Carola Dunn (21 page)

“Not the toque,” said Miles. “It’s hideous.”

“Toques are all the rage.”

“Hideous,” he repeated firmly, “and you have no cause to hide your hair. All you need is a wreath of silk roses. No, rose-buds.”

“Yes, sir.” She smiled at him. “I daresay rose-buds are less likely than a toque to fall off in the middle of an energetic dance. Miss Firston thinks there may be waltzing this year. You will teach me to waltz?”

“We shall try it after dinner tonight. Perhaps Miss Sophie will play the harpsichord for us, since she and Aubrey will not be needed to make up a country-dance set. I tell you, it’s not easy to whistle and teach you the steps at the same time.”

“I must say it’s a trifle confusing when you take up a different tune after correcting my errors!”

A few minutes later, Miss Sophie joined them in the drawing room.

“Miles is going to teach me to waltz this evening,” Nerissa said. “Will you play for us?”

“Oh no, dear, not the waltz. A shocking dance!”

“It’s not considered shocking nowadays, Miss Sophie,” Miles informed her. “Everyone does it.”

“In Town, perhaps, but not in Porchester,” said Miss Sophie with unwonted firmness.

“Cecily Firston told me it will be danced at the Christmas assembly,” Nerissa said.

“Wishful thinking, I fear. I spoke to Mrs Nidd, who is on the ladies’ committee, just the other day, you recall when we called on the Nidds, and she said the waltz will on no account be approved.”

“I should like to learn it anyway, in case it is allowed after all.”

“I cannot like it, Nerissa dear. Even if Mrs Nidd should be overruled, those young ladies who take part will be thought fast.”

Nerissa sent a look of appeal to Miles, who shrugged his shoulders. “Miss Sophie knows better than I what is acceptable to the local biddies.”

“Here is Aubrey, now,” said Miss Sophie. “Do you ask him for his opinion, my dear.”

Aubrey concurred with Miss Sophie. “Porchester society is sadly old-fashioned, alas. There is no appreciation for the latest modes. The waltz is still frowned upon. I should not care to see a young lady under my care bring censure upon...” He came to an abrupt halt as he heard Cousin Euphemia’s elephantine tread entering the drawing room. Casting a nervous glance behind him, he hurried on in a louder voice, “You are going into Porchester tomorrow, are you not, cousin? I shall go with you. I have a coat which will at a pinch suffice for the assembly, but I simply must order a new waistcoat.”

“You are welcome to come with us,” said Nerissa sincerely, though her lips twitched. She appreciated his willingness to give her good advice, even if he strove to conceal the fact from Euphemia.

Aubrey went to meet Euphemia and herded her away from the others.

“He’s afraid we may reveal his defection from the ranks,” said Miles, “though I rather suspect it was inadvertent. Good gad, Nerissa, when he says his coat will suffice ‘at a pinch,’ do you suppose he means it is even tighter than his usual?”

She laughed. “I trust not, or he may burst his stays in the middle of the assembly.”

“Now, now, children,” Miss Sophie reproved them. “I am sure dear Aubrey has a good heart beneath his fashionable clothes. So that is settled, Nerissa? You will not waltz?”

“No, dear cousin, I can see it would be frowned upon.” A horrid thought struck her. “Oh dear, perhaps I should not dance at all, because of being in mourning for my grandfather!”

Miss Sophie clapped her hand to her mouth in dismay. “Heavens, I quite forgot. Which goes to show the importance of wearing mourning, does it not? I wonder whether you should even attend the assembly.”

“Gammon!” said Miles roundly. “Sir Barnabas forbade us to observe mourning, not just to wear it. We shall ask Harwood, but I believe he will say the Will virtually requires you to dance, Nerissa. Leave him to me.”

Mr Harwood came down too late to be consulted before dinner, but afterwards he and Miles joined Nerissa and Miss Sophie.

“Mr Harwood agrees that you must dance,” Miles announced.

“That is not precisely what I said,” the lawyer admonished him, but his eyes twinkled. “However, I see no reason why you should not, my dear young lady. I understand you wish to order a new gown?”

Nerissa had the magazine ready. “This one, sir, if you do not think it too extravagant.”

He set his spectacles on his nose and gravely examined the coloured plate. “Charming, charming. You will be quite the belle of the ball, Miss Wingate.”

“Oh no, I know several much prettier girls who will be there. But I shall have the prettiest gown, I vow, if you consent.”

“How can I refuse? I must make one stipulation, however. If the dancing continues much past one o’clock, which it generally does not, for we keep country hours in Porchester, you will have to leave before the end. Two hours must be allowed for the journey in darkness, and Sir Barnabas was most particular that neither you nor Mr Courtenay is to spend a single night absent from Addlescombe.”

“One o’clock, not midnight, like Cinderella?” Nerissa asked, laughing. “You are generous, sir.”

Mr Harwood beamed. “One o’clock, ma’am, or your gown will turn to rags, your carriage to a pumpkin, and the horses to rats. No doubt you will not wish for glass slippers but be sure to buy yourself dancing shoes. Do you need anything, Courtenay?”

“Nothing, sir. Thank heaven we gentlemen are not required to show off new finery at a ball, Aubrey notwithstanding. But there is a small matter I should like to discuss with you, if you please.”

The two gentlemen drew away. Nerissa watched them for a moment and saw Mr Harwood listening intently to Miles’s hushed yet vehement exposition. She wondered briefly what made him so earnest, then forgot as she turned to Miss Sophie to debate the relative merits of bows and rosettes on dancing slippers.

* * * *

Nerissa stared at the elegant young lady in the looking glass.

“Oh, miss, ‘tis beautiful,” sighed Maud ecstatically, clasping her hands.

The gown was indeed just as beautiful as she had hoped. The silk rosebuds in her hair were perfect, the rosetted dancing slippers pretty and comfortable. But even with the raised neckline, the expanse of visible chest looked alarmingly bare.

“My locket, please, Maud.”

She had bought a length of narrow ribbon to match the gown, and the locket suspended about her neck much improved matters. She refused to admit, even to herself, a hint of dissatisfaction. Mr Harwood had been truly generous; she could not put him in the difficult position of having to refuse a request for jewels.

Jacinth and chalcedony, tourmaline and chrysoprase, spinel and sardonyx: those were fantasies to amuse Miles with at cards. Reality was half a yard of pink satin ribbon and a small oval of gold--and the most beautiful gown in the world, she reminded herself.

“It is splendid, is it not? Miss Sophie will want to see it. Pray see if she is in her chamber.”

Miss Sophie came in and clapped her hands. “Enchanting! I cannot wait to watch you dancing.”

“Only three days to wait.” Nerissa smiled at her fondly.

“How this reminds me of my youth, my first ball! Only our fashions were quite different, of course. Such great wide skirts we wore, it’s a wonder how we ever managed them. I wish I had still my gold chain to lend you for your locket, Nerissa. I sold it some years past to buy my jet beads, which Effie says are far more suitable at my age. Not that your ribbon is not very pretty, my dear.”

Nerissa did her best to banish renewed doubts as to the adequacy of the ribbon. “Now that Miss Sophie has seen my gown, I shall take it off, Maud,” she said. “I don’t want to risk any damage.”

Maud carefully unpinned the wreath of rose-buds and set it on the dressing table. Nerissa took off the locket. Somehow as she handed it to the maid it dropped to the floor and popped open. A yellow curl fell out.

“Oh miss, I’m that sorry.” Crouching, Maud picked up the locket and tried to restore the separated snippets of hair into a smooth lock. “I’ve spoilt your Pa’s hair.”

“It was my fault,” Nerissa said, hot-cheeked. “Never mind about it now.” She had not spared Lucian a thought in weeks, she realized. She could scarcely bring his handsome face to mind.

As Maud stood up, she glanced at the two miniscule portraits in the locket. The knowing glance she threw Nerissa showed all too clearly that she had noted Mr Wingate’s hair, as dark as his wife’s. Nerissa felt her cheeks flaming.

With exaggerated care, the abigail placed the locket and the blond curl beside the rose-buds. “Right, miss, let’s get that gown off and hung up safe,” she said. “It’s a good job you won’t have to wear it in the carriage all the way to Porchester.”

“Yes,” Nerissa agreed as the rose satin rustled over her head. “It would be horridly crushed.”

Miss Sophie nodded. “I am glad Mr Harwood has hired chambers at the Cross Keys for us to change in. Your grandfather was always wont to do so when we stayed at Addlescombe for Christmas in the old days. Poor Barnabas became quite unsociable after your mama ran off.” She sighed. “What a pity dear Anthea will not be here to see her daughter attend her first ball.”

Nerissa echoed her sigh. It would indeed be wonderful to have her mother to chaperon her, and in her last letter Mama had expressed a wish that she might do so. However, she was equally wishful that Nerissa had been there to see her triumph in the comic rôle of Mrs Heidelberg in
The Clandestine Marriage
, with Papa as a splendid Lord Ogleby. For Anthea Wingate, the present was the world of the theatre. The life of a young lady making her bow in country society was relegated to a half-forgotten and little regretted past.

For Nerissa it was the all-important present and near future. However, she still had not revealed to her parents the insulting terms of her grandfather’s Will, nor the resentment of most of her relations. If Mama knew she would be deeply concerned--but rather than find a way to attend the assembly she’d probably order Nerissa home.

And, despite the difficulties, Nerissa did not want to go home. She just hoped the family would let her enjoy her first ball without seizing the occasion to disgrace her in the eyes of all the local gentry at once.

Miles had said Cousin Euphemia was the only one likely to try, the others being too afraid of sharing her disgrace. So Nerissa was relieved when Effie came down with the first symptoms of a cold on the day of the assembly and decided to stay abed to avoid a putrid sore throat.

“To avoid watching your triumph, more likely,” said Miles.

Whatever the reason, in her absence Nerissa took her place beside Miss Sophie in the landau with unalloyed anticipation of pleasure. With Miles, Raymond, and Matilda riding alongside and Mr Harwood’s chaise following, they set off in the early dusk of the winter evening.

It was pitch-dark long before they reached Porchester, but the Cross Keys was brightly lit with lanterns and flaring torches. As the landau turned under the archway into the yard, General Pettigrew was handing his wife and daughters down from their carriage. Ostlers dashed about and the rotund landlord of the inn stood in the doorway to welcome his guests, a beam on his red face.

The Pettigrews waited for the party from Addlescombe. An unknown gentleman stood with them, whom the General introduced as his prospective son-in-law, come on a Christmas visit. The Reverend Paul Simmons was a large, jolly young man, to Nerissa’s surprise for the shy Caroline’s paeans on her betrothed’s saintliness had led her to expect a pale, weedy creature.

Miss Anna Pettigrew attached herself to Miles like a limpet, and Nerissa found herself going into the Cross Keys on the General’s arm. The landlord handed her a dance card as she entered.

“I hope you will save me a dance, Miss Wingate,” the General boomed. “M’wife don’t dance but there’s life in the old dog yet, and I mean to stand up with all the prettiest girls tonight. Courtenay, I say, Courtenay, what d’ye think, shall we dine together before the hop?”

“Pray let us, Mr Courtenay,” Anna added her appeal, fluttering her eyelashes.

Miles agreed with altogether too much alacrity before turning to Jane Philpott with a token request for her consent. “You don’t mind, do you, ma’am?”

“Pray do consent, Lady Philpott,” urged Mrs Pettigrew, whether because of the love of titles Nerissa had noticed or for the sake of throwing her daughter and Miles together.

They did not appear to need throwing together. Miles smiled down at the girl as Lady Philpott graciously assented. As a result, Nerissa greeted Mr Clive Digby, on his entering the hall, with warmth enough to embolden the angler to beg the honour of the first dance and to take her to supper.

Trained by Miss Sophie in the etiquette of the ballroom, she knew she had no excuse to refuse him. Not that she wished to, for today his nose was only a little pink and he wore respectable evening dress with just one single, modest artificial fly in the lapel. If Miles preferred the company of the coquettish Miss Anna, it was up to Nerissa to show him she was perfectly capable of enjoying her first ball without his support.

She was about to voice her acceptance when Miles intervened. “Beg your pardon, my dear fellow, Miss Wingate is promised to me for the first dance and for supper.”

Mollified, though indignant at his presumption, Nerissa cast him a speaking glance but did not deny his unjustified claim. Anna pouted. Clive Digby settled for the second dance. Before Nerissa had to grant him another later in the evening, more people came in from the inn yard and those already in the lobby moved on to their various apartments.

The Addlescombe ladies tidied themselves in the chamber reserved for them and repaired to the private parlour next door to take a dish of tea.

Miles was not in evidence. Nerissa suspected that, having done his duty by her, he was dancing attendance on Anna Pettigrew, or perhaps the Firston girls had arrived by now, or the dashing Miss Nidd.

Wherever he had disappeared to, she was soon too busy to miss him as the parlour filled with visitors. Miss Sophie and Aubrey introduced her to those she had not met before because they lived on the far side of Porchester from Addlescombe, too far for morning calls. Lady Philpott was kept fully occupied in agitated explanations of the lack of mourning for Sir Barnabas. Nerissa acquired a new admirer, a homely but amusing gentleman who exacted a promise of a dance before he was ousted from her side by Caroline Pettigrew and her betrothed.