Read Online The Great Christmas Ball by Joan Smith - Free Book Online

but gave one quick peep at his leg.
    Cathy’s hand flew to her lips. “Oh, your leg! I am sorry, Costain. You walk so well that I had forgotten all about it,”
    Costain brushed it aside, as he disliked to harp on his wound. “It is not my leg but my two left feet that make me hesitate. Anyhow, I am game if you are.”
    She drew her bottom lip between her teeth. “Are you sure?”
    He said gruffly, “Come, we are wasting this delightful music.”
    He swept her into his arms, and they joined the waltzers. Cathy enjoyed the unusual sensation of being an object of attention. She knew it was her escort who engendered the interest in herself, but she was happy with even second-hand attention.
     Costain waltzed well, especially when one remembered he had one stiff leg. The swirling music and the pirouetting crowd induced a sort of euphoria. This was how life should be. This was how she always thought it would be when she was young.
    When Costain lowered his head and smiled, she felt for a fleeting moment that he actually liked her. There was some special sparkle in his eyes. “I notice Lady Jersey frowning at you, Miss Lyman. She is not so sure your advanced years permit you the license of waltzing without her permission.”
    “Perhaps I should have worn my cap," she replied.
    “No, a turban, I think—in five or ten years. You have the countenance for it. You must remember to add three feathers and a brooch. Feathers are like Capability Brown’s trees. They come in threes. Two will not clump.”
    “That’s not why they wear three. Three is a lucky number,” she said. Cathy had always found this sort of badinage difficult, but the euphoria seemed to have spread even to her tongue.
    “I am shocked at you for believing ignorant superstition, Miss Lyman. Everyone knows seven is the luckiest number. Mind you, the ladies would look like an ostrich’s tail, carrying such a load of feathers. What a charming picture, though, a roomful of ostriches, waltzing about Lady Martin’s saloon.”
    “You are too ridiculous!” She laughed.
    He noticed the glow in her eyes, and felt culpable for encouraging her. What was merely banter to him seemed to be having the effect of flirtation on her, and he changed his manner accordingly.
    “Have you spotted anyone who might be your intruder?” he asked.
    Cathy came thumping back to earth. She had been too engrossed in Costain to even look, but she did so then. All around her, gentlemen of roughly the right size and shape moved. But with so few clues to aid her, she could make no useful comparisons. “No,” she said. “Perhaps Gordon is having better luck.”
    “We’ll meet with him later. Let us just relax and enjoy the music now.”
    The evening lost its magic after that, but Costain behaved very properly. He came to her at the end of each set and introduced her to several eligible partis. She renewed acquaintance with some former friends, too, so the rout was enjoyable. Yet it did not satisfy her. Why did Costain introduce her to such old men? Two of them were widowers, and one had graying hair. Did he consider her too old for his own set? She was at least five years younger than he.
    She was elated when a younger, handsome gentleman accosted them at the end of the cotillion. “Costain,” he said with a smile. “May I have a dance with your charming partner?”
    Seeing no reluctance in his partner, Costain said, “Certainly. Miss Lyman, this is my colleague, Mr. Burack. Mr. Burack, Miss Lyman.”
    While she made her curtsy, Cathy regarded Mr. Burack and did not dislike what she saw. He was a well-set-up young gentleman with hair the same chestnut color as her own. His eyes were a deep brown, and his smile was ready. His jacket was not so impeccably tailored as Costain’s, but his physique did it more than justice.
    They went off to join a set. “Have you known Costain long?” Mr. Burack asked.
    “No, we are new acquaintances, sir. Is he an old friend of yours?”
    “I