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“Poppycock,” snorted Alice. “I want you to wear it, so you should.”
Edmund’s raised an eyebrow and folded his arms across his chest. “Alice!” His voice rose and ended with a slight hiss.
She gave him a twitchy smile. “I’m just saying… that’s all. I mean, it’s your decision.” She mumbled. He wouldn’t dare spank her in the carriage, would he? She did not wish to find out and kept her mouth shut for the rest of the journey.
Arriving at the Assembly Rooms, they entered the grand room with its painted ceiling.
“Colonel Seymour and Mrs Seymour!” Boomed the announcer at the doorway.
Alice swept into the room with as much aplomb as she could muster.
The Rooms were laid out in a traditional fashion with the ballroom and small group of musicians, the card room, which Edmund showed little interest in and a supper room for refreshments. The Master of Ceremonies presented Alice with her number, indicating her place in the dance and when called out, she and Edmund joined the lines of dancers.
Edmund’s willingness to join in the dances greatly pleased Alice, but after three rounds of cotillion, Edmund retired and Alice could only watch others perform the quadrille. There was, much to the consternation of the older guests, a demonstration of a waltz. The new style of dancing, with its contact between partners, elicited either a frown of disgust or a smile of intrigue.
“What a most intimate style of dance, do you not think, Edmund? I do hope it catches on quickly.” She tapped a foot in time with the rhythmic beats.
Her husband grimaced. “I do not think it is appropriate.”
Alice’s foot halted in disappointment. “May I circulate a little on my own? I will be good.”
“Soon. Let me introduce you to the daughters of our town’s most esteemed families. I’m sure your natural friendliness and lack of shyness will assist you in making new friends, dearest,” he said dryly. Alice cheerfully ignored the sardonic tone and went upon his arm to greet his chosen acquaintances.
Within minutes, Alice found herself surrounded by various young ladies keen to know how she had caught the renowned Colonel Seymour.
“A family friend,” had been her answer each time. The answer she had been instructed to give by Edmund. Although not a lie, it felt like a half-truth. She had barely known Edmund before their engagement.
As they moved about the fringe of the dance hall, she sipped on a glass of sherry.
“You may have one glass.” Edmund had told her when handing her the rather small glass.
“Just one!” She pouted. He gave
her one of his now familiar stern expressions. “Oh very well. I mean. Thank you.”
Edmund peered over her shoulder into the distance. “I shall let you take a turn on your own. Be good.” He gave her an encouraging nod and then he moved through the crowd away from her.
A gleeful Alice kept her ears open to the chattering mouths of her new friends as she hovered at their sides. Just like her companions in Macclesfield, there was always some tittle-tattle to spread and rumours to believe or disbelieve. One tale, which captivated the small gathering, related to a spinster who lived with her brother on the outskirts of Buxton.
“According to the innkeeper, who services the mail coaches to London, she had sent numerous letters to a Frenchman, who lives in the south of that country.”
“Despicable,” exclaimed a freckled face girl of Alice’s age. “The war may be over, but the French will not be endeared to me for many a year after the good men we lost to them. How could she engage in love letters to a foreigner and hold her head up high.”
“Love letters!” shrilled a red-head before shushed by another, whose head swivelled about in case they were overheard.
“Who knows, but why else would a single lady, not yet of thirty years, be in correspondence to a man,” said freckle face.
Alice listened engrossed as their gossip intensified. How long had Miss Fanshawe been chin-wagging with her Frenchman? Did they correspond during the war? Was she a spy! The young ladies embroidered their own fanciful tales around the unfortunate Miss Fanshawe. Alice loved a mystery.
The break in the dancing finished, the eligible gentlemen quickly whisked off the young ladies to dance once again, leaving Alice to seek out her husband.
Edmund stood near the unlit fireplace, glass of wine in hand and elbow resting on the mantel. Alice paused to take in her fine-looking husband. Although no longer dressed in his formal uniform, he remained a grand specimen in whatever attire he chose. The black breeches, which seemed to be the latest fashion for evening wear, hugged his thighs tightly. The double-breasted coat tailored to perfection about his chest and shoulders, narrowing to a snug fit about his waist. Smiling at her fortune, she wandered closer to him, weaving between others.
Before him, a pretty woman with black hair, curled about her pale face. The two appeared to know each other well; both relaxed in their manners and formalities. Alice felt a pang of jealousy when Edmund laughed at an inaudible remark of his companion. Breezing up to Edmund, she stood as close as she could to him and before Edmund could do the formal introductions, she attempted to monopolise the conversation.
“Do you know of a Miss Fanshawe?” she said quickly and before Edmund could open his mouth and reply, Alice continued breathless. “Can you believe she has been sending love letters to a Frenchman? Is that not atrocious?”
Edmund’s face froze. Alice saw the tips of his ears go pink, his eyes narrowed and flickered to one side of his face, towards his female companion. Alice turned to face her, and as she did, the raven-haired woman, who seemed to have gone even paler than before, almost dropped her purse. Without another word, the stranger sped away towards a doorway.
