In his mind, it was far too overdone.
“I assure you, sir, the Regent himself has his fastened in such a way,” the man hastened to reassure him. “It’s most becoming on you. It’s designed to hide any weakness in the chin.”
Hal shot him a piercing glance. Did he mean to say he had a bad chin? He looked at himself in the mirror, and had to laugh at his own fretting.
Hal Ellington! You look perfectly acceptable. And it’s not like this is the first ball you’ve ever attended! You even attended one with Hestony before.
He knew he had no permission to court Hestony, not yet – but he was inclined to take advantage of what little he was offered, and bend the rules just a little by inviting her to the ball with him. He sighed and turned away. In his best blue suit, of a soft velvet – a color that brought out the color of his eyes, he’d been informed – he looked good.
“I’m ready,” he said gruffly to the manservant, who opened the door for him. “Thank you,” he added.
“You’re very welcome,” the man said. He looked a trifle bemused. Hal, checking his appearance in the mirror by the stairwell, hurried downstairs.
Waiting in the hallway made him even more fidgety. He could hear the clock ticking from the room next door, and its sonorous clicks made him feel tense and nervous. He headed into the room, glared at the clock – it said quarter to seven, and the doors of Almack’s Assembly opened at seven.
“You’re ready early,” a voice said gently.
“My Lady Hestony!”
Hal stared up the stairs. A vision in pale cream floated down towards him. Her dress was high-waisted, as was fashionable, with a low oval neckline. The dress showed off her pale skin and long neck to perfection— seeing her dressed this way made his mouth water. He stared at her lovely heart-shaped face, and her hair arranged in bunches of ringlets that framed it. She was so beautiful that he had to fight to look away.
“Are we ready, sir?” Hestony asked him softly. He swallowed hard, unable for a moment or two to think properly.
“Um…yes,” he murmured, bowing and crooking his elbow, so that he could support her down the front steps. She slipped a small gloved hand into the crook of his arm and his heart danced.
“My Lady,” he said as they reached the foot of the stairs and he handed her up into the waiting carriage. “You are beautiful.”
She blushed, that pale skin turning pink at her cheeks, the color spreading steadily up to her hairline. “You look rather nice too, sir.”
Her voice was soft, as if she felt embarrassed about saying it, and that made him smile even more. He swung up into the coach after her and, sitting opposite her – trying not to let his knees rub hers – they sped off to Almack’s Assembly.
The road outside the vast hall was a chaos of coaches, horses and stable-hands, some of them holding horses for patrons, others of them offering to help guide them over the mess and mud of the street. Hal tapped on the roof of the coach, indicating to the driver he should stop on the edge of the melee.
He swung down nimbly and held up a hand to Hestony, who took it and stepped down lightly onto the cobbles.
“I’m afraid we have quite a way to go,” he apologized to her, as he gestured to the coachman to drive on. He had arranged beforehand for the man to come to collect them at eleven o’ clock, but he wondered if he wouldn’t be wishing they’d stayed longer.
The ball can’t go on longer than that – we’d run out of candles.
He smiled to himself, again surprised by the nervous enthusiasm that filled him, and bent his arm, so that Hestony could slip her small hand into the crook of it.
“I asked Logan if he’d wait for us at the door,” Hal explained, keeping a careful eye out for any obstacles as he helped steer Hestony around the mess and chaos and up to the stairs. “I don’t know if it’s possible to wait up there, though.”
Hestony nodded, since it was impossible to say or hear much over the din of coach-wheels, shouting coachmen, and the ubiquitous youths offering their services as grooms or guides. He was pleased to see her smile.
They headed up the stairs to the entrance.
At the door, there was a footman in a dark coat with an elaborate curly white peruke perched on his head. He took the cards Hal had with him. Being invited to Almack’s was a tricky, and sometimes costly, affair. The footman cleared his throat officially.
“Lord Henry Ellington of Carisbrooke,” he declared, “and Lady Hestony of Hartfield.”
Hal saw Hestony tense, and knew that she was as nervous about the formal announcements at the door as he was. Heads turned, clad in plumes and pendant earrings, or with cravats and pomaded hair, and bland stares met them. Then the ton lost interest and turned away again.
“Whew,” Hal whispered. Hestony gripped his arm. She grinned, and he felt the beauty of that grin fizz through his blood like champagne. He breathed in and focused on where he was going.
At the bottom of the steps, they found themselves in a finely-decorated room. The ceiling, graced with countless crystal chandeliers, soared overhead. The light of more candles than Hal liked to consider lit the place to daytime brightness. They would all be four-hour candles, ensuring the ball was lit throughout the evening.
“Shall we move over there?” Hestony indicated the patch of floor nearest the musicians. That, Hal reckoned, would be the dance-floor, as soon as the evening entertainment really got underway. At the moment, the hall was dotted about with patrons, but more were still coming in. He listened with half an ear to the footman announcing the guests. He smiled at Hestony.
“Shall we? Unless you care for a drink?” he inclined his head over to where a table was laden with refreshments alongside the one wall.
“Um…that sounds nice.” She nodded.
Hal smiled, feeing genuine delight that he’d managed to make her smile, and headed towards the table.
“Can I fetch you a glass of cordial, perhaps?” he asked, looking somewhat dismayed at the densely-packed people around the long trestles. Several ladies were there, helping themselves to dainties or drinks, but he didn’t want Hestony to get shoved about in the crush.
“Blackcurrant, if they have it?”
“I’ll do my best.” He grinned and boldly sallied forth into the crowd.
He found the drink after a moment’s search, requested lemon cordial for himself, and then perused the small hors d’ oeuvres on silvery trays. All manner of things were there, from delicate petit-fours to more substantial things, like slices of pie. He turned away from it, returning to Hestony, and handing her the blackcurrant cordial.
“Thank you,” Hestony smiled. She sipped the drink, and the moist pink lips, stained slightly with the color of the berries, made his loins tighten in a way he prayed was covered by his doublet.