Peter enjoyed the day, but it was the evening for which he waited with mingled eagerness and anxiety.
The eagerness was for the fact that this felt like his coming-of-age party. Tonight he would finally be the master of Sidley Park, entertaining his guests and neighbors as he planned to do for the rest of his life—regardless of the outcome of his other plan for the evening. It was the uncertainty of that outcome that caused his anxiety, of course. He was not at all certain that Susanna would have him even if he and her three grandparents all went down on their knees before her and begged.
Susanna Osbourne had a sometimes-annoying tendency to think for herself and decide for herself.
Not that he would have her any other way, of course.
But his newfound confidence in himself and determination to live his own life and take on the duties and responsibilities of his position would not be dependent upon Susanna’s answer. They would not be worth a great deal if they were.
Hedidhave her to thank. He would possibly have drifted on in much the same way as ever if he had not met her. But he was not dependent upon her—just as she was not on him. It was an exhilarating thought, but it did nothing to soothe his growing anxiety as he dressed for the ball.
The fact that he was titled and wealthy meant nothing to her—a humbling thought. If he was to win her, he must do it as himself—and for the first time in five years he felt that there was some self worth offering. But his name went along with that self. He wasWhitleaf,and there, he knew, was the stumbling block.
“That will do,” he told his valet, who had already discarded three perfectly decently tied neckcloths as unworthy of his artistry before tying this fourth.
His valet—another individual who had a mind of his own, dash it all—tipped his head to one side and considered his handiwork with frowning concentration.
“It will, m’ lord,” he agreed. “It only needs the diamond pin—just so—just…there. Perfection, m’ lord.”
It was still a little early, but Peter went downstairs anyway and wandered into the ballroom, which looked festive with all the decorations and smelled of greenery. Candles burned in the chandeliers overhead and in wall sconces. Two great fires burned in the fireplaces at either end of the room. They failed to warm the large, high-ceilinged room quite adequately, but they did take the chill off the air. And once the ballroom was filled with people, and once those people began to engage in the exertions of a few country dances, there would be more than enough warmth in the room.
The orchestra had arrived. Their instruments were laid out on the small dais in one corner of the ballroom. They were probably belowstairs, feasting on goose and stuffing.
A few servants were busy in the refreshment room beyond the ballroom. Peter wandered through there to chat with them. His only real concern about the ball had been his realization that the extra work would be a burden on the resident servants and would necessitate the hiring of more. But he had discovered when he asked that the prospect of serving at a grand ball at Sidley excited them all—even before they knew that he was doubling all their wages for both today and tomorrow. And tomorrow he would also present them all with a Christmas bonus that was more generous than usual.
And then he could hear that some other people—relatives and guests from the house—had arrived in the ballroom and he went back in there to speak with them. Soon now the first of the outside guests would arrive. He would greet them all at the ballroom door with his mother and Barbara and Clarence.
It was, he realized fifteen minutes later as he shook hands with Mr. Mummert and bowed to Mrs. and Miss Mummert, complimenting them both on their appearance and thanking them all for coming, the first time he had stood in a receiving line. It was the first time he had been the host of such an event.
It would not be the last, by Jove.
The party from Fincham was almost the last to arrive. Lady Markham came along the line with Theo, and Peter greeted them heartily. His mother and Lady Markham, he noticed, nodded civilly to each other. Edith and Morley followed and then Colonel and Mrs. Osbourne. Susanna came last with her maternal grandfather.
Peter discovered that his heart was thudding so hard in his chest that he could actuallyhearit.
She was wearing the same green gown she had worn to the assembly in Somerset and to the concert in Bath Abbey. Her hair was brushed into soft curls, some of which were held in place by a little pearl tiara, which matched her pearl necklace. The pearls looked glossy and new and were, he would be willing to wager, a Christmas gift from one or more of her grandparents. Perhaps the delicate ivory fan she carried in one gloved hand was from the other.
Her cheeks were flushed but her eyes were downcast. She was not smiling. She would rather be anywhere else on earth than where she actually was, Peter guessed. Perhaps she would never forgive him for this. Perhaps she would always remember it as one of the worst evenings she had ever spent.
“It is good to see you again, sir,” he said, bowing to the Reverend Clapton, who beamed genially back at him. “And you too, Miss Osbourne.”
She raised her eyes briefly to his.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said.
There was no one coming along directly after them. He spoke up before he should, perhaps, miss the opportunity.
“Will you honor me by dancing the second set with me?” he asked. “And the first waltz?”
He would dance the last one with her too—he hoped.
Her grandfather beamed even more jovially.
She hesitated for only a fraction of a moment.
“Thank you,” she said. “That will be pleasant.”
He would have asked for the opening set, but he would not embarrass her by singling her out so notably before all his family and neighbors. He would open the ball with Barbara.
