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“They are perfect,” he stated simply, afraid his voice would give way once more.
“Thank heavens.” She breathed a sigh of relief, facing him. “They are my favorite flower, forget-me-nots. I plucked them from my bonnet.”
Her favorite flower. Of course. With a small smile, he tucked away the information then nodded. “They match very well.”
“I hoped so.” Finally, she turned to face him, her eyes scaling him up and down. His back straightened of its own accord. “You look quite dashing yourself, sir.”
For a moment, he thought she was simply saying such to be polite, but when her eyes lingered on his, her warm gaze filled every inch of his soul with heat.
He looked away, drawing in a deep breath. “Well, Mrs. Hickenbottom, are you ready to attend your first dance?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Marianne’s smile disappeared. Her nerves had continued to mount from the very moment she’d begun to dress, but now, with her dream right before her, she could hardly breathe. “I feel as if I might be sick.”
She backed away from Mr. Steele, and he lowered his arm.
“I do not think I can go through with this after all.”
He approached her with a kind smile. “I’m sure it is only a bout of nerves.”
She pressed a hand to her stomach, shaking her head. “What if it isn’t? What if this is a sign from Heaven?”
Mr. Steele was silent as she continued.
“Suppose I am recognized? Or that I draw attention to myself because I do not remember any of the dance steps? Suppose I lose my freedom even more, or you lose your work? What then?”
Her stomach twisted and pulled apart until Mr. Steele reached forward, resting his hand just above her elbow and ending the storm raging within.
“What are you really afraid of, Miss Coventry?”
Marianne was worried that someone would discover them, but they had taken every precaution—even to the effort of watching from the window to observe the guests entering the assembly. She’d also practiced countless dances over the years in her chamber at night, so that was not where her concern truly lay either.
But how had Mr. Steele known that there was something more, some deeper turmoil inside her heart?
She blinked away unexpected tears and watched the dancers moving past the doorway before them, her voice coming out in a whisper. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long, building it up within my mind to be a glorious affair. But what if it fails to live up to the ideal I’ve created? What if I’ve spent my entire life living for this moment that ends up a disappointment?”
As she voiced her concerns, her heart contorted. She backed away, ready to flee upstairs, unwilling to face the disillusionment that would inevitably follow attending the dance.
But Mr. Steele reached forward, crooking a finger to raise her chin. “How could anything ever be a disappointment when you are involved?” His eyes softened, and the tightness in her chest dispelled as he continued. “I know you well enough to say that in everything you do, your passion for life and your ability to see joy and splendor in the ordinary, makes every experience with you a memorable, unforgettable delight.”
Marianne had always prided her optimism, but lately, her positivity was flailing, lost at sea, dimming within the darkness. To have Mr. Steele say such kind words, to have him still see the hopefulness within her, meant more than he could ever know.
She blinked away her welling tears with an embarrassed smile. “Thank you. That means a great deal to me.”
He reached within his jacket and produced a handkerchief for her, which she readily accepted.
When she had composed herself—honestly, she’d never cried so much than with this man—she drew a settling breath and looked toward the dance hall.
“Well then, shall we? Before I lose my nerve once again?”
He offered his arm once more, and she tucked her gloved hand around his forearm before they made for the side door of the hall. He placed his free hand to rest atop hers, a simple gesture, though it pulsed comfort throughout her soul.
The hall was not as grand as Daffley Park’s ballroom, but it was clean, bright, and decorated in a way that welcomed Marianne to the quaint, comfortable environment.
Fresh flowers hung near the sconces in baskets, light flickering against them and spreading their scent throughout the crowded room to shroud out the many moving bodies. The chandelier extended even more light, bouncing against the diamond-paned windows situated low in the walls.
At one end of the room, a tapestry hung from the ceiling, covering the entire length of the wall in a depiction of a hunter riding atop a rearing stallion. In the center of the hall, the set of dancers moved about in synchronized movements, airy gowns and coattails gliding behind elegant women and dashing men, smiles and sparkling eyes abounding.
