“You won’t miss each other, never fear. Let’s go inside and perhaps you’ll find her there.”
It was taking a lot of self-control to keep her emotions in check, she realised. On the one hand, she was happy knowing her mother had a special friend that would be present tonight. Their lives were not littered with glamorous balls or assemblies, which was quite all right, as far as Cherry was concerned.
But this evening she’d be seeing another guest, a gentleman who was occupying far too many of her thoughts for comfort. So she followed her mother into the Village Hall with a certain amount of concealed trepidation, her chin high, and a polite smile fixed on her lips.
“Goodness. Everyone has outdone themselves,” murmured Lady Trease, as she looked around.
“They certainly have.” Cherry’s eyes widened as she stared at the high ceiling. From each aged beam, a large basket dangled, filled with flowers and trailing leaves, ivy, and even some grasses.
The floral theme continued with huge containers at the base of each of the tall windows. Overflowing with bright blooms, Cherry was hard pressed to identify all of them, but let herself drown for a few moments in the brilliance of the entire scene. It was still an hour or so until sunset, so there were only a few candles lit, and the soft light, the colours, and the warm glow of the aged wooden walls…it was quite breathtaking.
“My word,” she whispered. “The Village Hall has never looked so lovely, don’t you think, Mama?”
Nodding, Hazel stared up at the ceiling. “Magnificent.”
“I’m so glad to hear that, my Lady.” A jolly voice laughed at Hazel’s words. “We’ve had quite a lot of helping hands, you know.”
“Mrs Grandison,” smiled Cherry, dropping a little curtsey to the Vicar’s wife. “This is the most spectacular display. I vow there cannot be a flower left in the village.”
“It ismagnificent, Dorothy. Just magnificent. Congratulations to you and everyone involved.” Lady Trease gave the beaming woman a little hug. “We’re going to have a splendid dance, I can feel it in my bones.”
Laughing, the two women moved further into the hall, leaving Cherry standing to one side. For a moment she felt almost as if she were alone in the forest, the tall window beside her offering a view of the massive chestnut tree that spread its branches over a vast area. Many outdoor activities took place in this shady spot, and she had fond memories of playing more than a few riotous games of croquet there with her family when she was younger.
The benches that had been added over the years had weathered nicely, she realised. It had been some time since she’d paid attention to such things…perhaps she needed to balance more of her life between her beloved forest and the simple pleasures to be found in these surroundings.
A profound thought for someone about to embark on the perils of a village dance.
More guests arrived, and soon she was involved in a variety of conversations with people she’d known since she was a child. It was pleasant to chat with the girls who had shared the same governesses and schoolbooks. Compliments were exchanged, a little local gossip inevitably crept in, and laughs rang out at the various amusing occurrences that brightened village life.
Cherry was still chuckling over the incident with a pig and a donkey when she turned her head, and her gaze met a familiar face.
It wasn’t easy, but she kept her countenance, merely nodding as Garrett escorted his mother into the hall. Fortunately, there was no danger that her rapidly increased heartbeat would show, nor would she reveal the urge to walk across the space thatseparated them and stand close enough to breathe in his scent, a mixture of leather, fresh air, and man.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Thus admonishing her inner self, Cherry turned her back on him and focussed her attention on her friends. It would be the easiest way to survive this evening without encouraging any kind of maternal plots or plans.
All she had to do was stay away from the temptation that was Garrett DeVarne.
Chapter Eight
In Which We View, with some Amusement, the Traditions, and Hazards of a Dance in the Village Hall
“My goodness, Hazel,” protested Henrietta, laughing as she held a hand to her bosom, “I believe you have introduced us to everyone but the musicians.”
“And only because they’re from London,” laughed her friend. “I’ve lived here for so long, my dear, if I didn’t know almost everyone, it would be appalling of me.”
“Well, perhaps we should…”
“Allow me, Mama, Lady Trease.” Garrett tugged gently on his mother’s arm, which had been firmly linked through his as the two ladies traversed the room and engaged just about every female over twelve in polite conversation. “I believe I see some seats over there that are still available, and would give you both an excellent view of the dancing.”
His mother shot him a sharp look. “You are far too observant for your own good, Garrett. I’ve told you that many a time.”
“I know,” he grinned, unrepentant.
“Go and enjoy yourself.”
He merely smiled, bowed to both ladies, and turned away, knowing full well that ‘enjoying himself’ meant different things to different people. To his mother, and probably Cherry’s mother as well, it meant finding each other and spending the evening in each other’s pockets, thereby clarifying the notion that there was a wedding in the offing.
