“You have reserved the second set for me, I hope?” he said.
“You have not had a great deal of competition,” she said. “I will be dancing the opening set with Bertrand.”
No competition. The opening set with a relative. What other woman would admit the former or seem pleased about the latter? Though Watley was a handsome fellow, it was true.
Then it was Nicholas’s turn to bow over the lady’s hand. Her cheeks had flushed slightly and her eyes had brightened during her encounter with Owen. She looked at Nicholas with candid curiosity.
“You do not look so massive out of the saddle and without the scarlet uniform and the beaver helmet,” she said, surprising him. “Your face, now that I can see it all, does not look so formidable or so—” She stopped abruptly.
He raised his eyebrows and waited for her to complete the thought.
“Socruel,” she said. “I beg your pardon. That is too stark a word.”
Cruel. No woman to his knowledge had ever used that word to describe him before now, even those he had disappointed by deflecting their advances. He prided himself on his good manners.
“May I hope that you still have the supper dance free?” he asked. He had not intended to dance with her at all unless, as was unlikely, she showed signs of becoming a wallflower during the evening. But that particular dance would give him a chance to sitand converse with her over supper, and…Andwhat? Decide if she could possibly be the sort of bride to make Owen happy? As though his opinion mattered.
Cruel. He did not know whether to laugh or be offended.
“I do,” she said, frowning slightly. “Shall I reserve it for you?”
“If you would be so good,” he said, and moved on to shake hands with Netherby.
“Just look at this,” Owen said as they moved on into the ballroom. “The place is bursting at the seams, and the dancing has not even started yet.”
“Your Miss Cunningham must be pleased,” Nicholas said.
Owen frowned. “She is notmyMiss Cunningham, Nick,” he said. “Mrs. Haviland is over there, trying to attract your attention. You had better go and pay your respects toyourMiss Haviland.”
“Touché,” Nicholas said.
“She is devilish pretty,” Owen said.
“Yes, she is,” Nicholas agreed before he made his way across the ballroom floor, smiling as he went, to where the general’s wife stood with her daughter. Thoughprettywas perhaps too tame a word to describe Grace. She was downright beautiful.
And apparently willing to accept his suit.
—
The part of the evening Winifred had dreaded most was over. A trickle of guests had still been making its way along the receiving line, but Aunt Anna had decided it was past time for the dancing to begin. In her opinion, anyone who arrived this late deserved to go without a personal welcome. She presented Winifred formally to Bertrand, who took her hand, bowed over it before placing it on his sleeve, and led her onto the floor, which hademptied of milling guests to make way for the dancing. He smiled at her and winked.
“Will you look less terrified if I promise not to tread on your feet or allow you to trip over mine?” he asked her. “Come, Winnie. You have danced at balls before. I have seen you—enjoying yourself quite exuberantly, I might add.”
“But they were small family affairs and really not at all intimidating,” she said. “I have never before been alone in the middle of a fashionable ballroom, with the gatheredtongazing at me and waiting for me to put one foot wrong.”
“What?” he said. “Alone?I am nobody, then, am I? Besides, other couples are following our lead.”
It was true. The floor was filling with dancers, forming long lines in anticipation of the first set. The orchestra had finished tuning their instruments. And those whowerelooking their way were more likely to be gazing at Bertrand, who had achieved the seemingly impossible to appear even more handsome than usual in crisp black and white evening dress. They must be pitying him, obliged as he was to lead off the ball withher.
But she wasnotgoing to start belittling herself just because there were dozens of young women more beautiful than she and certainly more elaborately dressed. She was Winifred Cunningham, and she was pleased with herself. Even her appearance. She did not want to be like other women. She wanted to be herself.
“You are certainly notnobody, Bertrand. I daresay every other woman in the room is gazing with envy at me.” She grinned at him suddenly. “Those who are not gazing atyouin envy, that is, because you have me for a partner.”
“That’s the spirit, Winnie,” he said, chuckling.
But there was no more time for talk. A sort of hush haddescended upon the ballroom as Avery welcomed everyone from the orchestra dais and announced the opening set of country dances. The musicians struck a decisive chord, and the ball began.
Despite herself, Winifred felt a shiver of excitement along her spine.
