She was wearing her new evening dress, a white lace tunic over a silken gown of pale yellow, with tiny yellow rosebuds embroidered about the hem and the edges of the short, puffed sleeves. The gown was high-waisted and low at the bosom—though nottoolow. With it she wore elbow-length gloves of white kid and dancing slippers and a narrow shawl. She wore also the pearl necklace her parents had given her for her eighteenth birthday, and the matching pearl earrings from Idris. Her hair was styled a little more simply than it had been during the day. It was smoother over her head, with only a few fine tendrils waving down from the knot high on the back of her head to trail along her neck and over her ears.
It had felt very good as she twirled before the mirror in her room earlier to know she was going to the ball this year as a woman rather than a girl. It was amazing what a difference turning eighteen made to one’s expectations.
And, she had thought with one extra twirl, she was going todance the opening set tonight with Devlin Ware. It would be the crowning moment of what had already been a happy day.
Despite what her mother had said just now, she was not yet moving toward the door and the carriage awaiting them outside. Instead, she was looking at Gwyneth, her head tipped to one side.
“Your first real ball since you turned eighteen,cariad,” she said, using her favorite Welsh endearment—cariadliterally meantlove.“Has your heart been sore today, Gwyn? I did not expect young Nicholas to ignore you quite so completely, though we do know that the Wares go out of their way to mingle with all their guests, no matter who they are. And very proper and admirable it is too.”
Gwyneth had told them she and Nicholas had been embarrassed by the teasing at James Rutledge’s birthday party and had decided to spend less time in each other’s company.
“Nick did not ignore me, Mam, or I him,” Gwyneth said. “We spoke a few times. I was with other people all day, though, and busy trying to see everything at once and not miss a thing. I even rowed one of the boats for a while when I went out on the lake with Leonard Atkins.”
“Was that the boat that went around and around in circles for all of two minutes until I got dizzy and stopped looking?” Idris asked.
“She did not sink the boat, though, did she?” her father said, setting one arm about her shoulders and hugging her to his side for a moment. “Well, Gwyn, young Nick Ware’s loss is our gain. Much as he would be a grand match for you, hewillbe on his way to join his regiment in the next couple of months, and your mam and I have not been terribly excited at the possibility that you might decide to follow the drum and go off to war with him. That is no life for a woman, even a woman in love with a handsome boy likeNicholas. There are some fine, upstanding Welsh lads just waiting to see you again next month when we go to visit the relatives.”
“I will look them over, Dad, and see if I fancy any of them,” she said, smiling, and kissed his cheek.
“And there are some fine, upstanding Welsh lasses waiting just as eagerly for Idris,” he added.
Idris waggled his eyebrows and grinned at his father.
“We have to go,” Lady Rhys said firmly. “The trouble with you, Ifor, is that you never know when to stop talking. I am glad to hear you are not nursing a broken heart, though, Gwyn. Though I do not suppose you would tell your mam even if you were.”
She was not, Gwyneth thought as the carriage made its way back to Ravenswood, though a few times during the day she had missed Nicholas and felt a pang of regret at the absence of his easy, cheerful company. But once he had left Ravenswood in September to begin the military career he had dreamed of all through his boyhood, their friendship would inevitably have waned anyway. Although she was herself a conscientious letter writer, she doubted Nicholas was. And now it seemed unlikely that she would write to him at all. But how painful it was going to be, waiting for news of him from Ravenswood. He might be involved in any number of battles she would not even know about until weeks or months afterward. She would not know if he was hurt or... Well.
But truth to tell, it was not upon Nicholas that her thoughts dwelled as she looked ahead to tonight’s ball. Specifically to the opening set. Would he remember? Well, of course he would. Duty had always come first with Devlin. He would always keep his word. She thought of him dancing about the maypole earlier, solemnly concentrating on his steps and the ribbon in his hand. She thought of him watching the youngest children’s races and trying to consolelittle Eddie after he lost his race. She thought of him smiling at Stephanie with her garishly painted face and calling her a beautiful princess. She thought of him in the stable yard, cheering on Cameron Holland in the final of a log-splitting contest, which he lost, and then stepping forward to shake the winner by the hand, sweaty and dirty though the man had been.
She thought—and her thoughts paused—of the half hour or so before that final bout when she had sat by his side in the rose arbor in the courtyard, neither of them speaking a word. Had it really been the happiest half hour of the day? Of herlife? Why on earth would it have been, though?They had not spoken.
Because she loved him?
She had been infatuated with Devlin Ware for years. While girls of her acquaintance had gazed upon Nicholas and sighed over him and believedshewas the lucky one who would end up with him, Gwyneth had been falling in love with his less obviously handsome, less openly charming elder brother. Much as she was fond of Nick, she was drawn by the unknown complexities of Devlin’s character. She was sure they were there. It was so easy to judge people by looks and easily observable qualities. But no one could be fully known from those things alone. And some people were worth knowing to the depths of their being. To the innermost reaches of their soul. It was particularly true of the people one loved and believed one would love even more deeply when one knew all there was to know.
Gwyneth wanted... Oh, she dearly wanted to know Devlin Ware, Viscount Mountford. She wanted toknowhim.
But she must not refine too much upon the fact that he had spent time with her today, most notably that extraordinary half hour in the arbor. It had been his duty to spend time with hisfamily’s guests. No doubt other women could make the same claim. But...No one else was going to dance the opening set with him this evening.
She must take care, though, not to set herself up for heartache. Unwillingly she thought of what the fortune-teller had told her. She had been curiously disturbed by it. But no doubt the woman had heard of her supposed courtship with Nicholas. It washewho was going away soon, not to return, perhaps, for years.
“Here we are,” her father said unnecessarily as the carriage drew to a halt outside Ravenswood Hall.
Her first real ball since she turned eighteen. She was going to enjoy every moment of it, no matter what. She wasonlyeighteen, and she was not going to allow anything or anyone to break her heart or even bruise it. The whole of her adult life stretched ahead of her, and she was eager to begin living it. She was hopeful that she would not have to sit out a single set tonight. She would think about sore feet when tomorrow came.
Ah, and there was the opening set with Devlin to be enjoyed.
Chapter Seven
Devlin went to the ballroom early to make sure everything was in place and nothing had been forgotten, though he knew very well there was no chance of that with his mother in charge. Really he was just restless and eager for the evening festivities to begin. That was unusual for him. Dancing was not generally his favorite activity, though he always participated when it was required of him, of course.
Tonight he was going to dance the opening set with Gwyneth Rhys.
The ballroom looked like an extension of the garden. The French windows along the west wall were all thrown open to admit the cooling air of early evening, and the room itself was decked out with banks of fern and flowers in varying shades of pink, purple, and magenta. Violins and cellos and a flute were laid across chairs on the orchestra dais or propped against them, awaiting the arrival of the musicians. The grand pianoforte had been polished to resemble a mirror. So had the wooden floor. The two large crystalcandelabra had been raised to their places just below the ceiling, all their candles alight even though it was not dark outside yet.
Dances in the country, even this grand annual ball, started at what in London would be considered an indecently early hour and were over by midnight. Many of those in attendance would have to be up in the morning to perform the usual early chores—feeding the livestock, milking the cows, nursing the babies, for example. None of those necessities would stop just because it was Sunday. And the vicar, kindly and mild-mannered though he was, would not be happy if he found himself delivering his morning sermon to an empty church.
Devlin crossed the room and stood in one of the open doorways. The ballroom was on the ground floor of the west wing and opened onto a broad, flat terrace—an extra dancing area on warm nights. Colored lanterns had been strung about the perimeter, though they had not yet been lit. They would be soon. The sun was getting close to the horizon and the light was turning dusky. It would not be a dark night even when the sun was down, though, Devlin suspected. The sky was clear, and he had noticed last night that the moon was close to the full. There would be lanterns in the trees on the south lawn too and in the courtyard.
