As I hobble from the dance floor to return to the company of Mrs. Bowles and the chaperones, I see Ann coming out to dance with Tom. She could not look happier. And Tom seems charmed to be in her company. I feel quite warmed to see them together.
"May I have this dance, Miss Doyle?" It's Simon, giving me a small bow.
"I'd be delighted."
"I see Lady Faber trapped you into dancing with her son, Percival," Simon says while twirling me gently in the waltz. His gloved hand rests softly at my back, guiding me easily round the floor.
"He is a most careful dancer," I say, trying to be polite.
Simon grins. "Is that what you call it? I suppose it is a skill to be able to dance the polka and talk incessantly at the same time."
I can't help smiling at this.
"Look there," Simon says, "Miss Weston and Mr. Sharpe." He indicates a dour- looking young woman sitting alone in her chair, dance card in hand. She throws quick glances toward a tall man with dark hair. He's chatting with another young woman and her governess, his back to Miss Weston."It is common knowledge that Miss Weston fancies Mr. Sharpe. It is also common knowledge that Mr. Sharpe doesn't know Miss Weston is alive. See how she longs for him to ask her for a dance. I'll wager she's kept her dance card free on the chance he'll ask."
Mr. Sharpe walks in Miss Weston's direction.
"Look," I say."Perhaps he's going to ask her."
Miss Weston sits tall, a hopeful smile on her needle-slim face. Mr. Sharpe passes her by, and she makes a show of looking off into the distance, as if she is not bothered in the slightest by his rejection. It is all so cruel.
"Ah, perhaps not," Simon says. He offers quiet commentary on the couples around us. "Mr. Kingsley is after the widow Marsh's sizable trust. Miss Byrne is much larger than she was during the season in May. She eats like a bird in public, but I hear that in private, she can eat up the larder in the blink of an eye. Sir Braxton is said to be carrying on an affair with his governess. And there is the case of our host and hostess, the Worthingtons." "What do you mean?"
"They are barely civil with each other. See how she avoids him?" Felicity's mother moves from guest to guest, giving them her attention, but she doesn't so much as look at her husband.
"She is the hostess," I say, feeling the need to defend her.
"Everyone knows that she lived in Paris with her lover, a French artist. And the young Miss Worthington is baring too much skin this evening. It's already being gossiped about. She'll probably have to marry some brash American. Pity. Her father was knighted by the Queen, given the Knight Commander of the Order of the Bath for his distinguished naval career. And now he has even taken on a young ward, the orphaned daughter of a distant cousin. He's a good man, but his daughter is becoming a stain on his fine reputation."
What Simon says about Felicity is true, yet I don't like hearing him talk about my friend this way. It is a side of Simon I've not seen.
"She is simply high-spirited," I protest.
"I've made you angry," Simon says.
"No, you haven't," I lie, though I don't know why I pretend I'm not angry.
"Yes, I have. It was most ungentlemanly of me. If you were a man, I'd allow you a pistol to defend her honor," he says, with that devilish half smile of his.
"If I were a man, I should take it," I say."But I would be sure to miss."
Simon laughs at this. "Miss Doyle, London is a far more interesting place with you in it."
The dance ends, and Simon escorts me from the floor, promising to ask for another when my card allows it. Ann and Felicity rush to my side, insisting I accompany them to the other room for lemonade. With Mrs. Bowles in tow, we pass through the rooms, arms linked, gossiping quickly and quietly. ". . . and then she said I was far too young to wear my dress so low and she might very well not have had me come at all if she knew I was to shame her in such a public fashion and the blue silk dress is ruined . . . ," Felicity babbles.
"She isn't angry with me, is she?" Ann asks, her face a picture of worry."You did tell her I tried to stop you?"
"You needn't worry so. Your reputation is intact. Besides, Father came to my defense and Mother backed down at once. She'd never stand up to him. . . ."
The ballroom opens onto the room that has been set aside for refreshments. We sip our lemonade, which feels cool. Despite the winter chill, we are warm with dancing and excitement. Ann's looking anxiously toward the ballroom. When the music starts again, she jumps for her dance card.