It did not matter. She would spend the night hiding behind her fan, if she had to. But she would admit to nothing. Then, the maid arrived with her dinner tray. She sat down at the dressing table to eat as Bessie got a ball gown out of the wardrobe and shook the wrinkles from the skirt. She gave a sidelong look to Cassie’s dishevelled hair but said nothing. By eight, she was fed, dressed and heading down the stairs to meet Portia and Julian in the hall.
Her brother gave her a smile of encouragement, taking her hands in his and looking at her as if for the first time. ‘You are lovely, tonight.’
‘I look as I always look,’ she said, firmly. ‘Save your compliments for your wife. She is wearing a new gown and is truly stunning.’
‘Portia is beautiful, as well. But it is not a special night for her.’
‘Nor for me,’ she said, staring at him as she had into the mirror. Had he noticed something different? She did not think so.
‘We shall see,’ he said, giving her a knowing look. Then he escorted them to the carriage and they were on their way.
As they travelled, Portia told her about the Fallon rose garden which was reported to be quite splendid. ‘His wife, Maddie, hasadded a fountain at the centre,’ she said. ‘Evan gave her a pair of Chinese carp for their anniversary, and she felt they needed a properly splendid home.’
‘You should see it by moonlight,’ Julian added. ‘Ask Balard to show them to you.’
‘I suppose I shall,’ Cassie said with no real enthusiasm. If Gerald Balard was there, it was unlikely that she would be able to avoid him. She was in no mood to socialize with anyone until she was sure she would not embarrass herself. But with Gerald chattering in her ear, she would not need to speak beyond inserting a few polite words of agreement into his monologue.
When they arrived at the Fallon home, it was as splendid as it had been described. The ballroom had doors leading out into the famous garden, which was surrounded by ivy-covered walls and lit with torches so the guests might wander through it between dances, sipping champagne and sitting on the many benches that lined the paths.
Before she could lose herself amongst the rose bushes, Gerald Balard appeared and claimed not one, but two dances, one of which was the waltz. Then, he smiled at her and said, ‘It is some time before we need to stand up. Might I get you something to drink?’
She was about to refuse, for she would have preferred to stand up for a set with someone else instead of being trapped in the inevitable one-sided conversation with him. But then, from behind her, she heard the footman announce the arrival of the Duke of Westbridge.
Suddenly, a drink sounded like a wonderful idea. She smiled at Gerald. ‘Could you procure me a glass of punch, please?’ She normally avoided it, for it was often stronger than wine and she did not want it to go to her head. But much had changed today. If she had succumbed to one sin, then why not another?
He was gone and back in no time at all, with a tiny silver cup that was only half full.
She sipped as he talked, her mind relaxing as the punch took effect. By the taste of it, it had both madeira and champagne and probably brandy, as well. But oranges and sugar took away the sting of the liquor and it went down easily and was gone far too soon.
He noticed her empty cup and interrupted his description of the house he planned to buy, once he had married. ‘Finished already?’
She held out the cup and smiled. ‘I would like another, if it is not too much bother.’
‘This time, I will have one as well,’ he said, and went to refill her drink.
By the end of the second cup, he had finished speaking of the house and gone on to the investments that would pay for it. It was better than gossiping about other people, as he had done at the theatre.
Or horses.
But it was still not a conversation that she had any part in. She did not even have to ask leading questions to show she was interested. He ploughed onward without noticing that she had contributed nothing other than a request for a third glass of punch.
By the time she’d finished that, it was time for their waltz. He led her out onto the floor, and pulled her into his arms, smiling down at her with his very white teeth.
She smiled back, hoping she did not look as giddy as she felt. It was probably the punch improving her mood. That and the spinning. It felt like her head was floating several feet above her body.
It was a shame that Gerald was not causing this euphoria. He was a good dancer. His movements were sure. He held hergently, but firmly, and was neither too short nor too tall, so their steps matched well. He was also handsome. Gently bred. Rich. Attentive. Aside from the excessive talking, he was a very pleasant companion.
Everything about him was pleasant. But that was all. It was a shame that she felt nothing when she looked into those eyes, other than a vague sense of guilt for wasting his time.
But he did not seem bothered by her distraction, or the fact that she was ever so slightly unsteady by the end of the dance. As the music stopped, he took her arm and kept her from weaving as she walked. ‘Let us go out into the garden. It is cooler there.’
Perhaps he had noticed after all, and thought the fresh air would help clear her head. ‘That sounds like a wonderful idea,’ she said, patting his hand. ‘We must go and see the fish.’
She allowed him to lead her between banks of roses to a bench set into the edge of the white marble fountain, where their voices would be masked by the sound of splashing water. The moon was high. The air was perfumed with flowers. Music drifted from the open windows of the ballroom.
Under certain circumstances, it might have been quite romantic.
Gerald smiled at her and took her hand in his. ‘Has your brother told you the reason I wished to see you tonight?’
