The Season

sixteen

"I don't think I've ever seen so many people in one room! My God! The entire ton must be here!" Vivi exclaimed, unable to tear her gaze from the sea of people below.

Vivi, Ella, and Alex stood on the upper level of Worthington House, looking down on the ball room. They were shielded in an alcove on the second floor as they considered the mass of people who were here for the Worthington ball. Each year, the duke and duchess hosted the grandest and most legendary ball of the season. No one who received an invitation missed the opportunity to attend.

Alex commented acerbically, "I think my mother may very well have invited the entire ton."

She was watching the lady in question as she greeted the never-ending stream of guests pouring into the enormous ball room. The room sat empty much of the year until mid-April, when its curtains were opened and the dustcloths were removed from its furniture for a thorough inspection in preparation for this night. Then, for weeks, servants shined the dozens of crystal chandeliers, polished the expansive oak and mahogany floor with beeswax, and washed the floor-to-ceiling windows to ensure that everything would be perfect for this evening.

And perfect it was. Thousands of candles were lit in the enormous candelabras hanging from the ceiling and standing around the room, giving the entire space a magical, golden glow. The orchestra was placed at the top of the room, farthest away from the entrance, obscured by shrubbery that had been brought into the room specifically to create the illusion of invisibility. Off the main chamber, directly underneath the girls, were multiple antechambers, each outfitted for a different purpose: a refreshment room complete with a spread of lemonade, wine, biscuits, and coffee; a supper room that would be opened midway through the ball ; a card room for elderly guests to rest and play whist while keeping out a watchful eye for any juicy gossip; a men's smoking room; and a ladies' salon, offering a space to which ladies could escape in the case of damage to their elaborate gowns. Her mother had thought of everything, and that attention to detail was what set this event apart from the others of the season.

"It is quite a stunning sight," Ella pointed out. "How many people do you think are here?"

Alex replied distractedly, "Between five and six hundred, I think." She took a deep breath, as if preparing for battle, and turned to her friends. "Although there are three less than there should be, I venture to say. While I'd much rather stay up here and watch the whole event from afar, I have a feeling that someone will come looking for us if we don't make an appearance soon."

"Agreed." Vivi looked at her friends and added, "And what a stunning appearance we shall make!"

She was right, of course. With the help of the remarkable Eliza, the three had dressed and applied their cosmetics to perfection. They were attired in gowns that had been made by Madame Fernaud for this particular event. Alex imagined they made a stunning trio. Vivi wore a gorgeous gold damask silk with a high Empire waist and fitted sleeves that accentuated her dark features and her already long, reedlike form. The color was certain to be the envy of every woman present, because it was such a difficult color to wear and yet it seemed as if it were created specifically for Vivian.

Ella, in contrast, was wearing a pale pink georgette with a wide, plunging neckline that both highlighted her lovely hourglass figure and underscored Madame Fernaud's distinct nod to her own French heritage. The pink fabric, the color of the palest of seashells, moved like gossamer and perfectly complemented Ella's fair coloring — which was already the envy of every female member of the peerage.

Alex's gown rounded out the trio, an ice-blue satin shot through with silver thread that shimmered in the light as though it were made of droplets of water just on the verge of freezing. It was a dress to be marveled at — her mother had ensured as much, claiming that the Worthington ball was precisely where she expected Alex to ensnare her future husband. At the time, Alex had been too deeply engrossed in her third reading of Pride and Prejudice to care at all about the dress, but now, as she was thinking about impressing Blackmoor, she wanted to kiss her mother for making such remarkable decisions regarding the construction of the beautiful garment.

As they descended the center stairway of Worthington House, noticing clusters of guests turning to watch their entrance, Vivi turned to her friends with a brilliant smile and spoke through her teeth, "I simply do not understand the appeal of the turban. Lady Barrington looks as if a feather pillow has attached itself to her head."

Unable to miss the headwear in question, Alex adopted the same method of conversation and replied, "Indeed. Although considering the enormous peacock feather protruding from the thing, it appears as though there may be some kind of exotic bird trapped under there."

"Should we attempt a rescue?" Ella asked casually, sending all three girls into bright laughter.

As they reached the ground floor, Alex leaned toward Ella and spoke just loudly enough for her friend to hear, "Do try not to let your overactive imagination whisk you into the gardens tonight."

Ella flashed a bright smile and replied teasingly, "Certainly not! Although I was thinking that the strange conversation I overheard the other night might well have had something to do with the excitement with Blackmoor." She paused, then continued with a laugh, "Well... the earlier excitement with Blackmoor, at least."

Alex laughed again. "No such thing as a coincidence in your mind, is there?"

"Never. Coincidence eliminates the entertainment of speculation!"

"Indeed."

And, with that, they were caught up in the swirl of the evening. They entered the ball room just minutes before the first dance, a minuet, began and they were enveloped by a crowd of young aristocrats all angling for a place on their dance cards. Alex found herself in the dance with Lord St. Marks, a sweet but small marquess whom she'd always quite liked. She was finding the dance quite enjoyable, until she noticed Blackmoor over the top of her partner's head. He was having a wonderful time, smiling and laughing with the lady in his arms — who happened to be Penelope Grayson. Alex was overcome by a flash of jealousy. How could he be dancing with her after he kissed me?

"She's got the nature of an asp," Alex muttered to herself.

"I beg your pardon, my lady?"

She looked down at St. Marks with a smile and said, "Uh... I am reading Shakespeare's Antony and Cleopatra, my lord, and I cannot seem to shake the horrid vision of the queen's death. Death by asp. Quite dreadful, you know."

From the look of obvious confusion on St. Marks's face, she was certain he'd never had such an odd conversation during a ball before and, had she been in any other frame of mind, she would have found a great deal of humor in his drawn-out "Rather," clearly the only response he could conjure.

They had turned in such a manner that Alex was no longer able to see Penelope and Blackmoor without craning her neck indelicately, so, instead, she simply counted steps until the dance was over. Two hundred and forty-three steps, to be exact. St. Marks promenaded her the customary halfway around the perimeter of the room and bowed his farewell — a farewell she rather thought he was looking forward to — and Alex went searching for someone to entertain her and distract her from her own preoccupations.

In less than a half a minute, she came face-to-face with Blackmoor himself, all crisp cravat and broad shoulders and bright smile, and Alex's mood grew darker. How could he be enjoying himself to such an impressive degree?

"Lady Alexandra," he said, offering her a devastating smile and a short bow.

"Lord Blackmoor," she said, unable to keep a tinge of churlishness from her tone, "I thought you were with Penelope."

"I was," he answered amiably, "but she met up with some friends and I decided to make my rounds. Are your brothers here?" He looked out at the crowd, searching for the Stafford boys.

Irrationally, she wanted to stomp on his foot. Instead, she said sarcastically, "I'm certain they are, considering this is their ancestral home."

"Ah, well, I expect they’ll turn up." He lifted her gloved hand and took the ribboned pencil there in hand. Looking down at her dance card, a lock of blond hair fell across his forehead as he observed, "I see you have the next waltz free. May I?"

Distracted by his hair, her overwhelming desire to push it back from his forehead, and his clear, questioning gaze, she forgot to remain aloof. "Yes, of course." She watched as he slashed Blackmoor across the card, noticing the strength of his script before shaking herself and silently admonishing her inner lunatic.

"Shall we?" He offered her an arm and escorted her to the center of the crowded ball room just in time for the waltz to begin. When it did, she felt immediately and unexplainably disoriented, uncertain of whether the feeling sprang from the spinning steps of the dance or the fact that she was keenly aware of the heat of his palm even through the twin fabrics of their gloves. She couldn't stop herself from focusing on that heat, on the weight of his other hand on the small of her back, on the way his hair curled over the edge of his formal jacket, on the space where the angle of his jaw met the sleek line of his neck. She wondered if that skin was as soft as it looked. Shaking her head in a desperate attempt to ignore the feelings she was having, she closed her eyes and let him guide her in swaying circles, willing herself to think of him not as the man who had kissed her a week ago, but as the man who had infuriated her more often than not of late. She inhaled deeply. He smells simply wonderful.

She disgusted herself. Truly. Stop being such a ninny, Alexandra!

"Are you feeling all right, Alex?" His question was quiet, as to only be heard by her, and when she opened her eyes, she saw the concern in his grey gaze.

She spoke quickly, stringing her words together without pause, "Yes, I'm fine, I'm sorry, I just, I suppose I'm a little overexcited with the ball and the anticipation of the evening."

"Oh?" The word was slow and accompanied by a raised eyebrow.

"Yes." She scrambled for an explanation. "Ella and Vivi were here all afternoon and I think we drank too much tea." She almost groaned aloud. I drank too much tea? The answer sounded inane even to her.

"Too much tea." One side of his mouth twitched up.

She wanted an end to this conversation. "Indeed. I'm feeling rather peaked, actually. Perhaps we could just stay silent?"

"Certainly." Was that humor in his voice?

"Excellent."

It seemed like a millennium for Alex before the dance ended and she was able to step away from him, all owing him to walk her the expected distance.

Only he didn't stop halfway around the ball room. On the contrary, he escorted her straight out of the room, toward the doors that had been left open onto the gardens that Worthington House shared with Blackmoor House.

She tugged on her hand, attempting to remove it from his arm. He wouldn't allow it. "Where are we going?"

"You were feeling peaked. I thought, perhaps, you might like some fresh air."

"I find that I'm feeling much better. I wouldn't like to catch a chill."

"Oh, I don't think there's a chance of that." She detected a hint of humor in his voice again.

They arrived on the balcony, which was deserted of others, and he released her. "Now, would you care to tell me what has you so distressed?"

"I told you —"

"Yes. You did. Tea." He smiled. "You're a terrible liar in a pinch, Minx."

"It's not a lie!"

"No?" He crossed his arms and leaned back against the marble banister edging the balcony.

"No!" she exclaimed. He looked at her. Waiting. "All right! Yes! It's a lie. If you must know, I'm rather... nervous around you."

"Really? I hadn't noticed."

She offered him a quelling look. "Stop looking so amused." To give him his due, he did stop. "Very well. Why are you nervous?"

She couldn't help but look at him as though his brain were addled. "You honestly cannot imagine why?"

He did not respond, but waited for her to continue. She gripped the cool marble banister and looked out into the darkened garden. What should she say? In her mind it was not only obvious why she was nervous — but expected. Hadn't their relationship undergone a tremendous shift over the past few days? Was she wrong to believe that there was something new and fresh and different and rather terrifying between them?

He clearly didn't think so. And as much as she wanted to appear as calm and collected as he was, she couldn't do it. She whispered, "You kissed me."

He took a deep breath and exhaled. "I did."

"And, that night, everything seemed that it was somehow going to be different. Only it wasn't. It was all the same. In a good way... I suppose. But... I just..." She turned her large, clear emerald eyes on him and whispered again, "You kissed me. And you cannot erase that."

"You're right. I cannot take it back. I wouldn't even attempt to erase it. Because it would be impossible." He sighed, standing up straight. "But kissing you again would be one of the biggest mistakes I could make."

He saw the flash of pain in her eyes but, before he could explain, Vivi burst through the doors. "Oh, thank goodness you're here! Grabhands quite awkwardly cornered me on the way to the refreshment room. I had no choice but to escape — I saw you two on your way out here and made for you!" She offered a broad smile. "I hope I'm not interrupting, but I need a savior."

Alex's emerald eyes were glassy with unshed tears as she looked at Blackmoor. "Well, you're in luck. Savior is a role in which Blackmoor feels more than comfortable." Turning toward the ball room, she continued, "If you're all right, Vivi, I have to get back inside."

And, with that, she fled.