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Authors: Lady Reggieand the Viscount
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reaching the neck.
“Oh, look! ’Tis Lady Helen and Lord Daniel.”
Lord Daniel was another Wilmott; Lady Helen’s second oldest brother and a favorite, we suspect, of Amelia’s. We had accused her recently of having a tendre for him, to which Miss Hingham replied that she’d as soon marry a goat. As Lord Daniel is a perfectly well-favoured gentleman with no hint of the barn about him, this has only confirmed our suspicions.
“Good evening Lord Daniel,” said Amelia, coolly.
“Hello, Miss Hingham,” replied Lady Helen’s brother, with equal frost.
Lady Helen caught my eye and gave a tiny shrug, as if to say, what can you do? Amelia and Lord Daniel immediately began an argument over the relative merits of the Lincolnshire’s claret cup and that of our current host. From the tone of their voices one would think that the future of the kingdom was in question. As the stakes were raised—his lordship claiming the first waltz if the Larkinton cup turned out to be made with anything having the faintest resemblance to a French bordeaux—Lady Helen caught me up on the latest news of Peter’s engagement.
Which was, it seemed, not entirely at an end, as Miss Montvale had thought better of crying off by the next day, and both parties were now attempting to repair the break with as little embarrassment as possible.
“I wonder that her parents allowed it in the first place,” I said.
“Peter thinks that they were attempting to, as one says, teach Alice a lesson.”
“A rather expensive lesson, if your brother does not accept the olive branch.”
“Oh, he will,” said Lady Helen.
“Why? She seems like a rather soppy creature to live with.”
She shrugged again. “Yes, doesn’t she? But he’s in love.”
I watched Lord Davies and my father from the side of my eye as we chatted. They did not speak long, and seemed to part easily enough. I breathed relief, and wondered how soon he might ask me for a dance.
Miss Hingham and Lord Daniel had advanced their argument to include disagreements over the entire subject of French wine.
He would ask, wouldn’t he? The thought of spending the entire evening without speaking to the viscount was remarkably depressing. I’d never had these feelings about any other gentleman, and I wasn’t sure I liked them. To have your happiness depend on attentions from a certain individual, with whom you had no formal ties? How had I gotten myself into such a fix?
“Lady Regina.”
My heart made its usual leap at the sound of his voice.
“Would you waltz with me?”
His voice was deep and I seemed to feel it in my toes. His hand was outstretched.
Oh, yes.
Chapter 9: The Kiss
’Twas even better than the first time. The music was particularly fine and I could not stop the pulse of exhilaration which flooded my veins and, no doubt, brought colour to my cheeks.
I hoped it did not clash too dreadfully with my hair.
He had sought me out for the waltz. Me. At that moment I felt my life must be perfect, and all quibbles about allowing one’s happiness to center on another individual were forgotten. We followed an easy pattern around the ballroom, threading between other couples and avoiding the usual hazards; besides Lord Culpepper and such, there were always a few couples who, for whatever reason, simply stopped dancing to talk. His lordship managed it all with ease.
His arms felt so strong and my hand was small in his.
Amelia Hingham and Lord Daniel passed close by, and I saw, with some shock, what I had never seen before; that Lord Daniel, at least, was besotted.
How had this escaped me? I was not as sure about Miss Hingham, as she was ever one to smile and laugh with all. But I thought, suddenly, of how rarely Amelia waltzed with anyone else. The world seemed awash with young men and women in love. What else had I missed?
“You are looking very well this evening,” said the viscount.
I smiled.
“Oh, look! ’Tis Lady Helen and Lord Daniel.”
Lord Daniel was another Wilmott; Lady Helen’s second oldest brother and a favorite, we suspect, of Amelia’s. We had accused her recently of having a tendre for him, to which Miss Hingham replied that she’d as soon marry a goat. As Lord Daniel is a perfectly well-favoured gentleman with no hint of the barn about him, this has only confirmed our suspicions.
“Good evening Lord Daniel,” said Amelia, coolly.
“Hello, Miss Hingham,” replied Lady Helen’s brother, with equal frost.
Lady Helen caught my eye and gave a tiny shrug, as if to say, what can you do? Amelia and Lord Daniel immediately began an argument over the relative merits of the Lincolnshire’s claret cup and that of our current host. From the tone of their voices one would think that the future of the kingdom was in question. As the stakes were raised—his lordship claiming the first waltz if the Larkinton cup turned out to be made with anything having the faintest resemblance to a French bordeaux—Lady Helen caught me up on the latest news of Peter’s engagement.
Which was, it seemed, not entirely at an end, as Miss Montvale had thought better of crying off by the next day, and both parties were now attempting to repair the break with as little embarrassment as possible.
“I wonder that her parents allowed it in the first place,” I said.
“Peter thinks that they were attempting to, as one says, teach Alice a lesson.”
“A rather expensive lesson, if your brother does not accept the olive branch.”
“Oh, he will,” said Lady Helen.
“Why? She seems like a rather soppy creature to live with.”
She shrugged again. “Yes, doesn’t she? But he’s in love.”
I watched Lord Davies and my father from the side of my eye as we chatted. They did not speak long, and seemed to part easily enough. I breathed relief, and wondered how soon he might ask me for a dance.
Miss Hingham and Lord Daniel had advanced their argument to include disagreements over the entire subject of French wine.
He would ask, wouldn’t he? The thought of spending the entire evening without speaking to the viscount was remarkably depressing. I’d never had these feelings about any other gentleman, and I wasn’t sure I liked them. To have your happiness depend on attentions from a certain individual, with whom you had no formal ties? How had I gotten myself into such a fix?
“Lady Regina.”
My heart made its usual leap at the sound of his voice.
“Would you waltz with me?”
His voice was deep and I seemed to feel it in my toes. His hand was outstretched.
Oh, yes.
Chapter 9: The Kiss
’Twas even better than the first time. The music was particularly fine and I could not stop the pulse of exhilaration which flooded my veins and, no doubt, brought colour to my cheeks.
I hoped it did not clash too dreadfully with my hair.
He had sought me out for the waltz. Me. At that moment I felt my life must be perfect, and all quibbles about allowing one’s happiness to center on another individual were forgotten. We followed an easy pattern around the ballroom, threading between other couples and avoiding the usual hazards; besides Lord Culpepper and such, there were always a few couples who, for whatever reason, simply stopped dancing to talk. His lordship managed it all with ease.
His arms felt so strong and my hand was small in his.
Amelia Hingham and Lord Daniel passed close by, and I saw, with some shock, what I had never seen before; that Lord Daniel, at least, was besotted.
How had this escaped me? I was not as sure about Miss Hingham, as she was ever one to smile and laugh with all. But I thought, suddenly, of how rarely Amelia waltzed with anyone else. The world seemed awash with young men and women in love. What else had I missed?
“You are looking very well this evening,” said the viscount.
I smiled.
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