Page 23

Of course, she dreamed of Lord Asherton. Like all the others it began sweetly, with kind words and warm touches across her waist that melted her thoughts to the barest, wildest core. Elinor accepted—welcomed—his kiss, as she’d done in the carriage, but his lips were cold as frost. She pulled back, horrified. His chiseled face froze in a smile, his gold-edged skin turned blue. He opened his mouth, saying something, but only icy vapor came out. She couldn’t hear him. She didn’t want to. He reached for her, shaking her shoulders so roughly she gasped.

“Wake up, sleepyhead!” The voice wasn’t his. Arabella? When did she…? Elinor’s heavy lids opened, and her cousin laughed. “Rise and shine, silly goose,” Arabella added, dragging Elinor upright before Hannah intervened in a show of mercy and shooed Bella back to her own dresses and petticoats. Hannah helped Elinor to stand, and ushered her to the washbasin to undress and give herself a quick wipe down before slipping into her chemise.

Hannah quickly helped with her stays before tying her white petticoat on, securing the straps on her shoulders. “Now, hurry, Miss Harcourt. Sit yourself down here. Your hair needs a comb before I start.” Elinor gratefully sank into the vanity seat, and looked for her cousin in the mirror while Hannah began working on her hair. Arabella was already dressed, her hair a bouquet of robust curls and blue ribbon woven through what looked to be an elaborate chignon.

“You look beautiful, Bella.”

“I do, don’t I?” Her cousin spun around, her azure net skirt moving like a misty cloud around her, glass beads glimmering in the light, accentuating the innate grace of her movements. Elinor found herself laughing. Arabella could be the most annoying, childish companion, until a sudden moment like this one when someone else appeared through the airs and tantrums like a fairytale princess. In another year or so, Mary might not be the beauty of the family anymore. The thought caught Elinor up short, as she wondered again what next Season might bring.

Bella stood beside Hannah, inspecting Elinor’s reflection. “I am not certain I can accept the compliment. Not when you say it as though you don’t believe the same for yourself.”

“Don’t be silly.”

Smiling, Arabella pulled at one of Elinor’s loose curls to let it fall beside her face. “You realize you look exactly like me, yes? Except for the eyes. I wish mine were blue like yours.”

Elinor raised a brow. “Truly? But yours are exquisite, and far more unique.”

Arabella chuckled. “Is it not true that we always desire from others what we lack in ourselves? I think that’s how the phrase goes?”

“Indeed,” Elinor said vaguely, her thoughts already drifting as Arabella returned to her trunks to sort through her jewelry and ribbons.

“Finished, Miss Harcourt,” Hannah said, smiling as she stepped back to admire her work. The bun was not nearly so intricate as Arabella’s, but ‘simple’ failed to describe it for once. Her curls were not as numerous or as voluminous, but framed her face nonetheless. Pins with pearl ornaments circled her crown, and a pink peony ornamented the side of her bun. At first, Elinor fretted it would not look good against the pale yellow of her gown, but Arabella insisted the match was perfect, and upon viewing herself, Elinor conceded her cousin had the right of it.

In total, it took three hours from waking to sliding her feet into her dancing slippers, but as she stood before the vanity, she caught her breath. A stranger stared back at her—beautiful, elegant, and completely terrified. Her white-gloved hands reached up to the golden cross, sliding it on the chain.

“It is going to be all right, Ellie.” Arabella came to her side, wrapping her in a careful hug, minding both their gowns. “If nothing else, you have a ready excuse to retire early for the evening. Now, come. I wish to fill my card, and you cannot manage the stairs without my help.”

Elinor rolled her eyes. “If you are trying to make me jealous because I am not allowed to dance, you should know, it is working.”

Arabella laughed at Elinor’s pout but said nothing else as they slowly navigated the corridor and descended Merfield’s grand marble staircase with Elinor fighting a wince each time she bore weight on her ankle. The main floor held a throng of people, all gaily dressed and laughing. Elinor leaned on her cousin as they stepped onto the mosaic tiles of the foyer, Arabella whispering a few titles and names to put to faces as they made their way through the crowd.

“How do you know so many of them?” Elinor asked at last, half dizzy with the crush and the names.

“Because I don’t hide in the house any time there’s a picnic.” A heavy sigh. “You really must learn to talk to people, Ellie.”

They scarcely reached the arched doors of the ballroom before four young men about Alexander’s age approached. Elinor searched her memory but couldn’t recall their names, though they all greeted Arabella easily enough they must’ve been introduced. Arabella soaked up their attention as if she’d been born for it. Elinor was happy to retreat a few steps back, observing the ballroom from relative safety, and quietly demurring that her ankle wouldn’t allow her to dance when one of the young men asked her about the quadrille.

Leaving Arabella to her conquests, Elinor retreated to a nearby set of seats, ranged along the ballroom’s edge. Perhaps it was the sunset and the candlelight that kept so many faces looking like strangers? Or was it her own scattered thoughts? Henry’s dark ramblings about the Ruthven family ran along the back of her mind like a wretched chorus, spoiling the first strains of music from the far gallery. The ballroom was usually used as two rooms, but opened up tonight the house’s grandeur shone past its usual quiet domesticity. High arches, glimmering silk hangings, fresh polish, and hundreds of candles turned Merfield into a true revel.

She knew her aunt and uncle were about, perhaps in one of the connecting chambers being used for dressing or card games. Mary was close at hand, beside her husband Viscount Dalton, laughing at something he whispered in her ear. Instead of going to them, Elinor continued searching for familiar faces, and caught sight of Alexander across the ballroom, but he appeared engrossed in conversation with Lord Summersby. Best not approach him yet.

Lord Asherton stood a few paces to the right of his brother-in-law, engaged with a young buck in a dazzling emerald velvet suit whom Elinor didn’t know, and a pair of militia officers in fine red coats who she vaguely recalled from another ball in early spring. A stunning brunette who looked rather like Lady Summersby hovered alongside Asherton—his sister, Lady Cecilia, Elinor guessed. She knew an aunt had brought the younger Asherton siblings down, but with her own family’s arrival early in the day, she’d been unable to meet them.

The earl himself wore a deep green coat and creamy, fitted breeches, with a brocade waistcoat and a crisp cravat. Her breath caught as he looked her direction. Then he nodded, and excused himself from his fellows, and her heart lurched.

For the first time in their acquaintance, she considered trying to hide. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to call one of Bella’s admirers over and fawn at him? What if… But it was too late. Asherton’s long strides had brought him too close. Don’t inhale, she thought wildly. His cologne might make her forget the whole sordid tale. As if that were any more deadly than his glittering eyes or sinful lips.

“Miss Harcourt, you seem to be in retreat.”

“I… Um.” She’d forgotten to tally his rich, velvet-and-honey voice among the threats to her sanity. Blast. “Somewhat, my lord.”

He smiled toward the knot of Arabella and her new admirers. That poor dance card would be full before the first set started. “I take it you are not to dance this evening?”

Her eyes met his, and she forgot all that Henry said. There was no scandal, no mystery, nothing else but the two of them and the memory of his lips on hers, and his hands sweeping along her body… “Dr. Moreland fears I’ll disrupt my recovery should I take a wrong step. And I loathe to discover the last two weeks’ convalescence was endured in vain.” She let her gaze move lower to his cravat and coat. “You look very handsome, Lord Asherton.” The deep green brought out the color in his hazel eyes.

“I am pleased you find me so.” He chuckled and offered her his arm. “Since you cannot dance, I believe I promised to sit with you, but I wouldn’t wish to scare off all your beaux so early in the evening. Should we take a turn on the terrace before the chill sets in?”

She laid her hand on his forearm, doing her best not to think about the strength hidden beneath his sleeve. “I think that is a marvelous idea.” She’d forgotten how stark their difference in height was, but he kept his pace slow for her benefit and she leaned against his arm, feeling more at ease now than she had since Henry’s arrival. The thought, however, made her remember the reason behind her nerves, and her smile fell as they passed through the doors and onto the stone terrace.