seen them and came bustling up. “Capital,” he exclaimed. “You are looking very fine tonight, Miss Trumble.” Lady Beverley glared daggers. “And you, too, dear lady,” said the general hastily. “Ah, the dance is finishing. You must make the acquaintanceship of our guests.”
They followed him in a little group to where Charles was bowing before his partner at the end of the dance. “Charles, my boy,” cried the general. “They are come at last.”
Charles smiled at them. “Lady Beverley, may I present my friend, Miss Minerva Santerton. Ah, and here is George, Mr. Santerton, Miss Santerton’s brother.” He introduced brother and sister to the Beverleys and Miss Trumble. George Santerton wasas tall as his sister, with the same fair hair, but his eyes were a washed-out blue and held a vacuous look and his chin receded into his high, starched cravat.
“Charmed,” he drawled. “Didn’t expect so many beauties at a little country dance.”
Minerva smiled, a small, curved smile. “But you must have heard of the famous Beverley sisters,” she said. “Even I have heard of them. Your fame is known in London.”
Her voice hesitated a little before the word “fame,” as if she had been about to say “notoriety.”
Rachel felt a tug at her arm and found Mark looking up at her. “May I have the next dance, Miss Rachel?”
Minerva smiled indulgently. “Shall we find some refreshment, Charles, and leave the children to their dance?”
She put a proprietorial hand on his arm. A flash of irritation crossed Charles’s green eyes, but he bowed and led her away.
Rachel performed a dance, another country one, with Mark, trying to remind herself that children always came to dances at these country assemblies, but feeling gauche and awkward and wishing she had a handsome partner to restore some of her wounded vanity. She and her sisters had been used to being the most beautiful women at any country affair and she felt their lustre had been sadly dimmed by this visiting goddess.
As if in answer to her wishes for a handsome partner, no sooner was the dance over and the supper dance announced than a gentleman was bowing before her. Rachel hesitated just a moment.
She had expected to be led into supper after this dance by Charles. Perhaps, she thought furiously, if Mama had not arrived so late, there would have been time for Charles to have asked her. She realized the gentleman in front of her was looking at her quizzically and waiting for her reply.
She dropped a low curtsy and said, “I am delighted, sir.”
And then she took a proper look at him. He was a stranger to the neighbourhood; she had not seen him before. He was of medium height with thick brown hair fashionably cut, which gleamed in the candle-light with red glints. His square, regular face was deeply tanned.
Suddenly mindful of the conventions, Rachel said, as he led her to the floor, “We have not been introduced, sir.”
“I thought such conventions were only for London balls.”
“No, I assure you.”
He led her to the Master of Ceremonies, Squire Blaine, and said, “Pray introduce me to this beautiful lady.”
“Certainly,” said the squire. “Miss Beverley, may I present Mr. Hercules Cater, whom I met earlier today. Mr. Cater is a sugar planter from the Indies. Mr. Cater, the star of our county, Miss Rachel Beverley of Brookfield House.”
“There we are,” he said gaily, leading her to the centre of the floor. “Now we are all that is respectable.”
The dance was a quadrille, which many people in the county still did not know how to perform, and so there was only one set: Rachel and Mr. Cater,Charles and Minerva, the general and Lady Beverley, and Belinda and George Santerton.
It gladdened Rachel’s heart to notice how ungracefully Minerva danced. Her own partner, Mr. Cater, danced with ease and grace, drawing applause from the audience by performing an entrechat, quite in the manner of the bon ton who employed ballet
They followed him in a little group to where Charles was bowing before his partner at the end of the dance. “Charles, my boy,” cried the general. “They are come at last.”
Charles smiled at them. “Lady Beverley, may I present my friend, Miss Minerva Santerton. Ah, and here is George, Mr. Santerton, Miss Santerton’s brother.” He introduced brother and sister to the Beverleys and Miss Trumble. George Santerton wasas tall as his sister, with the same fair hair, but his eyes were a washed-out blue and held a vacuous look and his chin receded into his high, starched cravat.
“Charmed,” he drawled. “Didn’t expect so many beauties at a little country dance.”
Minerva smiled, a small, curved smile. “But you must have heard of the famous Beverley sisters,” she said. “Even I have heard of them. Your fame is known in London.”
Her voice hesitated a little before the word “fame,” as if she had been about to say “notoriety.”
Rachel felt a tug at her arm and found Mark looking up at her. “May I have the next dance, Miss Rachel?”
Minerva smiled indulgently. “Shall we find some refreshment, Charles, and leave the children to their dance?”
She put a proprietorial hand on his arm. A flash of irritation crossed Charles’s green eyes, but he bowed and led her away.
Rachel performed a dance, another country one, with Mark, trying to remind herself that children always came to dances at these country assemblies, but feeling gauche and awkward and wishing she had a handsome partner to restore some of her wounded vanity. She and her sisters had been used to being the most beautiful women at any country affair and she felt their lustre had been sadly dimmed by this visiting goddess.
As if in answer to her wishes for a handsome partner, no sooner was the dance over and the supper dance announced than a gentleman was bowing before her. Rachel hesitated just a moment.
She had expected to be led into supper after this dance by Charles. Perhaps, she thought furiously, if Mama had not arrived so late, there would have been time for Charles to have asked her. She realized the gentleman in front of her was looking at her quizzically and waiting for her reply.
She dropped a low curtsy and said, “I am delighted, sir.”
And then she took a proper look at him. He was a stranger to the neighbourhood; she had not seen him before. He was of medium height with thick brown hair fashionably cut, which gleamed in the candle-light with red glints. His square, regular face was deeply tanned.
Suddenly mindful of the conventions, Rachel said, as he led her to the floor, “We have not been introduced, sir.”
“I thought such conventions were only for London balls.”
“No, I assure you.”
He led her to the Master of Ceremonies, Squire Blaine, and said, “Pray introduce me to this beautiful lady.”
“Certainly,” said the squire. “Miss Beverley, may I present Mr. Hercules Cater, whom I met earlier today. Mr. Cater is a sugar planter from the Indies. Mr. Cater, the star of our county, Miss Rachel Beverley of Brookfield House.”
“There we are,” he said gaily, leading her to the centre of the floor. “Now we are all that is respectable.”
The dance was a quadrille, which many people in the county still did not know how to perform, and so there was only one set: Rachel and Mr. Cater,Charles and Minerva, the general and Lady Beverley, and Belinda and George Santerton.
It gladdened Rachel’s heart to notice how ungracefully Minerva danced. Her own partner, Mr. Cater, danced with ease and grace, drawing applause from the audience by performing an entrechat, quite in the manner of the bon ton who employed ballet
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