"Gemini, you look beautiful!"
Poppy and Alexandra both danced around Olive as she descended the stairs of the boarding house. Their enthusiasm was infectious, and Olive reluctantly had to admit that the dress that Jane had loaned her, was most becoming. It was a dark, emerald green, which suited her colouring perfectly. The empire line dress flared beneath the bust into a light, frothy skirt of silk. She had initially protested to Polly that it was too small around the bust, for Jane had a far slighter frame than she, but the Northern woman had given a ribald laugh at the suggestion that it looked improper.
"Sure isn't that what every woman wants?" Polly had laughed, "A dress that emphasises rather than restricts one's assets?"
Polly had flushed then, and murmured an apology; their relationship had recovered from the initial lies they had both told each other at the start of it. Though Polly now regularly faltered when she addressed her, not knowing whether to call Olive by her name, or address her as "Your Grace".
"You both look beautiful as well," Olive offered the twins, for they were a sight to behold. They were dressed in identical gowns of soft lilac, their blonde curls tied high on their heads --it was almost impossible to tell them apart. A fact not lost on their Aunt, who frowned as she exited the drawing room and saw their attire.
"No funny business," she said, wagging a finger at the pair when she saw them, and in response the twins tried to look wide-eyed and innocent. "I will not have a repeat of what happened at Lady Amberley's ball."
"What happened at Lady Amberley's ball?" Olive asked, her interest piqued.
"Oh a ghastly, ancient, decrepit, old man thought to court me," Poppy scowled at the memory.
"So the twins decided to play a trick on the poor soul," her Aunt interrupted, a frown on her face. She would not encourage their hi-jinx, despite how infectious their exuberance was.
"We didn't tell Sir Boras that there were two of us," Alexandra continued, "And so he got an awful fright when one of us exited one door, only to appear a few seconds later on the other side of the ballroom."
"And when he danced with Poppy, I kept popping up at the side of the ballroom and waving at him. He thought he was having an apoplectic fit!"
"He nearly did have a fit," Augusta admonished and cast Olive a pleading look; "I pray my dear, that you'll keep an eye on these two and keep them out of mischief."
"I'll try," Olive promised the older woman, though secretly she doubted anyone's ability to keep the twins from doing what they wanted. The only other lady that had decided to accompany them to the ball was Petronella Devoy, who was resplendent in a gown of dark red, which complimented her dark, lustrous locks perfectly. Olive had almost forgotten that Petronella was the daughter of a Viscount, but the exquisite material of her dress, coupled with the diamonds around her neck, promptly reminded her.
There was no carriage to take them to Jarvis House, so the women walked, arms linked, in high spirits. The sun was beginning to set, and the sea at the bottom of the steep hill was deep purple, streaked with flashes of orange and gold. The house was all lit up, and as they hurried up the sweeping driveway they could hear the sounds of voices and music coming from within.
Jane stood at the door to greet them. She wore a very becoming gown of taupe and her hair was dressed high on her head.
"Oh wonderful, I was hoping that was you," she once the ladies had reached the front door. Her glasses were absent, and she squinted at each member of the entourage, trying to discern who was who.
"Where are your spectacles Jane?" Poppy queried, as their hostess blindly led them through the entrance hall, to the ballroom.
"Oh, Julian says they're too hideous to wear to a ball," Jane said plainly, "And that the guests would run off if they caught sight of me in them."
"What nonsense," Poppy frowned, her face a picture of the annoyance the Liv felt. Lord Deveraux was seriously beginning to grate on her nerves.
"Yes, you're beautiful with your glasses," Alexandra interjected, "They magnify your eyes, so that it's like looking at some mythical nymph when one is speaking with you!"
Jane flushed, and laughed at Alexandra's statement, though she did look rather pleased.
"I'm afraid it's just a small affair," she confided, as she led the ladies into the magnificent ballroom. "Nothing like the parties one attends in London."
As Olive took in the scene before her, she felt she had to disagree. The ballroom of Jarvis House was huge, with double height ceilings and chandeliers shedding twinkling light on the guests below. There was at least a hundred people present, many that Liv did not recognise, though one did catch her eye - Lord Keyford, who stood some distance from the crowd, surveying all the guests with dislike. She shivered, hoping that he would not spot her, not after their nasty encounter in the inn. Luckily her view of him was blocked by a rather large man who stepped into her path.
"Ruan," she said happily, as her husband gave a low, courteous bow.
"My lady," his eyes twinkled as he stood, "Might I request the pleasure of the first waltz?"
"You may."
She beamed up at him, as giddy as a school-girl, unaware that Jane still stood close by.
"The waltz is the last dance of the night, your Grace," Jane quipped, "So you'll have to dance with a few other ladies, before you get to Olive."
Olive could see the frustration on her husband's face, and it amused her no end. It was secretly thrilling to have such a powerful, masculine man ready to do her bidding.
"Oh, yes Jane," she nodded, hiding her smile behind her hand. "His Grace must dance with the twins, Miss Devoy, you, and some of the ladies from the village. It's only right."
"Oh is it?"
Ruan cocked an eyebrow, an amused smile playing on his sinfully beautiful lips. Olive felt her mouth go dry as their eyes locked; his smoldering gaze promised retribution, and her stomach fluttered at the thought of what he might do. She recalled their brief, passionate embrace aboard The Elizabeth, and instantly regretted her plan to loan the Duke out to her friends. She wanted to be in his arms, she wanted to feel his heartbeat in his chest, she wanted to--
"Olive?"
Jane peered at her curiously, despite her shortsightedness she could tell that Olive was distracted and flustered. "Are you alright?"
"Just a trifle hot, Jane," she responded, fanning her hand against her flaming cheeks, "Perhaps we shall fetch a glass of ratafia?"
The two friends linked arms and went in search of refreshments, though as they walked Olive could feel the burning gaze of her husband on her back. Something had changed between the two of them; she now craved his company and his touch. She wanted to see that amused smile spread across his handsome face when she teased him, she wanted to hear his dry laughter at her jokes. If she didn't know any better, Olive would think she was falling in love with her own husband...
"Things are going well, between you and His Grace," Jane whispered, once they were out of earshot. It was not a question but a statement; apparently Olive's feelings for the Duke were plain to see.
"I think that you were right," Olive whispered back, stealing a glance at her handsome husband, who was asking one of the twins to dance. "He is a good man."
Their conversation was interrupted by the handsome Lord Payne, who, despite best efforts, looked rumpled and boyish in his dress coat and trousers.
"I say, Jane," he called happily, "I've been looking for you all over. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were hiding from me!"
From the look on Jane's face, Olive guessed that this was exactly what her friend had been doing. Though, of course, the roguishly handsome Lord Payne would never dream that any lady would shun his company. Olive stifled a giggle as Jane desperately tried to squirm her way out of dancing with the dashing Duke-to-be, but her pleading fell on deaf ears, and she was led, blindly, to the floor for a boisterous quadrille.
"Your friend looks rather discomfited."
Olive turned to find Lord Somerset at her side, his handsome face turned toward the dance floor, where poor Jane was stumbling through the steps of the dance.
"Your friend ordered his sister to forgo her spectacles for the night," Olive replied archly in Jane's defence.
"Julian always was a prig," Lavelle muttered under his breath. Olive cast him a sidelong look; the Viscount seemed to be swaying on his feet. He was in his cups!
"What say you to a twirl around the floor?" Lavelle suggested, oblivious to Olive's look of alarm. She could not dance with a man so inebriated, it would surely end in disaster.However, before she could voice an excuse, Lavelle grabbed her by the hand, and led her to the centre of the floor.
"I hear you are to resume your post as Duchess," Lavelle commented, as Olive took his hand to dance down the line of guests. They took their places opposite each other, and because of the distance between them Olive could not reply.
"Good old Everleigh," Lavelle continued, as after a few bars they met again to join hands and twirl. "He always got the women to fall for him."
Olive glanced at the Viscount in confusion; from the way he was speaking it seemed as though he didn't like Ruan --though the two had been friends for years. She remained silent for the rest of the dance and hastily excused herself once it had ended. As the next set started, she hid herself behind a large, marble column and peered out at the guests on the floor. It reminded her of the night in June, when she had hid at Lady Jersey's, but this time the dark, handsome man who had frightened her so, was the very person she wished to be with. She watched Ruan dancing with Poppy--or was it Alexandra?-- with an ache in her heart. He was so striking; true, if one believed the rumours, he could be considered intimidating --but she knew the truth. The Duke of Ruin was possibly the most virtuous person in room.
As he twirled the twin in his arms, his eye caught Olive's and he gave a wink. She flushed, hoping no one had spotted, and stepped back further into the shadows.
"What's a pretty thing like you doing hiding in the dark?"
Olive whirled around to see who had spoken, her heart hammering in her chest. Standing in darkness, by the open French doors, was Lavelle, and he had a pistol aimed straight at her.
"Say a word and I'll shoot," he threatened - though he needn't have, for Olive was dumb with shock. The blonde haired Viscount grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her toward him, and the open door.
"W-what?" Olive at last found her voice, but it was silenced as Lavelle placed a gloved hand over her mouth.
"It's nothing personal Olive," he whispered harshly, as he pulled her out into the darkness of the garden, "It's just revenge."