In his chambers, Reed was buffing the tall black boots that had been in storage. “I thought as they would be fitting for the funeral, sir,” he said, and Joshua nodded agreement. They reviewed together the clothing that Reed had laid out for the service the following day. It would be small and private, Gerald having been mourned once already.
“Not this waistcoat,” Joshua said, noticing the green and gold striped one with the embroidery. “It is too decorative for such services.”
“But not for a ball, my lord.”
“I cannot attend Lady Haynesdale’s ball, Reed, not after my brother’s funeral. It would not be fitting.”
Reed cleared his throat. “But you have been in mourning for your brother’s loss over a year, sir. I believe an exception could be made.”
Joshua considered the waistcoat, the one he had worn the night he had carried Miss Emerson home, the garment that had filled him with such a welcome sense of possibilities. “You are right, Reed,” he said, his mood improving with the choice. “I will order the coach, in case the ladies from Bramble Cottage have need of conveyance home afterward. Fairfax did say there might be rain tomorrow night.”
“A wise choice, sir. It is an admirable trait for a gentleman to be prepared to be of service to ladies.” He gestured. “The black trousers for the service, then, and the buff breeches for the ball?”
It wasa glorious night for a ball. The skies were clear and the moon was just a whisker past half full. It hung silvery overhead, the stars glittering all around it. Helena peered out the window of Nicholas’ carriage as they drew near Haynesdale House. Torches flared before the house, footmen hastening to open coach and carriage doors as the guests arrived. Everything, it seemed to Helena, glittered and the night might have been made for magic.
She wore a new dress, a white confection that shimmered with gold embroidery upon the hem. She wore her new ivory slippers and there were golden leaves twined into her hair. Aunt Fanny had been distraught that she possessed no gems, but Helena did not care. She wore the little gold chain that she had from her mother, with its tiny pendant of a rose carved from coral. Her gloves were glorious, borrowed from Eliza, made of gleaming white satin that extended past her elbows. She felt like a queen and wished only that there was a prospect of the viscount attending. Even if he did not dance, even if he spoke to her in his wondrous deep voice, even if he merely looked at her, his eyes glimmering and a little smile curving his lips, her evening would have been complete.
Only a day had passed and she missed him utterly.
Nicholas had sent the carriage to Bramble Cottage for herself and Aunt Fanny, then he and Eliza had joined them when the carriage passed Southpoint. All of them were most handsome, to Helena’s view, though she preferred her brother in regimentals. Eliza was attractive in silver and pale blue, while Aunt Fanny wore her favored pewter and silver gown and a small tiara graced with pearls.
They had to wait in a line of arriving carriages, but finally reached the base of the steps. A footman opened the door and another offered his hand to Aunt Fanny. All the windows of Haynesdale House were alight, a sight most festive and welcoming. Nicholas and Eliza led their small party up the stairs to the open door. Footmen took the ladies’ cloaks and they continued up the sweeping staircase to the ballroom, where their arrival was announced.
In truth, the room was so crowded and the noise so great that no one could hear the names of the new arrivals. The orchestra was playing a jig, though there were few dancers so early in the evening. Footmen moved through the crowd of chattering guests with trays of glasses. Aunt Fanny spied Lady Haynesdale and ensured they made their way to their hostess to make their compliments.
“Is your son returned?” Nicholas asked, just as Helena had hoped he might.
“Yes!” Lady Haynesdale declared. “Damien only just returned this afternoon, though there is no telling whether he will come to dance. He is exhausted from his errand, poor lamb, and was most disgruntled to learn that there would be a ball on this night. I cannot believe he had forgotten.”
Nicholas seemed to be fighting a smile. “I can imagine his response.”
Lady Haynesdale’s gaze rising to another guest and she smiled a greeting. “Why, the judge did manage to come!”
Helena watched Lady Haynesdale move to greet a gentleman so elderly that he could scarce walk, let alone dance, then turned to survey the room herself. There were no less than three chandeliers, ablaze with candles, and already the room was becoming warm.
One wall of the ballroom looked over a stone terrace, offering a view of the shadowed gardens below. Several of the doors tothe terrace were open, admitting the beguiling scent of fresh flowers and the tinkle of fountains. The small orchestra played with finesse and the floor was crowded with dancers.
Nicholas ensured that Helena was introduced to a number of young men and she soon was dancing without pause. She could not keep herself from stealing glances toward the doors, in hope of a glimpse of the viscount, even though she knew he did not plan to attend.
In truth, it was difficult to recall how much she had anticipated this event. In the viscount’s absence, it was very nice, but already the time drew as long as her current companion’s tale of a hunting expedition. He was the son of a country squire and most attentive, though Helena had no more than a polite interest in his tales of his prowess at the hunt.
She thought to ask him why he hunted at all, turned to do as much, and fell silent in astonishment.
Lord Addersley had just entered the ballroom and was speaking to the dowager duchess. He was taller than that lady and looked down at her, smiling slightly at whatever she confided in him. His hair was a little tousled and he wore a splendid silk waistcoat of green and gold that was achingly familiar. Helena caught her breath at the sight of him, her heart fluttering.
He had come!
When he glanced over the ballroom, his gaze collided with hers and her heart stopped.
Did he smile? Just a little? She thought he did, but then he stepped out of view.
The duke had arrived.
Helena wished he would move, for he blocked her view of the viscount.
“His Grace, Damien DeVries, the Duke of Haynesdale, and his ward, Mlle. Sylvie Lafleur!”
The duke was a familiar figure with his limp and his cane, but it seemed to Helena that he leaned less upon it than had previously been the case. He seemed younger and straighter, with greater vigor in his manner since she had last seen him.
