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As it happened Hebe did, and had been carefully instructed in the dashing new dance. But no one had ever asked her to perform it with them. ‘Why, thank you, Jack, of course I will.’
Mr Forrester’s two companions succeeded in gaining her side. ‘Now let another fellow get a word in, Jack!’ William Smithson demanded. ‘I say, Miss Carlton, you’ll give us a waltz each, won’t you?’
‘Well…yes, yes, of course,’ Hebe stammered. She caught a glimpse of herself in the long glass over the mantleshelf: a tall girl in a pretty gown, surrounded by young men. She could not believe it.
Alex Beresford was across the other side of the room, talking to Mrs Forrester, Sara Carlton at his side. Mama must have lost no time in hinting her friend towards this eligible guest for the ball. Would he accept? Hebe resolved to listen to no more requests from partners until she knew. How awful to give away all the waltzes before he could ask her! Then the improbability of finding that she, nice, ordinary Hebe Carlton, was worrying about keeping her dance card clear, struck her and she almost laughed out loud.
Mrs Carlton had lifted the lid of the piano and was urging the older Miss Smithson to play. The clear notes of an English country tune rippled through the buzz of conversation and, while several people strolled over to listen more closely, Alex Beresford made his way to Hebe’s side.
She introduced the young men. The Major exchanged a few words with them perfectly pleasantly, but somehow they appeared to be picking up an unspoken message and within a minute all three made their excuses and melted back into the crowd.
‘Nice lads,’ Alex remarked.
‘Yes.’ Hebe was glad of a neutral topic of conversation, for now she was by his side she felt flustered. ‘You were talking to Jack Forrester’s mother just now.’ She realised it was the first time she had been with Alex in a crowd of people: it felt as though everyone’s eyes were on them.
‘The fashionable matron who invited me to her ball, making quite sure I knew there would be plenty of waltzing?’
‘Yes, I believe she is determined it will be very dashing. Will you be attending?’
‘Only if you give me the first waltz, Circe.’ He took her arm and steered her gently in the direction of the long table where drinks were being set out. ‘A glass of ratafia?’
Hebe said demurely, ‘Yes, please.’ She took the glass and watched him over the rim as she took a sip. ‘I have already promised three waltzes. I do not know how many Mrs Forrester will order.’
‘Dance the first with me, then your young admirer and his friends will have to ask his mama to add on more if they feel cut out.’ He regarded her with challenging blue eyes. ‘I suppose you will tell me that you will not be allowed to dance more than one waltz with me?’
‘Indeed, yes, Mama would not like it. But a country dance would be perfectly eligible.’ Was it her new confidence? Was it simply his presence? Hebe did not know, but suddenly talking to Alex was easy. She smiled up at his suddenly serious face. ‘What is wrong? Are country dances beneath the interest of senior officers?’
‘Not at all, and if that is all you will permit me, I must accept it and be grateful. But do not blame me for being disappointed with only one waltz.’
‘Oh, now you are flattering me, to pretend to be cast down!’ She gestured round the room. ‘Look, there are half a dozen young ladies here who will all be at the ball, and every one, I warrant, will be happy to dance with you.’
‘Circe…’
‘And that is another thing,’ she continued, letting him guide her back towards the centre of the room. ‘I am not at all sure I am flattered to be compared to someone who turns men into swine. Mama, when she found me looking Circe up in a book of mythology, said I should not be reading such things, for everyone in the Greek myths led sadly irregular lives.’
Alex gave a choke of laughter. ‘What can she mean?’
‘Well, she would say that Circe was the product of a most unfortunate liaison, Zeus’s…er…friendships with young women she would not mention at all, and can you just imagine her, lecturing the Minotaur on his bad habit of eating people?’
Alex was having trouble controlling his expression. He swallowed hard and suggested, ‘Perhaps a Society for the Suppression of Vice in Mythology? There seems to be a society for the suppression of just about everything else.’
‘Oh, no, if you eliminate all the irregular behaviour, there would be no stories left!’ Hebe was trying so hard to control her giggles that they almost bumped into Miss Dyson, who regarded her with surprised eyes that held more than a hint of irritation.
Charlotte Dyson was the acknowledged beauty of Malta society that year and was used to attracting the undivided attention of all the most eligible and attractive men at any function. Her father was an Admiral, her portion was known to be large, and her blonde hair, large blue eyes and willowy figure were much admired. She affected a style of calm elegance, and was never seen expressing any violent emotion. This cool front drove most of the men who came into contact with her wild with the desire to be the one to disturb her perfect composure.
Her cool blue gaze surveyed Hebe’s animated face and sparkling eyes and noted the fact that her hand was resting on the arm of this most attractive officer. Miss Dyson was not used to handsome men failing to hover around her, waiting to be introduced. She was equally unused to seeing plain Miss Carlton with any of the beaux she had come to regard as hers by right.
‘Miss Carlton, a charming party.’
‘I am so glad you are enjoying it, Charlotte. May I present Major the Honourable Alex Beresford? Major Beresford, Miss Dyson.’
Miss Dyson inclined her head with the studied grace that allowed the elegant curve of her throat to be seen to its best advantage. ‘Are you newly arrived on Malta, Major?’ Now he would fall in by her side and follow her as she drifted gracefully across the room.
‘I have been here a few days only, Miss Dyson. A most pleasant island. Excuse me, but I believe that gentleman with the red hair is attempting to attract your attention.’ He bowed and strolled off, Hebe still on his arm, leaving a fulminating Miss Dyson face to face with Horace Philpott, a gauche young gentleman of small fortune who adored her with a hopeless passion.
‘That was wicked,’ Hebe hissed, trying not to feel triumphant, and failing utterly. She had suffered too many patronising remarks from Charlotte in the past: this tiny vengeance was sweet.
‘I am sorry.’ Alex sounded not the slightest bit repentant. ‘Is she a particular friend of yours? Have I dragged you away?’
