Page 8 of Lady Theodora’s Christmas Wish

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Chase was, despite his intentions, finding Lady Theodora interesting. Whilst she seemed, at first glance, simply another fresh young thing, it was obvious that more thought went on in her head than in most young ladies heads. That remark about Albemarle, for example, indicated a quite cutting wit.

He also had to admit that she was stunning.

The simple pale gold gown set her off to perfection – it was actually elegant, rather than a froth of frills like so many young ladies’ fashions. The gold lights in her rich dark hair seemed to echo the colour of the dress, and for one insane moment, he had wanted to pull down all that careful coil of hair and pearls, to bury his hands in the silken softness of it. And her eyes – he had quite fallen into their intense green depths, depths where blue flecks drifted, like the colours of a tropical sea.

For a while, as they danced, he had seen nothing else. Well, nothing else but her lips, he admitted to himself. Lips which he had wanted to kiss. A thought which was overwhelmingly inappropriate in the circumstances. But still, it was tempting.

She had felt good in his arms. He had been quite unable to resist capturing her for that waltz, however scandalous it might have been. And the fact that she chose to be scandalous, rather than cry off, made her all the more interesting. He shook his head – what was he doing, he, the confirmed bachelor, with a rake’s reputation and habits, even passingly being interested in a girl barely out of the schoolroom?

Yet he could not get her out of his thoughts. He found himself following her with his eyes, watching her dance another country dance with an over-dandified fop, whose over fussy clothing looked even more so, when contrasted by her understated elegance.

Obviously, he needed to distract himself. He had always found the best distraction from a woman to be another woman, so, resolute, he turned from watching her, and sought out a girl to dance with. They were all watching him, he realised, as he scanned the room, suddenly making him feel as a mouse must, surrounded by cats.

Just for the devilment, he looked for the quietest wallflower there, and found a girl with mousy pale brown hair, in an ill-fitting grey dress, who appeared to be hiding behind some potted greenery near the doors. As he approached her, he was watching, from the corner of his eye, the expressions on the faces of the cluster of more fashionable girls. It was almost enough to make him laugh out loud.

He bowed before the mousy girl, and led her, after she stuttered her shocked agreement, into the dance. As a distraction, he discovered, she was less than satisfactory.

She had no conversation, and, to make matters worse, she almost tripped over her own feet. There was none of the delicious sense of floating effortlessly through the steps that he had felt with Lady Theodora, and, this not being a waltz, he could not even hold her close and support her when she stumbled.

His eyes followed Lady Theodora, no matter his intent not to look for her. Grimly determined, he proceeded to dance with each of the uninteresting girls in turn, until his teeth ached from gritting them together as he forced a socially acceptable smile. He wanted, more and more, to dance with Lady Theodora again. But that would be taking scandalous just a little too far, and he would not do that to her.

But still, he could not stop himself from watching her.

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Tia danced. And danced. And danced. But none of it felt like that waltz with the Duke. By comparison, all other dances were ungainly and awkward.

The gentlemen were either ridiculous, trying to please her with extravagant flattery, or were so self-important that all they could speak of was themselves. Tia was, to her own surprise, bored by them. Unintentionally, her eyes sought out the Duke, she somehow could not help herself.

He danced, as was appropriate, with many different ladies, never singling anyone out for too much attention, providing no fodder for gossip, beyond their scandalous waltz. She hated seeing him dance with others, for each time, she was wishing that it was her in his arms, or touching his hand as they passed in the figures of a dance.

But she could not bring herself to look away. Her partners found her distracted, and after some time, she was overcome with the need to get away from them all. If she could not dance with him again, she found that she did not wish to dance at all.

That waltz had felt like her Christmas wish dreams come true, but to now have to watch him with all of the other girls, to have to dance with these other men was just too much to bear. It tarnished her wish and spoiled her dreams.

As the next dance ended, she excused herself from them all, and left the room. She would spend some time in the family parlour – her favourite room - and read, until she could face them all again. The supper would not be served until after midnight, and she could surely restore her spirits enough to return by then.

The parlour was blessedly quiet, and she sank into her favourite chair with relief, the latest novel in her hand. Annoyingly, she found that she could not settle to reading, her thoughts, instead, replaying, again and again, that waltz.

How it had felt, the look in his eyes, the scent of him, the feel of his arms holding her, the magical way in which they had seemed to float across the floor. It was wonderful…. But…. Her wish had gone further than the dance… and now, she thought, she wanted the rest. Oh so much, so much more even than when she had first wished it.

She ached for it, imagined what it might feel like, for him to hold her again, even closer than in the waltz, imagined what it might feel like to be kissed. For she had never been kissed. The sensible part of her mind said that she was behaving like a wanton.

The part of her that believed in dreams and wishes shoved that thought aside. There was nothing wrong with wishing!