When Hugh knocked at Mrs. Turber’s front door promptly at seven o’clock, he found himself more anxious than expected. Offering to escort a lady neighbor to a dance was hardly a cause for jitters, but his cousin Daniel, who was at his side, was in such an irrepressible good humor that he had not been able to restrain himself from teasing Hugh all the way down the hill to town and up the hill to Mrs. Turber’s house.
“You really should have obtained a hansom cab, don’t you think,” he whispered into Hugh’s ear. “So gauche to make a lady walk.”
“The ball is a few hundred yards away at the inn,” said Hugh. “All the people in carriages will be waiting in a jam while we are already at supper.”
“I’m just saying you might look frugal,” said Daniel.
“I’ll punch you if you don’t behave,” said Hugh. “I’m merely doing a good turn here. Poor Miss Nash didn’t get to enjoy any of the afternoon, so I thought it’s the least we could do to offer her an arm down to the party.”
“Spinsters aren’t supposed to enjoy themselves,” said Daniel. “I think they live to be useful.”
The door opened, and Abigail the maid grinned at them in a most familiar way. “You do know we can hear everything you’re saying through the window?” she asked.
“One day I’ll die of shame because of you, Daniel,” said Hugh, hurrying into the cottage after his cousin.
In the front parlor, Beatrice stood at the fireplace, wearing a white silk dress. Hugh supposed it to be the same dress as she had worn in the parade, but some Grecian draperies must have been removed and the sweep of a low neckline and the snug neatness of the waist were revealed. Her dark hair was piled up, bound with a single dahlia of a deep pink color, and around her neck an old cameo hung from a dark crimson velvet ribbon. She wore no other jewelry, and though she attempted a frown of mock severity, Hugh thought her beautiful.
“Miss Nash, you look wonderful,” said Daniel. “You are a high priestess of the temple.”
“That is just another word for spinster, is it?” said Beatrice, pulling on long gloves.
“Beatrice, you must excuse my cousin,” said Hugh. “He would insist on coming when he is obviously not in his right mind.” Hugh would have liked to add his own compliment, but he could not be sure his cousin would not ridicule his efforts.
“I am a little giddy, Miss Nash,” said Daniel. “My dear friend Craigmore is coming to see me and we shall all dance until dawn.”
“I am happy for you,” said Beatrice. “I hope all the young ladies of Rye have brought their stoutest dancing slippers.”
“How is Celeste?” asked Hugh.
“She ate an egg and drank several cups of lukewarm tea,” said Beatrice. “She is still a little feverish, but she is resting calmly and Abigail will stay with her.”
“Then let us away to our merry masque,” said Daniel. “I am as dizzy as if the champagne was already flowing.”
Hugh opened the diminutive front door and handed Beatrice out into the street while Daniel fell in behind them. Hugh was very aware of the curve of her neck, the smell of the flower in her hair, and her slim figure as she slipped past him. Her hair seemed made for unpinning, and on the back of her dress, tightly laced with ribbon, a single knotted bow made him suddenly dazed with the desire to tug on it. He took in a sharp breath of evening air and reminded himself that he was promised to another woman; and that to overstep in his friendship with Beatrice might render life in Rye very complicated. He offered her his arm with a stiff bow.
“Miss Nash?”
“Mr. Grange.”
She took his arm, and as they walked to the coaching inn, the pressure of her hand on his sleeve made him flush so hard, he did not dare to look at her.
—
The inn was ablaze with light and thick with banks of peppery-scented dahlias and chrysanthemums. Beatrice had not seen such a party since her return to England, and she had forgotten how just the anticipation could fill one with pleasure. The orchestra was playing on the small stage in the ballroom, and three adjoining lounges had been thrown open for supper and for sitting. The rooms were already full with laughter. In the foyer, Alice Finch beckoned them to a flowered arbor, where she set the three of them about a mossy tree trunk draped in a velvet shawl, and photographed them with a burst of her upraised flash.
In the ballroom itself the chandeliers were newly electrified.
“My God, the light is so good all the women risk looking their age,” said Daniel.
“You are horrible,” said Beatrice.
“Be careful,” he said. “Schoolgirls are not allowed out this late.” She laughed and slapped at him with her dance card.
“May I ask for one of your dances?” said Hugh. He looked rather serious, and Beatrice was about to tease him when she decided instead that she would like to dance and so she handed over the little book with its silver pencil.
“Oh, do allow me some too,” said Daniel. “So much better than some marriageable girl with a pushing mother.”
“Daniel!” said Hugh.
“Miss Nash knows I’m only teasing her like a sister,” said Daniel. “No need to look all pugnacious, Hugh.” Hugh realized he was frowning as he hesitated between penciling in his name for the waltz or the less visible commitment of the following mazurka.
“I may give you one of the country dances, Mr. Bookham,” said Beatrice equably. “But I shall be sure to trip you up.” Hugh laughed aloud at her swift put-down of his cousin and decided to match her boldness by demanding the waltz.
—
Agatha was waltzing with her husband, and though her feet ached after such a long day, she rested in the shelter of his arms and allowed herself to enjoy the ball in a simple way. The day had been a success, the funds raised had exceeded all their expectations, and even the minor fiasco with Bettina’s Germans seemed to have done no lasting harm.
“Are you happy, my dear?” said John, swinging her with aplomb past two very lumbering couples in one corner. “You look a little preoccupied for one whose day was such a triumph.”
“I am happy,” she said, giving him the smile he wanted. “I am dancing with you, both our nephews are here with us, and I’m not going to think about committees or about war for the rest of the evening.”
“I think Hugh looks very happy to be dancing with Miss Nash,” said John. Agatha, who always had to look at a fixed point in order not to get dizzy with the spinning about, risked a peek at Hugh and lost her footing.
“You are just being provocative,” she said, doing an awkward skip and shuffle to catch up. “You know he is as good as engaged to Lucy Ramsey.”
“Well, she is not here and he does not seem to be pining,” said her husband. “And Miss Nash is such an intelligent woman.”
“Compounding lack of funds with intelligence, she makes herself unmarriageable,” said Agatha. “I adore Beatrice, but she would not advance Hugh’s prospects, and he is too sensible to throw away a surgeon’s practice for a penniless teacher.”
“My parents told me to marry for money,” said her husband. “But I chose the love of a strong woman.”
“And look what trouble I turned out to be,” she said.
—
Beatrice found it hard to concentrate on her steps with Hugh holding her waist. Hugh remained silent, though he seemed at times to want to speak and many expressions chased across his face. When the dance ended, he handed her to an empty chair at his aunt’s table and offered to fetch her some lemonade.
“I would be pleased to drink some lemonade,” she said graciously. “But I hope we are friends enough that you will not feel any obligation to hover about when you should be mingling.”
“I shall try not to take that as a dismissal,” said Hugh. “I shall return with lemonade.”