Shades of Milk and Honey (5 page)

“Ah. I am not so nimble as I was.”

The song ended and the dancers left the floor, milling about to seek new partners while the musicians began the next set. Mr. Dunkirk appeared rather suddenly in front of her. “How did you find the rest of the glamural, Miss Ellsworth?”

“Very well, Mr. Dunkirk. Although the mysterious Mr. Vincent once again put in an appearance and vanished before I could pay my respects. I begin to think that my attention offends him.”

“I am certain you mistake him. It is more likely, is it not, that he did not wish to disrupt your enjoyment of his work?”

“No. For I had met his gaze and clearly started toward him with the intention of speaking. He turned and left quite abruptly.”

“Odd,” said Mr. Dunkirk. “I’ve run across him once or
twice out on the grounds, and he has always seemed most amiable. I shall introduce you at the next opportunity. I venture a guess that like many artists he is shy about his work”—he glanced at her—“and, as this piece is yet undone, perhaps he does not wish to hear compliments of it.”

“Ah. I think you have the right of it. I had not thought of how it must be for him to have people tramping through and looking at his half-finished glamural.”

The musicians finished the next dance, and again the guests began shifting about, exchanging partners. Jane noticed that Melody was still partnered with Captain Livingston. Both their faces were bright with merriment.

Beside them, Miss Dunkirk now danced with a young man closer to her age. Jane smiled to see her so happy.

Mr. Dunkirk turned to follow her gaze. “Would you care to join me on the dance floor, Miss Ellsworth?”

Jane looked again at Melody, laughing with Captain Livingston. “Yes, thank you. I would be delighted.”

Though it was not her custom to dance, as it made her limbs appear more gangly and awkward than graceful, Jane enjoyed the dance with Mr. Dunkirk. He was attentive and graceful as a partner. She felt her own steps gradually flowing with more ease as the dance progressed. When it ended and he excused himself to dance with his sister, Jane was prepared to retreat to her father’s side, only to find her hand requested by Mr. McIntosh. The old gentleman was so jolly that she could find no excuse for putting him off, and so joined in the dance with a will to enjoy it. The only burr in
her enjoyment was that Melody was still dancing with Captain Livingston. Jane was certain that her mother was pleased at his solitary attention to Melody, but for propriety’s sake, it would be best if he asked another young woman to dance. It was true that Melody far outshone every other woman at the ball—with that perfect composition of form, grace, and youthful spirits—but a true gentleman would not be so presumptuous as to hold a partner through so many sets.

Once the dance began, Jane had little time for reflection before Mr. McIntosh whirled her about as if she were a bundle of hay. She was quite as breathless at the end of the dance as if she had tried to unfurl a house-sized fold. As soon as she could, she thanked Mr. McIntosh and then escaped to her father’s side, carefully keeping him between her and Mrs. Ellsworth.

“You looked well on the dance floor,” Mr. Ellsworth said.

She thanked him and then said, “I wonder if you might ask Melody to dance.”

“What?” her mother demanded. “Why?”

“For propriety’s sake, would it not be better if Captain Livingston danced with some of the other ladies? I am certain that Lady FitzCameron cannot be pleased that her favourite nephew is ignoring the rest of her guests.”

At this, Mrs. Ellsworth started and looked around, craning her neck for Lady FitzCameron. “Do you think? I had not thought of it, but of course you are right, dear. It would
not do at all to offend Lady FitzCameron. Charles, go and dance with her. Go and dance with Melody at once.”

Mr. Ellsworth pushed through the dance floor until he arrived at Melody’s side. Though she was clearly not happy, she had no choice but to acquiesce to her father’s wishes. Captain Livingston, thus relieved of his favoured dance partner, turned to find the nearest substitute, and lighted upon Miss Dunkirk. She was standing next to her brother and had a becoming flush of exertion upon her cheeks. When Captain Livingston bowed and requested the dance, she looked to her brother for permission before accepting gravely.

Jane hoped that Mr. Dunkirk would come back to ask her to dance again, but he turned to the young woman closest to him and engaged her for the next set. Jane passed the whole of that set trying to steer her mother to a conversational topic other than Melody and how well she looked.

“Oh look! Miss FitzCameron has fainted. I told your father she would. Didn’t I tell him?” Mrs. Ellsworth scurried forward, adding to the press of people surrounding the poor girl, no doubt anxious to see how much the glamour had been masking. Jane stayed where she was, unwilling to participate in the shew of vulgarity in which her neighbours indulged by acting as if Miss FitzCameron were a curiosity on display. Jane could hardly believe that Lady FitzCameron would tolerate such a thing, knowing the toll that extended glamour use must surely take on her daughter’s health.

Though she did not intend to watch, Jane could hardly fail to notice the effect of Miss FitzCameron’s faint. Lady FitzCameron rushed forward, crying, “Livia!” and then directed the two closest gentlemen to help carry her ailing daughter to the side of the floor. By coincidence, Miss FitzCameron had been overcome when the figures of the dance carried her between Captain Livingston and Mr. Dunkirk, surely two of the most eligible bachelors in the room.

So neatly did she remove these gentlemen from the ladies on which they were attendant that Jane began to wonder if, in fact, it were not deliberate. Had anyone save her noticed, or was it a mere accident of timing? Miss Dunkirk looked lost on the dance floor without a partner, so Jane slipped through the crowd to her father, and suggested that he escort the young woman.

He happily acquiesced, leaving Jane with Melody.

“Did you see him, Jane?”

“Who?” Jane said, as she drew Melody to the side of the floor, though she knew well who Melody meant.

“Captain Livingston! If there is a more handsome, graceful man, I know not where to find him. He is all that is courtesy. And wit! La! Such wit he has, and his tales of his work with the navy are fascinating. He has made a fortune for himself with his captures, and at so young an age.”

“I am certain you did not think so highly of him when he left a frog in your sewing kit.”

Melody laughed. “Indeed. He reminded me of that as we
were dancing. So droll. He said that had he known what a beauty I would become, he would have left roses for me instead.”

“I am certain he would have still left frogs. Boys of that age do not think of girls and roses in the same thought.”

“You are cruel, Jane. He is so noble and gracious.”

“Were he truly gracious, he would not keep your hand through three sets of dance. Truly Melody, I thought you knew better.”

Melody stopped and tossed her head, eyes sparkling. “And I thought better of
you
. Jealousy is unbecoming on you, dear sister. It is not my fault he finds
me
beautiful.”

Even in the crush of the ball, with the noise of the people and the singing of the instruments, Melody’s words were a thunderclap to Jane’s ears. Never had her sister attacked her in this manner. Never had she thrown her appearance out like a badge of honour. Jane opened her mouth to reply, but no words came. Her cheeks flushed with anger, and she turned, deciding to leave rather than say something she would regret later.

But she found her path blocked by the very Captain Livingston of whom her sister thought so highly. He smiled and sketched her a very pretty bow.

“Miss Ellsworth! I had hoped to see you this evening. Your sister has spoken so highly of you, and I have such fond memories of you from my time here in our youth.”

Jane arched an eyebrow, unable to resist needling Melody.
“Fond memories, Captain Livingston? Would those be the memories of the frogs or of the snails?”

He threw his head back and laughed so heartily that Jane could not keep her hard feelings, for he clearly appreciated a joke upon him. “By my word, Miss Ellsworth. Your wit is as quick as I remember.” He offered his arm, eyes twinkling. “Would you give me the honour of this dance?”

With a bare glance at Melody as she accepted his proffered arm, Jane said, “Thank you, yes.” She glided onto the floor, leaving Melody standing on the side.

Her minor victory soon soured, as it became clear that Captain Livingston danced with her only to find out more about Melody. His every question was about her taste and character. What amused her; what did she find of interest? The musicians seemed to slow their tempo, stretching the half hour of the dance out into an eternity. As they danced, the small grace which had slowly come to her movements while dancing with Mr. Dunkirk vanished, leaving her with all the elegance of an animated stick figure. When Melody passed them, already partnered with another gentleman, Jane saw how every man turned to watch her sister dance, how she moved as if the music were part of her.

Jane left the floor after the dance with Captain Livingston and retreated to the dining hall, where she would not have the danger of being asked to dance again. She spent the remainder of the ball there, trying to lose herself in admiration of Mr. Vincent’s glamural. Its creator remained
elusive, and twice she thought

she saw him but when she turned the corners were empty. Jane could not shake the feeling of being watched. Finally she realized that she was so hungry for companionship that she was inventing phantasms.

The ball crept until the wee hours of the morning, when all the girls spilled out of Banbree Manor and into their waiting carriages, like flowers spilled from a bridal bouquet. Jane followed them, her dress gray as ashes, the roses on her habit a failed camouflage.

The morning after the ball, Jane sat in the drawing room, painting, while her mother and sister dissected the joys of the night before. Their pleasure in disparaging other young women’s gowns was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of horses in front of the house.

Melody dashed to the window to peer out. “It is the Dunkirks!”

Mrs. Ellsworth exclaimed, “Melody! Do not gawk. What will Mr. Dunkirk think of you staring out the window like a girl not yet out of the schoolroom? Sit down at once.”

“Will not my eagerness please him more, that I am so anxious to see him?”

Any comment was forestalled when the maid
knocked upon the door to announce Mr. Dunkirk and Miss Dunkirk.

Miss Dunkirk hung behind her brother, much as she had at the shop, so that Jane could easily imagine that she had not been out in society much at all. The Ellsworths welcomed the Dunkirks warmly and began the conversation with such simple forms as the weather, both how it had been and how they thought it would be. Then they turned to discussing how it had been the year previous and comparing that to the current weather for Miss Dunkirk’s benefit so that she might understand what luck she had with the fairness of the weather for her visit.

This led naturally to an inquiry as to how she found the country for riding.

“I have not seen much yet, but what I have is very nice,” Miss Dunkirk said. “I adore riding. You cannot think how much I do.”

“Indeed, Beth rides a fairer mare than any horse in my stables. I am hard pressed to keep up with her.”

“Oh, Edmund, if you would rid yourself of that old gelding then we could go much farther afield.” She laughed at her brother, shewing the first real warmth Jane had yet seen in her, and turned back to the company. “I plan to have Edmund shew me everything there is to see in the neighbourhood.”

Mr. Dunkirk laughed. “I shall hardly have time to attend to my business while you are here, I see. I will know the landscape better after your visit than I do now.”

“You must ask Jane where to take your rambles. She is always going about out-of-doors with her paintings,” Mrs. Ellsworth said.

“Do you paint, Miss Ellsworth? Edmund told me about your music and skill with glamour, but he did not tell me you painted as well.”

“I did not know,” her brother said.

Gesturing at the walls, which had several of Jane’s better pieces hanging upon them, Mrs. Ellsworth said, “All of these are her work.”

Miss Dunkirk sprang from her seat and ran to the nearest; it was a small watercolour of Melody at Lyme Regis. The light on that day had been exactly suited to shewing off the coils of her golden hair. Picked out in the golds of late-afternoon light, her hair seemed to dance on the breeze; an effect that Jane had enhanced with subtle glamour when Mr. Ellsworth had hung the picture in the drawing room. If the watercolour were ever moved, the glamour would remain tied to the spot, leaving a ghost of waves and golden hair drifting against the wall until the folds gradually frayed and unraveled back to the ether. Jane had seen such things in an aging cathedral her family had visited on holiday. For now, though, the painting and glamour intertwined to give the hint of life to the portrait.