“But I will say no more on that subject,” Lady Webb said briskly. “I have already said enough—perhaps too much. Come, we must go down to the ballroom. Our guests will be arriving soon. Cyril and Dorothy will be waiting for us.”
Lord Lansdowne was Lady Webb’s brother. She had invited him and his wife to help her host the ball. Lord Lansdowne was to lead Jane into the opening set of dances.
The ballroom had looked magnificent in the light of late afternoon. Now it looked nothing short of breathtaking. The candles had all been lit. They sparkled gold above all the white and silver, their light multiplied by the long mirrors along the walls.
It all looked, Jane thought, almost like a room prepared for a bridal ball. But it was her come-out they were celebrating tonight. And all must go well. Nothing must be allowed to spoil it. Aunt Harriet had given so much time and energy—as well as a great deal of money—to make sure that yesterday and today would be perfect for her goddaughter.
“Are you nervous, Sara?” Lady Lansdowne asked.
Jane turned to her with eyes that were tear-filled, despite herself. “Only insofar as I want everything to go well for Aunt Harriet’s sake,” she said.
“You look as fine as fivepence, I must say, my dear,” Lord Lansdowne told her. “Now, if only I can disguise the fact that I have two left feet…” He laughed heartily.
Jane turned to Lady Webb, who was regarding her with a maternal eye. “Thank you so very much for all this, Aunt Harriet,” she said. “My own mama could not have done better for me.”
“Well, my dear. What can I say?” Lady Webb looked suspiciously dewy-eyed.
Fortunately, perhaps, there were some early guests arriving. The four of them hurried to form a receiving line outside the ballroom doors.
The next hour sped by in a blur for Jane as she was formally presented at long last—at the advanced age of twenty—to her peers in theton. There were familiar faces among those of strangers. Some people she felt she already knew quite well. There was the very handsome and charming Viscount Kimble, who Aunt Harriet seemed to believe was a prospective suitor for her hand. There was the amiable Sir Conan Brougham, and a few more of Jocelyn’s friends, who had visited him at Dudley House while Jane was there. There was Lord Ferdinand Dudley, who bowed over her hand, raised it to his lips, and grinned at her with his attractive boyish charm. And there were Lord and Lady Heyward. The former bowed courteously, said all that was correct, and would have moved on into the ballroom if his wife had not had other ideas.
“Oh, Sara,” she said, hugging Jane tightly at risk of grave damage to both their appearances, “youdolook lovely. I amsoenvious of your ability to wear white. I look like a ghost in it myself and simply must wear brighter colors. Though Tresham and Ferdie are forever criticizing my taste, odious creatures. Is Tresham coming tonight? He would not give me a direct answer when I met him in the park this afternoon. Have the two of you had words? How splendid of you actually to quarrel with him. No one has ever been able to stand up to him before. I do hope you will not forgive him too readily but will make him suffer. But tomorrow, you know—”
But Lord Heyward had grasped her firmly by the elbow. “Come, my love,” he said. “The line will be stretched down the stairs and across the hall and out to the pavement if we stand here talking any longer.”
“Haveyou quarreled with the duke, Sara?” Lady Webb asked as they turned away. “You had so little to say for yourself after he called on you last week. Do you know if he intends to come tonight?”
But there really was a line of people waiting to be presented. There was no chance for further private talk.
He did come. Of course he came. He was late, but nottoolate. Jane and Lady Webb were still standing outside the ballroom doors with Lord and Lady Lansdowne while all was abuzz inside and the members of the orchestra were tuning their instruments. He was dressed in a tailed black, form-fitting evening coat with gray silk knee breeches, silver-embroidered waistcoat, sparkling white linen, lace, and stockings, and black dancing shoes. He was looking formal and correct and haughty as he bowed in turn to everyone in the receiving line.
“Lady Sara,” he murmured when he came to Jane. He grasped the handle of his jeweled quizzing glass but did not raise it quite to his eye as he looked her over slowly from head to toe. “Dear me. Looking almost like a bride.”
Oh, odious, odious man! He knew very well that white was almost obligatory for any lady making her come-out.
“Your grace,”she murmured, emphasizing the words slightly in retaliation for his calling her Lady Sara. She dipped him a curtsy.
He did not linger but proceeded on into the ballroom. Jane turned her thoughts away from him. It was not easy to do but must be done. Tonight was for Aunt Harriet more than for herself.
Five minutes later Lord Lansdowne led her into the opening set of country dances. Jane relished the moment to the full. She was dancing at a grand London ball for the first time, and it was her own ball. It was a vigorous and intricate dance, one that had her flushed and laughing before it was over. Other couples had joined them on the dance floor, enough in fact to make it quite clear that tomorrow Aunt Harriet would be able to boast that the event had been a squeeze.
Jocelyn did not dance. Jane did not once look directly at him, but every moment she was aware of him, standing alone on the sidelines, dark and handsome, watching the dancing. At the end of the set, after Lord Lansdowne had returned her to Lady Webb’s side and a few prospective partners had approached her, including Lord Ferdinand, she saw him turn and leave the ballroom.
JOCELYN PROWLED. THERE WASno other word to describe his movements. Even he was aware of it as he moved from the ballroom to the card room to the refreshment room to the landing that connected all three rooms and back to the ballroom again. He could not settle anywhere, even though Pottier invited him to join a table of card players and Lady Webb offered to present him with a dancing partner. There was Ferdinand to deal with, of course. And Angeline.
“I do not know why you bothered to come, Tresh,” the former said disapprovingly when they ran against each another on the landing while Ferdinand was on his way to the refreshment room and Jocelyn was about to enter the card room for the third time. “All you have done since you arrived is look damned morose and toplofty. If you have come to spoil the evening for her, I am here to tell you that I will not have it.”
Jocelyn looked at his brother with pleased approval. Then he raised his quizzing glass to his eye. “You still have the same valet, Ferdinand?” he asked. “Despite the fact that he is still attempting to slice your throat? You are braver than I, my dear fellow.”
Ferdinand frowned and fingered the small nick beneath his jaw on the right side while Jocelyn prowled off in the direction of the card room.
Angeline was a little more garrulous—but then, when was she not? It seemed that she applauded Jane for looking so radiantly happy when it was clear that Tresham must have quarreled with her. She hoped Jane would lead him a merry dance and never forgive him for whatever he had said to offend her. And he was no brother of hers if he did not immediately sweep Jane off her feet and make her an offer and positively refuse to take no for an answer.
“That is what I goaded Heyward into doing,” she told him. She fanned her face while her brother looked at her with distaste.
“I wonder,” he said, “if you are color blind, Angeline. It is the kindest explanation I can think of to account for your appalling choice of red and pink plumes to be worn side by side in your hair.”
She ignored him. “You are going to marry Lady Sara in St. George’s, Hanover Square, before the Season is over,” she told him. “With all thetonin attendance. I absolutely insist upon it, Tresham. I shall plan it all myself.”
