Oh dear.Oh. Dear.
The ballroom floor suddenly looked vast and empty as people moved back, and Devlin, perhaps with a flair for the dramatic himself, came striding across it, though he looked more like a soldier on his way to face a firing party than a man about to claim his partner for the next dance. His face was downright grim, his scar more noticeable than usual. He was also looking terribly handsome in a plain black evening coat and breeches, with silver embroidered waistcoat and crisp white linen and stockings.
Gwyneth smiled at him, and there was an audible sigh from those around them as he reached out a hand for hers and bowed over it.
“Was this your idea?” he murmured.
“No.” She laughed.
“I am about to make a prize ass of myself,” he told her. “I hope I do not also tread upon your feet, Gwyneth.”
“I shall try not to scream,” she assured him.
He led her out onto the alarmingly empty floor. There was more than one gasp from the onlookers as he set one hand behind her waist and she set a hand on his shoulder and he clasped her free hand and held it on a level with her other shoulder. There was a decorous space between them, but it seemed to Gwyneth that it sizzled and was really no space at all.
The orchestra played a chord, and a moment later Devlin and Gwyneth were waltzing.
She had waltzed with Clarence Ware last evening. He had danced correctly and competently but without any flair at all. Devlin had danced with Sally Holland, another of the maypole dancers, who had looked thoroughly at ease with the steps. Devlin had kept up with her, looking very grim as he did so. How he would lead without the assistance of a reasonably experienced partner was another matter.
But he did very well indeed.
He danced with his eyes upon Gwyneth’s. But while it was quite obvious that at first neither really saw the other but concentrated upon remembering the steps from last evening and fitting them to the orchestra’s playing, soon everything flowed naturally. She trusted him to lead her through the loops and twirls that made the waltz so exhilarating to dance and so lovely to watch, and he clearly trusted her to follow his lead without getting her feet all tangled up with his. How those four feet knew quite where to place themselves and how to stay in harmony with one another she did not know. But it was best not to think. If she did, she would surely think herself into one misstep after another.
They waltzed, and she knew herself to be surrounded by family and friends and neighbors, all of whom would sustain her through the rest of her life. They waltzed, and she knew herself to be in thearms of the man with whom she would live that life. Her own particular family would be at the heart of the larger family and community. She could hardly wait... But she did not have to wait. Her happiness was not a future thing. It wasnow.It washere.
She smiled at him, aware that they were no longer alone on the dance floor. Philippa was here too with Sidney Johnson, Stephanie with Bradley Danver. And there were others.
She smiled at Devlin, and he... Oh, other people watching him would doubtless talk afterward about how fierce and dour he had looked, so inappropriately for the occasion. But other people could not see into his eyes. Deep into them. She could, and from the depths of his darkness he smiled at her.
Fanciful thoughts?
Perhaps.
But she knew that he smiled.
“It is not a warm summer night, alas,” he said just before the music ended. “You wore a warm cloak here?”
“I did,” she said.
“Go and fetch it, then?” he said. “And meet me on the terrace outside?”
“Two minutes,” she told him.
—
It was not to be as easy as that, of course.
Far more than two minutes passed.
As soon as the music ended noise erupted in the form of applause and even cheers, to Devlin’s great embarrassment. And the dance floor disappeared around them as people crowded onto it, most of them trying to cluster about him and Gwyneth. Many wanted to shake their hands and congratulate them and wish them well. Others wanted to commend them and the other dancers onthe way they had waltzed. A few wished to thank Devlin for making the ballroom available for the assembly. Others wished to express their delight that Gwyneth would be remaining among them and would not after all be going off to live permanently in Wales. A surprising number wished to tell Devlin how happy they were that he had come home—and that he had chosen one of their own as his bride.
Colonel Wexford announced the next set and suggested that the gentlemen lead their partners out to form the lines for it. But since he chose not to use his military colonel’s voice again to restore order and move things along, he was largely ignored for a good ten minutes.
But finally those who wished to dance again asserted themselves, and Gwyneth was able to slip away, followed soon after by Devlin. He met her on the terrace outside a couple of minutes after that, while music played merrily inside the ballroom and large numbers of people danced.
She was wearing a dark cloak, the wide hood drawn up over her head. The sky was clear and the moon and stars were doing their best to light up the darkness. But it was not nearly as bright a night as the one that must be in both their memories had been. And the moon was not in a position to be beaming across the lake.
“It is chilly,” he said, taking her hand in his.
