‘This is how I like to see you, ma’am,’ he commented, as they performed the first figure.
‘Dancing?’
‘Well, you dance very well, but no, I meant at ease. You get precious little time for enjoying yourself.’
‘I have in part engineered this, though, Sir Esmond,’ she confided, smiling. ‘You see,’ she dropped her voice to a low whisper, ‘I avoided trouble by not inviting Lord Pinkney, so Susan could not play off him and poor Lord Edward Wittenham against each other.’
Sir Esmond’s expression became serious.
‘Wittenham is a nice enough young fellow, but Pinkney …’
‘I know.’
‘Does Miss Tyneham look with ambition at either?’
‘Oh, I do not know. I see flickers of humanity, as when you arrived, but for the most part Susan is so coldly, scarily, cynical, she might do anything she thinks will achieve her ends.’
‘Which are?’
‘Escape from incarceration at Tyneham Court, and her brother. Other than visiting us as a child, I do not think she has ever left it, nor been part of even local society. She actually said she was looking to exchange “one gaoler for another”. She—’ Sophy coloured. ‘I am sorry. I should not talk about her so personally. I blame you, Sir Esmond, for being such a good listener, and …’ she paused for a moment and looked at him squarely, ‘might I say such a good friend to me, to us.’
‘I am honoured if you do so, Lady Sophy, and would have you know you may command my services at any time.’
Her colour became even more pronounced, but for a reason he could not know. He echoed Lord Rothley’s words so closely, the absent viscount intruded very forcibly into her thoughts, and there remained, lurking.
It was nearer the end of the evening when her pleasure unravelled, and Lord Rothley found no room in her mind. She had been with Bembridge, evaluating whether they needed to bring up additional champagne from the cellars at this late stage, and had temporarily left her duties as chaperone in abeyance. She did not see Susan dance with Lord Edward or lead him, when they left the floor, down to the courtyard garden, which Lady Chelmarsh grandly termed her ‘Italian Garden’. Harriet, however, did, and though she knew she would regret it, slipped out onto the iron balcony from which they had descended, and observed, gripping the railing ever tighter.
Susan had been ‘good’ all night, comparatively speaking, and now wanted to please herself, which translated as wrapping Lord Edward about her little finger. He was not a challenge like Lord Pinkney, but it improved her mood, She flirted just within the bounds of decency throughout the dance, and by the end he was ‘hers’ and let her take him, unresisting, onto the balcony, and thence, with only a weak ‘Are you sure?’ down to the privacy below. Susan was very sure. The strains of a waltz filtered down, and she held herself in pose.
‘Dance with me here,’ she commanded, with just a touch of pleading in her voice.
He took her in hold, rather nervously, as if about to waltz with a tiger. She smiled.
‘It is but dancing, sir.’
Technically, she was correct, but dancing in the semi-darkness and alone with her, made him feel distinctly uncomfortable and simultaneously exultant. They twirled in silence for a minute or so and then she stopped, so abruptly he could feel her feminine shape against his body. She looked up. In the low light he could not read her expression, but her voice told him everything.
‘Kiss me, Edward.’
He obeyed. Somehow there was no possibility that he would not obey. For a moment his body was triumphant but her mouth was ‘dead’, as if she did not care whether it was him or any other man. Her coldness repelled, and he pulled back.
‘Have I shocked you?’ she purred.
‘Yes.’ There was constricted horror in his voice, when she had expected amazement.
Susan made a rapid recovery of her situation.
‘I have shocked myself, my lord. I beg you will forgive me. I think it was the champagne and the intoxication of your nearness. Permit me to retire and compose myself.’
She flitted away, leaving him standing as if turned to stone.
Sir Esmond was contemplating retiring for the evening. He had danced with the few ladies with whom he always found it a pleasure, and several out of compassion for those who knew that their days of being first choice as partners was waning. It was a hot evening, and he stepped out through an open window onto the balcony and took a good lungful of cool air. It was the light catching upon Miss Tyneham’s gown that drew his eye down. He saw her dancing; he saw her stop dancing. One hand clenched. He saw the embrace; and then he heard the stifled sob. Controlling his emotions admirably, he turned and found himself looking along the balcony at the half-shadowed figure of Lady Harriet Hadlow, whose stricken face was illuminated like that of a distraught ghost.
‘Lady Harriet, I …’ Two large tears rolled down her cheeks, and his generous heart went out to her. The struggle within proved too much for her and, with his sympathetic gaze upon her, Harriet crumbled. He stepped forward and put his arm about her, and she wept upon his broad chest. After a few minutes, and wary lest they be discovered and entirely erroneous conclusions drawn, he led her back into the house and to a gilded chair set back in an inconspicuous corner.
‘I shall fetch your sister to you, Lady Harriet. You need her.’
He squeezed her hand, and went upon his quest. He found Sophy in some agitation, having lost sight of both her charges, and knowing that they were neither taking refreshment nor among the dancers.
