With eyes darting hither and thither, Amelia glimpsed Lord Rainham and his lovely wife Lily but a wink was all she caught before the prelude to the quadrille could be heard and further guests blocked her view as they took their positions in lines.
Champagne was procured and Amelia sipp–
“If I may,” a low rumble interrupted. “Would you honour me with your hand for this dance?”
Amelia spun.
Nigh dropped her glass…
Blinked.
Muscular legs clad in black.
A crimson waistcoat.
Collier de Chevalneckcloth.
Clean-shaven chin and a twitch of lip.
Two eyes.
“Cleavers,” she hissed. “What are you–”
“Yes, of course she will, Lord Cleavers.” Lady Kemble snatched away her champagne glass, nudged her in the ribs and bent to her ear. “Such a well-mannered young man,” she whispered. “I was introduced to the viscount whilst awaiting you in the vestibule. He esteemed my purple plumage. Off you go.”
Amelia barely had time to gape asLordCleavers tugged her to the dancefloor. She’d not danced in an age and nerves fluttered within. Would she recall the steps?
From all sides, Amelia felt watched as ladies assessed and gentlemen perused.
A curtsey. The dance began.
Forward. Clasp hands.
Closely circle one another.
Circle tw–
“Wot a barrelful of rum coves, eh?” growled a voice in her ear. “And mind out fer yer toes! I ain’t the best at this.”
Nerves lifted and she grinned. “Rum, indeed,LordCleavers. It does seem that all and sundry have an invitation to this ball.”
“Wot invitation?” And with a wink, he stepped back into the line of gentlemen, his feet most lithesome for a man built like an ox.
Rolling her eyes, Amelia looped with the lady aside her and then twisted to face her partner once more.
“I say,” Cleavers intoned with aristocratic tenor. “I do declare you the belle of this ball, Miss Lambert, as pink as a…as a newly boiled ham. Succulent and savoury.”
“Oh,LordCleavers…” She batted her lashes. “Such fulsome flattery! But I do hope I’m not merely the latest in a line of ladies who’ve been brought to a swoon at such words?”
“Moi?” was his response before they were required to circle another once more and he bent to her ear. “Well, yer look a right spruce wench ter me and I ain’t tellin’ no clankers.”
Amelia smiled at him just as the music’s tempo rose and all the ladies were required to swap positions, the dance bestowing a different partner.
The steps continued until the gentlemen swapped places and she was once more returned to Cleavers.
They clasped hands. “Got me peepers on that cockish countess over there. D’yer reckon I should make meself a duke? All the morts swoon at them rum fribbles.”
“Worth a try.” And chuckling at his devilry, she twisted back to the line of ladies as the dance concluded, the last pull of violin bow fading.
