“With the three of them,” Fanny corrected.
Antoinette looked confused.
“Mr Wells, Miss Reeves, and the dancing master. That makes three.”
“Oh, well that doesn’t work, does it?” After a thoughtful moment Antoinette clapped her hands. “We’ll just have to solicit Lady Indigo’s companion. What’s the girl’s name? Poor thing, she’s so terribly plain—though in truth, I don’t know what she looks like beneath that dreadful cap—and she can’t sing to save her life. Did you hear how Mr Wells insulted her rendition of The Soldier’s Widow? Hopefully she can comport herself a little more gracefully on the dance floor, and hopefully darling Sebastian will consent to stand up with her once or twice before he takes Miss Reeves in his arms and whirls her around the drawing room...before whisking her down the aisle—if we play our parts properly.”
Fanny thought back to Mr Wells’s rather ungentlemanly words after Lady Indigo’s companion had sung. Venetia. Yes, that was her name. She’d felt sorry for the girl when she’d seen the flame that had risen to her cheeks before she’d scuttled off to do her mistress’s bidding and to check on Lady Indigo’s bed warming pan.
But then Fanny’s attention returned to the conundrum of satisfying Miss Reeves’s desires. Dancing lessons were a rather marvelous way of getting the young couple together. “Have you any idea who might be in the area and able to teach dancing?”
Antoinette looked pleased with herself as she replied, “In fact, Arabella, herself, provided me with the name of a gentleman she heard is currently teaching the Misses Littleton to dance. His name is Signor Boticelli, and he is only half an hour away if we send the dog cart. Apparently he’s greatly in demand, but I’m delighted to tell you that he’s consented to come here for the next five days until the Christmas Ball. Isn’t that fortuitous?’
“My, my Antoinette, you are enormously efficient when you put your mind to something.”
Antoinette accepted the praise with a smile. “And you can have no objections, obviously, Fanny. Why, maybe even I will need to brush up on my dancing, if this Signor Boticelli is as handsome and agile as I’ve heard tell he is.”
Fanny recognized the glint in her sister’s eye. “I see that there is perhaps an ulterior motive for your energy. You plan to match up Sebastian and Arabella while you enjoy a little dalliance with the dancing master.” She broke off a small branch and considered the situation. While it was a relief that Antoinette was no longer the wilting petal she’d been just a week earlier, there was also a degree of risk involved when her sister took it upon herself to wave her matchmaking wand.
“Just beware that the mousy companion doesn’t stoke the flames of Signor Boticelli’s desire,” Fanny warned. “Matchmaking has a tendency to create unintended consequences.”
“Oh, I don’t think there’s any danger of that. It’s quite clear that Arabella and darling Sebastian are quite smitten with each other. We just need to help smooth the way. As for Signor Boticelli, he won’t glance twice at the poor companion with the risk of breaking her heart once he knows what I’m about.” Antoinette looked confident. “Poor Venetia is totally forgettable, and will serve only as a foil to my abundant charms.”
“Poor Venetia, indeed.” Fanny sighed. “Maybe we should offer up Signor Boticelli as a bit of diversion. Consider the years of servitude that inevitably stretch ahead of her. With no family support and not a penny to her name, she has little to look forward to.” She paused to reflect. “Remember, that might have been our fate.” If Fenton hadn’t done the honorable thing, Fanny knew her life would not have turned out so well, considering the risks she’d taken.
Not that the mousy companion looked like a risk-taker.
Antoinette turned back toward the house. “Except that we were clever and beautiful and knew how to manage our charms to our advantage,” she replied. “Miss whatever-her-name-is has nothing in the way of beauty, charm or, clearly, initiative and, to tell you the truth, I have very little sympathy for a quiet mousy miss who simply accepts her dreary fate.” Antoinette glanced at Fanny as they traversed the path through the rose garden. “Arabella knows what she wants and all credit to her. Obviously, her father considers it very wrong that she broke off her engagement to Lord Yarrowby, but her father is not the one marrying that gentleman.” She hesitated. “Fortunately, old Mr Reeves will not be attending our Christmas Ball, so she can elope that very night if it’s the only way.”
“Antoinette! That’s nonsensical.”
Antoinette looked offended. “You’ve suggested such extreme measures in the past, so don’t turn all prudish on me now. But you’re right. Sebastian and Arabella make a perfectly acceptable match, for although he’s not directly in line for a title right at this moment, he will inherit one in all likelihood. It’s his sister, Libby, who may have to elope, I’ve heard tell.”
Fanny waited for elaboration. Antoinette had an enraging habit of suggesting scandals without going into any detail, when she was far more up to date with the gossip mill.
“For goodness sake, tell me what you mean!” Fanny burst out at last.
Smiling as if she’d finally got the response she was waiting for, Antoinette said, “Libby Wells has fallen for a humble solicitor’s clerk. Yes, her brother, Sebastian, mentioned it several days ago in passing, and when I received a response from their father declining our invitation to the most illustrious event on the calendar, I invited both Libby and her young man to the ball.”
“You really don’t know where to stop, do you, Antoinette?” Fanny shook her head. “You’re matchmaking for both the Wells siblings?”
Antoinette nodded. “In between availing myself of Signor Boticelli’s expertise. I’m rather looking forward to perfecting the waltz in the arms of a handsome Italian master of his craft.”
Chapter 6
Venetia had thought she was about to enjoy a marvelous reprieve from her attendance upon Lady Indigo after Lady Quamby requested she make up the numbers necessary to form a quadrille in some afternoon practicing.
Apparently, Miss Reeves wished to brush up on her dancing skills after a period of mourning.
However, upon entering the grand ballroom, her initial flare of excitement at seeing Sebastian looking so relaxed and so handsome was soon quelled by the discomfort she felt at seeing that he was looking relaxed and handsome in the arms of Miss Reeves.
For it was not a quadrille they were practicing, but the waltz.
Venetia’s skills in waltzing were deficient. Three years before, when she’d had dancing lessons in company with Libby and their neighbors, the Wallace sisters, the waltz had been considered scandalous.
Now Venetia was supposed to partner the dancing tutor in this risque form of entertainment while his words, "Move with me, Miss Stone," were far too intimate in her ear, just as his hip bone felt far too intimately close to hers. For although he was not a tall man, he clearly did not lack confidence in his ability with the ladies. His smile, as he directed her in her movements, was definitely too familiar, she felt.