“These people, as you call them, were all once equally ignorant of the measures of the quadrille. And when Lady Jersey brought the dance back from France they all had to learn it.”
“But not in public,” said Louisa, intrigued in spite of herself by Alvanley’s high spirits.
“Ah,” replied he with a satisfied smile. “But none of
them
had the celebrated Alvanley as a teacher. If they had...”
Louisa could not help smiling at this somewhat twisted logic. “But if I make mistakes?”
Alvanley shrugged. “Perfection is given to only a few of us. And besides,” he added warmly, “all eyes will be on your face and that magnificent hair. No one will even notice what your feet are doing. Come, first we will observe.” And tucking her arm through his, he led her toward the dance floor.
To her surprise the steps did not seem that difficult and when Alvanley led her to a place in the next set, she felt that she performed quite creditably.
Afterward, as he returned her to where Aunt Caroline sat beaming with some other matrons, he smiled. “Either you are a very quick learner or you were flummering me.”
“It must have been your lordship’s great confidence,” replied Louisa with an easy smile, “that inspired me to such heights.”
Alvanley’s eyes danced. “Quite probable,” he agreed. “Indeed, quite probable.”
And then he was gone, threading his way through the watchers toward the dance floor.
Louisa sighed. She had not realized how much fun it could be in the company of a man. With Atherton, though she had occasional spurts of wit, she was never completely at ease. But with Alvanley she had been both relaxed and witty.
Her eyes moved over the throng, searching for Atherton’s dark head. Where was he?
She had not yet succeeded in finding him when Lady Constance appeared with two men in tow. The older, quite soberly clad, had a more than slightly protruding stomach and a chin to match. “Lord Harvey,” said Lady Constance. “Miss Penhope.”
“I am honored,” said Lord Harvey in such grave and pompous tones that Louisa was hard put not to giggle.
“And this,” said Lady Constance with a wink to Louisa, “is Lord Reardon. They have both asked to be presented to you.”
Lord Reardon bent low over Louisa’s fingers. Rising, he shot his cuffs care-fy, as one might do at something of the gravest import, and then he surveyed her through his quizzing glass.
Louisa stifled another giggle. This man - if he could be called that - was even more amusing than the first. Lord Reardon was what Papa had called a fop and people in this day called an exquisite. He was a small man and so put together as to appear absolutely fragile. Louisa wondered how he had managed to survive to adulthood.
He dropped his quizzing glass, shot his cuffs again, and reached into a pocket from which he extracted a snuff box almost as delicate as himself. With the same hand he nonchalantly flicked open the lid. A maneuver, judged Louisa, which had taken considerable practice.
When he had conveyed a minute quantity of snuff to his nostril, he sneezed daintily and patted his nose with a handkerchief edged in deep lace. Only after all these preliminaries did he deign to speak. “Pleased. Sure,” he said, as though the effort to speak was clearly beyond his capacity.
This, said Louisa to herself, was a “real” creature - she could not in all honesty grace him with the title of man - and he was far more fantastic than any character she had ever dreamed up.
The exquisite continued to ogle her as Lord Harvey endeavored to engage her in conversation. His rather florid face grew redder as each succeeding topic proved one she was unable to pursue. Still the man persisted, until finally he hit upon phrenology.
Now, no one could have lived as long as Louisa had in close proximity to Aunt Julia without absorbing a great deal of knowledge on that subject. And Lord Harvey, obviously delighted with her knowledge of something dear to him, pursued the topic wholeheartedly.
Happily, Louisa found early that the discussion need not engross her whole attention, since Lord Harvey was satisfied, nay, perhaps even pleased, to do most of the talking himself. All that was required of her was an occasional nod and an interjection such as “Yes, indeed,” or “I quite agree,” at the appropriate moments.
At no time did Louisa find the infant science of phrenology of vital interest and now, when what she really wanted was to discover the whereabouts of a certain tall dark Viscount, she certainly could not find it very exciting.
When the music began again, the exquisite once more shot his cuffs and said, “Honor? Dance?”
Louisa, deciding that the insipid little man could be no worse than the pompous big one, smiled her apology at Lord Harvey and let the fop lead her to the dance floor.
In spite of his appearance, of extreme fatigue, he managed to execute the steps of the quadrille rather nicely. And Louisa, again deposited at Aunt Caroline’s side, was able to thank him for the dance with complete sincerity.
She watched as the little man minced away with dainty steps and then turned to Aunt Caroline. “What strange creatures men are,” she observed. “What makes them behave in so ridiculous a fashion?”
Aunt Caroline had no reply to this. She only nodded and smiled pleasantly, her eyes shifting again to the dancers.
The band began to play a strange new rhythm and Louisa watched in fascination as men whirled their partners by. That looked like a great deal of fun, she thought somewhat wistfully, wondering what lucky woman was circling the floor in Atherton’s arms. She searched the crowd again for his dark head, but failed to find it.
A touch on her arm made her jump and utter a startled exclamation. As though conjured up by her thoughts, the object of her speculation was standing there before her.
“I did not intend to startle you. Are you enjoying your first evening with the elite?” he asked with mock gravity, his dark eyes dancing mischievously.
Louisa nodded. “Yes, much more than I expected.”
“Good. I saw you dance the quadrille. I thought you had been far too busy for such frivolity.”
“I did not have dancing lessons,” said Louisa somewhat faintly. “At least not in the quadrille, but Lord Alvanley wished to teach me and so I consented.”
“I see. You are an apt pupil.”
“Thank you.” Louisa found her heart pounding. His nearness was disturbing her.
“Come.” Abruptly Atherton took her hand.
“But where?”
“
We are going to waltz.”
“I ... I do not know how.” Part of her longed with desperate yearning to be secure in his arms, sweeping around the floor in great enchanted circles, but another part was terrified. How could she be that close to the man without disclosing by some word or action the strength of her feelings for him?
“Nonsense.” Atherton spoke firmly. “You learned the quadrille from Alvanley. I wish to teach you the waltz.”
They had reached the dance floor and without delay he swept her into his arms. “Lean back against my hand,” he said, smiling lazily. “You must give yourself into my power and let me direct you.”
As she still hesitated he pressed the fingers that he held. “Come, imagine me a hero and surrender your will to mine.”
The sparkle in his dark eyes told her plainly that he was teasing. Surely he could not have guessed the secret of her heart. If he had, he would be too much the gentleman to rally her with it.
She laid her trembling fingers on his shoulder and felt the pressure of his hand in the small of her back. Her knees trembled as she waited and then suddenly they were moving, swept into the gay stream of swirling couples.
One, two, three. One, two, three. She repeated the step to herself, her eyes fixed on his shoulder.
But then he spoke again. “Louisa, you are resisting me. Look up, look into my eyes.”
For some reason she found herself obeying him. And, as her eyes met his, it seemed that their bodies were fused into one unit. Her feet moved perfectly in time to the music that seemed to echo in her very blood. Eyes locked with his, she knew nothing but his closeness, his intoxicating closeness, and the desperate pounding of her own heart.
The dance ended finally, as all dances will, and Louisa found herself standing, still supported by his arm, her eyes still locked with his.
The scarlet flooded her cheeks as sanity returned, and she dropped her eyes quickly. Had she betrayed herself to him?
But he only smiled, that lazy smile that the beaux affected, and remarked languidly, “I believe Byron was right to call it the ‘wanton’ waltz. It certainly heats the blood, does it not?”
Fearful of replying to such a question, Louisa could only nod. Atherton smiled again, but the eyes surveying her from under the heavy lids were anything but lazy. “Had I not your own words for it, Louisa, I should believe that you have already given your heart to some man. You have the makings of a real heroine. You surrender admirably.”
Before she could summon a reply to such an outrageous statement, he was gone, moving like the magnificent animal that he was through the crowd.
The rest of the evening became a blur to Louisa. She was aware that she danced and chatted, made all the appropriate motions, met all the appropriate people, but her heart was not in any of it. No, her heart was elsewhere, reliving the feel of strong arms, the sensation of being lost in the depths of two dancing black eyes, remembering how she had given for those enchanted moments not just her body but her very being into the
keeping of the man who had asked, in that lazy languid way of his, for her surrender.
On the way home in the carriage, she pretended deep fatigue so that she would not have to meet those eyes. When at last she reached the sanctuary of the old oak bed, it was with the memory of his arm around her that she finally fell asleep, only to discover herself waltzing through innumerable dream worlds, her eyes still locked with his.
Chapter Nine
The next day life in the house on Arlington Street continued in its usual fashion. If from time to time Louisa went to her wardrobe and fondly touched a dress of cream satin, there was no one there to see. And if the new hero Percival persisted in drawling languidly and gazing at the heroine Corrine with mysterious dark eyes, it simply could not be helped. She would change him later - when the romance was completed.
And then the even-tenored life they had known so long was disrupted. During the early hours of the afternoon, carriages began stopping in front of the door instead of rattling by as was their usual wont, and footmen came bearing visiting cards.
Louisa found the whole thing quite confusing and stood staring down at two cards left by ladies whose visit had not exceeded five minutes because, as they said, they had
so
many calls to make, when Lord Harvey arrived and, close on his heels, Lord Reardon.
Louisa had no recourse but to greet them pleasantly. Lord Harvey bowed stiffly. “It’s a pleasure to see you looking so well,” said he with as much solemn effect as if he were addressing the House of Lords on an important question.
“Yes,” lisped the foppish Reardon, shooting his cuffs and elegantly taking snuff. “Pleasure. Looking well,” he mumbled.
Louisa, catching the distaste that Drimble could not quite mask, invited the gentlemen to leave hats, canes, and gloves and follow her to the drawing room.
Her hope was that the gentlemen’s visit would be as sweetly short-lived as that of the ladies, but such good fortune did not appear to be her lot.
Lord Harvey settled his bulk into a comfortable chair and began a monologue on the latest skull that he had analyzed. Louisa felt she could have suffered through this learned discourse with an occasional “Yes, how interesting.” But the exquisite seemed to think that she would enjoy being ogled at the same time and he alternated between staring at her through his quizzing glass and delicately taking snuff.
Louisa found her nerves becoming more and more lacerated as Harvey continued to drone and Reardon continued to ogle. What did a woman do with such visitors, she wondered and then Aunt Caroline came bustling in. “Louisa, my dear. How pleasant. We have guests.”
Hearing another knock at the door, Louisa mumbled, “Excuse me,” and hurried off, leaving the gentlemen to Aunt Caroline. Any caller, she thought with a wry smile, would be welcome now. Any at all.
The new arrival turned out to be Lady Constance, who listened calmly to Louisa’s half-coherent explanation of the events of the afternoon. “Excellent,” said she, then turned to issue orders to Drimble. “Miss Penhope is not at home,” she directed, “unless my brother arrives.”
Drimble, looking to Louisa for confirmation, got a grateful nod. She could hardly believe that a single appearance at Almack’s could make such a change in her social life.
“Come,” said Lady Constance. “We cannot stand about here in the hall. We must go into the drawing room and close the door. Remember Drimble, no one but the Viscount.”
“Yes, milady,” said the long-suffering Drimble gravely.
Louisa let herself be led toward the drawing room. “My, oh my,” sighed Lady Constance. “They have begun already. Mark my words, Louisa, my dear, you have taken. Positively taken. And to think that I was responsible. Indeed, it is so gratifying to have one’s judgment vindicated.”
Louisa could not help smiling at Lady Constance’s lack of modesty. “But what am I to do?” said she. “I am not prepared for visitors.”
“They do not all want to visit,” said Lady Constance. “Most will not expect to find you at home. They want only to leave their cards.”
Louisa shook her head. The ways of the
ton
were beyond understanding. As she followed Lady Constance to the drawing room, Louisa was not particularly pleas-ed. She did not like to have her pleasant household disrupted by numerous visit-ors. They would also cut into the time she could spend writing. She had fixed for herself a schedule that worked quite well, and she did not want to be called from it to trade
on-dits
with ladies she had never before seen or to parry compliments from gentlemen whose words were as insincere as their manners.