Chapter 17
CHRISTINA was dressed early for the ball. Mainly it was because she had promised that Rachel should see her in her ball gown, yet she knew that a simple appearance in the nursery would not suffice. Tess would want to prattle to her and would want the usual bedtime story, and Rachel would need to be made much of though she would not make any demands for attention.
Partly it was because she was too excited to wait. There was to be a Christmas ball at Thornwood—it was a dizzying wonderful prospect. She felt rather as she had on that long-ago evening of her come-out ball in London when she had been eighteen and full of eager hope.
It was difficult to realize that she could be the same woman who had reacted with such shocked disapproval less than two weeks before to the suggestion of a ball. It was difficult to realize that she was the same woman who had lived for nine years under Gilbert’s strict, oppressive regime, so terrorized and so demoralized that it had taken her a year and a half to break free.
She was free! She tried to think only of that and of the coming ball as she hurried down from the nursery to the ballroom, afraid that after all she might be late. It was important to her to be there before any of the guests arrived so that she might be standing in the receiving line. It was important, not because she would be abused verbally and chastised physically if she were a minute late, but because she chose to aim for perfection in her duties as hostess.
And because—oh, and because she could not wait to stand beside him in the line. She could not bear the thought of missing a single minute this evening in which she might be either looking at him or at least feeling his presence.
She almost collided with Margaret in the doorway of the ballroom. She smiled brightly. “Oh, Meg,” she said, reaching for her sister-in-law’s hands and squeezing them, “how very pretty you look.”
Margaret had wanted a brightly colored ballgown, but Miss Penny had tactfully persuaded her to wear white. She had not yet made her come-out and the ball was to be attended by several members of theton. White would be the proper color to wear. And the best color for her too, Christina thought. She looked young and pretty and eager and innocent.
“Oh.” Margaret sighed. “And you too, Christina. Not pretty, butbeautiful. ”
They both laughed.
Christina’s gown was pale gold and as simple and elegant in design as all her other new clothes. But this one was cut a little lower at the bosom and had short sleeves and a small train. And it shimmered in the candlelight as she had guessed it would. Sophie had threaded pearls through her dark hair. She felt as far removed from the days of black dresses and caps as it was possible to be.
“I feel that I have been neglecting you,” she said. “We have scarce talked alone since the guests arrived. Have you had a happy Christmas, Meg? Have you enjoyed yourself?Areyou enjoying yourself?”
But the answer was self-evident. There was a glow about the girl’s face that had not been there before. She had come alive to her own youth in the past week.
“I could not possibly have imagined anything more wonderful if I had tried,” Margaret said. “I can hardly wait to go to town in the spring. But then I do not want to wish away the next few days either—tonight especially.”
Christina squeezed her hands more tightly. “You should have been enjoying this sort of life long before now,” she said. “I blame myself, Meg. I—”
“No!” Margaret said firmly, and she leaned forward and kissed her sister-in-law on the cheek. “No, Christina. It was you who made my growing years bearable—you in my girlhood, Gerard in my childhood. You gave me everything you were able to give—you gave me love. It has been enough. It is the only thing that really matters, you know.”
There was no chance to say anything more. Lady Hannah was approaching the ballroom in company with Lord and Lady Milchip and Lord and Lady Langan, and the earl, who had been talking to the leader of the orchestra at the other side of the ballroom, was striding across the empty floor toward them.
Christina could not—would not—draw her eyes away from him. He was wearing a chocolate brown satin evening coat over cream-colored knee breeches. His brown waistcoat was heavily embroidered with gold thread. His linen and stockings sparkled white. There was a quantity of white lace at his throat and wrists. Tonight he looked nothing short of magnificent, she thought. She realized even as she gazed that he was looking at her just as intently. She smiled.
“Beautiful!” he said, reaching out a hand for hers and carrying it to his lips. He turned to look at Margaret. “Both of you.”
She loved him, Christina thought quite consciously. She always had and always would. She was in love. But she would not think for the moment—for tonight at least—of the implications of that fact when he was to return to Canada within a few months and they would never see each other again. Tonight she would not believe in tragedies or impossibilities. Just two weeks ago all this—all this—would have seemed impossible.
“If you will excuse me,” he said, “I must go up and carry Miss Gaynor down. But I will be back in time to stand in the receiving line.”
“I do believe,” Margaret said to Christina after he had left, keeping her voice low, “that the sprained ankle is not sprained at all. It was a clever ruse to have Gerard carrying her everywhere and being her slave. I wonder if at the time she realized, though, that she would be unable to dance tonight.”
“Meg,” Christina said sharply, “you are being unkind.”
But they looked at each other and both laughed. Lizzie probably really had twisted her foot and hurt it, Christina thought. But she had had the same suspicion about the sprain. There had been no swelling or bruising about the ankle when she had helped ease Lizzie’s boot off her foot after their return from the lake.
“We will not be laughing,” Margaret said, “if we suddenly find that she is to be our cousin-in-law. Frankly, Christina, I do not like her for all her smiling sweetness. Neither does Gerard. But she is determined to have him if he can be had.”
More of the house guests had come down. Christina turned her attention to the ballroom itself, giving it one final visual check to see that all was in order. The room was decked with pine boughs and holly and lavishly draped with red ribbons and bows and hung with gold bells. The last act of a warm and wonderful Christmas was about to begin.
A Christmas to remember. For the rest of her life. But how would she remember it? With the ache of sadness and loneliness and loss? With sweet nostalgia?
She wasfree—she found she could not repeat the idea often enough. She could make the rest of her life whatever she wished. There were limits, of course. For any number of reasons one was not always able to do what one wanted in life. And when other people were involved in one’s wants, their wishes had to be considered too. But—
But she was free at least to try to shape her own destiny. She had been a victim for long enough. There were no more excuses for holding back, for retreating inside herself, and for allowing life to happen to her, merely intent on not getting hurt.
There was life to be lived. She was alive and still young and healthy. And she was in love. She turned back to the door, about which were clustered most of the house guests, all gorgeously clad, laughing and conversing and looking admiringly about them, smiling at her as she approached.
