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“I apologise,” Stanhope said quickly. “I meant no offense.”
“And I took none. I am merely surprised. We barely know each other.”
“I merely thought you might prefer me to your cousin. Or, if you like,” he added with a hint of hesitation, “we could merely be betrothed. After a decent interval you could say you have decided we will not suit - I must think of my reputation, you know - and after jilting me, most publicly return unimpeded to South Carolina, while I remain, hopefully to have my lacerated feelings assuaged by a bevy of lovely young ladies.”
Oddly, that image was astonishingly abhorrent to me.
“You would not force me?”
“Am I forcing you now? I merely wish to offer you sanctuary. Your plight, by the way, is common knowledge in the area. Basil has been shockingly less than discreet, especially to his numerous creditors.” His last comment was both hesitant and gentle.
“I am aware of Basil’s spendthrift habits and debts,” I answered somewhat bitterly. “He made it very plain that he is in love with my fortune, not my beaux yeux. It is a business arrangement made between him and Sir Mordecai.”
“They are both fools.”
There was steel beneath his tone, but before I could investigate his comment further the dance ended and almost in the same second Basil was claiming my hand. Ever the gentleman, Stanhope bowed and stepped aside. He could not see the punishing pressure Basil inflicted on my fingers.
The music started again, though this time it was a livelier tune where the couples had to separate and re-join again, making our conversation perforce somewhat disjointed.
“What did he say to you?” Basil demanded in a hiss. “What did you talk about? I saw you talking.”
Luckily, the figure pulled us apart, giving me a moment to think. I know it is wrong to lie, that lying is a sin, but so is forcing someone into an unwanted marriage in order to get their fortune and so deserves nothing better.
“Saracen, of course.”
It was obvious that he didn’t completely believe me, but neither did he dare contradict me.
“Both I and your grandfather are alarmed at how familiar you allow this frippery fellow to be with you.”
“Allow?” I asked sharply when the figure brought us together again. “We have twice met by chance in the Wentworth stables, and he requested my hand in a dance here. I hardly call that ‘allowing’. In truth, I have scarcely been permitted to ‘allow’ anything since my arrival.”
He was fully aware of my jab, for his eyes hardened and narrowed with anger.
“Well-bred young ladies allow their families to know what is best for them.” Another pass, and when he took my hand again Basil was once again the suave and sophisticated man about town. “Your grandfather told me he intends to give Saracen to you personally as a wedding present on the day we wed,” he said. “I find that extraordinarily generous of him.”
As magnificent an animal as Saracen was, he seemed a poor exchange for my future, my freedom, and my fortune, but I kept my mouth firmly shut. As pleasurable as taunting Basil was, at this exact minute I had to concentrate on the more immediate and important task of protecting myself.
“’Pon rep, Wentworth, you’re being a selfish beast keeping this beautiful young lady all to yourself. You see her every day; it’s past time you gave the rest of us a chance to enjoy her charms.”
Basil was not happy, but relinquished my hand to the pudgy one of Mr. Wilton Natherby, a local landowner. Short, round, and with a perpetual smile, Mr. Natherby was obviously welcome among the gentry by virtue of his fortune, rather than his birth. From his partnership I went on to dance with one guest after another, most of whose names I could not recall, but such a nicety didn’t matter. For tonight I was the belle of the ball, to use the new English phrase, the most popular woman present. It was a heady feeling. Besides, as I danced, I was safe from Sir Mordecai and, more importantly Basil.
Sir Mordecai did not dance and apparently here, there were rules about how often a couple could dance together.
Rules that apparently Stanhope did not wish to follow, for as another stately tune began, he walked up and, with the privilege of rank, took my hand from my newest partner. We moved to the music, bowing and curtsying when supposed to.
“Do you not waltz here?” I asked, more to hear his voice than from a desire to know.
“Indeed, it is one of our most favoured dances, but as this ball is to honour you and you have not received the necessary permission from the honoured and most dictatorial patronesses of Almack’s, my sister decided that to protect your future reception in society there would be no waltzing tonight.”
I had heard of the restriction of waltzes in English society, but hardly credited it. At home, I said, I had been waltzing since the dance had come to America in my sixteenth year, when Father had decided I was old enough to go out in society.
Stanhope found the concept amusing.
“A much more equitable concept, I must admit, but what can be expected from Americans? Tell me - have you considered my offer?”
“I am thinking about it.”
“Then I pray you do not take too long, for your grandfather and erstwhile husband do not look best pleased.”
