The day of Lydia’s birthday ball did not begin with promise—gray skies and light, almost misty rain. By afternoon, the clouds opened up and poured, but only for a few hours. And then, miracle of miracles, the sun chased away the clouds and pulled in the warm airs from the hills, blanketing the city with comfortable, sweet-smelling breezes.
As dictated by the Beau Nash rules of proper conduct, the ball was scheduled to begin precisely at the hour of six. This required Robert to leave the firm at midday to prepare. It was just as well, for he found it difficult to concentrate. His thoughts were entirely taken up by memories of the wit, figure, and laughter of one Miss Lydia Whitfield.
This was both a beginning and an end, and as a consequence, he was both elated and heavyhearted. Tonight, he would dance with Lydia. In fact, he had been given the great honor of opening the ball with her. The first set would be the minuet. Halfway through the night, Robert would lead her to the floor for their second dance. She had chosen a quadrille. But that would be all. Any more than two dances would start tongues wagging.
Once he returned her to her mother’s side, he would have to vie for Lydia’s attention through the hordes. Robert had no doubt that Lydia would take. There was no reason to assume otherwise. Lydia Whitfield was a cultured, beautiful, wealthy young woman of marriageable age. Bachelors would arrive at her doorstep in droves from this day forward, until she made her choice.
Robert didn’t want to think about who that might be; at least it wasn’t Lord Aldershot. Lydia needed a husband of excellent morals—she would respect nothing else—and someone who could make her laugh but also stand up to her with knowledge and true understanding of the ways of the world. Someone who could benefit from a well-ordered life. His conversation would need to be more than hounds and horses. No, Robert did want to think about it.
To the end of his days, Robert would never forget the glorious sight of Miss Lydia Whitfield waiting just past the portico in the principal entrance of the Lower Rooms. He had just stepped out of his sedan chair, pulled straight his coat, and fixed the seam of his gloves when he looked through the door and beheld her.
He knew her gown to be of white with a pink sheen, covered with some sort of lace and beads; she had described it to him some days before. He knew her to be wearing pearls in her hair—real pearls, ten of them. He knew that her shoe roses sparkled with silver ribbon, but he saw nary a one. He was too busy watching Lydia’s face, drinking in the joyous expression, the happiness in her eyes. And she was staring at him.
*
Tired and yet exhilarated, Lydia looked around the beautifully appointed Assembly Room. With high ceilings and brightly glowing chandeliers, there was no sense of overcrowding—a crush though it might be, it was a comfortable one. The music was lively, the dancers smiling, and the night appeared to be a great success.
Lydia had done her best to attend to her guests in equal measure. She had danced with a physician, two barons and an earl, a magistrate, and, unfortunately, a ne’er-do-well—though he was polite and an adequate dancer. She had made a round of the matrons and chaperones hovering near the fireplace at the far end of the ballroom, chatting for a few moments with each. And she had seen to the partnering of Elaine and Cora to suitable gentlemen throughout the evening. Though, with Cora there was little to direct. Her friend had already danced three sets with Mr. Granger and looked to be agreeing to another. They had eyes only for each other—and if some considered their behavior unseemly, none in the family would fault her.
There were only two sets of dances left before the fateful hour of eleven, when all would call for their carriages or sedan chairs, and the night would be over. Overheated, more inclined to stand near the open doors to the terrace than twirl and skip through another set of steps, Lydia looked around for her next partner and met, instead, the eyes of Robert Newton, dancer extraordinaire.
He was leaning on the paneled wall next to one of those tall fresh-air-wafting doors, and Lydia watched him straighten, look slightly puzzled, and then shrug.
Choosing to take this as an invitation, Lydia whispered to her mother and then skirted around the room, doing her best to avoid the dancers. Elaine skipped past her, laughing uproariously to the comment of her partner, and then she, too, disappeared into the multitude.
As Lydia neared Robert’s position, she could feel the waft of a cool breeze, and yet her skin began to burn, and she found it increasingly difficult to breathe. And still she continued, locked onto his gaze. After having traversed the entire length of the room to speak, they stared at each other in silence. Eventually, Lydia smiled, Robert winked, and they found their voices.
“No partner?” Robert asked, raising his tone above the din.
“Mr. Wilson has not come to claim me.” In fact, Lydia knew Mr. Wilson to be engaged in an energetic conversation with a Mr. Dorchester near the library entrance. Lydia had not sent her uncle after him, nor would she do so with Robert. She was quite content to stay exactly where she was.
“I would call this a triumph, Miss Whitfield. Are you enjoying the night?”
“Absolutely, Mr. Newton. Though, if I had one regret, it would be that we, you and I, cannot dance together again.” She sighed overdramatically, though her words were true.
“Not seemly.”
“But really, who would know?” she asked.
Robert laughed. “Well, all those who are watching us at this moment. Can you not feel their eyes? You don’t want to appear particular; it might limit those who come to call over the next few weeks and months.”
“As long as you come to call, Mr. Newton, I don’t see the problem.”
A frown flicked across Robert’s face; though it was hurriedly replaced with a smile that did not reach his eyes. “Now that you are out, Miss Whitfield, I will not be able to visit as I have been doing. It was a little untoward, though kindly tolerated by your family because of my position as your solicitor’s apprentice. It doesn’t mean that our friendship has to end, just that we will be able to see each other only on occasion.”
“No,” Lydia said with far more force than she intended. Robert’s countenance was that of a dispirited man, wounded to the heart, and it made her want to cry. There was no need of this. They could spend as much time as they liked together if he would but offer her his hand.
But he wouldn’t. Her mother was right.
Touching his arm gently, Lydia drew Robert across the threshold onto the terrace. The cooler air helped clear her head, helped shore up her nerves.
“Lydia, we cannot be out here. You have to be careful of your reputation—very careful, you—”
“We are in full view of the entire room, should anyone choose to look.”
“And they are, Lydia. I know this affords us some privacy, but it is that very privacy that will cause—”
“Hush.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I wish to speak to you about something very significant and you keep distracting me. I find it difficult to … I … Robert—” Lydia drew in a great lungful of air, coughed slightly, and then blew it out slowly. “Robert?”