And C.J. had never seen such an array of plumage. The ladies’ headgear at previous assemblies had been modest by comparison to tonight’s display. To be certain, there had been several fashionable silk turbans and short “Brutus” ringlets alongside the linen and lace lappets favored by the elderly dowagers. C.J. wondered if there had been a sudden run on ostrich plumes, for many of the women wore their panaches sprouting from their foreheads, whether on bands or affixed to turbans with ostentatious—and shockingly large—brooches crafted from precious and semiprecious stones. Half the treasure of the South African gem mines must have been amassed in the ballroom that evening.
The dancing commenced at seven o’clock. Having never arrived this early to the Upper Rooms, C.J. did not know what to expect. At her previous ball, her own party had arrived fashionably late, some two hours after the festivities had begun and just before the country dances were about to start. And even then, the gathering had been sparse, to say the least. Tonight there was an aura of the extraordinary, a palpable difference between this assembly and the last.
The Master of Ceremonies opened the ball, and the orchestra struck up the requisite minuet.
“Ever since Beau Nash formalized the rules of conduct at the Bath public assemblies, they have begun with the minuet,” Lady Dalrymple whispered to C.J. “I was but a child at the end of the Beau’s days. Confidentially,” she added, as she raised her eyes above her fan, “—and this does not bear repeating—he was a bit of a dissipate, back then, a mere shadow of his former glory, my mother used to say.”
Amid several murmurs, Mr. King led out the Earl of Darlington to the center of the floor.
Lady Dalrymple continued to educate her “niece” on the unfamiliar customs. “At the very beginning of each ball, the Master of Ceremonies leads out two persons of the highest distinction present. The gentleman selected by the Master of Ceremonies dances with the lady whom the Master of Ceremonies chooses, and when the minuet ends, she will be returned to her seat, whereupon the master will lead out a second young lady of rank to dance with the gentleman. And this ceremony will be observed with each gentleman, who will be obliged to dance with two ladies.”
A mixer, thought C.J., amused. Her good humor was immediately put to the test. Mr. King offered his arm to Lady Charlotte Digby and presented her to the earl, who stiffly stood all alone in the center of the spacious ballroom.
Lord Digby followed his daughter’s dainty footsteps, joining the couple on the dance floor once they were brought together by Mr. King. “Your lordships, ladyships, if I may crave your indulgence . . .”
The movement of fans, quite necessary in the warm early summer evening, fluttered to a halt.
“It gives me the greatest pleasure to share with you the announcement of the betrothal of my only daughter, Lady Charlotte Digby, to his lordship, Owen Percival, Earl of Darlington. We hope that this evening, you will join in their happiness.”
C.J. felt as though her throat and intestines alike had been gripped in a vise and were being held fast. Before she felt her equilibrium betray her, causing her to sink to the floor in a dead faint, she glimpsed the ostensibly happy couple in the center of the room and had the surprising presence of mind to note that they were anything but contented. Darlington looked uncomfortable and extremely embarrassed; nevertheless, his stately carriage did not betray any signs of turbulence. Poor Charlotte, who was rather lovely, in a dewy English-rose way, was looking at her intended with an expression more ambivalent than amatory: an innocent, pink-eyed, fluffy-tailed rabbit being led to the sacrifice.
For Miss Welles, her current medical condition notwithstanding, marriage to the earl was a consummation devoutly to be wished. For Lady Charlotte, it appeared to be little more than a daughter’s duty.
C.J. thought she saw Darlington glance in her direction when the commotion created by her sudden, though graceful, descent to the floor drew his attention away from Lady Charlotte. Had she imagined that such a delicate flower as her young ladyship detected the look of extreme concern that clouded the earl’s handsome countenance and then had firmly pressed a gloved hand onto Darlington’s sleeve, preventing him from attending to the fallen woman near the perimeter of the room?
Restored to equanimity by a few Samaritans and a glass of punch, C.J. rested on a chair, surprised to see the minuet still in progress. For the remainder of this interminable formal dance, C.J. found herself biting her lower lip until it bled and she required a handkerchief to blot it. Her distress was not lost on her “aunt,” who caught the eye of the Master of Ceremonies just as the center couple was concluding the minuet.
Lady Charlotte was returned to the adoring bosom of her family, and Mr. King approached Lady Dalrymple and her “niece.” The Master of Ceremonies offered a stunned Miss Welles his arm. As all eyes were upon her, she could not turn back toward the countess to satisfy her curiosity as to whether Lady Dalrymple had played a part in this turn of events.
What could she possibly say to Darlington? Certainly, propriety dictated—
Damn propriety! Damn it to bloody hell and back!
As Mr. King handed C.J. to the earl, she broke free from the Master of Ceremonies’ grasp and made a dash for the long table near the entranceway, leaving a puzzled Percy on his own. She continued to shock the well-heeled assemblage by dousing her body with water from the
