She felt aglow with happiness. What a ridiculous thought! She smiled at it and joined the group.
He was not sorry after all that he had come to England, and that in the end he had come all the way home to Thornwood. A great deal of good had happened. The past had been explained and forgiven. The bitterness of years had been purged. There could be some peace now for two people because he had come home.
And yet a part of him longed for Montreal and the home he had made there. Part of him wished—as he had said to her as a joke earlier in the day—that he had not ventured even one mile east of Montreal. Better the dull pain of bitter memories, he was half inclined to think, than the raw pain of this new parting that was upon him. And there seemed to be nothing he could do to avert it. He could not try to take the freedom she had so newly found. If he asked her to marry him, she might feel an obligation because of the pain she had caused him in the past. He could not do that to her.
Of course, there was still the possibility that she was with child. But he hoped not, much as his heart yearned toward the idea.
But there was tonight left, he told himself and a few more days after that. For tonight at least he refused to have his spirits dragged down by gloomy thoughts.
He was almost late in joining the receiving line of his own ball. Lady Gaynor had informed him that her elder daughter was ready to come down, but she had not accompanied him back upstairs as he had expected. He was admitted to Lizzie’s dressing room, where she sat on a stool in front of the dressing table, looking very handsome indeed in white satin and lace. But the arrangement of a few of the ringlets at the back of her head did not quite suit her, and her maid had to work on them for a few minutes longer. And then she did not like the particular strand of pearls she was wearing—it was too long. Her maid had to rummage for the other strand—the one her grandmama had given her for her eighteenth birthday. And then she decided that the silver gloves she was wearing were quite wrong with her gown. The maid was set to finding the white gloves.
His lordship had been all of ten minutes in her room before he was finally able to carry her down to the ballroom. He had had a chair and stool prepared for her close to the doors, where she would not feel neglected or lost to view.
It became quickly apparent that there was no danger of either. With her slippered foot resting on a stool, Lizzie Gaynor quickly became the center of attention as she smiled bravely and even laughed gaily and informed everyone who asked that she was in very little pain, certainly nothing she wished to burden anyone else with, and that she had every intention of enjoying the evening by watching the dancing. No one was to pay her any mind at all. She wafted a graceful hand in the air. She was not going to pin anyone to her side or spoil anyone’s evening.
The earl joined the receiving line with the countess, his aunt, and Margaret. The outside guests were beginning to arrive. He greeted them cordially and set himself to be the attentive host. He was well aware that there had been no balls at Thornwood for many years and that even an invitation to the house had become a rare and coveted event.
And all the time he stood there, smiling, talking, kissing hands, he was aware of Christina beside him, beautiful, elegant, gracious, smelling of lavender—and for this evening and a few more days his to look at, to admire, to yearn for.
“Christina.” He detained her with a hand on her arm when the last of the guests had arrived and it was time for him to begin the ball with Margaret. “You will reserve a set for me?”
“If you wish,” she said coolly.
The tone would have annoyed him a few days before. He ignored it now.
“The last waltz?” he said.
Not the first. It would come too soon in the evening, and as the host he could not dance with the same partner more than once. His dance with her was something to be deferred as long as possible, then, so that he could anticipate it as the crowning moment of the evening—of the whole of Christmas. He had not waltzed with her since that one afternoon here in the ballroom. It seemed like forever ago.
“Yes,” she said. “Thank you.” For a moment the cool, impersonal look went from her eyes to be replaced by—by what? Pleasure? Longing? Nothing at all of any significance? The look was gone too soon to be interpreted.
And so the Christmas ball began. He danced with Margaret, with Mrs. Ferris, one of his closest neighbors, with Winifred Milchip. And he looked about him and observed that everyone seemed to be delighting in the splendid surroundings, in the novelty of a grand ball in the country complete with full orchestra, in the company of so many other people. And all the while he was aware of Christina, who had clearly changed her mind completely since declaring less than two weeks before that she would not dance at all during the ball. She danced with Geordie Stewart, Mr. Evesham, Viscount Luttrell.
It was after the third set that disaster almost happened. He had strolled over to Lizzie Gaynor’s chair to make sure she needed for nothing though it was perfectly clear that she did not. There was a small crowd of people surrounding her, both house guests and neighbors. She was holding court with her usual bright gaiety.
“May I fetch you anything, Miss Gaynor?” he asked. “A drink, perhaps?”
She stretched out a hand to him and he took it and bowed over it. But he could not immediately release it—it had closed about his own. She was smiling at him brightly and —fondly?
“Nothing, thank you, my lord,” she said. She looked about at her audience. “You see how very well I am cared for? I am really not acripple, and I might easily have remained in my room both yesterday and today. But his lordship has insisted upon carrying me about and on coming in and out of my room very like a husband.” She clapped a hand over her mouth, tittered, and blushed prettily. “He came up early to bring me down here. I wasalmostin a state of deshabille. He was alone in my room with me for fully ten minutes, I declare. Some might call it improper. But how could it be called that when—”
He had no idea how she might have ended her sentence. He knew only that with every playful word she was tightening the noose about his neck, making it appear to her avid listeners that he had taken enough liberties with her reputation that he must surely intend to make her his wife. And he was quite powerless to do anything to stop her. Their hands were still clasped, their arms stretched out toward each other.
“Gerard?” The countess’s voice spoke rather more loudly than usual. She set one hand on his outstretched arm and smiled dazzlingly, first at him and then at the whole group. “Is it time, do you think?”
“Time?” He stared at her blankly. He felt rather as if he were drowning.
She bit her lower lip. “For the announcement?” she said.
Had he forgotten something important? He would not be surprised. His mind seemed not to be functioning at all well at the moment.
She laughed and spoke low—though everyone about them heard the words quite clearly, of course. “Of our betrothal,” she said. “Youdidsay just before supper, and the supper dance is next.”
His mind jolted back into motion even as his hand parted company with Lizzie Gaynor’s. He understood immediately. He did not even for one moment believe that he must be either mad or living through some bizarre dream. He took the hand that still rested on his arm, drew it through his, and smiled warmly at her.
“Then it will be made now,” he said, looking deep into her eyes before leading her off in the direction of the orchestra platform, “without further delay—the moment for which I have waited all Christmas, my love.”
“Oh, dear,” she murmured, her voice not quite steady, as they crossed the floor and a semihush fell on the occupants of the ballroom as if they sensed that something extraordinary was about to happen.
