Chapter Six
“I’m terribly sorry your niece is suffering such a headache and must go home,” Mr. Danvers told Aunt Sally. The Danverses had herded Aunt Sally, Phoebe, and Annalise into a corner. The host wore a stiff smile, trying to disguise the unpleasant conversation. Annalise didn’t have a headache. It was merely a flimsy excuse cooked up by the host to politely expel her.
All of Mr. Danvers’s delicate diplomatic work was undone by his wife, who wept into her lacy handkerchief. “But I planned this ball for months, my love,” she wailed. “All the food, flowers, musicians. She’s ruined it.”
Mr. Danvers rested his hand on his wife’s arm. “Dearest, please, contain yourself. Others are watching.”
Annalise felt the prickling heat of the guests’ curious glances like hot ants crawling along her skin. She wanted to shout at them, You mean nothing to me. In a few weeks’ time, she hoped to board a ship to Holland and put miles of cold, turbulent ocean between herself and this snobbish city. Its shine had been tarnished. But she had to maintain her civility for Phoebe’s and her aunt’s sake. They had to continue to swim in these infested waters.
“Come away, Aunt Sally.” Annalise beckoned her aunt quietly, hoping to escape without creating an even bigger scene.
“Mr. Danvers, she is like my own daughter,” Mrs. Sommerville implored. “Let her stay.” Aunt Sally’s pleading tones were edged with hysteria.
“I understand that this is a delicate matter,” Mr. Danvers said. “I assure you I’m only thinking of Miss Van Der Keer’s well-being.”
Annalise stifled a bark of bitter laughter.
“This is cruel,” Phoebe cried. “I shall tell Papa.”
Annalise couldn’t see how that would improve matters by any measure.
“Phoebe, you can remain and enjoy yourself,” Annalise said, trying to remain calm. “My feelings shan’t be hurt. I assure you that a quiet evening of reading in my chamber would do wonders for my, um, headache.”
“I shall speak to Mr. Sommerville tomorrow,” Mr. Danvers said. “Of course, this little incident will not lessen my esteem for the gentleman. These things do happen from time to time.”
Annalise bit back the desire to say, Oh yes, it’s always unfortunate when you must humiliate someone because you have no backbone and always bow to Society’s whim. Well, I would rather have the approval of innocent daises in the fields than yours. No wonder her father had preferred animals and plants to people. Of course, he had always been far wiser than she.
“Let my niece stay,” Aunt Sally pleaded. “My husband will be so vexed. He has such a temper.” Aunt Sally pressed her hands together as if praying. “Doesn’t Annalise look lovely? I know her gown is a few years old, but she has done her hair differently for your ball. You can’t turn away someone so lovely.”
“I concur,” a rich baritone interjected.
Mr. Danvers wheeled around. There stood Lord Exmore. Annalise sucked in her breath. This wasn’t the Exmore she remembered. He had been the stiffly proper sort, perfect in manner and manicure. He had gazed at the world with reserved, disapproving eyes—or, at least, that was how he had gazed at her. This Exmore sported a reckless smile, and his hair was unkempt. Dark curls lined with prematurely silver threads fell over his forehead. Dry wrinkles crowded the corners of his eyes. His once chiseled face was slightly bloated, sagging at the corners of his mouth. This was the face of a dissipated libertine whose lifestyle was aging him before his time. Annalise struggled to reconcile this Exmore with the man she had known years ago. She couldn’t. The death of his wife had altered his soul beyond recognition. This man was a stranger.
The Danverses turned, as shocked as Annalise at seeing Exmore.
“My lord.” The hostess fell into a deep curtsey. “You honor us.”
What was happening? Had Exmore not been invited? This party was a few social tiers beneath him, so she hadn’t expected to see him here.
“And I would be exceedingly honored if Miss Van Der Keer and her cousin Miss Sommerville would save a dance for me, if their dances are not spoken for.” He spoke in pleasant tones, although his chest heaved as if he had run here.
What was he doing? He had given his word that he would stay away from her.
“Yes!” Phoebe cried.
Exmore shifted his gaze to Annalise. A beckoning glow warmed his eyes, and he held out his hand for her to take. She studied his long fingers that tapered at the ends. She realized that he was offering to be her savior. He might have been a rake, but his title and wealth solidified his place on the Mount Olympus of London Society. Was he trying to save her? It was too late for her, but she knew she had to take his hand for Phoebe’s and Aunt Sally’s sake. Still, she remained unmoving; everything seeming to slow down around her.
Then he whispered, “Please.”
She shivered at the intimacy of the sound, as if he were aware only of her and not everyone staring at them. She reached out and clasped his hand.
His warm fingers wrapped around hers. Her lips parted. His touch felt as it had the night before—like an old, comforting friend.
* * *
Exmore continued to hold her hand, afraid that if he let go, she would be washed away by an invisible ocean. He could tell that the stares of others unnerved her. They didn’t bother him, because he had grown accustomed to them. He had learned in these last years, after some of the most notorious nights of his life, to keep his head high and wear a cocky, dangerous smile, no matter what he had done.
He began, “I know I gave you my word that—”
“I meant to write you, but I couldn’t find the right words,” she broke in. “I thought if I waited a bit, the perfect words would magically appear. Such as when you’re not even thinking about it, but simply setting about lighting candles or mending a sleeve, and suddenly, ‘Oh my goodness, those are the words!’ Typically, it happens after I’ve posted a letter.” Her laugh was brittle, in the manner of one making a joke to hide nervousness.
“Ah, then you still have time. Perhaps the words will come to you as we dance.” He led her onto the floor as dancers were assembling for the next dance. Her hand clenched in his.
She shook her head. “I think the only word I have is ‘sorry.’ I’m sorry that I reacted so strongly last night. I’m very confused now. Everything is…” She shook her head. “I can’t explain it.”
“Try,” he encouraged.
Her brows dropped in concentration, and then she said, “This thing on your waistcoat. What is it?”
“A button.”
“What?” She shot him a comical look. “No! That is not what you call a button. That is a spinneybob. Everyone knows it’s a spinneybob.”
“What?” He played along with her game. “I’ve called it a button my entire life.”
“Well, you were wrong your entire life. It’s a spinneybob.”
“Ah, I see what you’re getting at.”
“You do?”
“You’ve changed so drastically that you don’t recognize your own world.”
Her bright expression fell to a more serious one, which fit more comfortably on her nervous features. “Yes. Precisely.”
“I know that feeling well.”
“You see, we are supposed to be enemies. But now it seems we are not.”
“We can still be enemies if that is your preference?”
“Perhaps.” She smiled teasingly and then added, “No. I like you better this way.”
That radiance he remembered at the print shop enshrouded her as she studied him with tender eyes. It seemed that his entire day had culminated in this moment. As if he had known at some hidden level in his mind that it would, and he had simply been killing time, hanging about clubs and hells, waiting for this dance to arrive.
“I didn’t see you at the party earlier.” A nervous quality entered her voice. “How did you know…well…”
“That you were in social peril?”
“I adore how you phrased that.”
“I heard from somewhere that you may be in a spot of trouble. And although I left my musketeer beard and trusty sword at home, I couldn’t resist the beckoning of a lady in distress.”
She laughed. The sweetness had a calming effect—like hot tea on a dreary morning. “I’m not so distressed, but I thank you on behalf of my aunt and cousin.”
“Not distressed? You hurt my chivalrous pride, señorita.”
She glanced about the room. “The thing is, I’m leaving London for Holland—where my father is from.” There was no excitement in her voice, only resignation and sadness. “There’s nothing for me here except my cousins. And it seems they would be much better off if I were gone as well.”
He couldn’t deny the prick of panic. I’m here. You can’t leave me alone.
Patrick would soon be here as well.
Exmore decided it was better to keep this knowledge to himself and lure her with something more innocent and uncomplicated. “Ah, I know a secret that may change your mind. I shall tell you on the dance floor.”
“Ooh, I dislike when people do that. You must tell me now. No secrets.”
“You must wait for this secret that I know you will adore. It’s a scintillating tale.”
“You are cruel,” she said and then chuckled. He remembered once comparing Annalise’s beauty to Cassandra’s, finding fault in Annalise’s more countrified features. Cassandra belonged on carved marble. The cool, idealized beauty. But Annalise’s face was meant for kindness and playfulness. You couldn’t love her face without falling in love with all of her. Not that he was falling in love. He truly didn’t know, because he couldn’t trust his emotions anymore. He was merely happy to be with her at this very moment. That was enough.
She groaned. “Must we dance? Couldn’t you have saved this damsel in distress for a card game or a glass of punch?”
“Hold on to me, and all will be well.”
She shook her head. “No, it will not be well. Your toes and the toes of other dancers will suffer greatly.”
“Come now, don’t you want to know my delightful secret?”
She considered and then wagged her finger. “Very well, but it’s your own fault if I smash up your toes.”
“Smile as you do it, and I won’t notice.”
When he led her onto the chalked floor, numerous other couples rushed forward to claim spots. This happened whenever he attended a ball. Exmore couldn’t understand his allure. In his own mind, he led a boring, embarrassing, desperate existence. He should have been banned from polite society long ago, but his deplorable behavior only seemed to fuel his popularity. Yet, the more Society desired of him, the less he desired of Society. He wished he could whisk Annalise away to a terrace, far from the curious looks. There, they could talk and laugh. He didn’t want much anymore from life, only the simplest, most commonplace of things, such as good conversation.
Annalise held him tight, bit the edge of her lip, and looked down at her feet when the music started. She was stiff but responded readily to his prompting touches that sent her in the proper directions. As she moved down the column of dancers, farther from him, she would flash him a comical look each time she made a mistake. When they were rejoined, she proudly declared, “I only stepped on three toes.”
“All you require is a little practice, and maybe you’ll only trounce one toe next time.”
“I don’t think there will be a next for me. Well, at least not in England.”
He didn’t want her to talk this way. “Are you truly leaving?”
She glanced at her aunt. “I sent missives to my Dutch cousins this morning. I don’t know when I shall receive a reply, but I shall tell my uncle tonight. I’m sure he will be relieved to see me go. This will undoubtedly be my last appearance in Society.”
“After all my heroics?”
She tilted her head. “But my last cherished memory of London Society will be dancing with the handsome Marquess of Exmore.” She delivered her flirtatious words with comfortable ease, making it obvious that she didn’t have any designs on him. This realization shouldn’t have angered him, yet it did. “It’s very romantic,” she continued. “Worthy of the stage, in my cousin Phoebe’s opinion. Of course, to be truly stage-worthy, I would have to die a tragic and dramatic death now.”
“Well, I hope you won’t die this tragic and dramatic death before next Tuesday. That day is part of the secret.”
“Oh yes, the secret. You have to tell it now, for I’ve done what you asked and attempted to dance and injured several men.”
“I don’t know,” he teased. “Perhaps I was presumptuous. It’s a dark, lascivious secret and may involve a ritual sacrifice. It might be too much for your delicate ears.”
She raised an amused brow. “Very well, keep it to yourself. Don’t think of telling me.”
“But it’s practically bursting to be told.”
“No, I shan’t hear a word of it. Not a word.” She moved down the line of dancers again, flashing him an impish grin.
He felt a jolt of arousal and forced himself to focus on the dance steps and his new partner.
“I saw that mischievous smile,” he accused when they came together again. “Now I must tell you my secret. It can’t be contained.”
“I didn’t smile mischievously at you.” A light rallied in her eyes.
“I’m well-versed in the language of smiles, and that one was particularly mischievous, milady.”
“Oh, you mean that one. I was smiling at the gentleman next to you.”
He repressed a chuckle and feigned an angry face. “Well, for that, I won’t tell you the secret about Christiaan Visser’s upcoming lecture.”
“What?” She dropped her hands from his grasp. All her playfulness vanished. “No, no, you must tell me! You see, he’s my father’s favorite,” she cried. “I read to Papa from Visser’s work in our garden during his last months. I have such memories. You must tell me. No jesting now.”
He gently gathered her hand in his, and they turned together. “Tuesday. At the Royal Institution at eleven in the morning.”
“That’s four days away! It might as well be four lifetimes.”
“Patience, milady.”
She flicked her wrist dismissively. “I’ve had enough of this patience everyone speaks so highly of. I don’t find it virtuous at all, but irksome.”
He wanted to dance her out of the room, onto the street, and to someplace where they could laugh and talk, away from the others. He wanted her all for himself.
“Will you attend the lecture as well?” she asked.
“Would my presence trouble you?”
She studied his face. He had to look away in the heat of her frank gaze. Were the deplorable ways he had spent his days and nights since Cassandra’s death evident in his eyes?
“Yes,” she whispered.
He tried to disguise his disappointment. “I understand.”
Her brows drew down into confusion, and then her face lit with realization. “Oh, I meant, yes, please come. No, your presence won’t trouble me. I should like to see you.” He wasn’t sure if she was aware that her fingers had tightened gently on his. “Do you think… Do you think that we can be friends?”
He had never been friends with a woman before. The women he knew fell into the categories of family, acquaintances, or lovers, but not friends. Yet, at this moment, he wanted to be her friend more than anything. It would be something honest and innocent. Things he hadn’t encountered in a long while. “I should like that very much.”
The music had ended, and they were still holding hands. “Thank you for your secret,” she said quietly. “And for rescuing my family and for making me laugh.”
“I believe you are guilty of causing me to chuckle once or twice.”
“It feels lovely to laugh again.” Her eyes were gleaming like jewels under the chandelier.
“Yes.”
Another few seconds ticked by before she slowly released him. “It’s Phoebe’s turn,” she whispered, and then that impish smile he adored returned. “This dance will be the pinnacle of her Season. Do make it worthy of her theatrical imaginings. You may want to fight a duel with another dancer or create other high drama.”
* * *
Annalise marveled at Exmore’s potent societal powers. After an hour spent being pointedly ignored and then asked to leave, now she had to politely turn away potential dance partners. This radical change happened merely because Exmore had asked her to dance and let her glow in his brilliant light. Society was as fickle as it was shallow. Once, she had aspired to its flimsy adoration. Now, she found it ridiculous.
Nonetheless, she smiled and conversed with her new partners and apologized for stepping upon their toes. But how could she respect them after Exmore? A true gentleman wouldn’t bend to the pressures of Society. He would act according to his own mind, as gallant Exmore, the modern musketeer, had.
The dance continued until the early hours. Exmore stayed for the entire time, dancing with all the young ladies. Annalise loved watching their giddy excitement at being whirled in the arms of London’s premier rake—the dashing gentleman most of them had seen only from afar and excitedly gossiped about among their friends. Annalise and he crossed paths in several dances. They would share a smile, as if they were privy to a private joke. Annalise found that dancing, conversing, and simply being with others was easier with a friend, a true kindred spirit, near her.
As she was leaving, Exmore accidentally bumped against her when he hailed a servant for a glass of punch. “Four long, miserable days,” he whispered. She struggled to maintain her countenance.
* * *
Back in her chamber, Annalise was too excited to sleep. Even the most boring passages of her father’s esoteric academic books could do nothing to calm her spirits. Finally, she dipped her pen.
Dear Patrick,
Tonight, I am happy. Truly happy. I have become friends with the last person you would expect of befriending me. Exmore. He wrote me the kindest letter of apology, and then he arrived like a hero to save me from disgrace. Not that I minded the disgrace. London hardly matters to me anymore. You are not here. All that remains are memories, and now I find that they are not enough to sustain me. I must go forward even as I prefer to go back. I can never be the girl I was once before. I have tried, but it is futile.
I am not the only one who has changed.
I was shocked when I first saw Exmore without his mask. His eyes appeared so painfully tired—like those old, weathered men who worked on the canal boats at home. Not the eyes one expects on a marquess. His handsome face shows the wear of the dissipated life he now leads. How his wife’s death has broken him. My heart hurts for him despite all the resentment I had harbored for him for so long.
I do hope our friendship survives, but I no longer hold too tightly to hope and the future. Yet, when I’m with him, I feel as though I’m coming back to life.