basket.
It might have be a thoroughly happy week had not this ball at Edgeley's been looming on the horizon. Already, even after a mere eight days, David felt removed in experience from the sort of occasion of which he was to be a part. The prospect of a lavish banquet and an evening of gay music and chatter held out no allure for him. He would far prefer to sit at home with a book or even merely with his own thoughts. There was a great deal to think about-what to do for the children, for example, or for the elderly people.
Of course, David admitted to himself as he stood inside the ballroom and exchanged greetings with Mr. and Mrs. Price, whom he had visited just the day before, there was the other, far more powerful reason why he had not wanted to attend this ball. And it was the same reason that had been gnawing away at his happiness for the last eight days. The same as had prevented him from feeling total joy on his first Sunday at his new church.
Lady Rachel Palmer.
He looked at her now as she stood just inside the doors of the ballroom. She had come from the receiving line. The dancing was about to begin. She was simply sparkling with life and high spirits and was surrounded by the usual cluster of young men, some of whom he recognized as part of her court in London. Some of them were his parishioners. She was fanning herself and laughing and talking.
She was going to be betrothed to Algie. Miss Barnes had told him that as she sat next to him at dinner.
David had been feeling slightly sick ever since.
It would be the best possible outcome, of course. She loved Algie. He had seen that from the start. Nine evenings before, she had been struck with madness. The moonlight perhaps. The smell of the roses. The pensive mood he had unwittingly interrupted. There had been nothing more to that whole embrace and ensuing conversation for her. Miss Barnes's announcement and Lady Rachel's present exuberance proved that fact.
If only it meant nothing more to him! He was deeply ashamed of his behavior with her on that evening. Yet, shamed as he felt, loaded down as he was by a sense of his own sin and guilt, he could not put her from his mind.
The first set was forming, and David crossed the room to claim his dance with Celia Barnes. He had engaged her for two sets during the evening. And he was torn by indecision regarding her. He had sat next to her at dinner and had been struck again by her quiet good sense. He should start courting her in earnest. She would be a good wife to him, he sensed. She would keep his wayward thoughts from straying in directions in which they had no business to stray.
But was it right to pay his addresses to a pleasant and honest young woman merely in order to keep his own inclinations under control? Was it right to offer her a guilty heart? A heart that was not free?
His heart was not free. He was deeply and hopelessly in love with Lady Rachel. He had known that for certain as soon as he set eyes on her in the drawing room before dinner. And he had known it with even deeper certainty when Miss Barnes had confided her news concerning her friend and Algie. Would it not be almost an insult to turn to Celia Barnes under such circumstances?
The evening was to begin with a country dance. It was almost inevitable, David supposed, that he and his partner should join the same set as Algie and Lady Rachel. The two ladies had been standing close to each other when the sets began to form. David had to live through the torture of having to dance close to Rachel for all of twenty minutes, and even of having to clasp her hand for one turn every time the pattern was repeated. His eyes met hers once, and she smiled gaily back at him, her face flushed from the exertions of the dance, her eyes bright.
'David.' Algernon prevented his cousin from escaping when the seemingly interminable dance came to an end. He had Rachel's arm tucked through his. 'Do you want to hear the tragedy of the decade? It says volumes for Rachel's fortitude that she is still on her feet and still smiling.' He was grinning teasingly down at her.
'Algie,' she almost shrieked, 'you would not dare! I have just come from the receiving line. That is the reason for it.'
'Rache still has two empty spaces on her dance card,' Algernon said. 'Two, David. Not one, but two. Have you ever heard the like? Now, is it not one of your duties as vicar of this parish to alleviate the suffering of your parishioners? You really must insist on taking one of those dances off her hands, you know.'
'Algie!' she said in an agony of embarrassment. 'And I always thought you were my friend.'
'It would be my pleasure,' David said, wondering how the words could emerge from his mouth sounding quite so normal. 'I may never have another such opportunity.' He forced a grin to his face, though he noticed that she was by this time straightening her gloves and not looking at him at all. 'May I?'
'You may have a dance after supper if you wish,' she mumbled.
'And, Miss Barnes, if I have missed the chance to dance with you,' Algernon said, 'I shall be out of sorts for the rest of the evening. You were not in the ballroom when I was searching for you earlier.'
'I too still have two free sets,' Celia said quietly. 'Do you wish for the waltz or the quadrille, my lord?'
'Oh, both, by all means,' Algernon said.
Rachel laughed merrily. 'This is an evening to remember,' she said. 'I do believe Algie is dancing every set. I never thought to live to see the day.'
'Well, what do you expect when your papa has decided that there are not enough guests to make it wise to set up a card room?' Algernon grumbled. 'One of the penalties of country living, Rache.'
***
Algernon was feeling footsore by the time supper was at an end. It was not that he was normally an idle man. But cavorting around a ballroom floor in time to music, having to keep his mind on the necessity of not treading on his partner's toes and of not luring her to tread on his, was not exactly his idea of useful exercise. When he joined Celia for the quadrille, he suggested that they take a quiet turn on the balcony.
'Unless you will feel cheated if we do not dance, of course,' he assured her.
'In truth, I would be glad of the fresh air, my lord,' Celia admitted, 'and of a temporary escape from all the noise of the music and voices.'
'The noise is not much muted out here, is it?' Algernon observed a few minutes later as they strolled along the stone balcony that ran the length of the ballroom outside the French doors. 'Let us step down into the garden. If you will trust to my escort, that is, ma'am.'
He took her down onto the wide lawn that stretched as far as the stables to the west of the house. It was lit quite effectively by the candlelight spilling out through the open doors of the ballroom.
'Ah, that is better,' Celia said. 'Have you noticed how silence sounds quite loud to the ears when one has been in the midst of constant noise for a while? I can never understand those people who must be surrounded by noise at all times. Just as if they were afraid of silence.'
'And so they are, I daresay,' Algernon said. 'Would it not be frightening to discover, for example, that one did not have even thoughts with which to fill the dreadful emptiness? Silence brings us very effectively face-to-face with ourselves, ma'am, and it is not always a pleasant experience to meet oneself.'
'Perhaps it is because one knows that he cannot turn and walk away from himself if he does not like what he sees,' Celia said, and they both laughed.
'I used to try to run from my own shadow when I was a lad,' Algernon said. 'I used to try to take it by surprise and loll against something quite lazily as if I had no intention of moving for an hour or more. Then I would leap away without any warning, hoping to catch my shadow napping and leave it relaxing against the wall. The longing to escape was especially strong when I saw myself in profile. I used to consider it most unfair that my father had been the one to sire me. My nose is inherited from him, you see.'
Celia laughed. 'Then I am very glad your father did sire you,' she said. 'You would look far less distinguished and handsome with just an ordinary nose, you know.'
'Do I detect a compliment?' Algernon asked. 'You may count on me to partner you in any dance at any ball you and I both attend, ma'am.'
Celia stopped walking in order to sweep him a deep curtsy. 'Thank you, my lord,' she said. 'What wonderful results a little flattery can accomplish!'
She came upright laughing. Algernon, about to offer his arm again, stopped, arrested. 'Good Lord!' he said. 'I had never noticed how pretty you are, Miss Barnes. You should laugh far more often.'
Her smile faded instantly. She bit her lower lip and lowered her eyes.
Algernon thumped his forehead with one fist. 'Lord!' he said. 'What a thing to say. I meant it as a
