Magical Weddings (109 page)

“So you have said.”

They passed through the door at the top of the stairs and Ana found herself in a surprisingly large room which, though not elaborately-decorated, was bright, airy and clean. A young, elegant woman held out her hands to them.

“Madame Lenard.”

Ana was surprised to see Harriet take the
modiste
’s hands and exchange cheek kisses. She would never have greeted her mother’s
modiste
in such a fashion.

“I received your note, Miss Burton,” she said, in lightly-accented English. “I am very pleased to meet you, Miss Stanley.”

“Madame Lenard,” Ana said, resisting an odd urge to curtsy. “I know it is dreadfully short notice, but maybe you have a gown or two made up that might fit me?”

“I do indeed!” The
modiste
hurried to a rail set up by the changing areas and began to go through it. “There are several designs that might fit you, but I think… yes, this is the one.”

She drew out a dress of gold silk, cut to the limits of what a young unmarried woman could get away with, that shimmered and rustled as she moved it this way and that. Even Ana, whose interest in fashion was modest, felt herself irresistibly drawn to it.

“If that does not do the trick,” Harriet said, looking decidedly smug, “nothing will.”

****

That Friday night, Edward Dalby, Viscount Stapleton, stood to one side of Lady Marcham’s ballroom, trying to look unapproachable and wondering exactly what the chit in the gold dress had that made her so irresistible. It was not uncommon for a young lady to attract a crowd of admirers, but for heaven’s sake hers was two deep!

She was beautiful, he would concede, with honey blonde hair and large dark eyes, but there were plenty of attractive young ladies in the room. Presumably she was also an heiress with impeccable connections.

He turned to his friend, Mr. Bridgeford–who was also watching the spectacle–and murmured, “This season’s Incomparable, I take it?”

“The oddest thing,” Mr. Bridgeford said, stroking his chin. “I am quite certain she was out last season, if not the one before, but I do not remember her attracting a crowd like that.”

“I presume she has a name?”

“Miss Stanley. Good dowry, but nothing excessive and the family has few connections to boast. Of course, her cousin marrying Earl Blakemore will be doing her some good.”

“Her cousin?” Edward moved his gaze to the pretty, dark-haired woman standing next to Miss Stanley. “I hear it is a very advantageous match for her.”

“A love match, by all accounts.”

Edward snorted. “Deuced dangerous things.”

“Positively fatal.” Mr Bridgeford gave him a sly look. “Would you care to be introduced?”

“No need, I was merely curious.” Edward deliberately turned his attention away from her, lest he should cause any speculation.

Having decided it was time he married, and given careful consideration to the qualities his wife would need to possess, he had come to town with the intention of quietly looking around for a suitable lady. However, he had quickly discovered that this was impossible. Any unmarried gentleman who paid any attention to any debutante immediately identified himself as in the market for a wife, and as soon as he did that the entire cohort–and, which was worse, their mothers–descended on him like a flock of magpies. And the lengths to which they went to gain his notice! He had encountered prostitutes working street corners who were more subtle.

Worse still, none of them seemed to possess an ounce of intelligence. He had been appalled to discover that it was the fashion for debutantes to speak in baby talk and even–horror of horrors–affect a lisp. Edward was firmly of the opinion that any man attracted by an apparent mental retardation could not be right in the head himself.

After a few torturous evenings, he had decided to discount the lot of them, and instead look about for a widow–perhaps even a spinster–closer to his own 31 years, who would hopefully prove tolerable company.

Yet, despite his best efforts, he found his attention continually wandering back to the excessively popular Miss Stanley, and that disturbed him.

He did not intend to make his choice of bride on the basis of physical desire. That was how one chose mistresses–that and discretion. And he certainly was not going to dally with a virgin he did not intend to marry. He was not that kind of cad.

****

It was ironic, Ana thought, as she was led onto the dance floor, that during a country dance she was actually further away from any gentleman than she had been since she had arrived this evening. She had no idea what Madame Lenard could have done to her gown to have this effect, but she had never received so much attention in her life!

She supposed that she should be enjoying it more, but all they were doing was paying her meaningless compliments–wildly exaggerating her beauty and grace. She would have been far more charmed by a man who showed some interest in her character–asked her if she preferred the town or the country, perhaps, or whether she enjoyed the theatre. Frankly, at this point, she would have settled for, “do you prefer beef or lamb?”

Her partner–a Mr. Bolton–was rather young to be considering marriage, but gave every appearance of being smitten. Despite his rather damp palms when the dance obliged their hands to touch, he seemed a pleasant enough man and she enjoyed the respite the dance provided. So much so that, when it was over, she could not face going straight back to her circle, and escaped under the pretence of visiting the retiring room.

Once in the corridor outside the ballroom, she drew as deep a breath as her dress would allow and forcibly suppressed the urge to lock herself in a room–a cupboard would do–and hide for the rest of the evening.

“Miss Stanley!”

Ana whirled round, to find that Mr. Bolton had actually followed her out. Which meant they were–for the moment, at least–alone together. Which, her mother had drummed into her, was something that absolutely must not happen.

“Please excuse me, Mr. Bolton, I was just on my way to pin up my dress.” She made a bolt for the door of the retiring room.

“Miss Stanley, you must hear me.”

He grabbed her arm. That was even more appalling. If he had a title, her mother would have demanded marriage for less.

“Let me go,” she whispered, as loud as she dared. As much as she wanted to get away from him, if they were caught together…

“Miss Stanley, you are the most beautiful creature I ever beheld! You must marry me!” he cried.

Then he kissed her.

While not generally given to romantic daydreams, Ana had occasionally imagined being kissed. She had assumed that it would be at least mildly pleasant. Not all dry lips, slimy tongue and truly foul breath.

She stamped down hard on his foot.

“Ow!” He started hopping around. “What did you do that for?”

If he did not know, there seemed little point in explaining.

He reached for her again. Ana, now feeling slightly panicked, thrust her fist at his nose. His hands went there instead, eyes tearing, as Ana went for the door again.

“Are you in need of assistance?” said a deeper, more comforting voice.

Ana’s head jerked in the direction of the man who had just entered the corridor and her breath caught in her throat. Good grief, he could have stepped out of one of the romance novels of which her sister Catherine was so fond. Tall, muscular, impeccably dressed without looking like a dandy, and devastatingly handsome. But blonde, that was not right. The heroes were inevitably dark.

“She hit me,” Mr. Bolton whimpered, still clutching his nose.

Ana shot Mr. Bolton a disbelieving look and was pleased to see that her non-hero did likewise. “Curiously enough,” he said, “I was asking the young lady.”

“He grabbed me,” Ana said, holding tight to the handle of the door of the retiring room. Her knees were feeling decidedly shaky and she very much wanted to sit down. “He followed me out here.”

The stranger turned a hard gaze on Mr. Bolton, whose own knees began to tremble visibly. “I think you will find you suddenly feel under the weather and wish to return home.”

Mr. Bolton muttered, “Yes, my lord” and bolted for the ballroom.

“You had best retire,” the stranger said, turning to Ana. “There will no doubt be a maid in there who can attend to you if you are to have an attack of the vapours.”

Ana opened her mouth to protest that she had never suffered from any such thing.

“In future, I would suggest you not leave the ballroom without an escort, given the amount of attention you seem to be attracting.”

Ana drew an indignant breath.

“However, I must compliment you on your defensive skills. Though they do lead one to wonder exactly how many times you have found yourself in a similar situation.”

“Miss Stanley.” He nodded to her and disappeared down the corridor.

After a moment, Ana admitted to herself that her chance to make a witty retort had been missed. Therefore, she closed her mouth and went to the retiring room to hide. And inwardly rail about his extreme rudeness.

****

By the time Ana returned to the ballroom, anger had given way to fear. His last words kept repeating in her head. He was clearly a man of consequence–all he would need do was repeat his accusation in the hearing of someone indiscreet and she would be ruined. And what chance would her sisters have then?

But what could she do? Approaching an unmarried man she had not been introduced to would attract just the kind of attention she was trying to avoid.

She made a beeline for Harriet and whispered, “I need an introduction. It is vitally important.”

Harriet’s eyes widened. “To whom?”

Ana scanned the room as surreptitiously as she could. Just as she spotted him, he turned his head and their gazes met for a second. She drew in a sharp breath and quickly looked away.

“The tall man standing by the wall two down from Lady Jersey.” Her skin prickled. Was he still watching her?

Harriet’s look was entirely too obvious. Ana poked her with her fan.

“That is Viscount Stapleton,” Harriet murmured, behind her own fan. “I have only met him briefly, but Charles knows him. Apparently he has not been seen in town for years. The rumour is that his father ran the estate into the ground, so he must be in need of a good dowry. Like, for example, yours.”

Ana’s smile wobbled dangerously. “I do not want to marry him,” she whispered. “I just need to… well, I do not know quite what, but at least be introduced properly. I need him to think I am a virtuous young lady.”

Harriet’s eyebrows shot up. “Why would he think you were not?”

An intercepted glance from a
ton
matron told Ana their whispered conversation had been noticed. “I will explain when we are alone. Just ask Charles to introduce me. Not right away though–make it subtle. I do not want anyone to know I have asked.”

“I will be the soul of discretion,” Harriet said, laying a hand on her heart.

Ana watched her vanish into the crowd and hoped fervently that she was not about to make things even worse.

****

Ana was getting a crick in her neck looking up at Viscount Stapleton and they were not even unsuitably close. At least, she did not think they were, but if they were not, surely his proximity should not make her feel so uncomfortably warm.

Then again, maybe the pain was from the effort of not killing her beloved cousin.

“That is Ana’s favourite as well! Truly, Lord Stapleton, you are so alike I think you must have been born under the same star.”

Ana flushed once again and ducked her head to hide it.

“Miss Stanley, would you care to dance?”

Ana looked up again. The viscount was looking expectantly at her. “If you are not otherwise engaged,” he added.

Ana fumbled for her dance programme and consulted it. “I would be delighted, sir. I was to have danced this one with Mr. Bolton,” she said, trying to keep her tone even, “but I understand he was taken ill.”

“How unfortunate for him.”

He offered her his arm and led her onto the dance floor as the musicians took their places. Ana swallowed hard as his strong hands made contact with her body. The waltz was still considered scandalous by many, but it had never seemed so to Ana until this moment. His touch took her from warm to decidedly overheated. She was sorely tempted to suggest a walk on the terrace instead, but did not for fear that her mother would follow them out in case she was put in a compromising situation. Not to prevent it, of course, just so she could quick-march the viscount to the altar.

Please do not let me tread on his feet, Ana prayed. Or fall over my own.

The first notes drifted into the room and they began to glide across the floor. At first she held herself stiffly and counted the steps, but soon she was able to relax. He was clearly a more accomplished dancer than her, he knew how to lead and, despite the height difference, they moved easily together.

“Miss Stanley, I must apologize to you for what I said before. I judged you unfairly.”

No more than any other member of the
ton
.

“Thank you.” She tried to look him in the eye. “My father gave me some instruction in self-defence.”

“That is most unusual.”

Ana dropped her eyes. “He has no son.”

More awkward silence.

“So, we are practically neighbours in the country,” he said, at length. “A mere seventy miles apart.”

His eyes twinkled. Ana blushed again. “Please excuse my cousin. She wishes everyone to be as happy as her.”

“An admirable sentiment.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“A good choice for Blakemore, I would judge. When we were at Oxford together he was entirely too serious.”

“Were you also too serious?” Ana said, attempting a coy look.

The twinkle disappeared and she instantly wished she had not. Why, she railed to herself, did my parents not arrange for lessons in flirting rather than watercolours? One need not be an expert on men to realize that would have been a hundred times more useful.