Page 25 of Lord of the Lost

~~~~~

The great ballroom at Grimstoke Castle was shining brilliantly with the late afternoon sunlight, which bounced off innumerable reflective surfaces. Crystal glassware, chandeliers, buckles, necklaces, hairpieces — all of them shone in the radiance of the early autumn sunlight. The area set aside for dancing was filled with young lords and ladies dancing the Quadrille, as their elders looked on. Footmen moved in and out of crowds like worker ants, dispensing wine and delicacies on trays of glinting silver.

The hall was filled with Ashmores, Whistons, Highmores, Halbards, Westons, Wickes, Sinnetts, and Chattoways, most of whom, it seemed, had promptly, at the end of the war, forgotten Devlin’s mother’s French origins. She was seen conversing with many lords and ladies who had previously avoided and disparaged her. It was impossible for them to behave in any manner other than politely without causing offense, and especially impractical when her son was a war hero. The Dowager Duchess, Mona suspected, was taking quiet delight in seeing those who had treated her badly forced to reconsider their behaviour – but she would never allow that delight to show on her face.

Mona stood with Roland and their mother.

“What a grand affair,” Lady Eldwood said, with open amazement. “Isn’t it grand, Roland?”

“Grand,” Roland echoed, in a tone of voice which suggested that he was not so impressed as their mother… “I say, sister, does Lady Gabrielle have many suitors? I am interested merely from an academic position, you understand.”

“Academic? What is academic in the wooing of a lady? I believe it is a visceral, wholly unacademic undertaking – at least if it is done honestly. But to answer your question, brother, Lady Gabrielle Vickery has not, to my knowledge, any current suitors. I daresay, however, that this will change. Look at the effect she is having.”

Mona pointed subtly to Gabrielle, who was like an orb of light around which attention revolved - the younger men present flocked to her like moths to a flame. She wore a glorious gown of embroidered silk which was so intricately patterned that Mona heard one man say: ‘Angel hands must have crafted that gown!’.

It was, in a way, true, for the seamstress who had made it was more talented than anyone Mona had ever seen or heard of before.

“Where is the Duke?”

Her mother was whispering in Mona’s ear.

“I do not know, Mother,” Mona whispered back. “I shall find him.”

“Please do. I should like to congratulate him on this excellent event.”

Mona turned away and moved through the ballroom, curtseying and speaking to lords and ladies as she passed them, seeking Devlin, who she was sure she had seen on the other side of the room, not long before, just after they had finished greeting people as they arrived. She found his mother in a corner of the room talking to Lord Charles Highmore.

“Excuse me, Lord Charles,” she said. “If I may be so bold as to borrow Her Grace for a moment?”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

Lord Charles bowed. Mona led Devlin’s mother to a quiet corner of the ballroom, as far as possible from the orchestra and the groups of lords and ladies.

“Have you seen Devlin? I cannot find him.”

Keeping a rather stiff smile on her face, his mother answered Mona’s question, frowning a little at the same time.

“He has fled to the library. I fear that this Ball is worrisome for him. If you wish, I can—”

Mona’s heart sank. She had hoped that Devlin would at least be able to remain looking as if he was enjoying the evening… but for him to have actually fled the ballroom was worse than she had feared… Had something happened to startle him, to bring the worst of his memories to the surface? But surely not, not in a brightly lit ballroom?

She shook her head. She could not allow this to happen – people would notice his absence, and that would cause whispers. She met his mother’s eyes and spoke to her again.

“No, no, enjoy your position here, enjoy the attentions of those who have finally begun to admit your value and importance. And you must, of course, continue to be chaperone for Gabrielle… I shall go.”

“As you say, sweet girl.”

Appearing calm and poised, Mona walked through the ballroom to the wide door which led to the hallway. She smiled, laughed, and curtsied in all the right places. But her hands, had they not been gripping the fabric of her skirts, would have shaken, and her heartbeat drowned out many lords’ words when they spoke to her.

Her mind was whirling as she hurried up the stairs, and along the corridors towards the library. She suspected that the time had come for her to do that which she had hoped not to need to do. She had thought long and hard on the matter over the last few weeks, and had reached the rather shocking conclusion that her husband, though far better able to cope with his memories now, had become so used to feeling distant, to fearing his memories, that he had sunk into a pattern of avoidance.

The manner of his dealing with the world no longer aligned with what she knew of his courage in battle, or of his life before war.

And if he was not going to do anything to break through those barriers, then she would act.

The small moments of warmth between them which had occurred, more and more often over the months since their wedding, were something she wanted more of. And if the path to that was through challenge and potential difficulty, so be it.

~~~~~

He couldn’t stand it.

All of them, in their fancy clothes with their fancy words and their fancy, often false, smiles… he couldn’t stand it.

Had he, too, once been like them?

Had he, too, laughed arrogantly and without self-consciousness and consideration?

Had he, too, been uncaring about everything which was not within the confines of the ballroom?

The war ruined me.

He stared at the book in his hands without seeing the words on the page at all.

Once a boy made daisy chains for his sweet friend. Now a husk of a man sits in a library pitying himself. Yet what else am I to do?