Marcus bowed and nodded to the Marchioness as they were announced and descended into the ballroom.
“I like Throxley Place,” said Colin. “It has the feel of a country house in the middle of the city. A perfect place for a spring ball.”
“She may have the terrace open, the weather is unseasonably good for March. Now, you go fill up some dance cards and I shall search out a game of whist or cribbage. I have no desire to dance,” said Marcus.
Marcus turned round to see Colin staring at a new arrival.
“Colin, you’re not listening. Ah, smitten already I see.” joked Marcus.
“Who is she?” whispered Colin. “That lady with the brown hair in the shimmering ivory gown.”
“I don’t think I know her,” responded Marcus. “But you can’t dance with her as you’ve not been introduced.”
“Total tosh and balderdash. I’m with the most eligible bachelor of the season. I’m sure I’ll be introduced immediately.”
“The most eligible bachelor?” Marcus looked around. “You don’t mean …you can’t mean me.”
“I can and do,” said Colin, propelling the Earl of Hatfield in the direction of the mysterious lady.
Sure enough, they did not have to wait long to be noticed by her sponsor and chaperone, the vivacious Lady Leighton.
“Lord Ludlow and Lord Hatfield. How delightful. Let me introduce you to my protégée Lady Jocelyn Sherwyn. Jocelyn, my dear, come and be introduced to someone who seems keen to have his name on your dance card.”
Marcus watched, eyebrow raised quizzically as his cousin stammered a greeting to a very personable young lady of theton. Lady Jocelyn Sherwyn smiled brightly at his cousin, her brown ringlets adorned by ivory silk ribbons. Lady Jocelyn bobbed a curtsy, clearly putting his cousin at ease with her engaging manner.
He caught sight of a familiar face at the other side of the room. Lady Cressida Lantham, daughter of a French émigré and, if his mother had her way, the future Countess of Hatfield and, on the death of his father, Duchess of Hargrove. Lady Cressida nodded in recognition and so Marcus began to make his excuses and move to join her.
He realized Lady Leighton had spoken to him and seemed to be introducing him to another young lady. It would be discourteous to walk away, so he turned to bow and smile at yet another debutant.
He stood still, rooted to the spot. Could it be? Cendrillon at the ball? He must be mistaken.
He saw the immediate flash of recognition in those aquamarine blue eyes. The lady from the forest glade, dressed in a dusky green silk gown, dark hazelnut tresses, intricately looped and bound with green ribbon.
“Marcus, Earl of Hatfield, this is Lady Olivia Sherwyn,” came the voice of Lady Leighton. “Do you know each other?” she continued, full of curiosity.
“Yes, well no,” came the contralto voice that he recognized from the glade.
“Curious. You can tell me later, Olivia,” said Lady Leighton. “I’m going to introduce you and leave you together as I have promised this next dance to my Viscount, and I see Charles is coming toward us.”
Charles, Viscount of Leighton joined them, nodded at Marcus. “Hatfield, good to see you, we must catch up soon. If you’re in town a while let’s fence. Now, come my dear, it’s the Scottish Reel we danced at our first ball, and I don’t want to miss it.”
Olivia and Marcus were alone, in the middle of a crowded ballroom. Marcus noticed the elegance and poise of the woman he thought of as Cendrillon. Her gown fell around her, flowing like gossamer, a very different look from the plain dimity gown she had worn that day in the forest.
A voice sounded loudly in his ear. “Marcus, Lady Sherwyn and I are going to dance the next set together. I suggest you ask Lady Olivia to dance, before someone else signs her dance card.” He smiled engagingly at Lady Olivia. “Please forgive him. He isn’tone for balls. He’d always prefer to be in the country with his horses and dogs.”
“I believe I have no option but to ask you to dance.” Marcus caught the fleeting look of hurt in Olivia’s eyes and re-phrased his words. “I do apologize, it is a long time since I attended a society event and I admit I am a little stunned to meet you here.”
She nodded, “And I you, My Lord. I thought you to be a farmer, albeit a gentleman farmer.”
At her words he burst out laughing and the tension was broken. “Did you, by Jove? Well, it’s not too far from the truth. I’d rather be on my estate here or in Italy than dancing at a ball. Would you care to dance?”
“If I’m honest, I’d prefer a glass of lemonade and some fresh air on the terrace.” came her reply. “It is quite a surprise. Perhaps after some refreshment we might dance?”
“Very well, let’s find a glass of lemonade.” and he guided her across the room.
The terrace outside made a beautiful setting, under a clear starlit sky. Benches and tables made it a pleasant place to talk, away from the cacophony of voices and orchestra in the ballroom.
“So, Cendrillon, you have come to the ball,” he began.
