“Louisa!” Her father, in his usual affectionate fashion, acknowledged her with his smile. “You know Lord and Lady Melrose and Mr. Harlow, of course.”
Louisa bobbed a slight curtsy. “It’s nice to see you again, my lord, my lady. And you too, Mr. Harlow.” She regarded him, expecting, and feeling, the usual impact: the slight shortness of breath, the silly butterflies in her stomach.
Do not blush. Do not!
Maxwell inclined his head. “A pleasure to see you again, Miss Northcott. Allow me to introduce my fiancée, Miss Chessington.”
Louisa summoned up her best smile. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Chessington.”
Arching a single brow, Sybella Chessington tucked a hand into the crook of Maxwell’s arm and gave Louisa an appraising look. “Likewise, Miss Northcott,” she said. “What a darling dress. I must have the name of yourmodèliste.”
Louisa glanced down at her gown. “Isn’t it pretty? Her name is Francesca Corvinelli, and she has a charming shop in Knaresborough. I’ll be happy to introduce you to her. And, please, you must call me Louisa. We’re to be neighbors after all, and friends too, I hope.”
The mild expression on Miss Chessington’s face faltered. “Louisa,” she repeated, and gave Maxwell a quick sideways glance. “Neighbors, yes, of course.”
“I’m sure you’ll come to love it in Yorkshire, Miss Chessington,” Grace said. “It’s a beautiful part of the country.”
“But so terribly remote,” Miss Chessington replied, “and such a long way from London.”
There followed a moment of silence that threatened to stretch into awkwardness, made worse by the orchestra finishing its latest offering.
“Well, I believe we’ve been standing around talking for long enough,” Julian said. “Would you care to dance, Miss Chessington? Assuming your fiancé has no objection, of course.”
“I would be delighted,” the lady replied, “and I’m sure he doesn’t.”
“No objection at all.” Maxwell regarded Louisa. “Miss Northcott, unless you are otherwise promised, perhaps you would also do me the honor?”
“With pleasure,” she replied, her traitorous cheeks rouging even as she spoke. Avoiding another glance at Miss Chessington, she placed her gloved fingers lightly into Maxwell’s grasp as he accompanied her to the dance floor.
The orchestra struck up a waltz, and Louisa allowed herself to be taken into her partner’s formal embrace. His right arm came gently around her, wrist set above the narrow of her waist, hand on her shoulder blade. Louisa placed her left arm atop his right, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder.
Their free hands joined, fingers folding around fingers. Maxwell’s gaze, intense and unreadable, locked briefly with hers before looking past her, seeking his direction as the dance began. Louisa arched her spine a little and breathed in his intoxicating scent; hints of bergamot and mint and another that reminded her of warm summer nights. Then, with confidence and precision, Maxwell steered her smoothly around the floor. At once, the ballroom became a magical whirl of sparkles and light, and Louisa’s spirit took flight.
If a person’s heart was only allowed a predetermined number of beats, she mused, her lifetime supply was currently ebbing away with startling speed. But it was worth it to be given a chance to dance with this man. She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. She had dreamed of this, never daring to believe the dream would come true. A feeling emanated from within. A joyful sensation that defied any real definition. Utter happiness, unique and sadly fleeting, for it was destined to be short-lived. While it lasted, however, she determined to revel in it.
“Are you enjoying the Season, Miss Northcott?”
An uninspired question borne from propriety. Louisa opened her mouth to respond as expected.Yes, very much, Mr. Harlow. Thank you.
She changed her mind and spoke the truth.
“Not particularly, no,” she said, without looking at him. “Although there have been some enjoyable moments.”
His fingers, wrapped around hers, tightened the tiniest bit. “I hope this is one of them.”
“Yes, indeed,” she replied, keeping her gaze on the shoulder-seam of his jacket, lest he noticed the sudden, foolish shimmer in her eyes. “You dance divinely, sir.”
“As do you, Miss Northcott.” His warm breath brushed across her forehead. “May I ask what has spoiled your enjoyment?”
“Nothing specific. Unlike Miss Chessington, I’ve never been terribly keen on the city. I’m afraid I find it somewhat… stifling.”
He glanced at her. “It is not for everyone, certainly.”
“It was a surprise, I must say, seeing you here tonight,” she said.
“And not only to you, it seems,” he replied, wryly, “judging by the response to our arrival.”
“Yes, I noticed.” She couldn’t help but ask the question. “Did it bother you?”
