“Not at all,” he said with a bow. “I was merely concerned that you not be alone during the waltz. Frances, I see, is in company with several other young ladies who are not yet allowed to waltz.”
Arabella’s face brightened as she looked at her sister. “Frances is a great success, is she not?” she said. “But then, I knew she would be. She is so lovely. She has always been the beauty of the family, you know. I am very proud of her. You must wish ...” She smiled quickly up at him, and the expected blush and look of confusion came at last.
“I wish you had learned to waltz or that I had known earlier and could have taught you,” he said, “so that I might take you away from Mr. Lincoln, Arabella.” He took her gloved hand and laid it on the brocaded sleeve of his evening coat. “Do you see him? I shall take you to him.”
Arabella was trying to write a letter to her mother before Frances joined her in the morning room the next day. It was not easy to do when there was all the excitement of the previous evening to convey in writing. She had enjoyed herself enormously and really had not had a spare moment in which to dwell upon the fact that she must look very much plainer and plumper and more childish than all the other ladies. She had danced every set she was able, and had had company for each of the waltzes. Lady Berry had even presented her to Lady Jersey, one of the patronesses of Almack’s, and that lady had condescended to incline her head to her and congratulate her on her recent marriage to Lord Astor.
How was she to write it all down on paper, so that Mama and Jemima might almost see the ballroom and all the splendor of its occupants? How would she convey all the triumph she and Frances had felt at being so noticed by ladies and gentlemen alike? How could she describe just how very beautiful Frances had looked?
When the subject of her thoughts entered the room, Arabella put her quill pen down with care and gave up even the attempt to write. Frances had agreed the day before that they would both write to Mama this morning, but she had that dreamy look in her eyes that Arabella knew of old. There would be no writing for either of them for a while.
“How can you possibly be up early every morning even after such a late night, Bella?” Frances asked, yawning delicately behind her hand.
“I cannot waste the best part of the day,” Arabella said. “I had to take George for a walk.” She flushed. “His lordship came with me this morning.”
“Dear Bella.” Frances’ eyes had their familiar brightness, a look that was usually a prelude to tears. “I never fail to marvel and to thank heaven for your sake that his lordship turned out to be the son of the man we expected. He is very attentive, is he not? I am so pleased for you. I cannot think of anyone who deserves happiness more than you. I shall never forget the sacrifice you made for me.”
“Well, it turned out to be no sacrifice after all, did it not?” Arabella said briskly, noting that Frances was pulling a handkerchief out of her pocket. She recalled the discomfort she had felt earlier that morning, knowing that his lordship had accompanied her to the park only to give her respectability when he would doubtless have preferred to be at the breakfast table with his daily paper. And he had called George bad-mannered and had insisted on taking the lead in his own hand just because the poor dog could not get to the park fast enough and was threatening to pull her arm from its socket.
“You were a great success last night,” she said in an attempt to divert Frances’ mind from its sad contemplation of the sacrifice. “I declare, if there had been twice as many sets as there were, there would still have been gentlemen clamoring to dance with you.”
Frances dabbed at her eyes and. put her handkerchief away. “I do think it tiresome that I cannot waltz, though, Bella,” she said. “I am twenty years old, after all.”
“Lady Berry has promised to try to get us vouchers for Almack’s,” Arabella said. “And I was presented to Lady Jersey last night. Perhaps soon you will be granted permission. Until then you may not waltz, so there is no point in lamenting the fact. His lordship has said that in the meantime he will teach us both the steps.”
Frances sighed. “You are fortunate in being married to one of the handsomest gentlemen of theton, Bella,” she said. “I thought there would be many more in town, but really the gentlemen here are not a great deal handsomer than those at home, are they?”
Arabella laughed. “And glad I am of it,” she said. “I should positively quail if everyone was as splendid as his lordship.”
“Sir John Charlton is very handsome,” Frances said. “Did you know he is heir to the Earl of Haig, Bella? His uncle. And the earl is elderly. Sir John said he would call on me this afternoon. We do not have any plans for being from home, do we?”
“No,” Arabella said with a frown. “Do you like Sir John, Frances? I danced with him too. He is very good-looking, indeed. But do you not think he knows it rather too well?”
“If he does, he has good reason to be somewhat vain,” her sister said. “He is so very fashionable, Bella. He quite puts most other gentlemen in the shade.”
Including Theodore, Arabella thought rather sadly. If it were not for Theodore, she might not have been so eager to take upon herself the task of wedding Lord Astor. And she might now be comfortably at home with Mama and Jemima while Frances had all the responsibility of making his lordship comfortable. Not that Frances would have to make any effort to do so, of course. He would doubtless be blissfully happy with Frances as his bride.
The thought was thoroughly depressing. And surprisingly, the thought that she might be at home comfortably free of the necessity of being Lord Astor’s wife brought with it no longing. Only a strange and quite unexpected gratitude to a providence that had kept from her family an essential truth that might have changed the whole course of her life.
Arabella did not pause to explore the feeling. “Will you write to Mama or to Jemima?” she asked. “We really should try to be finished before luncheon, Frances. I let several people last night know what we would be at home this afternoon. Perhaps we will have visitors.”
But her hopes of letter-writing were dashed when a footman opened the door and the butler bowed himself into the room behind an enormous bouquet that had arrived for Frances from one of her dancing partners of the evening before.
Frances shrieked and Arabella proceeded to clean her pen.
The day after the ball, Lord Astor arrived home in the middle of the afternoon to find his drawing room almost crowded with visitors. He was not surprised to find his aunt there. She had quite adopted his wife and his sister-in-law and rarely allowed a day to pass without calling on them or inviting them to join her in some diversion. It was to be expected too that several of Frances’ lady friends should call, most of them with their mothers. And Sir John Charlton had been clearly taken with Frances the night before and had understandably called this afternoon, bringing Farraday with him.
What was perhaps somewhat more surprising was that Hubbard was there, and the gangly youth who could not dance. Lord Astor had not noticed the night before that either had shown a marked preference for Frances. And indeed, both seemed quite satisfied to be in conversation with Arabella. He could see at a glance, before she saw him, that she was talking to them with great animation.
He bowed to a group of ladies seated with his aunt, and resigned himself to a few minutes of conversation with them. He had come home to take Arabella into the park in his curricle. He would take a different carriage if his sister-in-law did not have anything to do and needed to be included in the invitation, but he had suspected that someone would turn up to take her driving or walking.
It was a beautiful afternoon, far too fine to be indoors. He had originally planned to spend a few hours with Ginny, but the thought of being confined for the afternoon inside her cozy, perfumed boudoir did not hold out its usual lure. He would visit her some other day, when it was raining perhaps, or when Arabella was otherwise engaged.
Lord Astor settled rather impatiently to outwait the visitors. He caught his wife’s eye after a couple of minutes and smiled. She returned his smile, blushed, and faltered in her conversation. He turned his attention back to what Mrs. Soames was saying, quelling a twinge of annoyance. What was it about him that Arabella shied away from? He had never been unkind to her. Why could she not talk to him except when she appeared to forget who he was? She seemed always able to talk to other people. Yet he was her husband. Did she find him uninteresting?
Arabella was busily assuring Mr. Browning that even if his tailor was not Weston, his coat looked remarkably dashing. After all, she said quite reasonably, if all gentlemen patronized only Weston, how would other tailors make a living? And sometimes one man could gain a reputation undeservedly. Other, unknown tailors might be quite as excellent as the famous man himself.
Mr. Browning looked somewhat reassured as Arabella smiled and nodded at him.
