Aunt Lavinia appeared on the stairs before she could answer him, and she turned to take her cloak from Mr. Crutchley. But another hand took it from the butler instead, and the Earl of Hardford wrapped it about her shoulders while at the same time complimenting Aunt Lavinia upon the evening gown she had had made earlier this winter.
And then they were crammed inside his traveling carriage again, with the same seating arrangement as before. They arrived at the inn just before the journey could become too uncomfortably cold. There was already a crowd in the assembly rooms upstairs. Imogen noticed the extra buzz of excitement the appearance of the Earl of Hardford caused as he stepped into the rooms, all charm and ease of manner. Fans began fluttering at a fast pace.
“You put us all to shame as usual, Imogen,” Lady Quentin said, linking an arm through hers while her husband undertook to introduce the earl to some people he had not yet met. “You always make simplicity look quite exquisite. However, you have the face and figure to carry it off. The rest of us would merely look plain or worse if we tried to imitate you.”
“You look perfectly wonderful, as always, Elizabeth,” Imogen assured her. Lady Quentin was on the small side and on the plump side too, but she had glossy dark hair, worn in intricate curls and ringlets tonight, and she had a pretty, animated face.
“You have not, I suppose,” she said, “fallen head over heels in love with Lord Hardford? You never do fall in love, do you? Sometimes I wish you would, though he would have to be the right gentleman. My guess is that the earl is definitelynotthe right one. You are not the sort to be willing to share her mate with all the rest of the female world. Am I being spiteful?”
“Dreadfully,” Imogen said, turning with her friend to look at him work his charm on a blushing, tittering, already adoring circle of fan flutterers. “Though I do believe his charm is something of an armor. He will smile at all those girls and flatter them and pay them outrageous compliments. He will dance with as many of them as time will allow. But he will not marry any of them—or, more important, do anything specifically to single any out or raise her hopes or compromise her virtue either.”
Her own words surprised her. Was she so sure of that—that he would not willingly hurt any virtuous lady or girl? Oh, dear, she really must be starting to like him—or falling prey to some of his charm herself.
Tilly Wenzel arrived with her brother at that moment and came to join them, and the three of them spent an entertaining quarter of an hour before the dancing began observing their neighbors and friends as they arrived and commenting upon their looks and demeanor and an occasional new dress or trimming. There was nothing spiteful in their remarks, however. On the whole, they were a neighborhood of friends. She was fortunate in that, Imogen realized. They were all particularly pleased to see Mrs. Park make a slow entrance between her son and the vicar. She was determinedly recovering from her hip injury. Young Mr. Soames held the most comfortable chair in the room for her while she seated herself, and then he drew up a chair for Cousin Adelaide and another for Mrs. Kramer so that the three of them could converse comfortably.
For a few years after leaving Penderris Hall, Imogen had not danced. As a girl she had always enjoyed dancing—hadlovedit, in fact, and would dance long into the night whenever the chance presented itself. After—she tended to think of her life in terms of before and after—she would not allow herself any such indulgence. But eventually she had realized that her refusal to dance when she was still only in her middle twenties was a disappointment to her neighbors. For in addition to her youth, she was the Viscountess Barclay, daughter-in-law of the Earl of Hardford, widow of the young viscount of whom they had all been inordinately fond. They all genuinely hoped to see her recover from her bereavement and breakdown. They wanted to help make her happy again.
It had never been her intention to make a parade of her grief. Suffering was not attractive when put upon display.
And so she had started to dance again.
Tonight she danced the opening set of country dances with Mr. Wenzel, who hoped Mr. Alton had not yet reserved the waltz with her and that he might do so himself. And then she danced the Sir Roger de Coverley with Mr. Alton, who flattered himself that Lady Barclay must already have reserved the waltz for him. She had to explain to both that the Earl of Hardford had already spoken for that particular set. She danced with Admiral Payne and then Sir Matthew Quentin before supper.
And then, after partaking of a hearty meal, Cousin Adelaide announced that she was ready to go home. Aunt Lavinia admitted that she too was feeling somewhat weary, though the evening had been very pleasant and she was sorry to cut it short for dear Imogen’s sake. Imogen quelled her disappointment—the waltz was still to come.
“I will have the carriage brought up to the door,” she said, “and see if the landlord can arrange for some hot bricks for your feet.”
But the Earl of Hardford had moved up behind them at the table where they had sat for supper.
“You need not concern yourself, Cousin Imogen,” he said. “I will arrange it all myself. My carriage will convey Cousin Lavinia and Mrs. Ferby back to the hall and return later for you and me.”
And he sauntered away even while Aunt Lavinia was still thanking him.
“I am quite delighted that you will be able to stay,” she said, setting a hand on Imogen’s arm while she spoke quietly beneath the hum of conversation around them. “It is far too early for young people to return home when there is so much enjoyment still to be had here. Cousin Percy is most kind and thoughtful.”
Yes, he was, Imogen agreed. His leaving so early might have caused a village riot, of course, but he could have sent her home in the carriage and remained here himself, unencumbered by female relatives. Did she wish he had done just that? She could still insist upon going, she supposed. But... there was the waltz. And hediddance well. She had noticed. He had danced each set so far with a different lady, and he had given each his full attention, smiling and talking whenever the figures brought him close to his partner. He danced with assurance and easy grace.
It was sohardto find fault with him.
But... was there anything to his character apart from the charm? Any substance? She still had not made up her mind. But it did not matter. Soon she would be back in her own home and need have little to do with him even if he stayed at Hardford Hall, which was doubtful.
He made the arrangements for the carriage and the hot bricks and saw the two ladies on their way before leading Ruth Boodle, the second and plainest of the vicar’s daughters, into a vigorous reel. He soon had her flushed and laughing and looking really quite pretty. Imogen returned her attention to her own partner.
And then it was time for the waltz and he was standing before her, one hand extended for hers, no smile on his face, no bow, no words, merely a very direct look into her eyes. His own were quite extraordinarily blue, she thought foolishly, as though she were noticing their color for the first time. Even inthemthere was no imperfection.
It was all very deliberate, she thought. And, yes, very effective too. For of course her stomach muscles clenched and her stomach fluttered and she hoped—oh, shehoped—her cheeks were not flushing.
She set her hand in his and allowed him to lead her onto the almost empty dance floor. It always was almost empty for the waltz. Not many people knew the steps, though they were simple enough, and even fewer had the courage to perform them before their neighbors. But nearly everyone loved to watch those whodidhave the courage. And the very sparseness of the dancers allowed for all sorts of twirls and fancy footwork, at all of which Mr. Alton, her usual waltzing partner, was adept.
On this occasion, she could see, Mr. Alton was to dance with Tilly. Young Mr. Soames was leading out Rachel Boodle, while Sir Matthew Quentin had taken to the floor with Mrs. Payne. Elizabeth was with Mr. Wenzel. And that was to be that. There was always a feeling of exposure just before a waltz began, an anticipated exhilaration, a certain fear that one would trip over one’s own feet or tread upon one’s partner’s or otherwise make a cake of oneself.
The Earl of Hardford had not taken his eyes off her. She would swear he had not. Nor had he smiled—or spoken. It was all very different from the way he had treated his other partners. Imogen looked into his eyes again and found that they were indeed focused upon her.
“What part are you playing now?” she asked him.
“Part? As in a play?” He raised his eyebrows. “Now? As opposed to... when?”
“You are neither smiling nor oozing charm,” she said, “as you have been with your other partners.”
