She didn’t want to wait that long for Joseph to touch her. She wanted it to happen tonight. It seemed very important—altogether necessary—that he touch her tonight.
She pondered that through the third course, while conversation rattled around her. Meaningless conversation. Conversation that had nothing to do with getting Joseph to touch her or fall in love with her, which meant she wasn’t interested.
The fourth course was sweets. When a footman set a dish of trifle in front of her, she took a recess from pondering to savor the sugar and cream dancing on her tongue. And that gave her an idea. “Do you like to dance, Lady Trentingham?”
“I adore dancing.” Joseph’s mother dipped her spoon into her own trifle and sighed. “It’s been ages since I danced.”
Chrystabel smiled. “Should you like to dance tonight?”
“For pity’s sake,” Joseph burst out on a laugh, “are you a secret Roundhead attempting to entrap us?” Though she could tell he accused her in jest, the charge still stung a bit—her father had died fighting the Roundheads, after all. “Perhaps it would help if we list every way in which we should not like to break the law. No, we don’t wish to attend the theater. No, we don’t wish to play dice. No, we don’t wish to take up highway robbery—”
“Joseph, dear, I think you’ve made your point,” Lady Trentingham said dryly.
Falling silent, the viscount discovered a renewed interest in his trifle. He frowned in what looked like consternation, as if unsure what had come over him.
Chrystabel rather suspected it was herself.
“As it happens,” the countess said conversationally,” I rather should like to dance tonight. And before you argue, dear,” she added to her husband, “this isn’t like the Christmas trimmings. Should a stranger knock on the door, we can simply stop dancing, and no one will be the wiser.”
Lord Trentingham grunted.
“It doesn’t signify,” Joseph said, “since we have no musical instruments in the house.”
Chrystabel smiled sweetly. “Because music is against the law?”
He looked like he wanted to laugh. “Yes, because music is against the law. We cannot make music, hence we cannot dance.” He shrugged.
“Oh, yes, we can.” Chrystabel’s smile stretched wider. “We’ve a viol and a recorder in our wagon, and willing musicians among our servants.”
“Wonderful!” When Lady Trentingham’s face lit up, Chrystabel realized she was very pretty for a woman her age. “It’s settled, then.”
The countess seemed to employ that phrase often—and to great effect. Both her husband and son appeared resigned to their fate.
I could learn much from her, Chrystabel thought.
“It’s too risky,” Lord Trentingham protested again, but not as though he expected anyone to listen.
“Oh, Henry,” his wife admonished him, “don’t be such an old fust-cudgel.”
FIVE
WHEN THEY’D scraped up every morsel of the excellent trifle and emptied the last decanter of wine, Joseph’s mother announced it was time to dance. Father offered another feeble protest, but all Mother had to do was place a hand on his arm and say, “Please, dear,” very winsomely while batting her eyelashes. And he gave in.
Watching the exchange, Joseph promised himself he’d never let Creath manipulate him so easily.
Not that he’d have to worry about that. His intended was the most agreeable, sweet-tempered creature on earth. She’d never employ feminine wiles to get her own way; it wouldn’t even occur to her. Nor would it enter her head to make a fuss over such a frivolous matter as dancing.
Why Joseph’s mother had been suddenly gripped by the need to dance was a mystery to him. Normally, Mother was a perfectly sensible woman. He couldn’t imagine what had got into her.
Well, actually, he did have one idea of what—or rather, who—might be the cause. One who seemed rather prone to impulsive and irresponsible whims. One who exhibited little regard for propriety, and even less for the rule of law. One who, by all appearances, was here for the express purpose of getting on his nerves.
One Lady Chrystabel Trevor.
When supper first began, he’d watched her and he’d wondered. What was it about this young woman that he found so bothersome? She was a woman, after all—even hidden inside that dowdy nun’s habit of a gown, she was quite unmistakably a woman. And Joseph liked women. He’d never met a beautiful young woman he didn’t like. So why couldn’t he get along with this one? It seemed every word she’d uttered was calculated to raise his hackles.
That had been irritating enough. But then she’d gone into raptures over his gardens, permanently endearing herself to him. He’d been touched—and baffled—by Chrystabel’s enthusiasm. Even Creath, his oldest and dearest friend, could muster only polite praise on the subject of his gardens. Affectionate admiration, perhaps, if she were feeling generous. Gardening was the sort of pastime that elicited genuine enthusiasm only from one’s parents.
And now Chrystabel.
So here he was, paradoxically endeared to someone he couldn’t stand. She was the most puzzling woman he’d ever met.
“Oh, my heavens,” the puzzle breathed as they stepped into the great room, “this chamber is massive.”
“I believe it was used for large banquets in the last century,” Mother told her.
“I’ve never seen such an enormous fireplace in my life. My whole family could sit inside and play Pope July!”
Mother laughed. “I wouldn’t recommend it.”
Having lived here for nearly ten years, Joseph never paid much notice to the great room himself. But he could see why an outsider might find this chamber particularly awe-inspiring. It had dark Tudor paneling, gilded family crests, two intimate oriel window niche seating areas, and an abundance of plush, richly upholstered furnishings—but not so much that it filled the whole space, for that would be well-nigh impossible.
“Let’s push all the furniture out of the way,” Chrystabel suggested.
The men jumped to do her bidding, creating a large open expanse in the center that was perfect for dancing. Chrystabel certainly knew how to command a room. Joseph wasn’t sure whether he found that impressive or frightening.
Meanwhile, a footman had returned with the instruments and
