Someone to Trust Read online

  Fires had been kept burning for a couple of days in the two fireplaces that faced each other across the midpoint of the ballroom. They had taken away the worst of the chill. The fires would be kept going through the party, and the presence of a largish number of people would add more warmth.

  A trio of musicians who played for the village assemblies had been engaged to provide music for the entertainment of the guests and perhaps even for some dancing if anyone seemed so inclined.

  It all looked rather cozy to Elizabeth when she stood in the doorway early in the evening, her fine wool shawl—a Christmas gift from her mother—drawn snugly about her shoulders. Most of the family was already present, and the musicians had begun to play soft music. The two punch bowls had been filled as had some of the large food platters. And the outside guests had begun to arrive.

  They came in surprisingly large numbers, considering the weather, and they came early. There was no concept here of being fashionably late. They arrived on foot and by sleigh, and in a few cases, by carriage, bringing with them hair-raising tales of slithering wheels.

  “An entertainment at Brambledean is a rare treat for the people hereabouts, my lord,” Elizabeth overheard the vicar say to Alexander as he wrung his hand. “Most do not remember anything so grand in their lifetimes. You cannot expect a little snow to keep them away, you know.”

  “I am delighted to hear it,” Alexander told him. “And delighted to see it.” He gestured about the ballroom.

  Many of the new arrivals were apple-cheeked and a bit disheveled after walking all the way huddled inside coats and scarves and hats. Many were dressed in nothing like the sort of finery one would expect to see in a London drawing room, though all were clearly wearing their very best attire. None of it mattered. Everyone had come to be delighted, and delighted they all seemed to be. So did the Westcott family, who set out deliberately to welcome the newcomers, many of whom were feeling a bit shy and intimidated. They circulated about the room, talking to everyone who was not already part of a group, making sure everyone who wanted a seat had one, fetching food and drink to the older people.

  And after a while there was dancing.

  Most of it was country sets, performed with skill and enthusiasm by all and filling the space so that Elizabeth thought in some amusement that Wren would be able to boast afterward that the evening had been a sad squeeze—the greatest compliment any London hostess could be paid after a ball during the Season.

  Elizabeth danced with the vicar and two of Alexander’s tenant farmers.

  It was the son of one of the tenants, a young man who had spent a few months in London earlier in the year and clearly fancied himself a man of the world, who begged for a waltz. He did so after a short lull in the dancing for them all to catch their breath and revive themselves with punch and sausage rolls and Christmas cake and other delicacies. Alexander conferred with the musicians, who indicated their knowledge of a suitable tune. Most of the guests were content to remain on the sidelines with their refreshments while a few brave couples stepped onto the floor to perform the steps of a dance not yet much performed in the country. The young tenant’s son had Jessica in tow.

  Alexander was looking about, Elizabeth could see, but Wren was busy filling plates for an elderly couple that was seated by one of the fires.

  “Lizzie,” he said, turning to her, “we cannot allow the waltz to proceed undanced, can we? Let us show everyone how it is done.”

  She willingly set her hand in her brother’s. They had learned the steps together a number of years ago, and they waltzed well with each other. She could recall the two of them demonstrating the steps for Anna soon after she had arrived in London from Bath, though it was Avery who had finally taken her from the clutches of the fussy dancing master and persuaded her to relax and enjoy waltzing. The two of them were on the floor now, waiting for the music to begin. So were Viola and the Marquess of Dorchester and Camille and Joel and several other members of the family. Alexander led her onto the floor and they smiled warmly at each other.

  “It is a wonderful evening,” she said. “Everyone will remember it for a long time to come, Alex. But that means you will have to do it again.”

  “Of course,” he agreed. “I cannot think of many things Wren and I will enjoy more in the coming years than putting on merry entertainments for our neighbors.”

  They both turned to look expectantly at the musicians. But someone clasped Alexander’s shoulder before the music began.

  “Why should we each have our sisters for partners for such a romantic dance, Alexander, when there is a simple alternative?” Colin asked. He had Wren by the hand.

  “Why, indeed?” Alexander agreed and released Elizabeth in order to clasp his arm about his wife’s waist.

  “I hope you do not mind,” Colin said half apologetically to Elizabeth. “But Wren looked quite forlorn when she saw that your brother already had a partner.”

  “I am perfectly delighted,” she assured him. “I will be waltzing with the most handsome young man at the ball.”

  He laughed. “Is it a ball?” he asked her. “But whether it is or not, it is a cracking good party. It was an inspired idea of Wren and Alexander’s to invite virtually everyone. It is the way parties should be, especially at this time of year. Christmas ought to be for everyone. I mean for everyone to enjoy together.”

  There were, of course, the servants who must work. But no system was perfect. And Elizabeth had heard that Alex was paying them double their normal wage for the past two days and today and was giving them four paid days off as well.

  The music began then, and Colin set an arm about her waist and took her right hand in his while she set her other hand on his shoulder. And oh dear. Oh dear, she had to think very firmly about her resolution while trying not to cling to his hand and shoulder. She concentrated for a few moments upon her steps, but he obviously knew how to waltz, and she soon relaxed and followed him into a wide twirl about one corner of the room.

  . . . such a romantic dance . . .

  Oh, indeed it was. She had always thought so. She had always thought that waltzing with someone special—with the someone special—must be the most romantic experience in the world. Colin surely was the most handsome young man at the party. His hair glowed almost golden in the candlelight and his blue eyes smiled into hers. She could feel the warmth of his hands and his body heat. She was aware of the light spicy smell of his cologne. And she was aware too after a few minutes of something incongruous—of hands that clapped in time with the music, of feet that thumped on the wooden floor to add rhythm to the lilting waltz tune. She was aware of someone whooping, and she laughed. The guests gathered around the dancing area were watching with appreciative pleasure, she could see.

  “So much for the romance of it all,” she said.

  “I am not at all sure it has not been enhanced,” he said, grinning back at her. “Just listen. The waltz is usually a stately, solitary pleasure—solitary for each couple dancing it, that is. These people have made it into a communal pleasure. Feel the joy of it, Elizabeth.”

  And she did.

  He twirled her with more enthusiasm than before, not changing the rhythm so much as taking it into himself and bringing it into her and sharing it with the room. She was not sure anyone would notice it as she did, but someone whistled, and they both laughed. And it was not just the two of them. Avery and Anna, Alex and Wren, Thomas and Mildred, the young tenant’s son and Jessica—all the dancers had caught the joy of a Christmas dance that just happened to bear a close resemblance to the waltz.

  She had never enjoyed it more. Colin’s eyes laughed into hers as they danced. There were boisterous cheers when the waltz drew to a close, and Elizabeth, absurdly perhaps, felt that surely she had never been happier in her life.

  “How fortunate I am,” Colin said, tucking her hand through his arm as he led her in the direction of the r
efreshment tables, “to have had the loveliest lady in the room with whom to perform such a memorable dance. The waltz is going to seem quite flat when I next perform the steps at a very proper ton ball.”

  “What a flatterer.” She smiled at him.

  “Oh, but I did not call you the most beautiful lady here merely because you called me the most handsome man,” he told her.

  “Well, then,” she said, “I am much obliged to you, sir. And yes, please.”

  He was offering her a glass of punch.

  “Your tone suggests that you do not for a moment believe me,” he said, regarding her with his head tipped slightly to one side as she took a sip from her glass. “But you are. You are poised and beautiful from the inside out and I feel honored that you agreed to waltz with me. Did I offend you terribly yesterday?”

  “No, of course you did not,” she hastened to assure him. “It was of no more significance than any of the kisses I have seen you give beneath the mistletoe.”

  “Was it not?” he said. “You wound me. I still think you ought to marry me and save us both from the chore of having to go shopping separately at the marriage mart during the coming Season.”

  “How absurd you are,” she said, wondering what would happen if she tried to take another sip of her punch. Would her hand be steady? She decided not to risk it. “For one thing, I am not going to be going shopping, as you so indelicately describe it. If someone should ask, I may say yes. Or I may say no and continue my life as it is. I shall be quite happy to do so, you know.”

  “And if I should ask?” he asked her. “In London during the Season, that is? On bended knee? With a single red rosebud in hand?”

  “I should call you absurd again,” she said. “Before taking the rosebud.”

  “Would you?” he asked her. “Call me absurd, that is?”

  “Yes, indeed I would,” she said, “for I would still be nine years older than you.”

  “And that is an insurmountable barrier, is it?” he asked.

  “Of course it is,” she said. “Colin, look what you have done to me. I cannot even drink my punch because you have made my hand unsteady with your absurdity.”

  “Is it the word of the evening?” he asked, taking the glass from her hand and setting it on the table beside them. “Absurd? Absurdity? Am I just a silly boy to you?”

  “You are not a boy,” she told him.

  “Man, then,” he said. “Am I just a silly man?”

  “Yes, you are,” she told him, “when you talk absurdly.”

  All the time he had been looking very directly into her eyes, his own smiling, perhaps with simple merriment, perhaps with something else. It was impossible to know. She was too agitated to read his expression. But if he was just teasing her, as surely he was, then someone ought to tell him that sometimes teasing could be a bit cruel. Perhaps she ought to tell him herself.

  “Colin,” she said. “Don’t.”

  The smile faded, and he moved his head a little closer to hers for a moment, searching her eyes with his own.

  “I am sorry,” he said. “I really am, Elizabeth. I was merely teasing. I did not mean to embarrass you.”

  There. She had her answer. I was merely teasing. And did she feel any better?

  “You did no such thing,” she said, determinedly picking up her glass again and drinking from it. “Now, if you really wish to make yourself useful, sir, you may put two of those sausage rolls on a plate for me, since I would have to exert myself to reach for them myself.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said.

  “Alas,” the languid voice of Avery, Duke of Netherby, said from beside them, “the waltz just sank to an ignominious near demise, I fear. Do you agree, Elizabeth, that you may never be able to dance it again without feeling that you are . . . frolicking?”

  She laughed. “I thought it was quite delightful,” she said.

  “Quite so,” he said with a sigh.

  “Which is exactly what I said, Avery,” Anna told him.

  “You did indeed, my love,” he said. “But I thought you were commenting upon the diamond stud you gave me for Christmas.”

  “It is heart shaped,” Elizabeth said, peering at it nestled in the folds of his neckcloth. “How did you ever find it, Anna?”

  “I daresay,” Colin said, “the duchess had it specially made.”

  “How clever of you to have guessed, Lord Hodges,” Anna said. “Did you enjoy the waltz?”

  “But of course,” he said. “My only complaint is that Lady Overfield has probably spoiled me for all other waltzing partners.”

  “Oh dear,” she said. “Well, you must get her to promise to reserve a waltz for you at every ball during the coming Season.”

  “What a splendid idea,” he said.

  “Lady Overfield, ma’am,” a gentleman said, approaching Elizabeth, who turned to smile at him. She recognized him as someone to whom she had been introduced on her first visit to Brambledean last spring. She could not recall his name. “May I have the honor of dancing the next set with you?”

  “But of course,” she said, setting down her glass. “It would be my pleasure, sir.”

  And she turned away from the table to engage in a vigorous country dance in which once more almost everyone below the age of fifty—and a few above—participated.

  And so the party continued until almost midnight, an unheard-of late hour according to a number of guests, who claimed that none of the village assemblies ever continued beyond half past ten. But it had been wonderful, wonderful . . .

  The compliments came from all sides as coats and boots and hats and mufflers and gloves were pulled on and the sounds of sleighs and a couple of carriages drawing up outside the doors penetrated to the great hall. It was half past twelve by the time the last of the stragglers disappeared down the driveway, walking in a huddled group, a lantern swaying above their heads.

  Elizabeth made her way to bed soon after, not sure if she was happy because it had been a lovely party and the perfect culmination to a memorable Christmas, or if she was sad because she had been teased and had been unable to take the teasing as lightly as it had been intended.

  But no. She positively refused to be melancholy and to be such a killjoy that she could not take a teasing. It had been a lovely party, and the very best part of it had been the waltz—oh, and standing at the refreshment table afterward being teased. The teasing has been the best part of the evening and the worst.

  How could it possibly be both?

  But she was too tired to work out the problem in her head. And in her head was all it was. Why lose sleep over a muddled head?

  She did not lose sleep.

  She drifted off to the memory of the waltz tune and the thumping feet and clapping hands of those who watched.

  And the smell of his cologne.

  And his words . . . You are poised and beautiful from the inside out and I feel honored that you agreed to waltz with me.

  Absurd, absurd, absurd.

  But she fell asleep with a smile on her lips.

  Five

  Colin was able to leave Brambledean the following day even though the roads were still not ideal for travel and it took his carriage almost an hour longer than usual to cover the nine miles to Withington House.

  It felt good to be home. He read a great deal over the next week and wrote letters to various friends and to his sister Ruby in Ireland. He also wrote a careful reply to one of his neighbors at Roxingley, a man he could not remember ever meeting in person, who had complained, not for the first time, about the nature of the house party that had been held at his home over Christmas in his lordship’s absence. Those four words had been heavily underlined.

  He called upon some of the neighbors close to Withington, and a few called upon him. He accepted an invitation to dine at the home of one family on New Year’s Eve a
nd was touched to find that his attendance was much appreciated by both his hosts and their guests. Dinner was followed by an informal dance, and he was careful to lead out each of the young ladies in turn. It felt good to be an accepted member of a neighborhood, even a favorite.

  And it gave a lift to his spirits to be at the start of a new year. There was never any real difference between the last day of December and the first day of January, except that twenty-four hours had slipped by, but New Year, spelled significantly with capital letters when written down, was a symbolic occasion upon which one could readjust one’s thinking and habits and believe that one’s life could change and proceed in newer and better ways. There was always that extra awareness, that new blossoming of hope and resolve at New Year.

  He could, if he really wanted to, take charge of his life during the coming year. He could become Lord Hodges in fact as well as just in name. Though that was not entirely fair to himself. He did take his responsibilities as a peer of the realm seriously. He had taken his seat in the House of Lords five years ago and was more faithful than many others in his attendance when it was in session.

  But that in itself was not enough. He should take up residence at Roxingley instead of here. He should make a home of it. He should make it something respectable and respected rather than something to be ashamed of, something that could cause a neighbor to complain. It had never felt like home when he was growing up there, but there was no reason that could not change. After all, it was his now, and there was nothing inherently wrong with the house or the park or the surrounding farms, as far as he recalled. He could, if he really wanted to take his courage in both hands, confront his mother and Blanche, and make it clear to them that things must and would change. Though he winced somewhat at his mental choice of verb. Would it have to be confrontation?