The next evening, when Louisa entered the assembly rooms with her mother and sisters, she found herself in a buzzing hive of smartly-dressed people. All around her snuff boxes clicked, glasses clinked, and silk gowns rustled. Music filled the air, as did the din of voices and the mingled scents of body odor, ladies perfume, and gentlemen’s hair tonic. In the warm glow of the flattering candlelight, everything and everyone looked beautiful.
But Louisa was not content for long to enjoy all that she beheld. She was too intent on finding what was not within her view—or rather, who. Though she had only Sir Steven’s vague description to go on, Capt. Raynalds should not be hard to spot in this sea of familiar faces. His, after all, would be the one she did not recognize.
To ensure she made a good impression on him, she had taken care to look her best. Her frock, constructed of copper-colored silk with an organza overlay, had a high waist, a low neckline, and swished elegantly when she moved.
She had also rouged her cheeks, stained her lips, and set her hair with rags and sugar water. The resulting curls now dangled in coils from the pearl-studded chignon at the back of her head.
“There are Lady Baldwyn and Sir Steven,” her mother announced over the noise of the room. “Let us go over and inquire after our promising new neighbor.”
Mama led the way toward the refreshments room, where the Baldwyns were loading their plates with tempting treats. To bolster her courage and confidence, Louisa went straight for the punch bowl. After ladling herself a cup, she sipped the potent mixture while her mother inquired after the man upon whom she’d pinned all her hopes.
“My daughters, especially Louisa,” Mama said to Sir Steven, “are counting upon making his acquaintance this evening, as you can well imagine.”
“I can indeed,” said Sir Steven, glancing Louisa’s way. “And rightly so, though I regret to say he has not yet arrived. I do, however, expect to see him very soon, for he gave me his word as a gentleman he would be here before evening’s end.”
After emptying her cup, Louisa felt a smidgeon less inhibited, but nowhere near as brave as she would need to be to carry out her plan. Turning back to the punch bowl for another cup of courage, she was dismayed to find someone else in possession of the ladle.
Augusta Cuthbertson, her former childhood friend.
Louisa’s heart frosted over as she forced her mouth into a pleasant smile. Once, she and Augusta had been as close as two friends could be. Then, without cause or explanation, Augusta abruptly ended their association. Hurt and baffled, Louisa had asked her mother what might be behind Augusta’s sudden and inexplicable coldness toward her.
“Jealously, my dear,” Mama had told her. “She obviously views you as a rival and fears she will suffer in the comparison if she is seen side-by-side with you. And who could blame her? For you are much handsomer and vivacious than is she.”
Unwilling to accept that she was that pretty—or Augusta that petty—Louisa rejected the explanation at the time. In the three years since, she had come to see just how small and false Augusta Cuthbertson really was.
People began talking to Louisa, and she answered them absentmindedly. At length, she got hold of the ladle and replenished her cup. She then moved away from her family into the doorway to watch the dancing.
The musicians struck up a lively reel and, as she tapped her satin slipper in time to the tune, the yen to dance burned in her breast. As if reading her mind, a man approached and bowed low over the hand she offered in greeting. She knew him from past assemblies to be Mr. Cooper, the captain of an iron mine over Ironbridge way. He also was tall, good-looking, well-dressed, and light on his feet. Though he’d sought her out a few times before, never had he pursued her further. Not that Papa would have allowed him to court her, for her father disdained mining captains even more than their military counterparts.
“May I claim this dance, Miss Bennet?” he asked with a charming smile. “Unless you would rather not join the reel in progress…in which case, I will gladly wait for the next one.”
She flicked a glance toward the assembling couples. The line was long, meaning the set could easily last an hour or more. By then, Capt. Raynalds would have surely arrived, and she must not miss her chance to take his measure.
“I am sure no one will mind if we join late,” she said obligingly.
She took his offered arm and, as they squeezed through the press, her gown rustled divinely. They took their place and performed the requisite figures and steps as they progressed up the rows. Half an hour after they’d started, their turn came.
As they danced down the line, Mr. Cooper spoke his first words to her since they took their places. “I have heard you are to marry your cousin before your next birthday. Have I been correctly informed?”
“It is my father’s wish that I marry his heir, who is indeed a cousin of mine,” she explained.
“Your cousin is a lucky man indeed.”
And if I am just as lucky, he will drop dead before the banns are read.
The dance ended a few minutes later and, just as Louisa sat to cool down and catch her breath, a hush fell over the room. Seeking the cause of the sudden quiet, she shot a glance toward the door. Her pulse, already racing from the exercise, gained more speed when she caught sight of two gentlemen and a lady she’d never set eyes upon before.
Beside her, a young woman whispered, “Is that they? Which one do you suppose is Captain Raynalds? Oh, I do hope he is not the one with the cane, for Mama wants me to try for him, for all your sakes.”
Louisa, suddenly ashamed of her scheming, studied the newcomers. The young lady was Charlotte’s age—or perhaps Henrietta’s—though certainly no older. She had a pretty face and thick blond hair done up in a mass of ringlets. Her gown, a flattering shade of pale blue, was accented by elbow-length gloves and a simple string of pearls.
The gentlemen with her cut equally striking figures. The shorter of the two (though by no means short) wore his dark hair in the au courant “windswept” style. He had chiseled features and a ready smile that showed off straight white teeth.
The taller of the two was the one with the cane. His golden blond hair was thick, wavy, and styled in a longer version of the “Brutus” cut made popular by Beau Brummel. He donned the standard evening attire—apart from one small detail. He wore trousers instead of the knee-breeches and stockings favored by every other gentleman in the room.
Was he thumbing his nose at convention? Or were the trousers meant to conceal whatever was wrong with his leg? For she now saw he walked with a pronounced limp.
For some reason, this man appealed to her more than the other—not in spite of his limp and avant-garde wardrobe choice, but because of them. In her books, flaws, if they were not too severe, made people more interesting and endearing than those who maintained the pretense of perfection. Perfect people, after all, were ungenuine—and she vastly preferred authenticity in a life companion.
She continued to observe the blond gentleman until her view was blocked by the people crowding around his party. The ballroom came back into focus. The ensemble was playing a gavotte, and her three younger sisters had joined the dancers.
A clock gonged somewhere in the room, making Louisa feel like Cinderella. Soon, the ball would end and she would go home without having met her prince—unless she acted quickly. With tightness in her throat and chest, she looked back to where she had seen him last, hoping the throng had thinned out enough to approach him. After she located Sir Steven, of course, as it would be highly improper for an unmarried woman to introduce herself to a bachelor at an affair of this kind.
The crowd had moved on, but so had the Captain and his party. Afraid she had missed her chance, she conducted a visual search from her chair. Upon finding him again (or the one she believed to be him, at least), her stomach fluttered with a mixture of angst and nervous excitement. He was now in the ballroom, not far away.
She took the opportunity to study his face. He was even handsomer up close than from a distance. His cheekbones were high, his “fine blue eyes” wide-set and intense, and his nose an agreeable size and shape. But it was his mouth that nearly undid her. The sensual curve of his lips aroused in her the wicked desire to be kissed in ways that were highly unsuitable.
His good looks and her obvious attraction to him boded well for her plan. If she could make a love match—even a less-than-honest one—she would be satisfied. When he glanced her way, their eyes met for one fiery moment. Then, flushed and flustered, she looked away.
She watched the dancers for a time before stealing another glance the blond gentleman’s way. He, too, was intent on the dancing couples, which now included his two companions. Was he indeed the Captain, or the handsome Lieutenant of whom Sir Steven also spoke? For the Baron had not mentioned a limp in his description of Capt. Raynalds. Not that it really mattered which one was which. She liked the blond best, and would endeavor to form an attachment with him, whoever he turned out to be.
She continued watching her objet de désir, but discreetly. In Much Wenlock, people made a great deal out of the slightest show of preference. She must, therefore, take care to be as inconspicuous as possible, lest the rumors got back to her father.
As she stole occasional glances his way, she became more and more convinced he was indeed who she presumed him to be. She also came to see that Sir Steven had misspoken. Their new neighbor was not disinclined to dance; he was unable to dance, which was not the same thing at all. The poor man clearly wanted to dance, but had lost the ability in service to King and Country—assuming, of course, his limp was the result of an injury sustained while fighting the French.
A strong wave of compassion crashed over Louisa. Equally powerful was the desire to make his acquaintance. She scanned the room for Sir Steven, spotting him at last in a knot of people. Wrestling her nerves, she rose from her chair and wove her way through the horde.
Noticing her approach, the Baron turned her way with an obliging smile. “Miss Bennet, how good of you to seek me out.”
Too anxious for small talk, she got straight to the point. “I have come to beg an introduction to Captain Raynalds now that he has come.” Glancing back toward the ballroom, she pointed out the gentleman with the cane. “I believe that is he over there, observing the dancers. Have I identified the Captain correctly?”
“You have indeed, my dear.”
Warmth spread through her, easing her tension some. “Does he not look as if he needs someone to come to his aid?”
“He does indeed,” Sir Steven said with a knowing twinkle in his eye. “And I can only presume you wish to be that someone, Miss Bennet?”
Her face heated and her stomach tightened. “I might wish it, if I knew the extent of his disability.”
“I wish I could help you there,” said the Baron, “but I know not the severity of his disability—only that it stems from an injury he sustained at Trafalgar.” With a merry grin, Sir Steven offered his arm. “Now, shall we go rescue the poor Captain from his self-imposed exile?”
Louisa took the Baron’s stout arm and, as he guided her toward her only hope of escape, her mouth went dry and her pulse quickened. Once the introductions were out of the way, she said to Capt. Raynalds, “You look as if you wish to be dancing. Were you fond of the amusement before you were injured?”
“I was indeed, Miss Bennet.”
His answer confirmed her suspicions—and aroused in her the desire to assist him. “Have you attempted to dance since?”
He scoffed. “I have trouble enough walking, dear lady. How the devil would I ever manage a contra-dance or reel?”
She swallowed the offense his belligerent tone kindled in her breast. He was a sailor, after all, and was probably unused to conversing with ladies of genteel birth. “Perhaps you might manage something less boisterous. A gavotte, perhaps, or a simple cotillion. I would be only too happy to assist you, if you are inclined to make the effort.”
There, she had played her card. Would he pick it up?—or leave it on the table?
“That is very charitable of you,” he said with a nod. “I could not, however, possibly impose upon your generosity, especially when I harbor not the smallest hope of the enterprise resulting in aught but my complete humiliation.”
Her disappointment did not curtail her determination for long. The stakes were too high to be defeated so easily. “You will not really know until you try, now will you?”
“No, I suppose not.” He held her gaze in a most disarming manner. “Though I have a pretty bloody good idea.”
She winced at his use of the curse, but still refused to be put off. She was made of stiffer stuff than to be frightened away by ungentlemanly expletives, which she would prove by giving as good as she got. Not by swearing—she was too refined for that—but by giving him a few spoonfuls of his own rudeness.
“Just how incapacitating is the injury to your leg?”
He shifted his sea-colored eyes from her to the dancers and back again. “I have no leg, Miss Bennet. Not a real one, leastwise.”
His bluntness astonished her as much as his confession. Hiding her shock, she said, “That must be…challenging for you.”
“Let us just say dancing is not the only pleasure of which I have been robbed as a result.”
A flush of embarrassment warmed her cheeks and chest. Even with her Dutch courage, she could not summon the nerve to inquire after what pleasures he meant. It did, however, seem entirely feasible that a blow powerful enough to sever a leg could also deprive a man of his virility.
Did it matter to her if he was impotent? Strangely, it did—owing to her desire to have children, rather than her expectations of physical passion in marriage.
He watched her closely, no doubt to gauge her level of offense. When she gave him no satisfaction, he asked with a teasing cadence, “Whatever is the matter, Miss Bennet? Did the cat get your tongue?”
Lord, what a dazzling smile he had. She was positively weak in the knees—not that she had the least intention of letting him see his effect on her. “Not the cat,” she said, her gaze coolly hooded, “but rather the Captain, who I strongly suspect is striving to shock me to the best of his ability. Though I do wonder after his motives; for, if he desires to be left to himself, he need only say as much.”
“While Sir Stephen mentioned you were a beauty,” said the Captain, grinning like a fox, “he failed to convey how spirited you are.”
The mention of Sir Steven brought her back to earth long enough to realize the Baron had left them alone. Good. Now, she could take the gloves off—figuratively speaking, of course. “He also mentioned how good-looking you are, sir. Though he failed to disclose how irascible you are.”
Leaning on his cane, the Captain brought his face closer to hers. “Tell me something, Miss Bennet. Why are you standing here conversing with a cripple when you could be out there dancing with an able-bodied marriage prospect?”
There was brandy on his breath and another scent wafting from his person. A heady mixture of soap and masculinity that seduced her senses and threw propriety to the wind.
“Are you not able-bodied in the ways that count?”
Though he sputtered, he quickly collected himself and countered with a provocative, “Are you asking me for proof?”
“Tempted as I am to demand evidence”—she held his gaze with a smoldering stare—“I will settle for your word as a gentleman. If indeed you are such a one.”
He laughed again, which pleased her beyond what she cared to admit. She enjoyed challenging him and the life her statements brought to his eyes.
“Tell me something else, if you will. Are all the husband-hunting ladies of Much Wenlock avoiding me because they have heard I am not in the market for a wife? Or do they shun me because they consider a former naval officer beneath their notice?”
“I can speak for none but myself.” She batted her lashes at him. “And, as you can see, I have no qualm about speaking to you.”
His mouth hitched into a crooked smile. “Then you confess to being on the hunt for a husband?”
“Single women are always looking for husbands,” she said with an offhanded air, “whether they admit it or not. For what other choice do we have but to marry?”
“Quite so, Miss Bennet,” he replied with a gleam in his eye. “What other options could there be for a well-bred young lady of limited education?—except, of course, to end her days as a spinster and nursemaid to her aging parents.”
Maidenly modesty made her blush. Only a rake would say such things to a lady he hardly knew. Why, then, did she find his brashness so thrilling? For some inexplicable reason, he brought out in her a boldness of character she found exhilarating.
“Better to die a spinster and nursemaid than to marry a man she despises.”
This seemed to catch him off-guard. “Do you speak from general observation or from your own experience? On second thought, don’t tell me. For whichever the case might be, it can have no bearing on me.”
Rather than discourage her, his statement only emboldened her the more. “Are you sure about that?”
He leaned in and, for a moment, she thought he might kiss her—the rogue!—and was not entirely sure she would object if he did. Never mind that allowing such an intimacy would destroy her plans and any hope she might have for happiness in marriage. The heart wanted what it wanted, and hers longed more than anything at this moment to taste those seductive lips of his.
But alas, he only whispered in her ear: “I am growing less certain with every moment passed in your company.”
She struggled to maintain the façade of composure, in spite of her damp palms and pounding heart “That being the case, I will answer your earlier question in all honestly. I am standing here talking to you instead of dancing because…well, because there is no other man in the room with whom I care to stand up. Hence, my offer to give you instruction.”
His eyes narrowed—in a seductive rather than contemptuous manner. “You tempt me, Miss Bennet. For partnering you on the dance floor would be not only my honor, but also my inestimable pleasure. Regrettably, however, my dancing days were ended by a surgeon’s saw in the Cape of Trafalgar ten years ago.”
She was sure she saw him flinch at the mention of his amputation. Her imagination conjured an image of him laid out with a knife between his teeth, bravely bearing the agony as the ship’s surgeon sawed off his leg. Surely, enduring such a thing was enough to drive a man to madness!
Shivering, she blinked the harrowing picture away. “If you truly believe that, why not accept my offer?” She quickly added, “To prove me wrong, if for no better reason.”
“Perhaps I shall, Miss Bennet.” His eyes twinkled in the ambient candlelight of the ballroom. “Perhaps I shall at that.”
She was more than pleased with what seemed to her genuine interest on his part. Now, all she needed to do was slip the halter on before he knew he’d been caught. Better yet, she would adopt the methods of the great tamers of horses. After being gentle with the animal, they walked away and, more often than not, the wild horse followed.
And for her plan to succeed, the Captain must follow her. For she knew very well that suitors liked to do the chasing, not to be pursued. Besides, if she lingered any longer, she might lose her mystique—or say something to scare him away. And there was too much to lose to take such a foolish chance.
“When you are ready to begin, send a note to that effect to me at Craven Castle,” she said with a flighty smile. “And now, if you will excuse me, I must rejoin my mother, who will be despairing by now over what has become of me.”
As she took her leave, she lifted her skirt just enough to give him a peek of one ankle. Yes, it was a scandalous thing to do, but in a situation as dire as hers, a lady had to avail herself of every weapon in her arsenal.