Mr. Miles Finch shook his head, his mop of red curls catching the candlelight. “George offered me nothing.”
But there was something in his tone that confirmed Marian’s suspicions.
“Though we have met a few times, I cannot claim to know you well,” said Mr. Finch. Then, with a spark of mischief in his gaze, he added, “I’ve been curious about the lady who has captured my brother’s heart.”
The dance pulled them apart, and Marian was grateful for a moment to gather herself. George’s kiss had upended her view of the world, and tonight was only serving to further dishevel her orderly life. She had come to accept that George was beyond her reach, and now he was here in this very room, saying that he loved her.
But that thought gave her pause. He hadn’t actually said anything of the kind. He had praised her, which was nothing out of the ordinary. He had mentioned marriage. They had kissed. But not once had he declared his feelings for her. People kissed and married for a multitude of reasons—many of which had naught to do with love.
Could Marian truly believe George’s motivations were romantic? She scowled at herself, for these thoughts had been plaguing her since that wretchedly wonderful kiss, and she was no closer to discerning the truth.
When the dance brought her back to her partner, Marian said the only thing she could think to say in response to Mr. Miles Finch’s comment. “That is kind of you to say, but you are generous in your praise.”
“Forgive me for disagreeing, Miss Wakefield, but I’ve seen George’s behavior of late and have heard him speak at length about you in private. I am not being generous at all when I say he is enamored with you.”
Marian shifted in place, unable to meet her partner’s gaze as she replied, “As he has not seen fit to say such things to me himself, you will forgive me for being wary about accepting another’s word for it.”
The fellow nodded, though his expression darkened, his brow furrowing as he studied Marian. Then his features relaxed, evidently brushing his thoughts aside as he gave her a broad smile. “I understand you enjoy Mr. Irving’s novels.”
Marian’s brows rose, and she took Mr. Finch’s hand as he led her through the dance. “I can tell from your tone that you are an avid reader of his works as well.”
And with that, they launched into a discussion of literature. The dance pulled them apart, breaking their conversation into pieces, but it did little to impede the flow of subjects. Or Marian’s awareness of George.
Whether it was his physical presence or the echo of his words, George followed her about the dance floor, forever inserting himself into her thoughts. His brother was just as lively, though not nearly as humorous, and though Mr. Miles Finch looked little like George, Marian found herself searching for the little signs that demonstrated the familial link.
All the while, she knew George awaited her return.
When the dance finished, another gentleman took her partner’s place, spinning her about the floor with the same enthusiasm and interest. And he was replaced by yet another. If Marian hadn’t recognized George’s hand in the situation, she might have been perplexed by the sudden increase in dance partners—but though no gentleman hinted that he’d been pressed into duty, she knew the truth. Perhaps that ought to bother her, but it was impossible to work herself into a dither when it brought her such enjoyment. Never had she danced so many times before. And each of the gentlemen was kind and engaging; just the sort of partner a lady longed to have.
And all the while, George was with her. Though he stood up nearly as many times as Marian (each with a different lady who graced the edge of the gathering), she felt his attention on her. His gaze caught hers, and though brief, it flashed through her in a rush of heat. Marian’s heartbeat thumped erratically, and she struggled to keep from stumbling. How could one look hold so much power and weight?
With each subsequent moment, those frightful thoughts began anew, spreading and gaining strength in her heart. What if he was in earnest? Was his brother correct? Did George adore her? Struggling to keep her breaths steady, Marian tried to consider the whole of her situation, but even as the tide turned in her heart, other questions pricked at her. Was she reading into his actions more than he intended? Was it merely admiration and friendship? Was Papa’s threat pushing him to rescue her?
Her judgment had led her to disaster before, so she could hardly trust it. Like poor Miss Finch, Marian knew too well how easy it was to convince herself that an offer of friendship meant something more. And even with Mr. Miles Finch’s words lending strength to George’s, she kept returning to that irrefutable truth—she could not trust herself.
The song ended, and her partner moved to escort her from the dance floor, but George appeared at his elbow.
“Miss Wakefield, would you do me the honor of standing up with me for the supper dance?”
Marian straightened, casting her eyes about for a clock, but as there was none to be found, she had to take George’s word for it. She could hardly believe the time had flown so quickly as that, but there was no denying the fact standing before her. George held out his hand, waiting as she stared at it. A heartbeat later, she took it as the strains of music began again.
It was a waltz.
Marian didn’t know whether to weep or beam when his arms settled around her, pulling her close. George’s eyes held hers, that faint smile on his lips drawing her even closer until it felt as though they were bound together. And perhaps they were. Marian was a complete person on her own, but there was something about George that made her feel more so. As though together, they were stronger than apart.
Goodness. What was she to do with herself?
“Is every gentleman present going to ask for a dance?” Yes, teasing was better than thinking of everything else.
George’s brows rose, though there was far too much feigned surprise for him to be wholly innocent. “I haven’t the foggiest idea what you are referring to.”
“As a successful night for me includes dancing a mere two dances, you will understand if I do not believe tonight’s abundance is mere coincidence.”
But then he stole her breath away as his expression softened (something Marian hadn’t thought possible, as he was already gazing upon her in quite the warm manner). “I have given you so many reasons to frown. I wanted to make you smile.”
Well, that did it. Marian couldn’t help it when her lips stretched wide, her eyes shining. But before she could spend any more time questioning the world around her, George swept her into a different sort of dance—one that belonged solely to them. The strains of the music surrounded them, but it was their conversation that filled Marian’s ears, lulling her into that old, familiar banter she had missed for so long.
***
