God, what was he doing, blurting out this sort of information in the midst of a ballroom?
But the darkness had faded from her face. “I know exactly what you mean.”
He got the distinct impression that she actually did. Which was absurd. What could she possibly know about running an estate? According to Grey, her father’s holdings had been modest, and in any case, wouldn’t have been managed by her.
They found themselves at the top of the set again, forced to perform certain steps and then join hands to dance back down. She had a firm grip for a woman. He liked that about her. No limp hands for Vanessa, oh, no. And suddenly he wished they were alone together in a room somewhere. . . .
Nonsense. What was he thinking? He and Vanessa would not suit. Even she must know it.
Then they reached the bottom of the set and she took her spot across from him and he noticed that her gloves were slipping down her arms as before. He found himself wondering if . . . waiting to see if she would let them fall below her elbows as before, too.
Her gloves were on the verge of doing so when she absently pulled both up, one after the other. He stifled a sigh. One day very soon, he was going to get her alone somewhere and draw down one of those curst gloves just to see her bare elbows. And then he would press his lips to the inside bend so he could find out once and for all if her pulse would beat for him during such an intimate moment.
Not because he truly meant to court her, and not because he wanted anything further. Just so he would know. Because if one intended to forego sweets for Lent, it was only a sacrifice if one had tasted those sweets often enough to know how much one would miss them.
Chapter Five
Vanessa couldn’t stop smiling. Her dance with Sheridan had gone better than she’d hoped. She wished etiquette didn’t require that she dance with a variety of partners, because she could easily have floated through every set with Sheridan. But she still owed Mr. Juncker a dance, and she would have to pretend to be happy about it.
As the poet took her to the floor, she swept her gaze about the ballroom to see whom Sheridan was dancing with. Her pleasure faltered when she spotted him with her friend Flora. It wasn’t that she didn’t want Flora to enjoy herself and have plenty of partners. Vanessa would merely prefer that none of them be Sheridan. And that they not make such a handsome couple.
She tore her gaze from them to focus on Mr. Juncker. “How long have you known Miss Younger?”
The question seemed to annoy her present partner. “A few years. Since we met in Bath.”
But why had Flora never mentioned him? As soon as Vanessa had the chance, she would ask her.
He released Vanessa in the dance, and by the time they came back together, didn’t seem to wish to enlighten her any further. “And you? How long have you been friends with Miss Younger?”
“Ever since my coming out.” She bowed and twirled. “We met when I was riding in Hyde Park with some fellow Mama had foisted on me as punishment for me not trying to snag my cousin Grey as a husband.”
“Let me guess,” Mr. Juncker said. “Your mother’s punishment was an elderly sort with a noble title who leered at you every chance he got.”
She laughed. “No, that’s just who she’s forcing on me these days. This fellow was young but vain as a peacock. And with no good reason, either, since he routinely wore baggy pantaloons and an awful powdered wig that he thought made him look sophisticated.”
They separated for a few minutes in the dance. When they came back together, she continued her tale. “It was March and a fierce wind blew up out of nowhere, sending his wig flying right beneath the brim of Miss Younger’s hat to get caught in her bow. She screamed because she thought it was a bird, and only after Lady Whitmarsh had the foresight to yank off her bonnet did my friend realize she wasn’t under attack.” She smiled at Mr. Juncker. “That sounds like something from one of your plays, doesn’t it?”
“Except that in my play, the wig would have knocked off her hat and hit a horse, which would have spooked and galloped off, dragging its rider with it.”
Vanessa cocked her head. “How would you show that on the stage?”
With a dismissive wave, he said, “That’s for the stage manager to decide. I do not concern myself with such minor matters.” Then he grinned at her, negating her impression that he was a rather pompous fellow. “Although the stage manager would grumble and groan about it.”
“No doubt,” she said dryly.
He laughed, and that made her like him. Why must things be so easy with Mr. Juncker, whom she didn’t want, and so difficult with Sheridan, whom she did? It simply wasn’t fair.
They went through the steps in silence for a bit. They sometimes found themselves weaving between Flora and Sheridan as part of the dance, and Vanessa would strain to hear the other couple’s conversation. But she never heard them speak at all. She didn’t know if that was good or bad. Sheridan was a quiet gentleman in general. Perhaps he would prefer a silent dance partner to a chattering one like her. That would make him Silent Sheridan. Nay, Studious Sheridan, to judge by what he’d said about spending his time going over the books.
As if Mr. Juncker had read her mind, he asked, “How long have you known Armitage?”
“Since he arrived in England.”
“So, not long.”
“Long enough,” Vanessa said as Mr. Juncker turned her in the dance. “Over a year.”
Mr. Juncker was a good dancer, light on his feet and adept at leading, but still not nearly as good as Sheridan. Or perhaps she was biased. She sneaked a glance at Sheridan and Flora. They looked perfect together, both of them tall and elegant, gliding along the floor in harmony.
Vanessa considered herself well-dressed, but elegant she was not and never had been. She was too short. Too fidgety. Too talkative. Too prone to laugh heartily. Mama had always said so, anyway. A lady mustn’t do anything heartily, girl. It smacks of low breeding.
That bit of dubious advice had become fixed in Vanessa’s head years ago, though she rarely followed it.
“Do you fancy Armitage?” Mr. Juncker asked as he gazed at the other couple.
“Do you fancy Miss Younger?”
“I know better.”
“I’m afraid I don’t,” she admitted. “Not yet, anyway.” She stole a look at Sheridan. “And if you ever say a word of how I feel to Sheridan, I will ruin matters between you and Miss Younger forever.”
“You can’t ruin what I’ve already done a bang-up job of ruining myself.”
Vanessa took a deep breath. “It’s never too late for mending fences.”
Mr. Juncker smiled ruefully at her. “I only wish that were true.”
“Will you promise to keep my secret anyway?”
“Absolutely. I happen to enjoy annoying Saint Sheridan, who has always seemed to feel an active dislike toward me, for no reason I can see.”
Dare she hope it was out of jealousy over her supposed infatuation with Mr. Juncker? It certainly lightened her heart to think it.
To her surprise, their dance ended just then. It had proved more pleasurable than expected.
“Tell me something,” she said as he led her to where her uncle stood chatting with some people. “Why did you ask me to dance?”