Louise Allen - Scandal in the Regency Ballroom - No Place For a Lady / Not Quite a Lady

‘I see.’ Bree bit her lip, her eyes thoughtful. ‘I should say that I am very sorry it makes you so sad, and I would ask if there was anything I could do to help you.’

‘Why? Why would you do that?’

‘Because we are friends.’ She flattened her palm against his left lapel. He was conscious of his heart beating beneath the pressure—surely she could feel it too? ‘And because I am a little outside society and I am not easily scandalised.’ She took her hand away and Max realised he had not been breathing. He dragged the air into his lungs as she smiled mischievously. ‘And I am very intelligent, so perhaps I can think of something to help.’

‘Your company and your friendship already help,’ Max said seriously. ‘I hope that perhaps my secret may prove not to be too terrible after all.’

‘And if it is?’ The calm oval of her face tilted up as she looked deep into his eyes. ‘No, do not answer—you will still find me your friend, whatever the problem.’ He found he was watching her mouth, certain that it was as expressive as her lovely eyes. Now it went from composed, serious lines into a soft, tentative smile. ‘Would you wish to be left in peace?’

‘What, now?’ He met her eyes. ‘No, not by you, Bree. Why?’

‘We never had our dance,’ she pointed out.

‘Whose fault was that?’ He found he was already leading her on to the floor where the next set was forming.

‘Mine,’ she admitted with a twinkle. She moved in close to his side as the other couples shuffled and sorted themselves out. ‘Do you dance as well as you do other things?’

‘Such as?’ The bleak mood had lifted completely. Somewhere at the back of his mind was the shadow of it, the looming cloud of approaching scandal and old heartbreak, the wrenching decision whether to cease all contact with Bree now, before she could be embroiled in this, hurt by it. And under it the nagging uncertainty that any woman could truly love him, Max, just for himself. But that was like a storm gathering over distant mountains. Here it was as though he were in a sunlit valley.

‘Such as … driving.’ The tip of her tongue just touched the full pout of her lower lip. Max could have sworn it was a quite unconscious provocation, but her body was betraying her and he had a silent bet with himself that he knew what she was thinking about.

‘Not as well as driving,’ he admitted, low-voiced as the music started and he swept her a formal bow. ‘And definitely not as well as kissing.’

His daring words had caught her at the bottom of her curtsy. Bree gasped, stumbled, and he caught her up in his arms before she could fall. ‘Do take care, Miss Mallory,’ he said, loudly enough for the surrounding couples to hear. ‘The floor seems quite slippery here.’ He steadied her on her feet again and swung her into the first measure.

‘You are an unmitigated rake,’ she whispered as she pivoted elegantly beneath his raised hand.

Max caught the gleam in her eyes. ‘I fear you have led me astray, Miss Mallory.’ He swung her neatly round at the end of the turn and they came to the end of the line and were able to catch their breath while the next couple worked their way down the ranks of dancers. ‘May I call on you?’

‘For what purpose, my lord?’

‘To take you driving, as you promised. And possibly to practise my other skills.’

‘But of course, my lord. I would be delighted to go driving.’ Bree made her curtsy to the gentleman opposite them and prepared to step out to take his hand. ‘I do not, however, consider that you require any further practice in the exercise of that other talent you mentioned.’

Max found he was grinning broadly and hastily got his face back under control before the young lady opposite decided she was about to be partnered by a lunatic. Why was it that being chastised by Miss Mallory was as gratifying as any amount of admiration from any other woman?

He watched her as she turned, following the lead of her partner, moving away from him down the floor. Away. His heart contracted painfully. He should move away from her in real life, dissociate himself from her entirely until he was certain no stain of scandal attached to him and that there was no need for the public shame of a divorce.

But if he did, now she was out in society, who would move to claim her while he waited, silent, uncertain and unfree, in the wings? He had only just found her—must he let her go?

‘A lady’s companion would be how much a year?’ Bree demanded, even though she knew she had heard correctly the first time. It was not as though she could not afford the rates the Misses Thoroughgood’s Exclusive Employment Exchange demanded, but they seemed extreme for something she did not want in the first place. However, common sense told her she should, so, the Monday morning after the ball, here she was.

Miss Emeline Thoroughgood looked down the length of her thin nose. ‘If one desires a lady companion of breeding and refinement, and one who can undertake the delicate and sensitive duties of a chaperon with discretion yet firmness of purpose, I am afraid one must expect to pay premium rates, Miss Mallory.’

‘I simply require the look of the thing, Miss Thoroughgood.’ Even as she said it, she realised that the lady would leap to entirely the wrong conclusion. ‘I live with my brother,’ she said hastily. ‘He is most rigorous in his care of me. However, a respectable female to accompany me when he cannot would be desirable.’

Miss Emeline’s expression softened slightly at the reassurance that she was not dealing with some kept woman who needed to cloak her activities in a veil of respectability. Actually, she is not so far wrong , Bree thought with hidden amusement. Only my activities are not quite what she imagines .

‘I may be able to suggest a solution,’ Miss Emeline said pensively. She rang the hand bell on her desk. ‘Smithers, has the client with Miss Clara departed?’

‘No, Miss Emeline.’ The clerk consulted the clock on the mantel. ‘I would expect her to come out at any moment.’

‘Ask her to come in here when she is free, would you?’ He bowed himself out. ‘I make no claims for this suggestion, Miss Mallory, however, Miss Thorpe may answer your purposes at a most reasonable cost.’

A tap at the office door heralded the entrance of a woman in her late thirties. Her dress, from bonnet to half-boots, proclaimed the governess in its drab anonymity, and her hair, dark brown, threaded with grey, was drawn back tightly under her bonnet. But her eyes looked out steadily from under rather thick brows and met Bree’s with an assessing intelligence that instantly appealed to her.

‘Miss Mallory, this is Miss Thorpe. Miss Thorpe is an experienced governess with admirable qualifications. However, we understand that she no longer wishes for that form of employment. It occurs to me that possibly she may suit your requirements.’

‘Miss Thorpe.’ Bree got to her feet and offered her hand. ‘I am looking for a companion. Why do we not have tea together in Gunther’s and see how we suit each other?’

This unconventional approach appeared to startle Miss Thoroughgood, but Miss Thorpe’s eyebrows merely lifted slightly and she smiled. ‘Thank you, Miss Mallory, I would be pleased to.’

‘That’s settled, then. Thank you, Miss Thoroughgood. I will let you know how we get on.’ Bree shook hands briskly and ushered Miss Thorpe out in front of her. ‘Now, we just need to find a hackney carriage.’

‘There’s one.’ Miss Thorpe hailed the cab authoritatively, securing it under the nose of a soberly dressed City type clutching a bundle of papers tied in red tape. Bree was impressed.