Karen Harbaugh (12 page)

Lady Ashcombe must have noticed my deflated look, for she said, “There are still many men, however, who appreciate wit and intelligence in a woman. And not clergymen, either!” she said when I looked skeptical. “Why, look at Lucas! I know someday he will be setting up a nursery, and
he
has no intentions toward being a clergyman, yet he is quite an intelligent young man. I am sure there are others who are superior in their understanding as well.”

“Yes, he

She lifted her chin proudly but said with a twinkle, “I hope you will excuse a mother’s pride, my dear, when I say I agree with you. Nevertheless, in all fairness I would say that most mothers would say so of a son who passed his examinations so easily.”

“Oh, no! I am sure you do not exaggerate, my lady! I do not think there is anyone like Lord Ashcombe!” I said earnestly. She raised her brows questioningly. I blushed, for I did not mean to sound so impetuous. “What I mean is, I do not know anyone who has the talent he has. Why, to be able to remember verbatim everything he reads! Perfectly and in one reading! It is a wonderful gift. I wish
I
could do so.”

She looked at me keenly. “So he told you that, did he? He is not wont to say much of it.”

I nodded. “Yes, I know. He is very modest, I think, though he calls it common sense and good ton. I do not know much about society, but I can see what he means when he says puffing off one’s virtues and abilities unwisely can get one in trouble. He explained to me about Oxford, you see,” I said confidently, “And I know better about how to go on now. Well, perhaps not all about it,” I amended.

Lady Ashcombe laughed. “I promise you there is more to it than that! My, it does seem Lucas has been confiding in you quite a bit—quite unlike him, I must say!” She gazed at me speculatively.

I recognized this as a look very similar to the ones Mama had been giving to Lucas when she found him in my company. I said hastily, “Oh, we are all comfortable friends—Samantha, Lucas, and I—I daresay he is merely grateful to me for getting him out of a fix.”

“A fix?”

“Well... well, about four months ago, he fancied he was in love with my mother—Mama is very beautiful, you see—and she did not want to hurt him by turning him away, so I solved the problem for both of them by pointing out to him all the disadvantages of marrying her.”

Lady Ashcombe’s countenance was serene, but I could see amusement sparkling in her eye. “Such as...?” she prompted.

“I told him he would then be my steppapa, and he didn’t quite seem to know what to do with the idea,” I blurted.

Her shoulders shook for a moment, but she said, “I am disappointed. I had thought my son more resourceful than that. Did he not come up with a solution to this dilemma?”

I knit my brows for a second. “Oh, I remember! He said I could stay at his estates, but I said Mama would not consent because she is very much attached to me and would not want me out of her sight, especially since I had come home ill from school.”

She threw back her head and laughed. “Thoroughly routed! What a grave disappointment for him it was, to be sure!”

I laughed back, saying, “No, indeed! I do believe he was even somewhat relieved!”

“Who was relieved?” came Lucas’s voice from behind me.

I turned quickly around, blushing, but Lady Ashcombe said, “
I
am relieved you have finally come back with the lemonade! I was becoming thirsty, for it is quite warm.”

“I would have come back sooner,” Lucas said apologetically, “but there’s quite a crush around the bowl.” He gave us our glasses. I smiled at him and sipped my drink gratefully. He was gazing at me intently but, at my smile, grinned. “Enjoying yourself, then?”

I nodded. “Oh, yes!” I shifted on my seat. I felt strangely uncomfortable in his presence, a feeling I did not like, for it was quite different from the easy camaraderie he, Samantha, and I shared before. I suppose it was due to our encounter in the foyer when I first came; indeed, my feelings seemed to be softer echoes of that overwhelming embarrassment about my dress, and the hot-and-cold flashes had resolved themselves into a sensitive tingling across my skin. There was a tightness at the pit of my stomach, making me breathless.

It was as if he were looking at me differently, too; when our eyes met, he seemed to gaze into mine longer than was necessary, and I felt I had to look away first. Then, when I looked up again, found him glancing away from me, as if not wanting to be caught staring. I wished he would stop, for it seemed quite unlike him. I wished / would stop, for I was feeling quite unlike
me.

I looked about me and noticed the room had become more filled with guests, and I felt more nervous. The thought impressed itself forcefully upon me that, except for Lucas, Samantha, and now Lady Ashcombe, everyone was a stranger to me.

Lady Ashcombe must have noticed my anxious look, for she said kindly, “We have a few more guests than we did at the beginning of our talk, do we not? I must have Samantha introduce you to them.”

Lucas must have noticed my anxiety as well, for he said gallantly, “Or I.”

His mother glanced at my face and then gazed thoughtfully at her son. An amused look crossed her face before she said, “It is very kind of you, Lucas, to offer, and normally I would let you do so. However, I did set up this party for Samantha’s benefit and to further her experience in social graces, so I will have her introduce Miss Canning to the rest of our guests.”

Lucas looked disappointed, and a warmth seemed to spread where the tightness had been in my stomach, and I smiled at him. “I shall be all right, Lucas. Samantha has said there shall be dancing later. I do not know how to dance all the dances, but perhaps you could stand up with me on the ones I can.”

Lady Ashcombe nodded approvingly. “Very prettily said. You shall do well in your come-out someday, I think.” She caught Samantha’s eye and beckoned to her.

Samantha introduced me to her guests, and I am afraid that between my nervousness and concern that I remember everyone presented to me, I remembered very few. Most of the people present were children or grandchildren of Lady Ashcombe’s friends and relations. Keeping in mind that this affair was to be a chance to practice society ways, I took note of what seemed pleasing in a person and what was not.

Samantha’s demeanor was a model for me in that respect. I saw that her looks and liveliness combined to make her especially attractive not only to the young gentlemen in the party, but also to the young ladies. As she introduced me to all of her guests, I noted how many a gentleman’s eye would brighten at her presence and how a shy wallflower would bloom when sprinkled with her light, pretty compliments. I resolved to copy her manner, although in my shyness among strangers I felt I had more in common with the wallflowers than with anyone else.

Dancing was suggested, and Lady Ashcombe volunteered to play the pianoforte only with the stipulation that those who could play the instrument take turns relieving her of the duty. The first dance was a country dance, and since I knew the steps, I stood up with a rather awkward-looking, inarticulate young man who executed each step surprisingly well. Samantha, as was proper, was led out into the dance by her brother. Lady Ashcombe gave the pianoforte up after three pieces, then Samantha took over playing some quadrilles.

With each dance the gathering grew more merry, and formal postures relaxed into ones of ease or excitement. I danced a country dance with Lucas, and caught up in the music, I felt more comfortable and was truly enjoying myself. I gaily volunteered when Samantha finished, and caught up in the gaiety of the evening, I immediately fell into a piece by Herr van Beethoven.

It was a few moments before I realized that the room had gone silent. I faltered and stopped and looked around. At least a double dozen eyes were either staring at me with accompanying open mouths or looking away with associated blushes. A fiery lump grew in my throat. I flushed and stammered, “I—I, what did I do? I know I am a little rusty, but—”

Samantha came up to me and laid a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “It’s all right, Georgia. It is just that you played so beautifully, we didn’t realize at first that you were playing a waltz.” I looked at her blankly. She smiled. “You see, one is not allowed to dance the waltz unless one has been approved by the patronesses at Almack’s.” She looked at her mother. “Although I have never seen the sense in it; how are you to know how to dance it at Almack’s if you haven’t danced it before?”

Lady Ashcombe looked stern, but there was a twinkle in her eye. “No one, my dear, goes against what
those
august ladies say! It would be social ruin! However”—her face broke out in a smile—”since this is
not
Almack’s and since none of the patronesses are here, I do not see why we cannot practice it so that we all can do it when it
is
approved.”

Samantha’s face changed from a slightly shocked expression to one of joy. “Oh, Mama! You’re, you’re—a great gun!”

“Samantha!” Lady Ashcombe said reprovingly.

“As Lucas would say!” her daughter amended hastily.

Lucas turned toward her indignantly and said, “Not that you should be repeating such things even if I do say them!”

“My dears, please!” admonished Lady Ashcombe. She turned to me. “Please, do continue. You play extremely well; that piece was by Herr van Beethoven, was it not? I believe I recognize the style.” I turned, relieved, back to the pianoforte.

Once again I was swept into the music, only vaguely aware of the other guests waltzing or attempting to do so. I do not see myself as a person of excessive sensibility; I do not faint or weep as young ladies are supposed to do when under extreme straits. But there is something about music that I cannot describe; I have found that it banishes for a time any worry or care I might have.

I felt the music, light and pleasant, coursing up my arms and, it seemed, through my heart. I felt a presence by my side, and I looked up to see Lucas standing there, smiling. Unhesitating and as unconstrained as the music, I smiled back at him. How wonderful it is, I thought, to have such good friends! His smile faded somewhat, but his eyes grew warmer, and as I reached up to turn the page of the music, he forestalled me and turned it himself.

At last I concluded the piece with a triumphant flourish. There was spontaneous clapping, and Lucas gave me his hand as I rose from the pianoforte, gaily curtsying and laughing.

Lucas motioned to Samantha to come to the pianoforte again. “Now it is your turn to waltz,” his sister cried, and promptly sat down to play another lilting melody.

My discomfort returned. I looked around the room, and if seemed to me everyone was dancing much too close to each other. “I—I really don’t know how to waltz. Perhaps—”

“Don’t worry,” Samantha said sunnily as her fingers danced across the keyboard. “Lucas does. He shall teach you.”

I cast a look of alarm at him. “Easiest thing in the world,” he assured me. “Here, give me your hand.”

I blushed and turned my eyes away from him as he clasped me around the waist; I felt I could not look at him and in desperation glanced about the room for Lady Ashcombe. I found her looking at us, and upon catching her eye, she smiled and nodded. I felt trapped. Unless I wanted to be rude, I had to try to dance.

I moved stiffly, and in an effort to maintain a modest distance I stepped on his foot. “Here, now! You can’t go about stepping on people’s toes!” he exclaimed sternly. He released me, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “All right. Try this: You’re very good at playing the music with your fingers;

try playing the rhythm with your feet. One-two-three, one-two-three. You see?” He whirled with an imaginary partner as I watched his feet. “Now, I am going to be pulling at you when we dance. That means I want you to go in the direction I am pulling you.”

I glanced surreptitiously at the other guests and found to my relief that many of them, also, were learning how to dance.

“What if I want to go in another direction?” I argued.

“Not done,” he returned unequivocally.

“Why not?” I said with a bit more heat.

“Too confusing having two people tugging at each other across the floor. That’s what makes ‘em step on each other’s feet. Besides, even if it
were
done, you aren’t well enough acquainted with the dance to do it.” I had to agree with at least this last point whether I liked it or not—there was no escaping truth. I grudgingly nodded.

I felt more at ease in his arms this time. This was a dancing lesson, not a public embrace; it was impossible to forget this fact when one’s partner would murmur sharp commands on where to place one’s feet and admonishments not to tread on his toes again. This was the Lucas I knew, not the stranger who gazed at me warmly and kissed my hand as he murmured compliments I felt should not be mine.

“That’s it! I thought you’d come around once I pointed out it wasn’t much different from piano playing. Simpler, in fact.” He grinned at me. I looked up at him briefly, murmuring my thanks, and feeling my feet go slightly awry, I looked down again. “Now the next thing you have to learn is not to look at your feet all the time so that you can flirt and engage in sparkling conversation with your partner.”

I could almost waltz now without thinking about it—it
was
getting easier! “I don’t flirt, and I don’t know any sparkling conversation,” I said firmly.

“Well, I agreed to help you out, didn’t I?” he returned cheerfully. “You’ll learn.”

“But I don’t want to fl—”

“Ah, Miss Canning, your eyes are twin stars fallen from heaven, your lips the rain-kissed petals of a rose—”

“Lucas, please don’t!” I pleaded, my heart hammering. My gaze rose from the floor to his face, for his voice sounded too sincere for comfort. To my indignation, I saw he was laughing at me. “Why, you—!”

“Now, now! Pot calling the kettle black, you know. I can play-act as well as you can, you see!”

“Is
that
all it was!”

“But stay, my heart! Does Miss Canning care if I am sincere or not? Each word that falls from her lips is a die that determines the fortunes of my heart,” he declaimed theatrically.