Authors: Diane Farr
When he could bear it no longer, he chose a moment when everyone save himself and
Cynthia
were laughing, and lightly touched her elbow.
“
Cynthia
,
”
he murmured, in a low and urgent tone.
She stiffened. After a fractional pause she glanced in his direction, her eyes wide with reproof. And
—
fear? But the emotion flitted so swiftly across her features, he was not sure whether he had seen it or no.
“S
ir?
”
she said icily. She did not quite meet his eyes.
“L
ady
Cynthia
,
”
he amended hastily, sketching a bow. It must be gossip that she feared. Very well, he would play the game, if she wished him to. It was hard to pretend that
Cynthia
meant nothing to him, but she was right to guard her reputation. He gave her his most charming smile, the one he might use with any attractive acquaintance.
“I
seem to have reached the head of the queue at last. I hope you have managed to save me a dance.
”
She bestowed upon him a distant, faintly bored smile.
“I’
m so sorry,
”
she said politely. Then, apparently as an afterthought, she added:
“A
nother time, perhaps.
”
And she turned her shoulder to him in dismissal.
Derek was stunned. Had he done something to offend her? If so, he must make amends
—
at once. He stepped back into her line of sight and touched her elbow again.
“I
beg your pardon,
”
he said, with an earnestness that he hoped was audible only to
Cynthia
.
“B
ut I wonder if ... if ...
”
He cudgeled his brain, trying to think of some innocuous thing to say.
“I
wonder if I might bring you a glass of punch?
”
“T
hank you, no,
”
she said calmly.
She did not appear angry. She did not appear, actually, to be feeling anything. But her faint, slightly incredulous smile seemed to put him at an infinite distance. And before he could recover his wits and think of another gambit, a broadly-grinning man in a striped waistcoat walked off with her and into the first set that was forming.
Derek stared after them, absolutely flummoxed.
The jovial chap who had addressed him earlier gave him a friendly dig in the ribs.
“S
he frosted you, begad! Seen her do it before, a dozen times. But you walked right into it, old man.
”
He peered more closely at Derek. His good-natured grin faded a bit.
“I
say, don
’
t take it so hard. She
’
s famous for that sort of thing, y
’
know. Does it to everyone.
”
Not to me,
he wanted to say. But he said nothing. The words would be indiscreet, he told himself. The more painful thought
—
that the words would also be patently untrue
—
he shoved to the back of his mind. He would think about that later. Not now. Not in public.
He gave the friendly chap a rather strained smile.
“I
suppose that
’
s why they call her the Frost Fair?
”
“O
h, aye! Didn
’
t you know? Ha! Ha! No wonder you look bewattled.
”
He shook with laughter.
“T
he closest you
’
ll get to her is a dance or two, my friend. And never twice in the same night, mind! Not that you
’
d want to spend more than ten minutes with the chit. No one does.
”
“W
hy not?
”
“W
ell, if it
’
s your notion of a good time to dance with a wench who stares down her pretty nose at you and won
’
t say more than three words together
—”
The fellow shrugged, grinning.
“I
f she weren
’
t such a treat for the eyes, I daresay no one would bother with her.
”
Derek frowned.
“I
t can
’
t be that much of a punishment to dance with her,
”
he said, with some asperity.
“T
here were enough men queuing up for the chance.
”
“O
h, certainly! As you say. She
’
s all the rage. One must be in the mode, you know, so one dances with the Frost Fair
—
when one can. And besides, she
is
a treat for the eyes.
”
He stared hungrily after her.
“A
nd a man likes a challenge, too, o
’
course. She won
’
t dance with just anyone. So it
’
s a bit of a feather in one
’
s cap, to steer Lady
Cynthia
round the floor.
”
“I
see.
”
Derek
’
s neckcloth suddenly felt too tight. He watched, helpless, as the leering buffoon in the striped waistcoat moved through the figures of the quadrille with
Cynthia
. It was ghastly to behold. The pattern of the dance brought her first to the side of one man, then to another. Every time one of them touched her hand or spoke to her, a stab of jealousy knifed through Derek.
The evening of his dreams rapidly dwindled into nightmare. He spent the next several hours propping the walls or leaning against one of the columns that lined the ballroom, moodily watching
Cynthia
as she floated from one partner to another. She behaved toward them all with the same cool reserve, but that struck Derek as small comfort; she behaved toward him with something less than that. As far as he could tell, she was utterly indifferent to his presence. She seemed completely unaware that his eyes followed her wherever she went. He found the latter hard to believe, but the alternative was worse: that she
was
aware of him, and was deliberately ignoring him.
It was inexplicable. Why hint that he should come to the ball, if she meant to cut him dead when he did? And, more importantly, why cut him at all? She must have felt what he felt, that night. She
must
have. How could she turn her back on that? How could she turn her back on
him
?
Was she, perhaps, being watched? He scanned the crowd, searching for signs that a suspicious parent lurked in the background, monitoring
Cynthia
with sharp eyes, but he saw no one. She had arrived with what seemed to be a family party, but had then been allowed to wander off with Isobel and choose her own dance partners. That did not argue for close supervision.
Had someone told tales about him? But who would do such a thing? And why? He had always led a fairly blameless existence. Women sometimes seemed to like him more than they should, perhaps, but he had never broken any hearts beyond repair. A man couldn
’
t be on the town without encountering a willing victim or two. He had no enemies, as far as he knew. And besides, he wasn
’
t well enough known for tales to spread, had there been anything interesting to tell.
Had she, perhaps, caused discreet inquiries to be set afoot, and learned something of his background? But what? His family was not contemptible. No heredity madness, or criminal exploits, or anything of that nature. He came fr
om perfectly respectable stock—
not the aristocracy, of course, but certainly the gentry. The Whittakers h
ad been landholders for age
s, and his branch of the family had owned the estate where he grew up, Crosby Hall, for four generations. They were the largest landholders in the neighborhood, in fact. H
e, himself, had nothing, but…
But surely his
Cynthia
would not be that mercenary. She would not care for riches. Not in light of what they had together, which was so much more important. He
’
d never felt anything like what he felt when he met her, and he
’
d bet a monkey that she
’
d never felt anything like it, either. It was, just as the cliché said, bigger than both of them.
Wasn
’
t it?
By the end of that interminable evening, Derek was no longer sure. He was no longer sure of anything. He felt wrung out, drained dry
—
the natural result of several hours of emotional crucifixion. It was incredible, literally incredible, but
Cynthia
had not only declined to dance with him, she had, afterward, never spoken to him again. He had looked forward to this ball in a fever of anticipation, expecting an evening of secret romance, tender whispers, and stolen delights. But apart from that one piercing moment when she first entered the ballroom,
Cynthia
had never even
looked
at him.
He clambered into Lord Stokesdown
’
s coach in the wee hours of the morning, numb with disappointment. His lordship gave him a sharp look as he sat across from him, but said nothing until the door was closed and they were on their way. Then he leaned forward and shook Derek
’
s knee in a friendly way.
“E
h, lad,
”
he said gruffly.
“P
luck up. You look as if you had a worse time than I did
—
and that
’
s saying something.
”
Derek forced himself to smile.
“Y
ou have every right to be annoyed with me, my lord. Thank you for your forbearance
—
and for the opportunity to attend the ball, which I otherwise would not have had.
”
“H
mpf,
”
his lordship snorted.
“I’
ve an affection for you, Derek, as I hope you know. Otherwise I
’
d remind you of what I said earlier.
”
“T
hat you warned me how it would be?
”
He gave a short, mirthless laugh.
“A
ye. I should have listened to you.
”
“A
lways,
”
agreed Lord Stokesdown. His stockings gleamed white in the darkness as he crossed one leg over the other and leaned back against the squabs.
“B
ut I was thinking more of my admonition to you not to fall into a decline.
”
His voice was very dry.
“I
hope you have more sense, my young friend, than to waste time in pining for the chit. I never saw a girl telegraph her intentions more plainly. Your suit is unwelcome.
”
Pain moved in Derek
’
s heart. He stared woodenly out the small window carved into the coach
’
s door. Lord Stokesdown was right. Every instinct Derek had was screaming that it could not be true
—
but it was. What her reasons were, he could not fathom
…
but, in the end, it mattered not a jot what her reasons were. She had cut the acquaintance. There was no more to be said. Once a lady had done that, only a churl would pursue her. A gentleman must bow out of her life and not trouble her again. Those were the rules.
“I
shall endeavor to keep my chin up, sir,
”
he said, mustering his pride.
“A
fter all, I scarcely knew her. And whatever the old wives may say, people don
’
t die of broken hearts.
”
But he soon came to think that if they did, he would even now be stretched out in the plot reserved for him at Crosby Hall.
His sufferings over the next interminable days were intense
…
but silent. He owed that much to his employer. And besides, a man had to keep his self-respect. He said nothing and forced himself to appear cheerful, but his health soon began to deteriorate. The difficulty was that nothing interested him, including food. And sleep was well-nigh impossible. His mind raced over the same tired ground, night after night, grappling with unanswerable questions. Dark circles formed beneath his eyes. His skin took on an unhealthy pallor. He began to look haggard, and his clothing seemed to be growing looser.