“We met in passing two days ago at the Festival Fayre. I’m AustenAddict,” she hinted.
“Of course! Sabrina! How could I forget again!” Michelle tapped her forehead. “You’re gorgeous, darling. Blue is so well-suited to you. Promise me you won’t break too many hearts tonight.”
“I’ll try not to.” Sabrina’s face colored. “Thank you, NoblePatroness, for finding a ticket for me so last minute.”
She grinned. “We’re always happy to welcome a fellow Janeite. Ask our dear Nora. Why she—”
“Michelle,” cried another eager woman wearing a lavender gown with silver accents. Michelle’s head twisted to the right.
“We won’t keep you any longer.” Nora pulled Sabrina’s elbow. “See you on the dance floor.”
Distracted, like a honeybee overwhelmed with the number of flowers to pollinate, Michelle waved farewell.
Nora steered them behind a potted shrub decorated with twinkling fairy lights. “I love Michelle, but she’s like Mrs. Jennings from S and S.Overly friendly and especially fond of gossip and chitchat.”
The bell of a grandfather clock chimed eight times. The musicians inside the ballroom began playing a light, upbeat tune. The ball had begun.
Nora rubbed her hands together. “Time to make your grand debut.”
Nineteen
The Masked Ball
The walls of the Bath Assembly Rooms were a powdery blue. Gold-gilded portraits hung between six-foot-tall sashed windows. A string orchestra, partly in costume and partly in more modern tuxes, played from the gallery above the dance floor. The domed shape of the room enhanced the acoustics. Two professional photographers floated through, capturing candid moments of the attendees.
Sabrina calculated there were about four hundred people present, the women outnumbering the men four to one. Her eyes sparkled as her attention turned to the center of the room. She watched a rainbow of smiling, costumed couples weaving in and out of intricate dance patterns. Observers, some seated, others standing, clapped in time to the music. The ringing laughter and general good cheer emoting from everyone present proved infectious.
After dancing the first three sets with Nora, perspiration dripped down Sabrina’s brow. She rested her hand on her hip, a stitch in her side. “That reel made me thirsty. Would you like a glass of punch, Lady Nora?”
Nora glanced to her dance card. “I’d love to, but I’m promised for this set to Lord Malcolm?”
“As in your Lord Malcolm fromEntering the Marriage Mart?” Sabrina fanned herself with her hand. “Nice try.”
Nora pointed behind her. “Who’s pretending?”
A gentleman in a navy-blue tailcoat, gray waistcoat, black breeches, and white cravat approached, clicked his heels together, and bowed. His chestnut-brown hair was pulled into a short ponytail. He stood six feet tall, with startling agate-blue eyes.
He kissed her hand. “My lady. I’ve come to claim you for our set.”
Sabrina’s lips twitched.
His English accent is hot. But it doesn’t come close to matching my Lorenzo’s.
Nora giggled. “Why Lord Malcolm, your timing is impeccable.” She waved goodbye to her friend and was guided away.
Nora, you sly creature.
Nora and her partner wasted no time in showing off their quick footwork.
Just when and how did you manage to find one of the best dancers in the room?
Knowing she’d have at least ten minutes of downtime, Sabrina located the beverage station and served herself a refreshing glass of red fruit punch. The sugary sweet, icy cold liquid soothed her parched throat. As she reached for the ladle to refill her glass, she felt a light pressure on her shoulder.
“It seems, Miss Hill, that we are forever destined to meet in precarious situations.”
Dropping the ladle into the bowl and empty cup onto the floor, Sabrina squealed, “Lorenzo!”
As she turned around, she drank in the sight of the broad-chested man with wavy caramel-brown locks, wearing a form-fitting green coat, breeches, mint-green waistcoat, and white cravat.
