Page 10 of Just a Little Daring

I am sorry to hear Mr Cootes has made your stay at the Hall so uncomfortable. What a beast he sounds. At least you must be free of him now. Will you remain at Trevick for a while, or shall we expect to see you in town this season? I know you are not overly fond of society, but there is some pleasure to be found after all—my company being the most compelling naturally! Ash will be delighted too. Are you still besotted with him, you poor addle-pated creature?

I feel quite certain your mama will insist on you coming eventually, for such a perfect bloom cannot hide away in some vast castle to wither and gather dust. Oh, dear, and now I’ve made you sound like an unwatered aspidistra. My apologies. You must come to town at once and scold me for my impertinence.

Oh, do come Aisling. I have so much to tell you.

―Excerpt of a letter from Miss Vivien Anson (Daughter of the Right Hon’ble Silas and Aashini Anson, The Viscount and Viscountess Cavendish) to Lady Aisling Baxter (Daughter of the Right Hon’ble Luke and Kitty Baxter, the Earl and Countess of Trevick).

31st December 1840, Cavendish House, The Strand, London.

Viv turned to Mr Godwin, who had a panicked, glassy look in his eyes. She offered him a warm smile in the hopes of putting him at ease.

“I believe you are acquainted with Mr Lane-Fox?” she said, having observed the two men speaking while she danced with Lord Barclay.

“August? Oh, yes. A good fellow. Known him since school. Not pals, mere acquaintances. Never brave enough to get up to the larks those four loved so much, but they’re good sorts, all of them. Bainbridge is a bit daunting, mind, but never cruel, not like some. They hauled me out of trouble too, come to think on it,” he added with a sigh.

“August? I mean, Mr Lane-Fox helped you?” she asked with interest, pleased to find proof of her conviction he was a kind man.

Mr Godwin nodded. “They all did, at one time or another. I was often in trouble, I’m afraid to say. Boys being boys, they like to pick on the smaller ones, which I was then. Didn’t catch up until later. Bit of a dunce at school, too. Good at sports, though. My saving grace,” he added with a grin and then blushed furiously as he realised he’d given her his life story.

“Shall we go and speak with him? You could reminisce,” she suggested, laying her hand on his sleeve. Mr Godwin stared at it in some alarm and swallowed.

“Certainly,” he said weakly. “But don’t you have a dance partner searching for you?”

Viv shook her head. “No. I’ve kept the next two dances free this evening. Too fatiguing otherwise.”

And she had been determined not to give Mr Lane-Fox the opportunity to avoid claiming one of them. She still had the polka remaining, which she had mentally labelled as belonging to him… if only he would ask her.

“Right you are, then,” Mr Godwin said, darting an anxious glance at her before walking through the crowd in search of their quarry. “Do you know him well?”

Viv shook her head. “No,” she said with a sigh, glancing at Mr Godwin and deciding to take a chance. “I should like to, but… I intimidate him.”

Godwin gave a startled laugh and nodded. “By gad, I don’t doubt that. It’s hard on a fellow, you know, to look at someone as beautiful as you and not get his words all in a muddle. It’s awful distracting, not to mention a frightful strain on the nerves, always wondering if some other fellow is going to steal a march on you. My ma always says not to marry a beautiful gal if you want peace of mind. I’ve pondered that often, and wondered if there’s not a bit of sense in it, but just ‘cause a girl is pretty, don’t mean she’s disloyal, or shallow any more than a homely one is likely to be kind and sweet-natured. Leastways, I don’t think it does,” he said, looking deeply confused. “Not that I’m looking for a pretty one or a homely one especially, only one that likes me, which is dashed hard enough, I might tell you.”

Viv bit her lip to stop herself from laughing, for he was quite in earnest and so affable she decided he was an absolute darling.

“I don’t think you’ll have any trouble finding one that likes you, Mr Godwin. You just be yourself and she’ll make herself known to you.”

“Oh, I say. Thank you, Miss Anson,” he said, puffing up visibly and grinning as he escorted her through the crowd. “Ah, there’s the fellow. August, old man, look what a prize I’ve on my arm. Prettiest gal in the room, eh?”

Viv could see no visible sign of dismay on his face, but she felt certain Mr Lane-Fox was groaning silently.

“Miss Anson, we meet again,” he said, humour lighting his eyes, though he must be cursing her, must know she’d manoeuvred Mr Godwin into seeking him out again.

“She’s got some dances free, August. Ought to claim one whilst you still can,” Mr Godwin said in an all too audible whisper, unwittingly forcing the poor man into asking her again.

Viv gazed about the room, pretending she hadn’t heard, and tried her best to appear as though she were an innocent bystander. She failed. There was a smile tugging at her lips that refused to be vanquished.

“Is that so?” Mr Lane-Fox said, regarding Viv with a mixture of exasperation and… and something she very much hoped was anticipation.

August knew he ought to be annoyed, or at the very least irritated. He had tried his best to avoid Miss Anson ever since their dance, not even allowing himself to look for her in the crowd. He’d wanted to, though. That was the devil of it. No, not wanted to, longed to. He ought never to have danced with her and was very much looking forward to pummelling Bainbridge for putting him up to it. Holding her in his arms had been the biggest mistake he could possibly have made. The feel of her lithe body so close to his, the scent of her, the way her silken skirts had whispered against his legs, every detail of every moment of the dance was etched upon his brain for the rest of his days. She had taken his attention the first time he’d met her at Beverwyck. Well, and why not? He had a pulse, didn’t he? Any fool could appreciate beauty when he saw it and she… well, she made it hard to breathe. It almost hurt to look at her, like a painting so lovely it made your chest tight. She wasn’t a work of art, though. That he could have managed. No, she was a flesh and blood woman with a mind of her own, and a quick-witted, intelligent one at that. She made his pulse leap and his heart crash about, and that was the last bloody thing he needed. Yet here she was again, and fool that he was, he could not wait to take her in his arms.

Of course, he asked her to dance—not that he had a choice —and Barnaby stood there beaming as if he’d wrapped them both in a great red ribbon and now his work was done.

“Are you furious?” she asked as he led her back out onto the dance floor when couples took their places for the polka.

He smiled and shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. He could only feel some relief that the polka was an energetic dance, and whilst partly in hold, it did not have the intimacy of the waltz. Small mercies.

“I’m afraid I’m dreadfully stubborn,” she said as they waited for the dance to begin.