Lazislov wants her turn on the dance floor.” Even though Eleanor didn’t want him to, she felt obligated to excuse him to dance with someone else. “Please don’t feel as if you have to stay here with me.”
“I don’t want to dance with anyone else. Shall we walk out on the terrace?”
“Fresh air sounds appealing,” she said. She turned and practically ran toward the open French doors. Shermont beat her to the exit.
Stepping outside was like entering an air-conditioned movie theater for a summer matinee. Cool and dark with music seemingly all around. Several couples ambled leisurely across the length of the terrace from one curved stairway leading down to the garden to the other. Shermont guided her to a corner of the stone balustrade overlooking the grounds.
“The garden was designed especially for a moonlit night such as this,” he said, offering his arm. “Shall we take a stroll?”
She glanced over her shoulder. The countess had appeared determined, and if she had seen them exit, she was sure to follow as far as the terrace. Eleanor wasn’t sure why she didn’t want that woman to dance with Shermont. Obviously he hadn’t learned to dance in a vacuum and he’d had other partners. She just didn’t think she could stand by and watch him hold another woman in his arms. Not right after their intimate dance. “That sounds perfect.”
She placed her right hand on his forearm and they descended the terrace steps to the path leading into the gardens. The white shells beneath her feet were crushed almost as fine as sand. Her fabric dancing shoes made no noise, his steps only a slight crunching sound.
“It’s dark.”
“That’s by design. To enhance the experience, no lanterns are lit along the path. Another reason why it’s so popular among young couples.” He gave her an exaggerated leer before relaxing into a grin. “The designer of a moonlight garden chooses plants with white flowers that bloom at night and foliage that provides delight for the sense of smell,” Shermont explained as they strolled along the path, bowing and nodding politely as they passed couples returning to the ballroom. “Such as this night-blooming cereus from the West Indies with vanilla-scented blooms.”
“Lovely.” She paused to touch one of the large flowers that lent an aura of magical fantasy to the garden.
As they strolled from one garden “room” to the next, he pointed out the intensely fragrant night jasmine, evening primrose, angel’s trumpet, and Nottingham catchfly.
“I didn’t know you were so into flowers,” she said.
“Into? Oh. I understand. I’m not really
“I enjoy flowers but I know practically nothing about them. I’ve had little opportunity to garden,” she said. The sum of her gardening knowledge was a few unfortunate potted plants that she’d received as gifts and had quickly killed by overwatering or forgetting. No green thumb.
He glanced around and saw they were alone. He cupped her face and kissed her lips. “I’ve been waiting all day for that.” He slid one hand to the back of her neck and moved the other to her waist. “And this.” Tightening his embrace, he kissed her jaw just under her ear.
Shrill laughter signaled the end of their privacy. Shermont jerked away.
Unfortunately, a button on his sleeve snagged on her necklace. She caught the amber cross before it fell. The clasp of the chain was broken.
He apologized. “Let me have that repaired. I know a trustworthy jeweler in town and I’ll get it back to you in a few days.”
“No.” She shook her head. She would be leaving tonight after midnight and would never see him again. She blinked the tears from her eyes as she put the amber cross and the chain into her reticule.
“The necklace obviously means a lot to you. I’m so very sorry.”
“Easily fixed,” she said. “Don’t give it another thought. Shall we continue our stroll?” The Cinderella time limit made each minute with him more precious.
The group of laughing people passed, soon out of sight beyond a curve in the garden path.
“Let’s wait a few minutes,” he said, leaning against a marble pillar carved to resemble a Greek ruin. “What shall we do to pass the time? No chess set handy. Can’t dance. Let’s see. Read any good books lately?” he asked with a lopsided grin.
Guessing he didn’t really expect an answer, she shook her head. Her eyes had adjusted from the brightness of the ballroom to the gentler illumination of the full moon. In the moonlight, colors paled to shades of gray, yet she could see clearly, like being inside the classic black and white movie version of
Shermont looked so yummy standing there in the moonlight. Eleanor clasped her hands behind her back to keep from reaching for him. She had to look away. Another couple approached and passed with polite nods.
“No ideas for an activity to pass the time? Well, then I have one,” he said, taking her hand and leading her at a quick pace to the far corner of the garden, where a humongous plant took up the entire area.
“What’s this?” she asked, touching one of the large three-foot leaves.
“To be truthful, I’ve forgotten.”
She chuckled. “You know, you could have told me anything, and I wouldn’t have known the difference.”
He brushed an armful of leaves aside and with a bow waved for her to go in front of him.
With a quizzical look, she ducked under his arm and walked through a green tunnel. Across from the entrance, two walls made of rough stone met behind a small bench. The plant itself formed a semicircle, making a third wall and a partial ceiling, enclosing the area into a cozy fairy room about ten feet across.
“How did you find this place?”
Shermont walked past her. “I gave a gardener twenty shillings and asked where he went to take a nap after lunch.” From under the bench in the corner he pulled out a folded quilt and spread it on the ground. “I thought it would be a nice place for a moonlight picnic.”
“I suppose I should count myself lucky he doesn’t nap in the toolshed.”
From a basket beside the bench, Shermont took out a bottle of champagne, opened it, and filled two crystal glasses. He held one out.
“You’ve thought of everything,” she said before taking a sip of the cold bubbly. His machinations looked suspiciously like a seduction. Not that he needed to go to so much trouble. She hadn’t been shy about her desire for him. But it was flattering. Anticipation shivered deliciously up her spine.
“Won’t you have a seat,” he said with a courtly bow worthy of the grandest courtier.
She hesitated. Rolling around on the ground would wrinkle her precious dress beyond repair. The material alone had cost her two months of brown-bagging her lunch, and she had invested uncounted hours into sewing the intricate pattern of beads on the bodice. To risk ruining it was unthinkable. And no matter what happened, they would return to the ball.
Eleanor practically heard the minutes tick away toward midnight. Just like Cinderella, she would have to go home, so she made the decision to enjoy what little time she had left. She set her glass on the bench. After taking the beaded reticule from her left wrist and the ivory fan from her right, she set them beside her drink. Then she added her folded turquoise shawl and gloves to the neat stack.
Then quickly, before she could change her mind, she undid the hooks and snaps and slipped off her amber silk gown, laying it gently next to her accessories. Her chemise, corset, underdress, and stockings covered her more than if she had worn a pair of shorts and tank top to the grocery store. Not to mention what she would wear to the beach or at the pool. When she turned to face Shermont, he raised an eyebrow.
“One should never wear a ball gown to a picnic,” she said in imitation of Mrs. Holcum’s most proper upper crust tone. Eleanor retrieved her glass and sat on the blanket, her legs decorously curled to one side.
“Correct attire is always essential,” Shermont agreed, removing his coat and laying it on the bench beside her dress. He sat down on the blanket across from her.
Eleanor clasped her hands in her lap. “What does one do on a moonlight picnic?”
