“I know you will.” She inhaled audibly and let the breath out before continuing. “Devlin, he was not a bad man, your father.”
“No,” he agreed. “He was not.” Though he had wronged her terribly. Had she loved him? It was not really his business, though. If there were demons from her past—and theremustbe—then they were his mother’s to deal with.
Devlin and his mother were standing in the doorway of the ballroom, her arm drawn through his. As usual, they were somewhat early for the assembly itself, but curiosity had got the better of them even though they were not in any way responsible for seeing to it that everything was ready, that nothing had been forgotten.
They had not been near the ballroom all day, though Devlin had been aware of much coming and going in the vicinity of the west wing. Committees had apparently spawned other committees during the past week, and everything had been taken care of, rather to the consternation of Richards and Mrs. Padgett, the butler and housekeeper here. Everything had been cleaned and polished and shined without any of the Ravenswood staff being involved. Fresh candles had been set in the grand candelabra overhead and in the wall sconces. Autumn flowers and leaves and ribbons and bows in varying shades of orange and peach and brown had sprouted everywhere, including about three sides of the orchestra dais.
Long tables had been set up all along the far wall, making inaccessible all the French windows except the one in the middle. The tables had been covered with white linen cloths and an impressive display of smaller cloths that had been fashioned of fine lace—probably made and loaned by various women of the neighborhood. Mrs. Berry, the landlady from the inn, with the help of the food-serving committee, was covering them with heaping plates of dainties, both savory and sweet, and not forgetting piles of plates and linen napkins. They all looked happy, even excited. Jim Berry’s tavern—a banner had beenerected with those exact words written on it in large letters—had been set up just inside the open doors into the dining room. Jim himself, puffed out with pride, it seemed to Devlin, was behind a long bar, organizing his bottles and taps and glasses, while the eager-looking liquor-serving committee prepared to help him pour drinks and pull mugs of ale and carry around trays of drinks to those who did not wish to crowd the bar. The musicians were tuning their instruments, watched by Colonel Wexford, who, as master of ceremonies, looked as though he considered himself personally responsible for the music.
The old assemblies, organized by his mother and staffed by the family’s servants, had always been perfection itself. But... there was a certain spirit here tonight that was difficult to define but was unmistakable. It was a community coming together to share their efforts and enjoy one another.
Guests were beginning to arrive, and two members of the ticket committee were taking their places behind a small table just inside the doors. One of them, a son of one of Devlin’s tenant farmers, grinned cheerily at him and held out a hand.
“Tickets, please, my lord,” he said.
Devlin produced two and handed them over while the young man laughed. He led his mother inside.
“I think,” she said, “that maybe this is going to be a happier place, Devlin.”
Happier thanwhat?
She did not explain. She did not need to. She felt it too, then.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Gwyneth did not always attend the village assemblies, partly because they were so crowded and finding enough space in which to dance was difficult, and partly because conversation was nearly impossible as everyone tried to talk above everyone else and the musicians tried to play loudly enough to be heard above the din. There really had seemed little point in attending.
Tonight, however, she was enjoying herself enormously. There was space in which to dance, and the high ceiling and the sheer size of the ballroom absorbed enough sound that conversation was possible without the speaker having to bellow or the listeners having to cup hands about their ears. Tonight she was enjoying the assembly because everyone else was too, and enjoyment was infectious. No one had complained several years ago when the Ravenswood ballroom was no longer available for the assemblies. Some claimed that the old assembly rooms were more cozy anyway, and others rejoiced because they had the assemblies back to themselves and really therewas nothing to compare with Jim Berry’s ale and Mrs. Berry’s miniature sausage rolls and meat pasties.
Yet now, tonight, they had the best of both worlds—the spacious ballroom with all its architectural splendorandan entertainment they had organized for themselves and financed independently, without any interference from the earl. They also had Jim Berry’s ale and Mrs. Berry’s cooking, which seemed to have multiplied in both quantity and variety from her usual efforts.
More people than ever had come, drawn perhaps by the promise of more space, or perhaps by simple curiosity. By this time most of them had seen the Earl of Stratton since his return. A few had even spoken to him or been close enough to hear him speak to someone else. Almost all had been shocked by the changes in him. There was that nasty facial scar for one thing. But there was also a hardness, a darkness, a severity to him that had not been there before, though he had always been a serious young man. He had developed size and muscle since they saw him last too. He moved with a military firmness of stride and bearing. He was surely as different from his father as it was possible for a man to be—which, some whispered, was not a bad thing, though one could not help but like the poor late earl, who had always had a smile and a handshake and some jovial remark for everyone.
There was also something puzzling about the present earl, in the estimation of many villagers. For so far his behavior seemed somewhat at variance with his looks. He had opened the park on certain regular days of the week again for their leisure, for example. There was to be a Christmas ball again and a summer fete at Ravenswood. And there was this assembly, held in the ballroom again at his invitation, butnotas a demonstration of the largesse of the lord of the manor. The earl had allowed them to do all theorganizing themselves and all the financing too. Neither he nor his mother had interfered in the smallest of ways. There had even been a bet on about it at the tavern.
Gwyneth had heard all the talk and gossip during the week, for miraculously word of her betrothal hadnotleaked out and no one, therefore, felt it necessary to guard their tongue in her hearing. But tonight it would be announced officially, and tonight her happily-ever-after would begin. Not that there was really any such thing, of course. She was not ignorant enough to imagine there was. But sometimes surely one could be excused for dreaming that it was there just waiting to be grasped. No! That it washereand already in one’s grasp. Therewassuch a thing as happiness, and it would be silly not to enjoy it when one felt it rather than shy away from it for fear it would not last.
She was happy, and had been happy ever since she had realized out at the summerhouse that Devlin would marry her. Maybe she was being foolish, but there was room in life for foolishness too. Wisdom was not always the best guide to living.
She danced the opening set of country dances with Sidney Johnson, the second with James Rutledge. Devlin danced with Ariel Wexford and Barbara Rutledge. His brothers and sisters danced too, Gwyneth was happy to see, though Stephanie danced only the first set—with Idris. She wondered when the first waltz would be and whether there would beonlyone. She wondered when the announcement of her betrothal would be made. She wondered when Devlin would dance with her, forsurely he would.Most of all, though, she relaxed into the pleasure of the evening and enjoyed herself. For tonight she washappy.
The announcement was made after the second set. Colonel Wexford climbed to the orchestra dais and called for silence. It did not come immediately. Most people were quite content to assumehe was announcing the next set and were more interested in continuing their conversations than in hearing what the next dance was to be. He raised his arms. There were a few halfhearted shushing noises. And then he used his parade-ground voice and silence fell instantly, followed by a few titters of amusement, for the colonel was known as a soft-spoken, mild-mannered gentleman.
“I am fortunate indeed to have been invited to be master of ceremonies for this of all assemblies,” he said. “I have a particularly happy and important announcement to make. It concerns the betrothal and imminent nuptials—before Christmas, actually, and right in our own village—of two young persons very well known to all of us here.”
He had a sense of the dramatic. He paused, just long enough for a buzz of anticipation to swell and fall away to an even denser silence than before.
“Our own Miss Gwyneth Rhys, daughter of Sir Idris and Lady Rhys, is to be the bride,” the colonel said, singling Gwyneth out among the crowd and nodding and smiling in her direction. “And an outstandingly lovely bride she will be too.”
The buzz rose again, louder than before, but it was quickly shushed to silence.
“And the fortunate bridegroom-to-be who has won her hand and her heart,” the colonel continued, “is our very own Devlin Ware, Earl of Stratton. I am sure—”
Very few people heard what he was sure about. Voices rose all around the ballroom. Everyone in Gwyneth’s vicinity turned toward her. All seemed to be smiling. Several were speaking. A few squeezed her shoulder or tapped her arm. Someone whistled piercingly. Someone else began applauding and soon almost everyone joined in. There were a few more whistles. Gwyneth’s cheeks were feeling decidedly hot. She was smiling, she realized. And laughing.The orchestra played a decisive chord, and Colonel Wexford used his parade-ground voice again to restore a semblance of silence.
“Some of our young people, led by our maypole dancers,” he said, “have been learning the steps of the waltz. You have never heard of it? Neither had I until a few days ago. It is a German dance that has been taking London by storm in the last couple of years. It is said by some to be scandalous. By others it is said to be the best invention since the wheel. I will leave you to be the judge. Two of those young people are our newly betrothed couple. If you will clear the floor enough to give them room, ladies and gentlemen, they will demonstrate it for us now. And if others wish to join them after a minute or two, we will be happy to see you as well. My lord Stratton?” He looked off to his left. “Your partner awaits you over there.” He gestured in Gwyneth’s direction.
What?
