He moved away to join the Marquess of Attingsborough and their daughters, who were still in giggling high spirits, their arms still about each other’s waist.
He had understood from her manner?
He would not be goaded into harassing her?
Was he merely being kind, implying that she was the one who wanted nothing to do with him when really it was the other way around? Or had he really misunderstood? She had certainly tried to behave with dignity during the past few days. She had not wanted him to feel-heaven forbid—that his kiss had inspired her with false hope. She had not wanted him to feel trapped. Had she at the same time given the impression that she did not want any further attentions?
Oh, how complicated life could be! She was too old for this.
He went away after Wulfric had presented the prizes, without looking again at her. He had said his piece, it seemed, and now it was over.
“The egg and spoon race next,” Eve said. “This should be fun.”
She was looking at Eleanor with...curiosity? Sympathy? Eleanor hoped fervently she was imagining things.
The great hall was a magnificent setting for the banquet. The orchestra that had been hired for the ball later provided soft music from the minstrel gallery—until a single bugle played a fanfare while everyone looked upward in surprise and delight and Wulfric looked with steady silver gaze along the length of the great oak table to where Christine was smiling sunnily back at him. He even raised his quizzing glass to his eye, but, quite uncowed, she smiled even more dazzlingly. The fanfare was the signal for Lord Aidan Bedwyn to rise to begin the speeches and make the first toasts to his elder brother.
The ballroom looked just as magnificent when they arrived there later. Eleanor took a seat beside her mother—she rarely danced at assemblies or balls. She was not even wearing an elaborate ballgown. Her light blue silk had done duty for several years and would do for one or two more. She was quite happy to watch the new arrivals as they moved along the receiving line. She recognized a number of the neighbors from other visits over the last five years. The Earl and Countess of Redfield had come from Alvesley Park with their sons Kit, Viscount Ravensberg, and Mr. Sydnam Butler and their wives. Mr. Butler’s wife, Anne, had taught at the school in Bath for a few years when Claudia still owned it.
The ballroom was soon crowded. Miss Everly, dressed gorgeously in a shimmering pink gown, her mother in royal blue with an elaborate turban and towering hair plumes hovering at her side, had a small court of gentlemen about her. It did not, at least at the moment, include the Earl of Staunton. He, looking gloriously handsome in black evening clothes with crisp white linen, was chatting with Anne and Claudia and the Earl of Redfield.
His children, hand in hand, had knocked on the door of Eleanor’s room after the children’s party was over. They had both looked pale and stricken, and Georgette had rattled off an uncharacteristically brief apology for having bothered her and embarrassed her. Eleanor had stooped down and gathered them both into her arms and held them tightly.
“Oh, no,” she had said. “No, no, no. Please do not apologize. I have felt so very honored to be liked by you, to have been singled out for your affections. Please do not be sorry. I love you both very dearly.”
“But you will not be our mama?” Robert had whispered, clinging to her sleeve.
“She can’t be, Robbie,” Georgette had said through the tears that were welling into her eyes and trickling down her cheeks. “Not unless she marries Papa. Don’t you love Papa, Miss Thompson?”
“Georgie,” Robert had said, still whispering, “Papa said we were to say sorry and then leave.”
“But don’t you?” Georgette had wailed.
“I have a deep regard for him,” Eleanor had said. “He is a wonderful father, is he not? And he is a very likable person.”
“And he has a regard for you too,” Georgette had said, pulling back from Eleanor’s embrace. “He said so. Miss Thompson, why are adults so stupid? Why do they not say what they mean? And what they feel? Come on, Robbie, or we will be in trouble again.”
“We were not in trouble, Georgie,” he had said, taking her hand and turning away with her. “Papa did kiss us and tell us he understood, and he didn’t tell us to come and say sorry. He only asked us if we thought perhaps we ought.”
Eleanor shook her head slightly now and moved it closer to her mother to hear what she was saying.
A ball usually opened with a quadrille or a cheerful country dance. This ball, very unusually, was to open with a waltz. It had been Christine’s idea. She and Wulfric were to dance the first part of the set alone together, and then everyone else would be invited to join in the other two parts. Wulfric had agreed after giving her a hard look.
“On the assumption, I suppose, my love,” he had said, “that this may be my last chance to perform to an audience. By my forty-first birthday I may have become too arthritic to dance at all. Not to mention gout.”
Eleanor stood to watch them dance. They always did it so well. Christine followed his lead as though she floated in his arms, her head tipped back, her eyes on his face, her smile soft and radiant as though she had only that moment fallen in love with him for the first time. And Wulfric waltzed very correctly but also with a certain flair that could not be described in words. And he looked back into his wife’s face with his customary austere, even cold expression—yet with adoration somehow beaming from him too. Oh, it was impossible to put into words, even inside her own head. And it was equally impossible not to feel envy.
I have understood from your manner during the past week that you do not wish to encourage me to refine too much upon what happened during our walk together.
Eleanor sighed inwardly as the music drew to a close, and resumed her seat beside her mother while everyone applauded and other couples took their places on the floor for the second waltz of the set. If Gregory had lived, would they still be deeply in love all this time later? Would there—
“Miss Thompson.” The Earl of Staunton was bowing to her and smiling at her mother. “Would you do me the honor of waltzing with me?”
Oh. She had not seen him approach. Oh. She stopped herself only just in time from folding her hands quietly in her lap and informing him that she did not dance. Good heavens, she might even have added that she was too old to dance. She was aware of her mother beside her, beaming from one to the other of them.
“Thank you,” Eleanor said and got to her feet without smiling. She set her hand on his sleeve. She hoped—oh, dear, she hoped he had not felt obliged to ask her. But she shook her head slightly—I have understood from your manner... She looked up at him as they took their places on the floor, and set one hand on his shoulder as one of his came to rest behind her waist and his other clasped her free hand. And she smiled. She was not sure it was not a grimace. Her facial muscles felt tight.
“I understand,” he said softly just before the music began, “that you have a deep regard for me just as I have for you, Miss Thompson. I also understand that adults are stupid—with emphasis, if you please. And since you and I are both adults, then I daresay we are also stupid.”
