss Jarmyn to you both? I believe you are already acquainted with Mrs. Young.”
The gentlemen bowed, the ladies curtsied, and Jerome and Max did their obvious duty and asked the ladies to dance.
Maxwell, who had believed his dancing skills to be perfectly adequate before he’d seen Diana dancing with that other gentleman, was now very glad to have a chance to practice before his dance with her. His partner, Miss Jarmyn, seemed agreeable, if a little unconventional.
“Why is Lord Jerome a ‘lord’ if he’s a younger son, and you’re a mister?” she asked him, after they’d dispensed with more traditional conversation about the heat of the rooms and her county of origin.
“He’s the younger son of a marquis, and unfortunately I’m merely the younger son of a baron,” Max said, in a self-mocking tone that he assumed made it obvious he was joking.
“My condolences” was her response.
Max was thankful that the dance ended at that point and he was spared having to reply. He bowed to his partner, and they were walking off the floor together when she surprised him further by saying, “I’ll dance with Lord Jerome now.”
“I believe he’s already engaged for this dance,” Max said, a little taken aback. He quickly scanned the room, saw Mr. Pryce watching the dancers, and led his farouche young partner in that direction. “Perhaps I can introduce you to a different gentleman,” he offered, and Miss Jarmyn happily agreed. They reached Pryce and Max presented the young lady to him.
“Pleasure to meet you. Is Jarmyn spelled with a J or a G?” Mr. Pryce asked her, and Maxwell heard her spelling out her name as Pryce escorted her to the dance floor.
It was finally time for the waltz Maxwell had reserved with Mrs. Boyle, and he eagerly started walking toward her when he saw her looking around the room as if in search of someone. He assumed it was him she was looking for, and he smiled in anticipation of meeting her gaze, but her glance passed quickly over him before she apparently found her quarry and hurried to his side: it was the distinguished gentleman she’d danced with for the first set.
He stopped, unsure whether to follow her. Was this why she had insisted he come, so that she could spurn him in favor of another gentleman? It was a very effective revenge, if so, because he felt a pang each time she smiled up at the man, seeming much happier and more carefree than she ever had in Maxwell’s presence. But as he watched, he saw Mrs. Boyle lead the man to Lady Gordon, apparently presenting him to her as a partner. Expelling a breath of relief, he walked over to join them.
As he approached, he overheard Lady Gordon protesting that she hadn’t intended to dance, that she was the hostess.
“I’m also a hostess, and yet I intend to dance most of the evening,” Diana told her, turning to smile at Maxwell, who had reached her side. “In fact, here is my next partner now.”
Lady Gordon made a little gesture of defeat, before placing her hand on the arm her prospective partner had gracefully extended. “I saw you dancing with Mrs. Boyle and Lady Regina earlier, Monsieur de la Tour, and envied them their partner. I would be pleased to have this opportunity to dance with you.”
“Believe me when I say, as trite as it may sound, that the pleasure is mine,” Monsieur de la Tour replied, before leading Lady Gordon to the floor.
It seemed to Diana that Lady Gordon, with her erect figure, delicate features, and silver hair, was reminiscent of a noblewoman from the previous century, and that she made a very fitting partner for the elegant Frenchman. Mr. Dean apparently agreed. “They seem well matched,” he told Diana, watching the other couple take the floor before turning to Diana and offering her his hand.
This would be Diana’s first time waltzing with any man other than her dancing master, and Mr. Dean was the only man she felt inclined to grant that honor. She was grateful he had reserved this dance in advance because she had been able to refuse other requests without having to make any awkward excuses.
She was very conscious of Mr. Dean’s hand holding hers, and when they reached the floor and he put his arms around her, she wondered how she had thought herself brave enough to waltz with any gentleman. Her husband had never embraced her publicly like this and had only rarely been this close to her in private. But she didn’t want to think of Mr. Boyle when Mr. Dean held her in his arms.
“I cannot claim to be as good a dancer as Monsieur de la Tour,” he said apologetically.
Diana laughed softly in response, as if he’d made a joke. “I would never hold you to such a high standard,” she said with a wide smile, and Mr. Dean frowned, wondering what she could mean. Was it because she esteemed the other man so highly that Max could never hope to compare? He was relieved when she went on to explain: “Monsieur de la Tour makes his living by giving instruction in dance. He has been teaching me and Lady Regina.”
It was Maxwell’s turn to smile, and his smile was so charming and had such an unsettling effect on Diana that she was forced to look away momentarily to gather her composure.
“I had never even considered such a profession when thinking of those available to gentlemen. I imagine it’s preferable to one in the military or the church,” he said.
“Perhaps, but I can’t help pitying the poor wife of such a man. Imagine her dismay at the thought of her husband holding so many other women in his arms,” Diana said, half joking. They danced in silence for a moment, before she said: “I begin to understand why some object to the waltz. It’s so very intimate.” She then blushed at her unthinking words.
“A person should be very discriminating in their choice of partner, to be sure,” Mr. Dean said softly. “I think myself very clever to have secured such a desirable one.”
Monsieur de la Tour had forbidden Diana to look down during her dances, so she had no choice but to continue to gaze into Mr. Dean’s slate-blue eyes. As he whirled her around the glittering ballroom, she told herself it was the dance that was making her so dizzy and breathless. She hoped Mr. Dean did not think her rude, but she couldn’t bring herself to make conversation, as she very much wanted to concentrate on the strange and novel sensations she was feeling; a pleasurable tingling and excitement that she’d only ever experienced in his presence. She could not even find a way to describe it and decided to stop trying to do so and give herself over to experiencing it. Mr. Dean had become silent as well, though his gaze had dropped once from her eyes to her lips, and he had pulled her a little more firmly against him during one of the turns. Or had she moved closer to him? Their legs were most definitely brushing now, and Diana pulled back a little. She had never danced this close to Monsieur de la Tour, and she was sure everyone would notice and be scandalized.
“I beg your pardon,” Mr. Dean said huskily, after she had pulled away. “I told you I was not a skilled dancer.”
So he had pulled her closer. And Diana did not think it had been unintentional. “I have no complaints,” she said. Mr. Dean looked pleasantly surprised at her reply, and the hand at her back shifted a little in what felt like a caress.
Unfortunately, in Diana’s view, the dance could not last forever. It seemed to speed by far more quickly than her previous ones, and much too soon Mr. Dean was leading her from the floor.
“Thank you, Mrs. Boyle. I have never enjoyed a dance more. Are there any other waltzes tonight?” he asked hopefully.
“Just one, but I’ve already promised it to Monsieur de la Tour.”
“We’ve already agreed he’s the best dancer here, and you have the pleasure of dancing with him frequently. Surely it would be selfish of you not to allow the other ladies an opportunity to dance with him?” he asked, with a twinkle in his eye.
“I had not thought of it that way. I would not want to be selfish,” Diana said, smiling mischievously. “I’ll ask him if he would be agreeable to exchanging it for another.”
While Diana waltzed with Mr. Dean, Lord Jerome was causing similar tumultuous feelings in Lady Regina’s breast. This was the romance and excitement she’d longed for when she’d eloped at seventeen, and it struck her as extremely ironic that in trying to rush the experience, she’d instead delayed it by eleven years.
“It’s funny to think that we were engaged for two years, and yet this is the first time we’ve danced together,” Lady Regina said.
“Why, so it is,” Lord Jerome replied, surprised. They danced in silence for a moment, before he said in a low tone that contained no trace of the sarcasm he was known for: “It was foolish of us to wait so long.”
“Perhaps we can make up for lost time. We must dance together at every opportunity,” Regina said teasingly, but Jerome did not smile.
“A delightful prospect, indeed,” he said, and Regina was sure she saw the admiration she’d hoped to inspire in him so many years ago finally reflected in his eyes.