Read The Perfect Waltz Online

Authors: Anne Gracie

The Perfect Waltz (3 page)

BOOK: The Perfect Waltz
9.67Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads
Which one?
Sebastian thought dazedly. There was only one. Giles might think there were dozens of pretty girls in the room, and he was right. But this girl was not merely pretty; she was purely dazzling. She stood out from the others like a star fallen into a set of candles.
She swung around on her partner’s arm, smiling, and for an instant she looked directly into Sebastian’s eyes. His breath caught in his chest. Of medium height, she was slender and lissome and perfectly shaped. Her hair was gold—not yellow or flaxen, but gold, spun fine and clustering around her head in soft curls. Her skin glowed. He could not see the precise color of her eyes from this distance, but they were large and, he thought, blue. As for her face, he had no words to describe it; it was simply the most beautiful face he had ever seen.
An angel’s face, only without the smugness and artificial calm of the painted angels he’d seen. This angel glowed with life, with delight and mischief, with the joy of living. And of dancing.
A blind man could tell that she lived to dance. This was but a simple country reel, its movements so familiar as to become rote to most people, but she—grace personified—brought a fresh delight to the dance that was infectious.
Sebastian watched, fascinated. He’d thought dancing a waste of time up till now. But this was not the rigid performance of steps and movements he thought of as dancing. This was something . . . magical.
She laughed up at her partner with unaffected gaiety, and he beamed back at her. Proprietorially. She twirled on to the next partner in the dance, and her smile took on a fresh warmth. Sebastian swallowed. To be the recipient of such a smile . . .
Her new partner was a spry, elegant old gentleman well past his sixtieth year. What had he done to deserve such . . . such warm intimacy from this glorious creature?
Sebastian tugged absently on his neckcloth, crumpling one of its severe, perfect folds.
The old fellow said something, and the girl laughed again. Sebastian was certain he could hear it, even though the room was filled with noise. Her laugh would stand out, he knew, like water in a fountain, like raindrops on diamonds . . .
It called to him. He stamped on the thought.
She was a belle of the beau monde, pampered and indulged and sheltered from all the evil of the world. She was created for pleasure and joy. He could tell just by looking at her that she expected to dance her way through life. And so she would.
Sebastian had spent most of his life in noise and smoke and filth and hardship. Even if he was rich now, his life was still in that place, not this. The only reason he had entered this bright, tinsel world was to get the sort of wife his sisters needed. Not to lose himself in foolish, impossible dreams.
He needed a woman of fortitude, one with experience of the seamier side of life, a woman whose strong sense of duty would carry her over the rough patches of life with him.
This joyous, perfect little sprite was not for the likes of him.
One did not purchase a spirited Thoroughbred and hitch it to a coal truck. If he took her into his grim world, the joy and vivacity would be crushed out of her. He’d watched his mother die of slow disillusionment. No man could live through that twice. Certainly not Sebastian. He had enough guilt to live with.
Still, it did no harm just to watch her dancing. If a cat could look at a queen, Sebastian Reyne could look at an angel.
She skipped through the movements of the dance, so light on her toes the old gentleman beamed and huffed to keep up with her. She seemed to notice it, too, and suddenly feinted sideways in a teasing movement filled with charm and mischief. The old man chuckled. Sebastian couldn’t help but chuckle, too.
The sound jolted him to awareness. He was standing on the steps leading down to the ballroom, blocking the entrance. A huge room filled with aristocratic strangers, and here he was, standing stock-still, grinning like a fool across a room crammed with England’s finest, at a girl he’d never met and couldn’t know.
Grinning like a
fool
.
Sebastian coughed, straightened his cravat, and hurriedly moved down the steps.
Giles led him to a raised alcove adjoining the dance floor. “We can see just as much here.” He snapped his fingers at a passing waiter and ordered drinks, then returned to the question at hand. “Now, which filly caught your eye?” He raised his quizzing glass and peered. “Ah, of course, one of the Virtue Twins no doubt. You couldn’t miss them. Lovely gals. Like peas in a pod, almost. Mirror images of each other, they are, in every respect.”
Sebastian shook his head brusquely. His—the girl he’d noticed—was unique. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “It was a moment of curiosity only. You know I’m only here for Lady Elinore.”
Giles took no notice. “The curious thing is, one of ’em’s left-handed while the other one’s right-handed—though I can never remember which is which. The left-handed one don’t like it known. But it’s personality rather than looks that’s the key to their difference, I’m told. Miss Faith is the quiet one, and Miss Hope is the merry one. Not that I’m particularly closely acquainted, mind. Respectable gals on the search for a husband—not my style, you know.”
“Yes, I know. Look, it doesn’t matter, Giles. I’m not here to play the field. I’ve made my choice,” Sebastian’s voice was firm.
Giles continued. “Is it the twin dancing beside the long meg in yellow, or the one next to Lady Augusta—the little round dumpling in purple silk? A charmin’ old lady, Lady Augusta. Sir Oswald Merridew, the old chap in the set, is smitten with her, but she’s led him a merry dance these last two years.”
Sebastian grunted in what he hoped was a semblance of polite interest as Giles rattled on. He couldn’t care less about the little fat lady in purple or whoever might or might not be smitten by her. He wanted to know the name of the glorious creature in blue. He could have said, “The one in blue,” of course, but somehow he just couldn’t say it aloud.
It would . . . mean something. A declaration of some sort. Which was ridiculous. He didn’t want it to
mean
anything. He wasn’t interested. He was just . . . looking. Filling in time until the supper dance. He tugged on his neckcloth again, and the words just came out. “In blue.”
“A Virtue Twin then—they’re both in blue. I can’t fault your taste, Bas. Glorious creatures, both of them. Gloriously sensible, serious, and dutiful, I mean!” Giles amended hastily. “So, which twin is it?”
Sebastian frowned. She was a twin? He examined the others in the set and realized there was another girl who looked a lot like his joyous sprite. But she didn’t glow with beauty.
Giles nudged him impatiently in the ribs. “Azure blue dress or celestial blue?”
Sebastian gave his friend a look. “What the devil do I know what sort of blue it is? Blue is blue!” It was a lie. He could probably name the ingredients of the dye vat the fabric came from, but he wasn’t going to say so. Giles wouldn’t understand, and anyway, it wasn’t important. All he knew or cared was that the delicate azure silk gown swirled and clung to her lithe young body in a way that made his throat dry and his heart pound. He swallowed thickly.
Giles shook his head and said severely. “If you’re going to enter the ton, my dear Bastian, you will need to learn these things.”
“I’m courting a woman, not setting up as a milliner!” Sebastian growled. “And besides, I have no intention of entering the ton. Once I marry Lady Elinore, I’ll be able to put all this nonsense behind me.”
Giles shook his head in mock sorrow. “You poor, deluded fellow. To begin with, you don’t know that Lady Elinore will accept you.” He held up his hand to block Sebastian’s retort. “And even if she does, you will still need to learn to make polite conversation with females, for Lady Elinore is a female, even if odd. And so are your sisters—female, I mean. And they will have friends. Take it from me, these little things are very important to ladies, bless their prett—er, eccentric, dutiful, and sensible heads. Now, which girl in blue was it?”
There was a long pause. Finally Sebastian made himself say it. “The one twirling just now with the old fellow.”
Giles looked. “Aha! Azure blue. The old fellow is Sir Oswald Merridew, and his partner is his great-niece. Miss Hope, I think.”
Sebastian frowned, ignoring Giles’s nonsense. “Mishope?” What sort of a name was that? The ton was prone to bestowing nicknames on people, he knew, but mishope?
“Yes, or Miss Faith. I did tell you I get the twins mixed up.”
“Oh. I see.” Miss Hope. Her name was Hope. Or possibly Faith. With an effort, Sebastian dragged his gaze off the sprite in the blue silk gown and glanced at her twin. She was very pretty, but not a golden sprite.
Miss Hope—if that was who she was—seemed to glow from within. She so bubbled with life and joie de vivre, it was almost tangible.
He should not be staring at this girl. Not. Not. Not. There was no point, when Lady Elinore was his chosen intended. It was madness to look.
He could not stop himself.
The next question grated from his throat unwillingly. “Miss Hope who? Virtue?”
“No, their surname is Merridew. Of the Norfolk Merridews. They’re called the Virtue Sisters because all the sisters are named after virtues, or near enough.” He ticked them off on his fingers, “There’s Prudence, now Lady Carradice, and Charity, who married the Duke of Dinstable. Faith and Hope are the twins, and I believe there’s another one called Grace, also a beauty, only she’s still in the schoolroom. At any rate, someone dubbed them the Virtue Sisters, and it stuck. But Merridew is their name. The twins live with Sir Oswald during the season. Otherwise they’re with Lord and Lady Carradice or the Duke and Duchess of Dinstable.”
The string of names flowed off Sebastian’s consciousness like water off a duck’s back. Only one thing lodged in his mind. Her name was Hope. Hope Merridew. Or possibly Faith. The weight wedged in his chest came unstuck, and he found he was breathing again, raggedly.
Giles rubbed his hands together. “Well, come along then, I’ll arrange an introduction.”
Sebastian placed a restraining hand on his arm. “No, I thank you. I was merely . . . curious.”
His friend stared. “You mean you don’t want to be introduced? Demmed fine gels, the Virtue Twins.” He frowned at Sebastian’s expression. “Not the usual sort of beauty, either. You won’t find either of them blowing hot and cold, setting their suitors in a lather just for the fun of it. Miss Faith is sweet and quiet, and Miss Hope—I’m pretty certain that’s her in the azure—she’s a lively little filly, full of fun. Well you can see that for yourself.”
“I can indeed.” Sebastian’s voice was harsh with the effort of sounding indifferent. “My attention was merely caught for a moment by the way she was dancing. A certain . . . exuberance.”
“Ah yes, exuberance,” said Giles, instantly earnest. “That’s true. There was definite exuberance. But only of the Proper Sort. I thought it was very sensible exuberance. Extremely rational. Not at all frivolous. And quite dutiful in execution.”
“Stubble it, Giles!” Sebastian growled.
His friend laughed. “No, really. I think you should meet them. These girls are different; they actually do enjoy things. They don’t pretend to be bored and jaded and seen-it-all-before, like most of the others. When they like something, they show it!”
“So I see.” Sebastian watched Miss Hope Merridew stripping the willow with enthusiasm, leaving each man in the set grinning like a loon as she twirled around them and danced on.
“Well, then. Demmed refreshing, that’s what it is!”
Sebastian grimaced and said in a cold voice, “So you say. I see a girl who is very free with her smiles—bestowing them on any man in her orbit—be he old or young. I daresay that is what the ton admires.” He turned away, unable to watch her anymore. He was aware that his friend was staring at him, jaw agape, but he had to get away. She was dangerous. He could see it at a glance. She was everything he did not want—did not need in a wife. Lady Elinore Whitelaw was perfect for his needs. The sensation of being rocked off his axis would pass. He had to move on, get his breath back, allow his pulse to return to its usual steady beat. Resist the temptation. Return to his purpose.
“I say, Bastian, no! You’ve got it wrong! I didn’t mean that at all. Perfectly respectable, pretty-behaved girls. Not that sort at all—”
Sebastian held up his hand. “I meant no slur on their respectability, Giles. I am here to court Lady Elinore Whitelaw. I have no interest in spoiled beauties, accustomed to having their every whim granted. Lady Elinore is more mature and responsible than any Miss Merridew could ever be. Now, shall we move on? I gather you wish to observe the other ladies on display tonight.” He didn’t wait for his friend to respond but began to stroll around the room, breathing in slow, measured breaths, willing his racing pulse to calm.
Giles took the bait as intended. “On
display
?” He winced artistically and followed Sebastian, explaining in a pained voice, “I can accept your lack of subtlety—though I’m dammed certain you can be as subtle as you want when it suits you—but really Bastian—
on display
? It’s almost vulgar! And while you might not care about presenting yourself to the world as a crushing clod, you might consider my position a little.”
Sebastian raised a sardonic brow.
Giles continued, “I have a reputation for charm, subtlety, grace, finesse—”
“Modesty.”
“That, too. And I value my reputation!”
“Ah, well, with such grace and virtue at your fingertips, your unaccountable friendship with a great unsubtle clod from the north will be held to be a sign of depth in your nature.”
Giles chuckled, but he added in a more serious tone, “I mean it, Bas. You do need to watch that blunt tongue of yours. You will put people’s backs up unnecessarily. There is already some . . . talk about you. About where you have sprung from, speculation about your background, you know the sort of thing.”
BOOK: The Perfect Waltz
9.67Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

A Safe Place for Joey by Mary MacCracken
The Gate House by Nelson DeMille
The Bloody Cup by M. K. Hume
I'd Rather Not Be Dead by Andrea Brokaw
What You Really Really Want by Jaclyn Friedman
31 Hours by Masha Hamilton
Havoc by Stella Rhys
Touching the Clouds by Bonnie Leon
Killer Look by Linda Fairstein