that one has oneself.
Miss Stride rose to her feet and began to drift from group to group, whispering and chattering, her feathered headdress bobbing and nodding. She looked for all the world like an elderly chicken scratching for again.
Penelope was watching the quadrille since she had never seen it performed except by her dancing master. One lady was performing her steps with marvellous expertise. She learned later that the expert was none other than the beautiful Lady Harriet Butler who had received dancing lessons from the celebrated Vestris. She was making the most beautiful
entrechats
, leaping from the floor and beating her little feet in the air to the amazement and admiration of a watching audience. She was partnered by the fat and elderly Lord Graves who was so overcome by his fair partner’s
entrechats
that he attempted to do the same. He leaped up in the air and then fell heavily on the floor. Poor Lord Graves staggered to his feet and performed the rest of the dance as best he could.
When the quadrille finished, Lord Graves and Lady Harriet were just passing Penelope, when Lord Graves was waylaid by Sir John Burke, who said in a very sarcastic voice, “What induced you at your age and in your state to make so great a fool of yourself as to attempt an
entrechat
?”
Lord Graves faced Sir John, his large face empurpled with fury. “If you think I am too old to dance,” he snapped, “I consider myself not too old to blow your brains out for your impertinence. So the sooner you find a second the better.”
Penelope held her breath. Was this going to result in a duel? But Lord Sefton had heard the discussion and came quickly to the rescue. He put a slim hand on the enraged Lord Graves’s arm. “Tut, tut, tut, man,” he said soothingly, “the sooner you shake hands the better, for the fact is, the world will condemn you both if you fight on such slight grounds. And you, Graves, won’t have a
leg
to stand on.”
Lord Graves and Sir John burst out laughing and shook hands, and Penelope, turning round, saw that she was being surrounded by men, begging for the next dance. Miss Stride had done her work well. No one wanted Miss Harvey with her seventy-five thousand pounds. But the beautiful Penelope with that amount of money was a different matter.
And so that was how the Earl of Hestleton saw her when he entered the ballroom at Almack’s. She was laughing and blushing, her large blue eyes sparkling with delight, surrounded by her court of admirers.
I have indeed helped Miss Penelope well on the road to matrimony, thought the Earl wryly. He was irked to discover that Penelope was so sought after. He realised that he had believed the vulgarity of her aunt and her own lack of fortune would have prevented such popularity. He had envisaged her sitting quietly on her rout chair at Almack’s, perhaps dancing with Charles, but certainly awaiting his arrival anxiously. With a feeling of pique he realised she had not even noticed him entering the room.
He leaned against a pillar under the musicians gallery and, as Neil Gow and his orchestra sawed away enthusiastically at yet another Scottish reel, he was able to observe the grace and elegance with which Miss Vesey performed her steps.
“I’m paying her too much attention,” he thought and turned his gaze elsewhere. His pale eyes narrowed as he saw his brother entering the cardroom on the far side with the Comte de Chernier. He detached himself from the pillar and made his way round the ballroom in pursuit of them, unaware that Penelope was watching him go and wondering why she felt so flat.
The Comte de Chernier and Charles were standing in a corner of the cardroom, talking quietly. The Comte was dressed in the finest elegance. His hair was powdered and his evening dress sparkled with jewels. He had a thin yellowish face and black eyes which did not seem to register any emotion at all. As the Earl watched, Charles cautiously drew some papers out of his pocket
Miss Stride rose to her feet and began to drift from group to group, whispering and chattering, her feathered headdress bobbing and nodding. She looked for all the world like an elderly chicken scratching for again.
Penelope was watching the quadrille since she had never seen it performed except by her dancing master. One lady was performing her steps with marvellous expertise. She learned later that the expert was none other than the beautiful Lady Harriet Butler who had received dancing lessons from the celebrated Vestris. She was making the most beautiful
entrechats
, leaping from the floor and beating her little feet in the air to the amazement and admiration of a watching audience. She was partnered by the fat and elderly Lord Graves who was so overcome by his fair partner’s
entrechats
that he attempted to do the same. He leaped up in the air and then fell heavily on the floor. Poor Lord Graves staggered to his feet and performed the rest of the dance as best he could.
When the quadrille finished, Lord Graves and Lady Harriet were just passing Penelope, when Lord Graves was waylaid by Sir John Burke, who said in a very sarcastic voice, “What induced you at your age and in your state to make so great a fool of yourself as to attempt an
entrechat
?”
Lord Graves faced Sir John, his large face empurpled with fury. “If you think I am too old to dance,” he snapped, “I consider myself not too old to blow your brains out for your impertinence. So the sooner you find a second the better.”
Penelope held her breath. Was this going to result in a duel? But Lord Sefton had heard the discussion and came quickly to the rescue. He put a slim hand on the enraged Lord Graves’s arm. “Tut, tut, tut, man,” he said soothingly, “the sooner you shake hands the better, for the fact is, the world will condemn you both if you fight on such slight grounds. And you, Graves, won’t have a
leg
to stand on.”
Lord Graves and Sir John burst out laughing and shook hands, and Penelope, turning round, saw that she was being surrounded by men, begging for the next dance. Miss Stride had done her work well. No one wanted Miss Harvey with her seventy-five thousand pounds. But the beautiful Penelope with that amount of money was a different matter.
And so that was how the Earl of Hestleton saw her when he entered the ballroom at Almack’s. She was laughing and blushing, her large blue eyes sparkling with delight, surrounded by her court of admirers.
I have indeed helped Miss Penelope well on the road to matrimony, thought the Earl wryly. He was irked to discover that Penelope was so sought after. He realised that he had believed the vulgarity of her aunt and her own lack of fortune would have prevented such popularity. He had envisaged her sitting quietly on her rout chair at Almack’s, perhaps dancing with Charles, but certainly awaiting his arrival anxiously. With a feeling of pique he realised she had not even noticed him entering the room.
He leaned against a pillar under the musicians gallery and, as Neil Gow and his orchestra sawed away enthusiastically at yet another Scottish reel, he was able to observe the grace and elegance with which Miss Vesey performed her steps.
“I’m paying her too much attention,” he thought and turned his gaze elsewhere. His pale eyes narrowed as he saw his brother entering the cardroom on the far side with the Comte de Chernier. He detached himself from the pillar and made his way round the ballroom in pursuit of them, unaware that Penelope was watching him go and wondering why she felt so flat.
The Comte de Chernier and Charles were standing in a corner of the cardroom, talking quietly. The Comte was dressed in the finest elegance. His hair was powdered and his evening dress sparkled with jewels. He had a thin yellowish face and black eyes which did not seem to register any emotion at all. As the Earl watched, Charles cautiously drew some papers out of his pocket
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