Page 6 of An Engagement with the Enemy

The vicar’s son was safe and young. She knew him well.

Dancing near Catherine, Jessica sent her friend more than one knowing grin as they wove themselves through the formations and steps required of them. The vicar’s son, only twenty years of age, managed not to step on her feet, but concentrated too closely on the steps to make conversation. She didn’t mind.

The music wrapped around her like a warm embrace, its melodies guiding her movements, which she executed with an instinctive grace. For her, dancing wasn’t about finding a suitor or fulfilling societal expectations; it was a celebration of life, vibrancy, and joy. With each skip and spin, she felt a surge of exhilaration, a rush of pure bliss her everyday life didn’t often bring her.

When Catherine came close again, she spoke barely loud enough for Jessica to hear her, saying, “At least we’re having a good time. Look at poor Romeo.”

A mischievous glint sparked in Catherine’s eyes as she nodded down the line. Jessica turned in that direction, curious. There he was, as artful a dancer as ever. She knew him to be quite skilled, having been forced into practice with him several times over the years.

His steps were precise, his movements fluid, but there was a certain stiffness to his demeanor that couldn’t be ignored.

Across from him, Lady Emily appeared bored. Their gazes rarely met, and their smiles were quite stiff. It was clear to Jessica that their dance was lacking in anything more than politeness. As she watched them navigate the steps with a distinct lack of genuine connection, a smirk played at the corners of her lips.

It wouldn’t do, of course. It wasn’t kind. But she couldn’t quite help herself. Seeing James look miserable with Lady Emily made her feel a trickle of amusement. It seemed her childhood enemy was reluctant to engage the woman in a reel, let alone a dance of courtship.

The thought brought Jessica immense satisfaction.

* * *

As the music carried on, James couldn’t shake the overwhelming sense that this ball, with its grandeur and forced festivities, was nothing more than a charade. A waste of time and energy that left him feeling trapped within the suffocating confines of his parents’ expectations.

Lady Emily and her parents wouldn’t extend their stay at the castle. James had spent the last several days in the woman’s company, nodding as she spoke to him of flowers and furnishings, politics and pleasantries, without finding himself with much to say in response. It wasn’t that he couldn’t converse on such things. Or that he didn’t enjoy a lively discussion on matters inconsequential or important. Only that…well.

He felt she weighed every word he said, performed some sort of mental calculation on their value, and found him wanting. And he hadn’t the least idea why.

“You do not wish for another set this evening, do you?” she asked while they were yet going through the figures of their second dance.

“No,” he said, forcing a polite smile. “I think I will allow the other gentlemen the pleasure of your company.”

At least the discomfort was mutual.

She was undeniably beautiful, with her copper-brown curls and dazzling gown, but the connection he sought eluded him. He yearned for something more, something beyond the superficiality of the ball. And he doubted he would find it at any point soon, so why go through all the bother?

His mind wandered, yearning for an escape from this orchestrated spectacle. He longed for genuine conversation, for connection, for a spark that could set his heart ablaze. Amidst the sea of polite acquaintances and childhood friends, he couldn’t find that elusive connection he sought.

He hadn’t met the woman for him. Of this he was quite certain.

A deep sigh escaped his lips, betraying his restlessness. This ball, this parade of empty gestures and hollow conversations, held no allure for him. He yearned for something more meaningful, more substantial than what his parents wished for him to content himself with.

After he completed his second obligatory dance with Lady Emily, he guided her back to her father and mother and left her in their care. Paying the expected compliments first, of course.

Her father, the earl, appeared disappointed and strained when he smiled his acceptance of the compliments. The countess’s expression was more difficult to read, but at least he sensed no hostility from her. From any of them.

They had tried an experiment, it had failed, and no one was to blame.

In his mind’s eye, he drew up a list titled Bridal Candidates. And he imagined a thin-inked line crossing Lady Emily from off the top. Perhaps he really ought to make a list, somewhere, to better track his parents’ scheme.

Leonard Harrington, his cousin and closest friend, met James at the punch bowl. “You haven’t the look of a man besotted by a lady’s charms.” Leo ladled lemonade into two cups, handing James the first. “Will they go home then?”

“Most likely.” James drank the lemonade and wished for something stronger. “There is no reason for them to linger when Lady Emily has made her opinion clear. As I concur with her, it is no great loss.”

“A shame. She liked speaking Swedish with me.”

“You don’t speak Swedish.”

“I know. But that’s the only language she would address me in when we were in the same room together.” Leo drained the rest of his cup in a gulp. “I pretended I understood every word, which likely entertained her sense of the ridiculous.”

James’s shoulders sank. “She got on better with you than me, then. I doubt I said a single thing that she liked.”