“I have failed you.” Arabella’s voice had dwindled almost to a whisper.
“That is undoubtedly an exaggeration,” he had said, smiling for the first time. “I am merely concerned for your reputation, Arabella. I would not want you to be known as fast when you are not at all so in reality.”
“I am sorry, my lord.” She had stood mute and miserable before him, feeling the full force of her failure to behave as a well-bred and experienced lady of thetonshould behave.
He had put a hand beneath her chin and kept it there for a moment. “We will not make a major issue of it,” he had said. “You need not look as if you expect me to beat you at any moment, Arabella. Will you be ready to ride in about two hours’ time after I have taken care of some business here?”
But the joy had gone out of her day. She had ridden Emily later and mingled with the crowds of riders, strollers, and carriage passengers who had come out to take the air after a week of wet weather. Her husband had been at her side, conversing with her, greeting acquaintances. But she had felt dull and unattractive and inadequate to the life she was expected to lead. She had looked about her with some apprehension, expecting to see everywhere fingers pointing her way, dreading that her indiscretion might have caused a great scandal. And she had felt an unreasonable resentment against the handsome man at her side who had taken her from an environment that was familiar to her and now expected her to behave with perfect decorum in his world.
“Arabella.” Lord Astor’s hand on hers awoke Arabella from her unhappy reverie. “Shall we join the set?”
She smiled and placed her hand on his sleeve.
“And what is your first impression of your first ball?” he asked as he led her forward.
“That everyone is remarkably civil and even friendly,” Arabella replied.
“But of course,” he said. “Did you think that the new Lady Astor would be left in a corner unnoticed?”
She thought for a moment as they joined a set and waited for the music to begin. “Yes,” she said at last, “I believe I did.”
He laughed. “I do not think I have ever known anyone with your modesty,” he said. “You look remarkably pretty, Arabella, in your yellow silk.”
“Perhaps people have taken notice of me,” she said, looking up earnestly into his face, “because I have had Frances standing next to me all the time. She looks very lovely, does she not, my lord? I think she is lovelier than any other lady here. I am not being partial, am I? Do you not agree with me?”
“If any other lady asked me that question, Arabella,” Lord Astor said, “I would know quite certainly that she was fishing for a compliment. But you are perfectly serious, are you not? Yes, Frances looks beautiful, and I can see that she will take very well. But for all that, there is one lady I would prefer to look at.”
The music began before Arabella could do more than glance up at him with wide, startled eyes. They were soon caught up in the intricate and energetic steps of a country dance.
Frances had danced with five gentlemen before her brother-in-law came to claim her hand for the quadrille. Two of them were titled. She was flushed with triumph. She had been told for several years, of course, that she was beautiful, and she had come to believe it, though she was not unduly vain. But none of her admirers at home—not even Theodore—had paid her such polished and courtly compliments as the gentlemen with whom she had danced. She had certainly been right to come to London.
Viscount Shenley complimented her on the dancing master she had never had, and Mr. Kershaw complimented himself on having the loveliest lady in the room as a dancing partner.
But Frances was most smitten by her third partner, Sir John Charlton, to whom Bella had had the good fortune to be presented that morning. He looked rather as Theodore would appear if one could remake him to perfection—tall and slim, with thick blond hair and aquiline features. He was impeccably dressed.
“You are Lady Astor’s sister?” he asked as they began to dance. “How very fortunate that Lord Astor has recently made her his bride. You might not have come to town else, and I might not have had the honor of making your acquaintance and dancing with you this evening.”
Frances blushed. He had a way of looking at her along the length of his nose that was very impressive.
“Bella has been fortunate, sir,” she said. “She has married well. But she deserves her good fortune. She is very dear to her family.”
“And she is fortunate to have such a loyal and very lovely sister, I am sure,” he said.
Frances blushed again. “Thank you, sir,” she said.
“Do not thank me, Miss Wilson,” he said. “I did not make you lovely.”
He did not ever smile, Frances noticed. He looked very distinguished.
“I have only recently arrived in town too,” he said. “I have been visiting my elderly uncle, the Earl of Haig. I am his heir, you know. He is fond of me and was unwilling to see me leave. But at this precise moment, I am glad I did.” He regarded her steadily.
Frances looked at him, confused, and noted in some disappointment that the set was drawing to an end. But the next was to be danced with her brother-in-law, who was surely the best-looking of all the gentlemen in the ballroom, with the possible exception of Sir John. She could still look at Lord Astor and feel a pang of envy of Bella. But she always loyally quelled the feeling and rejoiced in her younger sister’s good fortune.
“Perhaps I might do myself the honor of calling on you one afternoon?” Sir John said as he escorted her from the floor.
Frances smiled at him.
Arabella too was pleased with her partners. Even the first set she had enjoyed. It was, of course, her very first dance at her very first ball. And she danced it with the most handsome gentleman in the room—she had seen several female eyes turn his way. And he was her husband. She forgot about her inadequacy. She was wearing one of her new gowns, and her maid had curled her hair prettily, and she had lost three pounds of weight, she was sure. Best of all, she did not have to converse with his lordship while dancing with him, so did not have to face the ordeal of feeling tongue-tied.
