The Cater Street Hangman - Anne Perry [11]
They had judged it perfectly—probably Mama’s doing. The ball was already in progress; they heard the music even as they mounted the steps to the great doors. Emily caught her breath and swallowed hard in the excitement. There were more than fifty people, swirling gently like flowers in a breeze, colours blending and drifting one into another, interspersed with the dark, stiffer forms of the men. The music was like summer and wine and laughter.
They were announced. Mama and Papa went down the steps slowly, then Dominic and Sarah, then Charlotte. Emily hesitated as long as she dared. Were all those faces looking at her? Oh, yes, please let it be that they were? She picked up her skirt just an inch or two in her hand, delicately, and began to descend the stair. It was a moment to be savoured, like the exquisite first strawberry of the year, at once sweet and tart, drawing the mouth.
They were formally introduced, but most of it passed over her head. She was aware only of the son of the family. He was a bitter disappointment. Reality shattered the remnant of the dream. He was ruddy-faced, short-nosed, and definitely too stout for a man of his youth.
Emily curtsied, as habit dictated, and when he asked her for the honour of the dance she accepted. There was no other civil way to behave, and she was duly led away. He danced badly.
Afterwards Emily found herself deposited among a group of other young women, most of whom she knew, at least by sight. Conversation was minimal and extremely silly, as everyone’s mind was on the men now congregating at the far side or dancing with others. Such remarks as were made were not listened to, either by those who made them or by those to whom they were addressed.
Emily saw Dominic and Sarah together, and Mama dancing with Colonel Decker. Charlotte was talking, with an attempt at interest, to a young man with an elegant and weary air.
It was half an hour, and several dances later, before young Decker returned—much to Emily’s dismay, until she saw that he brought with him quite the handsomest man she had seen in a year. He was of no more than average height, but his brown hair curled richly to his head, his colour was excellent, his features regular, his eyes large, and above all he carried with him an air of assurance that was beauty in itself.
“Miss Emily Ellison,” young Decker bowed very slightly, “may I present to you Lord George Ashworth.”
Emily held out her hand and curtsied, eyes down to hide the colour of excitement she felt climbing up her cheeks. Really, she must behave as if she met lords every day, and cared not a whit.
He spoke to her; she hardly heard the words. She replied gracefully.
The conversation was formal, a little stilted, but it hardly mattered. Decker was an ass—she needed only half her attention to maintain a subject with him—but Ashworth was entirely different. She could feel his eyes on her, and it was both dangerous and exciting. He was a man who would reach boldly for what he wanted. There might be finesse, but there would be no fumbling, no diffidence. It brought her a tingle of fear to know that she was, at this moment, the object of his interest.
She danced with him twice within the next hour. He was not indiscreet. Twice was enough; more would have drawn attention, perhaps Papa’s, which could spoil everything.
She saw Papa across the room, dancing with Sarah, and Mama trying to avoid the very open admiration of Colonel Decker, without at the same time offending him, or allowing the situation to arouse the jealousy of others. At a different time, Emily would have watched for the education it would have given her. Now she had business of her own that required all her wits.
She was standing talking to one of the Misses Madison, but she was conscious of Lord Ashworth’s eyes on her from across the room. She must stand straight. A bent back was most unbecoming, made an ugly bustline, and did little for the chin. She must smile, but not seem to be vacuous, and move her hands prettily.