***
Georgiana was bemused.
Yes
, she thought,
that
is
the
word
for
it: bemused
. Or maybe
bedazzled
was an apt description for how she felt. The lights seemed brighter, the music especially melodious, the dancing more enjoyable, and the food ambrosial. Everything was exquisite as never before. The air surrounding her sparkled magically and tingles bounced over her skin.
Yet there was an unreal quality to the sensations within and perceptions without. It was not disturbing exactly. It was merely strange.
Strange
and
wonderful
, she amended as her silk-clad hands brushed over the baron’s gloved palms, his thumb miraculously managing to squeeze and caress her knuckles in the seconds before the steps of the quadrille pulled them apart. Flawlessly, he sidestepped to engage the lady next in line, executing a fluid chassé while never looking away from Georgiana. She could not claim to be an adept judge of a man’s behavior nor did she possess the vanity to assume men were instantly attracted to her; nevertheless, if asked, she would be forced to blushingly agree that Lord Caxton appeared to be as bemused as she.
This was their second dance together since arriving at the ball. The first, a waltz, had left her breathless and dazed. A portion of that response may have been a result of lively dancing on a crowded floor with lights blazing overhead. Undoubtedly the steady stream of conversation and questions while twirling at a fast pace augmented the breathlessness. Lord Caxton appeared relentless in his pursuit to learn as much about her as possible. This was quite flattering, of course, as was the intensity of the dark eyes that rarely left her face unless it was to scan over her figure—a fact she pretended not to notice even as heat flooded her skin—and the way he drew her closer to his body than was strictly necessary for a proper waltz. The latter greatly shattered her typical composure, and it was with some relief that she greeted the dance’s conclusion.
The following hours continued to be a heady assault upon her senses. Lord Caxton was attentive and practically glued to her side for the entire evening. He filled her glass before it was half empty, secured an empty chair before she expressed a need to sit and rest, and procured sustaining treats with continual frequency. Much to her surprise, considering how flustered she felt around him, conversation flowed easily as the baron boasted a gift for drawing information in a carefree manner. Never domineering or overtly possessive, his demeanor and proximity to her spoke of his intent ere he formally expressed his wishes.
“Miss Darcy,” he began, leaning closer to ensure she could hear him.
“Yes, Baron?” she responded, automatically lifting her eyes to his face. Fresh waves of warmth spread through her limbs, her mouth drying instantly at the effect of his presence so near.
How
is
it
possible
for
one
man
to
be
so
handsome?
“I apologize for intruding upon your space, but even with the crowds thinning as the evening draws to a close, I fear the music and chatter combine to prevent easy discourse.” He smiled, the perfection of white teeth behind strong lips and tiny crinkles appearing in the corners of his eyes increasing his attractiveness and thus her enchantment. “Alas, whisking you away to a secluded alcove is not a proper option, so I must therefore latch upon this relative privacy to ask a question of you before another group of friends descend upon us.”
“Private conversation in a ballroom is nigh on impossible, I would agree. I shall do my best to ignore extraneous noises, Baron.”
“Superb. And I shall do my best to be swift and pointed. If it is feasible in regards to your schedule and appealing to you, I would be honored to call upon you tomorrow afternoon. My only lecture for the day is completed at three o’clock. May I join you for tea shortly thereafter?”
“You are more than welcome, my lord.”
He bowed and stepped back a pace. “I will await the hour with high anticipation, Miss Darcy. Now I see Lady Matlock approaching and since the music and dance are finished, I believe it is time to bid you a good night.”
He bowed again and, in the process, captured her right hand, brushing across her palm and lightly stroking over her fingers while lifting it to his lips. Holding her gaze, dark eyes penetrating, he whispered
au
revoir
and pressed a lingering kiss against her gloved knuckles. Then with a crisp pivot, he exited the room.
Georgiana stared at his retreating body, admiring his fine figure and basking in the intoxication of blatant flirting from a man as handsome as Lord Caxton. She was not so foolish or dazzled as to be unaware of how every woman in the room had observed him and in many cases brazenly sought his favor. Nor had she been so blinded as to not recognize that he ignored or bluntly rebuffed all of them, exclusively focusing on her—even when they both danced with someone else!
No, Georgiana Darcy was not a fool. But she was young and stunned by the onslaught to her sensibilities. If this were not the case, then most likely she would have noticed that her heart did not ache at his departure and that the hand he kissed hung limply at her side.
***
Sebastian rarely experienced nervousness. It simply was not in his nature to be unsure or fearful over mundane matters. Yet the tremble to his hand when he rapped on the door and the flutter in his chest as he stood on the stoop waiting for the butler to answer could be described as nothing but nervousness.
Later, he admitted that entering the salon to discover Lady Matlock and Lady Simone sitting with Miss Darcy and three other ladies of his acquaintance from Parisian society eased his nervousness, even if he could not ascertain Miss Darcy’s opinion of him while in company. After all, Sebastian Butler naturally relaxed around women, and instantly, he sent a silent prayer to the Creator for gifting him with five sisters!
Eventually the older women left, probably fabricating pressing tasks and appointments in order to leave the youths alone. In a flash, the nervousness returned, Sebastian embarrassingly fidgeting with his coattail, shifting his feet where he stood by the edge of the sofa, and stammering like a schoolboy.
“Miss Darcy, I regret that we were unable to speak last evening and will confess in honesty that I was avoiding you at the gala. No, please! Let me finish if I may, and then I shall mutely withstand your censure.”
“You are far too harsh on yourself, Mr. Butler, but proceed with your confession of dreadful doings and wicked thoughts. I will listen most attentively.”
He sat—or rather fell—into the cushioned perch across from her. “You do not seem angry at all. In fact, I detect that you are laughing at me.”
“I am not angry. I was, to be sure, but no longer. For some reason, it is extremely difficult for me to stay angry with you, sir. Does this ruin your well prepared speech of contrition, Mr. Butler?”
Sebastian laughed at her tease, the lifted weight from his shoulders momentarily making him light-headed!
“I had nothing prepared, being more of a spontaneous sort of fellow. I did intend to grovel, however.” He leaned forward, looking at her seriously, although his gray eyes did sparkle a little. “I truly am sorry for embarrassing you with Professor Florange. I did deceive and no matter my rationale, it was wrong of me.”
“Indeed, it was wrong of you. I shall not argue that point or placate your conscience, Mr. Butler. Nevertheless, I know you only meant well and the outcome is that we now understand one another with improved clarity. I do believe our friendship can withstand a disagreement or two.”
“Or two? Are you presaging a future disagreement we must overcome?”
“Not at all,” she countered with a shake of her head and laugh. “Nevertheless, I doubt there are many friends who do not irritate each other once in a while.”
“I am relieved to hear you still consider me a friend, Miss Darcy. You were harsh in your judgment of my motives but not completely erroneous. I feared an understandable loss of good opinion.”
“I am not that fickle in my sentiments. Besides, as you pointed out, I was harsh and justly deserving of losing your good opinion.”
“So we are equal in our faults. Blast it all if that does not make us human!”
“Indeed! And this fallible human wishes to express her appreciation and understanding for what she now realizes was your desire to enlighten her to the broader world. I thank you for that, Mr. Butler. Furthermore, since it was I who threatened to glean all I could from you in the short time we have, I daresay it is idiotic of me to then be vexed with you for simply wanting to give me more. As it turns out, I was rewarded immensely with Professor Florange’s praise. The day certainly was not a loss.”
He frowned at the dreamy expression upon her face following the last statement, not wanting to imagine she was referring to anything besides the professor’s endorsement of her talent. “I am relieved to hear you say that. Dare I hope that your confidence is boosted?”
“It is,” she said, nodding slowly. “I know, as you do, Mr. Butler, that music is etched into my soul. It is who I am and what I love. I have faith and, yes, confidence that I can fulfill these desires to create and play, even as I live my mundane life in England.”
“Somehow I doubt your life will ever be mundane, Miss Darcy.”
“The life of a wife and mother is typically mundane, a state of existence I am happy to embrace. My comfort is in knowing I can pass on what I have learned, and who knows? Maybe my son will be the next Beethoven or Mozart.”
He nodded and smiled despite the unease and twisting sensation within his gut. “So, am I truly and utterly forgiven? If not, I have an additional peace offering that I am sure will secure my standing within your good graces.” He retrieved the leather portfolio he had placed on the side table when he first entered the room, handing it to Georgiana with a deep bow. “A gift, my lady.”
She opened the folder, recognizing the contents after one glance at the sheets of music, her smile widening with each turn of the page.
“Are these all of them?” Her voice was reverent and touches upon the sheets caressing.
“All that I have written thus far. There are many psalms in the Bible, so I judge it will take me a lifetime to compose music for all of them. These, however, are my favorites and the ones that inspired me. This here”—he leaned across the space separating their seats and tapped Psalm twenty-three—“is the first one I placed to music. Naturally.”
“How old were you?”
“Sixteen or so. I have not played it for a few years to be honest, so it is probably shockingly horrid. You have my permission to embellish or rewrite at will.”
“Oh no! I could never do that!”
Sebastian laughed. “We have been collaborating for some time now, Miss Darcy. I trust your insights and creativity. I sincerely believe you could improve upon many of these. Professor Florange did say we were brilliant together.”
He murmured the last, biting his lip for bringing the subject of their argument to mind, but Georgiana did not comment or appear irritated. Rather, she was staring at him, her smile soft and eyes shining. In an instant, the urge to kiss her rushed through him as powerfully as it had before, the passion of anger apparently not the only impetus.
“Thank you for bringing them. Will you play one for me? Or several?”
It was impossible to look away from the pleading in her eyes, and the honeyed tones of the entreaty passing plump, moist lips entranced him. Some particle of his mind knew he was leaning closer to her and a dim voice cautioned him, but both were ignored.
What could not be ignored was the voice of the butler.
“Mademoiselle Darcy, you have a gentleman caller. Lord Caxton. He claims to have an engagement scheduled with you?”
They shot to their feet. Georgiana swayed slightly and the instinctual steadying pressure of Sebastian’s hand under her elbow brought her closer to him, thus worsening his dizziness.
Lord Caxton strode in, his dark gaze skimming over the two of them and assessing the tableau in the seconds before Georgiana darted away from Sebastian’s side. What his conclusion was could not be easily discerned, but Sebastian did notice a faint tightening to the corners of his eyes. Then he bowed, extending the formal welcomes as appropriate and gallantly filling the awkward scene with normalcy.
“I trust I am not interrupting?” The baron swept the hand holding his hat in the general direction of where they had been standing, Georgiana having moved some four feet away. “My class ended earlier than usual, so I hastened over for our tea engagement. I do apologize for the surprise entry, Miss Darcy.”
“No need to apologize, my lord,” Georgiana said in a rush. “Mr. Butler dropped by to bring some compositions I have expressed interest in. Psalms, actually.”
“Psalms? How intriguing. I seem to recall your fascination with sacred music, Butler.”