Chapter Six
When the music came to a close, she had to blink rapidly to force real life, real duty back into her mind. The loss of his warm, muscular arm at her back helped, although her whole body still tingled from his nearness.
“Lady Sydney,” she said breathlessly. “I failed to attract her attention.”
“But here she is,” Sir Marcus said, swerving into the path of Henrietta and her partner. “Thank you for the waltz, Miss Milsom,” he added as Henrietta paused in front of them. He bowed to both of them and left.
Piqued and bewildered by his sudden departure, Helen tried to pull herself together. “You asked for me, ma’am.”
“Did I?” Henrietta said vaguely. “Yes, I believe I did, but it is no matter. The issue has solved itself. Are my siblings quiet and no longer a danger to society?”
“I believe so. For the time being.”
Henrietta smiled. “Then I hope you will feel free to enjoy yourself for the rest of the evening. My mother is quite content for you to do so.”
Enjoy myself? How can I when…?
When what? When an attractive gentleman danced with you from pity and then walked politely and speedily away? What else did you expect?
And there was the issue. She had allowed foolish expectations to rise in her breast, although she wasn’t perfectly sure what they were. She just knew she hadn’t wanted him to go. This obsession of hers was out of hand, unforgivable. She had to nip it in the bud before she made a complete fool of herself, her employers, and Sir Marcus.
She curtsied, accepting Henrietta’s words as dismissal, and began to make her way to the ballroom door. As she did so, she became aware of the glances sliding off her, and others which stared more openly. She wanted the floor to swallow her, for clearly her dance with Sir Marcus Dain had not gone unnoticed. She would be accused of encroaching, flirting, attempted entrapment. Word would reach Lady Overton…
But I did nothing wrong.
The knowledge lifted her chin, allowed her to change direction and walk toward Lady Overton instead. The matter was clear. Sir Marcus had taken pity on her as he had on Anne Marshall for her wallflower status. Neither she nor Anne could have refused him with civility. It was not acceptable to refuse an invitation to dance.
“Miss Milsom.” Lady Overton turned from her conversation to acknowledged her. “Is all well?”
“Yes, my lady. The children are in bed. Is there anything I can do for you before I retire?”
“No, my dear, you’ve managed very well and may consider yourself free for the rest of the evening.”
Helen curtsied and left the ballroom, thanking God for Lady Overton’s good nature and inattention. Her employer’s opinion was the only one that affected her, and yet those other knowing, contemptuous glances bothered her still because they sullied her wonderful, even beautiful moments with Sir Marcus.
At the top of the ballroom steps, a movement in the ante-room on her right drew her attention. The room was dimly lit, and a familiar figure stood by the window. Anne Marshall, quite alone.
“Miss Marshall?” Helen said, going into the room. “Are you quite well?”
Anne turned hurriedly. “Oh, it is only you! Yes, I’m fine, just escaping the crush for a few minutes.” She looked hunted. “My parents are not looking for me, are they?”
“I didn’t notice them,” Helen said. “But they probably will be if you stay away too long. Are you not enjoying the ball?”
Anne shook her head. “No. I never do enjoy such things. I know I should, because everyone else does, but the truth is, I feel…out of place, constrained, trapped. And I want to run away.”
Helen came and stood beside her at the window. “Have you told your parents this?”
Anne nodded. “They tell me I am shy, or stupid, and will grow out of it.”
“Well, you are not stupid,” Helen said firmly, “but it is possible you will grow out of such feelings.”
Anne sighed. “Do you ever feel like running away, Miss Milsom? Escaping the weight of duty and expectation?”
“Sometimes,” she admitted.
“Where would you run to?”
Helen thought about it and smiled. “To the Hart Inn near Finsborough, probably! It is a place of great comfort and discretion. I once stayed there when I was ill, and they were so kind to me. I suppose that is why I associate it with escape. Where would you go?”
“Oh, some imaginary, deserted island in the sun,” Anne said vaguely. She waved one disparaging hand. “It doesn’t matter when it isn’t real.”
“Bear up, my dear,” Helen encouraged. “I’m sure your parents will come to understand, and you will get more used to things. In time, you’ll meet at a position that suits you all.”
“Perhaps,” she said doubtfully and smiled. “You are very kind, Miss Milsom. And I should go back or I’ll be scolded.”
“Good night,” Helen said.
“Good night,” Anne replied with more than a hint of envy.
Discovering all the children to be sound asleep, Helen entered her own chamber at last and collapsed into the battered armchair by the dying fire. She should probably ring for someone to help her unfasten the gown. In the midst of a ball, it would take a while for a maid to be free, unless Cranston was willing to answer the summons of someone other than her own mistress.
But she found she didn’t yet want to take off the gown. She liked the rare feeling of elegance. She liked that Sir Marcus had touched it. She even imagined she could smell his subtle, manly scent.
She jumped up and walked to the slightly rickety desk next to the window to light another candle. By their glow, she drew a piece of paper toward her and picked up the pen. Dipping it in the ink well, she began to write a letter to her aunt, beginning with her arrival at the deserted Audley Park and finishing with the evening’s ball. Although she didn’t mention Sir Marcus by name, she knew he permeated the whole epistle, as he seemed to occupy all her thoughts.
She could not send such a letter.
Without reading it, she threw it on the fire.
She realized the faint strains of music drifting up from the ballroom had stopped. No wonder. It was after three o’clock in the morning. She couldn’t, in all conscience, summon a maid to her now. Perhaps she could just sleep in the gown.
A breath of laughter shook her. She reached over her shoulders and unfastened what she could before approaching the fastenings from beneath. The gown would come off easily enough. Yet, still she hesitated. Her hands fell away.
On impulse, she picked up the shawl her aunt had given her and threw it about her shoulders before going to the window, unfastening it and stepping onto the narrow balcony. The night was very still and sharp. Frost glistened on the ground below, showing white on the trees and gentle hill. And with the house now in almost complete darkness, the stars were glorious.
Gazing upward, she allowed her gaze to shift to the balcony above and to the left. A dark, still figure stood there. She knew who it was. He was the real reason she had come out, wasn’t he? Idiocy beyond reprieve.
“A beautiful night,” he observed softly.
For an instant, she closed her eyes. “It is.”