Mary Balogh: At Last Comes Love

She almost lost her courage before leaving her dressing room. At her age she should surely be wearing far more sober and decorous gowns. But before she could give serious thought to changing into something else, there was a tap on the door, and when her maid opened it, Stephen poked his head inside. "Oh, I say, Meg!" he exclaimed, his eyes moving over her with open appreciation. "You look quite stunning, if I may say so. People will think I am escorting my younger sister. I am going to be the envy of every gentleman in the ballroom when I enter it with you on my arm." "Thank you, sir." She laughed at his absurdity and made him an elaborate curtsy. "And I am going to be the envy of every lady. Perhaps we ought to remain at home and save everyone all the heartache." Stephen had been extraordinarily good-looking even as a boy, with his tall, slender frame, unruly blond curls, blue eyes, and open, good-humored face. But now, at the age of twenty-two, he had grown into his height with a careless sort of grace, his curls had been tamed somewhat by an expert barber, and his features had taken on maturity and a vivid handsomeness. Margaret was biased, of course, but she saw the way he turned female heads wherever he went. And it was not just his title and wealth that did it, though she supposed they did not hurt. "Better not." He pushed the door wider, made her an elegant bow to match her curtsy, grinned at her, and offered his arm. "Are you ready to go? I would not deprive the male world of your company." "Well, there /is/ that." She smiled at her maid, wrapped her silk shawl about her shoulders, picked up her fan, and took his arm.

They arrived at the Tindell mansion half an hour later and had to wait only five minutes before their carriage took its place at the end of the red carpet and Stephen handed Margaret out. She gave her shawl to a footman inside the hall and ascended the stairs toward the receiving line and the ballroom on Stephen's arm. And if they were attracting admiring glances – and they surely were – she was free to believe that some were intended for her, even though most were undoubtedly for Stephen.

She felt as excited as if she were attending her first London ball.

Excited – and apprehensive too.

She fanned her cheeks after they had passed along the receiving line. A quick glance about the ballroom revealed the fact that neither the Marquess of Allingham nor Crispin Dew had arrived yet. It was early of course. But her sisters were both there. They were standing together at the far side of the ballroom with Elliott and Jasper.

She and Stephen crossed the room, nodding to acquaintances as they went and stopping a few times to exchange verbal greetings.

They both hugged their sisters, and Stephen shook hands with their brothers-in-law. "Stephen," Katherine said, "I absolutely insist that you dance the Roger de Coverley with me later in the evening. No one dances the steps better, which I am delighted to say, since I was the one who taught them to you when you were fifteen. Besides, you are looking quite deliciously gorgeous, and I have a strict rule that I will dance only with the most handsome gentlemen." "That is a relief to hear," Jasper said, "since you have already promised to dance every waltz with me, Katherine. But poor Elliott will be afraid to ask to dance with you now lest you say no." "My knees are already knocking," Elliott said.

They all laughed. "I must beg you to grant me the opening set, Meg," Jasper said, "Con having already solicited Katherine's hand for it." "/Constantine/ is here?" Margaret asked, looking about eagerly. And there he was some distance away with a group of gentlemen. She caught his eye, and they both smiled and raised a hand in greeting. "He has not called on me at Merton House yet. I shall scold him for gross neglect as soon as we come face to face." Constantine Huxtable was their second cousin. He would have inherited the Merton title instead of Stephen if his mother and father had married even one day before his birth instead of two days after. Those two days had cost Constantine his birthright, and Margaret had often marveled over the fact that he did not appear to hate Stephen – or Stephen's sisters either, though there /was/ a coolness between him and Vanessa.

He and Elliott – the Duke of Moreland – were estranged by a long-standing quarrel over something Margaret knew nothing about, and Vanessa, naturally enough, had taken her husband's side. It was a pity.

Constantine and Elliott looked more like brothers than cousins, with the dark Greek good looks they had inherited from their mothers. Families ought not to quarrel.

When the lines began to form for the opening set, Jasper – Baron Montford – led Margaret out to join them. She loved the country and often told herself that she would be perfectly happy if she never had to leave it for the busy frivolity of life in town. But there was something undeniably alluring about the London Season. It felt wonderful to be in a London ballroom once more, surrounded by the flower of the /ton/, their jewels sparkling and glittering in the light of the hundreds of candles fixed in two great chandeliers overhead and in dozens of wall sconces. The wooden floor gleamed beneath her feet, and large pots of flowers and greenery provided a feast for the eyes and filled the air with their fragrances.

There was still no sign of the Marquess of Allingham.

Nor, to her relief, of Crispin Dew.

The music began, and Margaret curtsied with the line of ladies to a bowing Jasper in the line of gentlemen and gave herself up to the enjoyment of the intricate figures of the dance. She always loved the sound of the violins and the rhythmic thumping of the dancers' feet.

But halfway through the set she was distracted by the sight of a swath of scarlet at the ballroom doors and saw that it was Crispin arriving with two of the officers with whom he had been riding yesterday. Her heart fluttered uncomfortably and sank in the direction of her slippers.

There went her peace.

The three of them were causing a noticeable stir among those who were not dancing.

He looked about until his eyes found Margaret, and then he smiled. She might have pretended that she had not seen him, she supposed, but that would be silly. She smiled in return and was very glad she was looking her best as she danced beneath one of the chandeliers and her gold gown sparkled. And then she felt annoyance at such a vain thought. /I will give you my company whenever I have the time…/ There was /still/ no sign of the marquess. He might not even be in London, of course. And even if he were, and even if he came later this evening… "Oh!" she exclaimed suddenly, returning her attention to Jasper with a start as she trod heavily on his shoe. "I am so sorry. Do forgive me." She had stumbled awkwardly too, and he had to grasp her arm until she had righted herself and picked up the steps of the dance again. It was very humiliating. A few of the dancers around them looked at her with concern. "My fault entirely," Jasper assured her. "I only hope Katherine did not notice that I almost toppled her sister. But if you need someone to plant him a facer or worse, Meg, do feel free to call upon me at any time. It would give me the greatest pleasure. I have not been embroiled in any good brawls lately. Marriage does that to a man, alas." Margaret looked at him, startled. And it was no use pretending that she did not know what he meant. He had obviously seen Crispin too, and guessed from his uniform who he was. That meant that Katherine had told him the story. How embarrassing! She was thirty years old and a spinster because the only love of her life had abandoned her and married someone else. And all she had to do was see him again and she went stumbling over the feet of her dancing partner.

The pattern of the dance separated them for a while, but Margaret replied as soon as they came together again between the lines to circle each other back to back. "That all happened /years/ ago," she told him. "I have quite forgotten it." Which was a remarkably ridiculous thing to say. /What/ all happened years ago? he might well ask. And how would she even be able to refer to it if she had forgotten it? She had only made herself look more abject in her brother-in-law's eyes.