If she was going to live in Maidenshop, Gemma knew she had to make her peace with Ned’s marriage to Clarissa.
That meant finding the courage to go to the dance.
The old barn where the Cotillion was held had apparently been a donation to the church a century or so ago from one of Mars’s ancestors. Mars claimed it had to be a penance offering for some past lord’s black soul. Whatever the reason, the village had held all important celebrations here ever since.
Last year’s dance had dissolved into a brawl that would never be forgotten. The men had thought it good sport and the matrons were determined such a disaster would never happen again.
Therefore, they had stationed members of their group around the room, the doyennes of proper conduct in the village—and Ned, dutifully standing beside Clarissa, didn’t know if he was sorry they were there. Or annoyed.
He resented the matrons, even though it had been his own damn empathy that prompted him to step up and offer for Clarissa. On one hand he could see reason, on the other, he felt trapped.
For her part, Clarissa appeared lovely. She was in a dress that brought out the green in her eyes. Many had looked at her covetously, and yet, she seemed oblivious, even toward him. She stood smiling and poised and he didn’t have one idea of what was going through her head. Or a care to find out.
The Balfours had chosen not to attend. Baby Anne was doing well and they acted content with their simple life. Who knew when anyone in the village would see them again?
Meanwhile, everyone else was either on the dance floor, stomping to their heart’s content while musicians churned out one lively tune after another, or standing in clusters grousing about the lack of a significantly strong punch this year. Apparently, last year’s punch was blamed for the fight that broke out. It was no secret the lads had laced last year’s punch with strong spirits, and now the matrons were guarding the bowl as if it were one of the crown jewels.
Mars came up beside him. The tall earl always cut a fine figure in his black evening dress. Most of the men were dressed more like Ned—they wore their best but they were country men, meaning polished boots and a clean jacket were fine.
“This place is as deadly boring as Almack’s.” Mars referred to the famed club in London known for its insipid punch and rigid rules.
“I wouldn’t know. The hostesses of Almack’s wouldn’t let me past the door,” Ned answered.
“You aren’t missing anything. And I don’t think I am missing anything here.”
Clarissa pinned him with a look that would make a governess proud. “Instead of complaining, why don’t you ask someone to dance, my lord?”
“I’ve already let Miss Nelson trample on my feet. And the Moncrieff chit has been stalking me as if I was a deer she’d set her sights on.”
“She wouldn’t if she knew you better,” Clarissa answered.
The ghost of a smile crossed Mars’s lips. “Perhaps you will enlighten her.”
Clarissa grimly smiled her response.
Mars wiped that smile from her face by drawling, “Your training as a matron is advancing splendidly.”
“What does that mean?”
“That I feel I’m caught between two children,” Ned answered. Then realizing how petulant he sounded, he suggested instead, “Let us dance.”
She nodded and offered her hand. As he led her toward where couples were taking their places for the next set, she said, “We usually don’t have the opportunity to dance. Last year patients needed you and you had to leave early. The same thing happened the year before. Or were you even able to attend?”
“You know it is my calling, Clarissa.”
“I do. I do. I’m just surprised, that’s all.” Her smile was tight. She had suggested several times they take a walk outside for the air. Ned had put her off. He wasn’t in the mood to be alone with her tonight. He had the lecture on his mind . . . and that, too soon, they would be alone forever—
A movement by the door caught his attention. There was a flash of blue, of sun-gold red hair. A murmur of greeting went up, and then the crowd parted, and there was Gemma.
She was spectacular.
Her hair was piled high on her head with the regal manner of any London lady. Her dress was the deep cerulean of a summer sky. It set off the creamy perfection of her skin—
His feet tripped over themselves. He almost knocked Clarissa over, saving his dignity at the last moment.
And he didn’t care. Gemma could have been wearing a sack and he would still have thought her the loveliest woman in the room.
Many greeted Gemma warmly and called to her to join their company.
Immediately, several men lined up to ask her to dance. Gemma was quickly claimed by a prosperous gentleman farmer from Newmarket.
Ned knew all of this because he was watching every movement around Gemma. Fortunately, the farmer didn’t lead Gemma to the floor close to Clarissa and Ned so he was forced to give his intended his attention. That didn’t make it any easier for him.
This was what his life was going to be like, he realized. He’d spend his days living for a glimpse of Gemma and then be eaten alive with jealousy as other men paid attention to her until, what? The end of their days?
Or she married? That realization was the specter of a fresh hell. How was he to keep his sanity?
As the evening progressed, Clarissa tried several times to practically pull him to Gemma. She succeeded just as Gemma had finished dancing with a very attentive Mars.
Ned wanted to grab his friend by his elegant jacket and dunk his head in the watered-down punch. Instead, he had no choice but to smile and pretend all was fine. He hated every second of this farce, especially the small talk.
Then, suddenly, for whatever reason, he and Gemma were alone.
Mars was dragged away by Mrs. Summerall, who claimed he owed her blushing niece from Haversford a dance. Miss Nelson begged Clarissa to retire to the lady’s necessary room with her. Apparently, from the whispers Ned overheard, something had gone wrong with Miss Nelson’s dress.
And he and Gemma were alone . . . in a room full of people milling about, laughing, enjoying themselves.
A million words were in Ned’s mind, and not one could he speak aloud. Not here. So he stood, mute, aware that she wouldn’t look at him. He wanted to tell her he understood. This was not easy.
It was never going to be easy.
Then abruptly, she turned and left, not just him but the dance.
He watched her go out the front door. He glanced around. Had anyone noticed?
Apparently not. The dancing went on. Sweeney was complaining about the punch. Fitz was trying to work up his nerve to ask Miss Lindlow to dance. Mrs. Warbler was eyeing a couple who were standing too close to one another.
No one seemed to have noticed.
Nor was anyone paying attention to him.
In that moment he had a vision of him and Gemma escaping from not just this gathering but also from the world . . . so he followed. He went out the door, making his way past those gathered outside. He looked down the road toward The Garland. He didn’t see a figure in blue.
He walked around to the side of the building where it was quiet and dark. She was there. He sensed her presence before she stepped out of the shadows. “I couldn’t stay there. It was suffocating.”
He understood.
“You are beautiful,” he said. He could see her blush in the darkness, and then she turned and began walking toward the back of the building. He followed, his step coming into line with hers.