As they made their way through the crowd to the center of the ballroom, Bernie reminded herself of her manners, but she couldn't help teasing Lord Matthias a little. He was so endearing.
It must be so for everyone who knew him. How odd now, to thing she'd imagined she knew his secret self from reading all those letters. She'd been privy, however clandestinely, to his steadfast heart, his sincerity, his abiding loyalty. She had imagined those admirable traits might be hidden, somehow, sheltered behind some aloof and imposing facade.
Now she wondered if he only had a single self. An integrated, true interior that matched his exterior, the man that everyone here had seen and known for many years. How very authentic.
Oh, she liked this man. She wanted to do something for him, as he had done for her, giving her and everyone else this beautiful night. She had nothing to offer in return, did she? All she had in the world was herself. There was little someone in her position could do for such a man.
She wanted to make him laugh. So far she had only succeeded in amusing herself, but that was something of a start, was it not?
With her arm on his, he continued to ease her through the crowd, who all seemed incredibly happy to see her, which was a little odd considering she'd never met most of them.
Lord Matthias's deep voice interrupted her galloping thoughts. "And where is Simon tonight?"
"Snug in his bed, under the watchful eye of Mr. Cranston's elderly mother." Bernie pursed her lips slightly. "At least, he'd better be!"
"Is he troublesome, then?"
Bernie shook her head. "Heavens, no! Just lively-minded. That's what my mother used to say. He is so curious about everything. Why does the river run down and not up? If the cows eat the grass and the people eat the cows -- " She stopped and shook her head ruefully. "Sorry, my lord. My aunt claims I can run on for days if no one remembers to shut off the sluice."
He looked down at her. "Tell me. I want to know what Simon wonders."
She bit her lip. "He asked, if the cows eat the grass and the people eat the cows, does the grass eat the people?"
Matthias surprised them both with a gruff sound that was not quite a chuckle.
Bernie hid a small gratified smile and went on. "I didn't know what to tell him. I mean to say, he is quite correct in his own way, but the thought of him ever repeating it in front of Aunt Sarah doesn't bear thinking about!"
There. She had lightened him, even if only for a moment.
And then the ballroom floor was before them. Bernie let out a sigh of admiration. Even though she knew that it was a crowd of blacksmiths and butchers, the view of the men in fine dark surcoats and their ladies in their brightest and best seemed the finest, most glittering company she could have imagined.
Lord Matthias waved his hand and the sprightly country dance tune eased to a finish. He turned to Bernie and releasing her arm, bowed deeply and offered her his hand. "Will you waltz with me, Miss Goodrich?"
Breathlessly, she put her gloved hand in his large one. When he wrapped her fingers in his, she bit her lip against the jolt of heat that jumped from the contact. Touching him was so much more than nice, or fine, or pleasant, more than merely the warmth of his hand. She felt a strange sort of familiarity twanging within her, like a bowstring released. That sense of recognition mingled with perfectly understandable attraction. Not to mention whatever it was that he bathed with that made him smell so good! The combination dizzied her very blood as it rushed through her.
Then the musicians began a waltz tune. Bernie's chest felt tight, so profound was her exhilaration. Lord Matthias lifted her hand in his and guided her onto the floor.
In the ballroom, Jasper circled the crowd with his silver tray until he spotted his quarry. He dove through the mob of villagers and popped up next to the elder vicar's wife.
He bowed deeply. "A fortifying drink for a chilly night, ma'am?" he offered.
Mrs. Sarah Goodrich sniffed at him. "I do not partake of spirit."
Jasper drew himself up. "And I should never offer such to a lady of irreproachable respectability. But surely a small draft of sensible sherry? 'Tis good for the blood and warming in winter."
The vicar's wife glanced down at the ladylike decanter and small, delicate glass on his tray, presented on a circle of lace. He'd outdone himself really, making it look as innocuous and feminine and respectable as possible. If he were a lady, he imagined he would find it nigh irresistible.
Mrs. Sarah Goodrich paused a little too long before shaking her head again in refusal.
Got you.
Jasper put on a heartbroken face. "Pray, do not force me to tell his lordship that his offering did not meet your standards."
Mrs. Vicar, as Jasper decided to call her in that moment, turned to him with her eyes wide. "Lord Matthias requested this? For me? Specifically?"
"But, of course!" Jasper lied, all in good cause. Besides, the gloved hand behind his back had his fingers firmly crossed. "His lordship knows perfectly well that a woman of your standing would never partake of champagne or any other decadent refreshment. That's why he sent for this particular sherry, as it is, er, fortified." Fortified by his lordship's smoothest whisky, that is. Jasper fluttered his eyelashes and try to look as innocent as possible.
Yielding to temptation, Mrs. Vicar reached out for the tiny thimble-sized class full of rich red liquid. "Well, I suppose it would be quite rude to turn down such a…"
"Respectable?"
"And generous offering." Mrs. Vicar took a glass and sipped the merest drop onto her lips to taste cautiously.
"I fear, like most medicinal drinks, it is best tossed back swiftly." Jasper delivered his entirely untrue advice with a note of deep regret. Surely he would be forgiven someday, after his plan came to fruition.
Mrs. Vicar took his advice and tossed back the whisky, ah, sherry, with swift determination.
Smoothly, Jasper took the tiny glass for her hand, refilled it and slipped it back between her gloved fingers before she had even a moment to analyze the taste.
"There now. Must drink up. It is good for you."
Mrs. Vicar looked down at her little glass enterprise. "Oh dear. Didn't I? Well."
Again the little red drink disappeared with surprising alacrity. Jasper was beginning to wonder if this was indeed Mrs. Vicar's first whisky.
Certainly she was nicely warmed up by now? He kept his tray still and shifted himself into a more intimately conversant position. "Truly, the staff here at Havensbeck is thrilled to have persons of your and your husband's stature as our guests this evening. Tell me, how does Haven's celebration compare to Green Dell's?"
"Well…"
After several minutes of highly informative comparison, Jasper realized he'd been quite correct. Behind Mrs. Vicar's chilly reserve lurked a good old-fashioned gossip. All she needed was a drop or three of sherry/whisky and an encouraging ear.
"And Miss Goodrich? How did you and the vicar come to be caretakers of the young lady and her brother? It is most admirable of you."
And she was off again.
Oh, yes. Mrs. Vicar was like a squirrel's winter cache, filled to bursting with excellent nuggets of information.
"Tell me more about young Simon."
Simon Goodrich was very good at not being noticed. When Bernie had a mind to give him a soaking in the bath, or when the Ladies League felet the need to grill him on his knowledge of the Good Book, he'd learned how to slip through rooms and doorways like a shadow. So when a well-intentioned adult had some improving activity in mind, Simon was always "just here a moment ago."
Tonight, he'd slipped past his departing family members to stow away in the boot space of the John Barton's carriage. He'd never done such a thing before but it seemed like a good notion at the time. Eventually he'd wished he'd thought to bring a blanket to pad the hard wooden surface over the bumps, and maybe to snuggle in when the chill began to creep into the little box. However, all in all he was proud of his solution to his problem.
It wasn't fair that he couldn't attend the ball simply because he was eight. That was like a punishment just for not being big enough!
He hadn't had much trouble getting into the grand house either, for although the place was bustling with activity, the servants and guests were far too occupied to spot a silent child in the shadows. He even managed to slip into the dining room and filch a giant slice of cake to take into hiding with him.
Bernie had told him all about her tour of the house, especially when he'd pretended to have hurt feelings over not being included. Well, mostly pretended. So he knew that there was a place to sit up high and look down over the ballroom. He thought he might like that view, like a hawk watching the field.
He found it rather quickly, which was surely further proof that his mission was a righteous one. It was like a long, curved room in the shape of a new moon, with one wall missing, just a fancy railing there instead. He found himself all alone up there, with only a few rows of empty chairs facing outward. The expanded balcony was a darkened half-arc around the brilliant ballroom, opposite the grand entry stair. It was a grand view of the dance floor and although the shadows around him were a little spooky, the dimness made sure no one could see him peering between the railings of the balustrade, even if they looked up.
He settled in with his cake on his lap preparing to dig in, when a hustle and bustle on the far end of the mezzanine made him duck away from the railing around the grand ballroom into what seem to be a bit of a blind alley. Hidden in the shadows, he watched the sudden flurry of activity on the mezzanine with dismay.
A bunch of men in fancy suits entered by the same doorway Simon had used. They carried strange boxes into the open space of the mezzanine. That was when Simon realized what all those chairs were for. Oh, dash it all.
The men took musician's musical instruments out and began to plink and plunk at them. It didn't sound very nice at all, in Simon's opinion. A bit rickety-rackety and all over the place. He wouldn't want to dance to it, that was for certain!
He might as well sit down. It certainly looked as though the intruders were going to stay.
Simon grumbled in his dark corner and nibbled on his cake. The explosion of pastry and sugar and dried fruit in his mouth barely made up for his disappointment at losing his superior vantage point.
But after a while the strange discordant sounds became very nice. The music was really pretty. The chatter and bustle from below proved too much for his curiosity.
Hoping that the musicians were far too busy to look his way, since their eyes were fixed on their papers before them, Simon scooted out of his shadow and eased his way up to the balcony railing once more. He comforted himself that he was small and his clothes were dark and there were no candles at his end of the mezzanine. He knew that when one was right next to a candle, it was really hard to see the darkness beyond.
And then the sight below caught his attention. The chandeliers were all glowy with light and the dangling glassy bits made little shimmery lights dance all over the ballroom like fairies. Down below him, people sat or stood all around the edges, like a pie crust surrounding the swirling colorful dancers in the middle. It was pretty.
Simon had to force himself to finish his magnificent cake, but he drew on his strong character and his fortitude and persevered. Then he was terribly full. His belly stuck out and he felt like a stick that had eaten a pumpkin. He curled up on his side and pillowed his head on his arm and watched the marvelous whirling, glittering ballroom until his heavy eyelids fell shut.
When his lordship led Bernie to an empty spot on the dance floor, which didn’t take long because he was Lord Matthias and the seas parted before him, and pulled her closer, she went to him as if he were a magnet and she, nothing but a helpless lump of iron.
Suddenly it was Bernadette who felt awkward and shy. A few lessons long ago and an afternoon of waltzing with an eight-year-old had not come close to preparing her to dance in the arms of the handsome, titled man of accomplishment.
Although his hold was entirely appropriate for their newly acquainted relationship, he dipped his head closer to whisper in her ear. "If you allow me to lead, I believe I can get us to the end safely."
Oh heavens. Had she been leading? She bit at the corner of her lip as she grinned at him awkwardly. "I'm so sorry. I was teaching Simon today."
He pursed his lips slightly. "If you taught him to follow, there are going to be some very surprised ladies in a few years."
Bernie blushed. "Sweet Christmas Bells on a Stick!" she muttered under her breath. She was already making a much of it!
Oh well, it was a good thing she had already given up on impressing him. Handsome, wealthy lords were on a shelf so high she could not reach it even on her tiptoes. She gave a slightly wistful sigh as she reminded herself that although she had very nice teeth, occasionally obedient hair, and a varied, if patchy, education, that a man like Lord Mathias would doubtless shop for a wife at glittering house parties and shimmering London balls.
With that, she tossed her girlish dreams into a closet and put a broom handle against the latch. She would not be silly Bernie tonight. Bernadette resolved to enjoy herself to the utmost. When this holiday was done, she would go back to Green Dell and chase chickens and dust hymnals and fish in her little pond. This greenery-draped hall might not be a shimmering London ball, but it was the closest she would ever see.
Silly Bernie began to fling herself most determinedly against that flimsy closet door. Cool, disinterested Bernadette was having a very difficult time holding it shut, especially when handsome, achingly gallant Lord Matthias swept her around so masterfully.
Oh heavens, this was bound to go badly for her.
If you are silly enough to fall in love with a lord, why not set your cap for a king? Why settle for a mortal man at all? The archangels are all handsome fellows, no doubt.
The scoffing voice in her head sounded rather too much like Aunt Sarah for Bernie’s comfort.
Then again, this wasn’t love. This was only a waltz.
Foolish girl.
In revolt against that irritatingly realistic voice, Bernie threw herself into the dance. Tossing shyness aside, she set out to prove that her dancing master had done his job well. When Lord Matthias lifted a brow at her success, she lifted her own in challenge.
His gaze narrowed in response. He then set out to impress her with his excellent lead, moving her about the floor with such authority that she felt as though her slippers floated above the marble. His hand was warm on her waist, his blue eyes were locked on hers and they moved together without effort or thought. The other dancers faded into a colorful blur and Bernie fancied that they were the only couple dancing in the entire world.
Unwilling to let him see the elation rising within her, Bernie tilted her head back to gaze up at the chandeliers above the ballroom until the little flames turned to stars in her vision. The swirling dance begun to feel as natural as breathing. His lordship's arms were strong and his gloved hands warm where they touched her.
Foolish, foolish girl.
I wish this dance would never end. She sighed in dreamy delight.
Was it her imagination or did his hands tighten on her ever so slightly? And then the music swelled once more into the early strains of the tune. Bernie blinked and looked at her partner in surprise. "Did I say that out loud?"
Lord Mathias was gazing at her intensely. Bernie felt abruptly shy again. She looked away, as if glancing at the other dancers. There were no other dancers. All the other guests were standing in a circle around them, pushed to the edges of the floor as if to give them as much room as possible. All eyes were on them.
Bernie felt a giggle rise. "Do not take alarm, my lord, but I believe we are being watched."
Mathias had been lost somewhere between counting the freckles that crested the top of her nose and trying to discern exactly how many colors of green mingled in her vivid eyes, while he tried to slow the pounding of his heart by reminding himself that she was just an ordinary country girl who would soon leave Havens back far behind.
At her warning, he tore his gaze away and stared over her head as they turned about the floor. His people were watching them, standing absolutely still with riveted gazes. He had the strangest feeling that they thought if they moved, they might frighten a wild thing away.
Is that wild thing me? Or her?
He stamped down the urge toward dignity and swept the astonishing Miss Goodrich faster into the dance.
The crowd moved back in respect for their lord and then they did waltz alone in the center of the lovely hall of blue and gold, spangled by candlelight and crystal and something new, something that had not been in the world half an hour before.
As he spun her about once more, Bernie threw back her head and laughed aloud.