And what business did he have looking down upon them all as if they were mere worms beneath his expensive dancing shoes?
She did not know the answers and perhaps never would. But there was no time for further speculation - not now anyway. Her father-in-law was bringing the two gentlemen their way. Vanessa wished he would not, but she realized that it was inevitable.
Sir Humphrey smiled jovially from Vanessa to Louisa. 'And this is the eldest Miss Rotherhyde,' he announced, and added, with a lamentable lack of tact and questionable truth, 'and the beauty of the family.' Louisa hung her head in obvious mortification and curtsied low. 'And Mrs. Hedley Dew, my dear daughter-in-law,' Sir Humphrey added, beaming at Vanessa. 'She was married to my son until his unfortunate demise over a year ago. Viscount Lyngate, ladies, and Mr. Bowen.' Vanessa had made the right identification, then. But she had never doubted it. She curtsied. 'Ma'am,' Mr. Bowen said, bowing and addressing her with a charming but sympathetic smile, 'my deepest commiserations.' 'Thank you,' she said while she was aware of Viscount Lyngate's eyes fixed on her. She had worn her lavender gown after all as a slight salve to her conscience for deciding to come to enjoy herself - though she /knew /Hedley would have urged her to wear the green. It was not a vibrant lavender, and it had never fit quite right. She knew it was a dreary garment that did not become her at all.
She hated herself at that moment for minding, for wishing she had chosen the green after all. 'I insisted that she come to the assembly tonight,' Sir Humphrey explained. 'She is far too young and pretty to mourn forever, as I am sure you would agree, gentlemen. She was good to my boy while he lived, and that is what counts. I have insisted that she must dance too. Has anyone solicited your hand for the first set, Nessie?' She had grimaced inwardly at his opening words. She could have sunk through the floor at his last. She /knew /what he was going to say next. 'No, Papa,' she said hastily before it occurred to her that she might have lied. 'But - ' 'Then I do not doubt one of these gentlemen would be delighted to lead you into the opening set,' he said, rubbing his hands together and beaming at her.
There was a tiny silence while Vanessa fervently wished she could join poor Hedley in the grave. 'Perhaps, Mrs. Dew,' the viscount said - his voice was deep and velvet-toned, to add to his other physical perfections, 'you would do me the honor?' She was being asked to dance with a /viscount/. With /this /viscount, this most glorious of male creatures. This arrogant… popinjay. But sometimes her sense of the ridiculous came close to being her undoing.
Whatever must the viscount be thinking? She almost laughed aloud and dared not glance Margaret's way. But mortification quickly outpaced any amusement she was feeling. How absolutely /awful /that the assembly should begin this way.
Was it her imagination that the whole room hung upon her response?
Of course it was not.
Oh, goodness gracious. She really ought to have insisted upon remaining at home with a book and her memories. 'Thank you.' She curtsied again and regarded the hand stretched out for hers with some fascination. It was as fine and as well manicured as any lady's. And yet there was nothing remotely effeminate about it.
Or about him, of course. Close up, he looked even taller and more solid and powerful than he had from across the room. She could smell a subtle masculine cologne. She could feel the heat of his aura.
And there was one other thing about his face, she noticed as she set her hand on his and looked up at him. His eyes were not dark, as his hair and complexion had led her to expect, but were of the deepest, clearest blue. They looked back at her keenly from beneath those still-drooped lids.
His hand was solid and warm.
Well, she thought as he led her toward the lines that were forming and Mr. Rigg played a nervous little trill on his fiddle, this was an evening she was not going to forget in a hurry. She was to dance with a handsome, proud viscount - and the opening set, no less. She wished she could go home afterward and share the fun with Hedley. /'Nessie?' /Viscount Lyngate said as he settled her in the line of ladies and prepared to depart for the gentlemen's line opposite. His eyebrows were raised again. He was not addressing her. He was asking a question. 'Vanessa,' she explained, and then wished she had not said it in such an apologetic way.
She did not hear clearly what he said in response as he stepped into the line opposite her own, but she thought it was 'Thank God!' Had he really said it?
She looked keenly at him, but he did not repeat the words, whatever they had been.
She had never liked the shortened form of her name. Nessie Dew sounded like such a… plain woman. But even so, it was none of his business what her family and friends chose to call her.
The men on either side of Viscount Lyngate looked awed and slightly uncomfortable. So would the ladies on either side of her if she turned her head to look, Vanessa guessed.
He was going to ruin the assembly for them all. They had been looking forward to it so very much. Yet it meant less than nothing to him. He was looking up and down the lines, not even trying to hide his boredom.
Oh, dear. She was not usually so harsh in her judgments, especially of strangers - not that she saw many of those. Why were her thoughts about Viscount Lyngate so… well, spiteful? Was it because she felt too embarrassed to admit to herself that she had very nearly tumbled into love with him?
How very ridiculous /that /would have been - the classic case of Beauty and the Beast, with no one in any doubt at all about which was which.
She reminded herself suddenly that she had been all too eager to give in to the urging of her in-laws and Meg and Kate that she come to the assembly tonight. And after she /had /given in, she had hoped with bated breath and crossed fingers that someone would ask her to dance.
Well, someone had asked her even if he /had /been more or less coerced.
And he could not possibly be more handsome or more distinguished in every way. One could say that her wildest dream for the evening had come true.
She would enjoy herself then, regardless.
Suddenly she was aware of her family and friends and neighbors about her, all dressed in their best finery, all in a festive mood. She was aware of the fires crackling in the two hearths and the candles guttering in the draft from the door. She was aware of the smells of perfumes and food.
And she was aware of the gentleman standing opposite her waiting for the music to begin. And looking at her from beneath those drooped eyelids.
She was /not /going to allow him to believe that she was in awe of him.
She was /not /going to allow him to render her speechless and incoherent.
The music began, and Vanessa smiled with deliberate brilliance and prepared for as much conversation as the measures of the dance would allow.
But most of all she gave herself up to the sheer joy of dancing again.
Of all the partners with whom he might have chosen to dance, Elliott reflected as the music struck up and the line of gentlemen bowed while the line of ladies curtsied, Mrs. Vanessa Dew - /Nessie, /for the love of God! - would surely not have been one of them.
She was Sir Humphrey's daughter-in-law. That was bad enough. She was also an insignificant dab of a woman of medium height, who was altogether too slender and too small-breasted for his taste, her hair too mousy, her features too plain. Her eyes were a nondescript gray. And lavender as a color definitely did not suit her. Even if it had, the dress itself was hideous. She was not in the first blush of youth either.
She was the very antithesis of Anna and indeed of any lady with whom he usually chose to dance at /ton /balls.
But here he was dancing with her anyway. George would have spoken up if he had not, he supposed, but it had been obvious whom Dew had expected to speak up. And so he had been the performing monkey after all.
That fact did not make him feel any more cheerful about the evening's revelries.
And then, just as they began to dance, Mrs. Dew smiled dazzlingly at him, and he was forced to admit that perhaps she was not quite the antidote he had taken her for. It was not a flirtatious smile, he was relieved to notice when after the first moment she looked away from him and smiled in the same way at everything and everyone, as if she had never enjoyed herself more in her life. She fairly sparkled.
How anyone could find even a small measure of delight in such an insipid rural entertainment escaped his understanding, but perhaps she had little with which to compare it.
The rooms were small and cramped, the walls and ceilings bare of ornament - except for one large and
