"Yes, Miss Rossiter, I wish to dance with you," he said gravely. "Will you, ma'am?"
Elizabeth got to her feet, feeling self-conscious in her plain gray silk. She had not waltzed for six years.
Mr. Mainwaring was a good dancer. He held her firmly and provided a lead that she could easily follow. But she wondered why he had asked her to dance.
"How do you take to your new home, sir?" she asked, looking up, and found herself gazing into velvet brown eyes.
"Very well, ma'am, I thank you," he said. "My friends and I have certainly been given a warm welcome."
"Ah, that is because you provide novelty and entertainment to a neighborhood that is normally dull, sir," she said, smiling impishly up at him.
His eyebrows rose. "I am devastated, ma'am," he replied. "And I thought they were responding to my own fair self."
Elizabeth laughed outright. "Well, the fact that you are quite personable and, so we hear, rich, certainly helps," she commented.
"Ah," he said, and came very close to smiling, "it is a shame I do not have my friend's title too, is it not? I should take the place by storm."
Elizabeth chuckled again and glanced across the room at that friend, who was dancing with his betrothed, but he was glaring, tight-lipped, straight at Elizabeth! Her eyes dropped in confusion for a moment. Then she glared back defiantly. She was not going to be made ashamed just because he obviously disapproved of a servant-and one dressed drably in gray-dancing with his friend. If he did not like it, let him leave. She turned back to her partner.
"You are a very good dancer, sir," she commented. "I have not waltzed for many years and you have contrived to keep your feet from landing beneath mine."
"A very unwise comment, ma'am," he said gravely. "The music has not finished yet."
Alone in the window seat again a few minutes later, Elizabeth mused on the one major surprise of the evening. Mr. Mainwaring was certainly not the top-lofty, stern man that she had labeled him. Stiff and quiet as he appeared on the outside, he had a sense of humor. Which was more than could be said of the Marquess of Hetherington.
---
"Ah, Miss Rossiter," Mr. Rowe said the next morning when he met her outside the breakfast room, "I was beginning to think that Prince Charming was going to ruin our fantasy by refusing to show up. But could he be disguised in the person of William Mainwaring? He seemed quite attentive last evening."
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. "Indeed not, sir," she said. "The conquest of a mere 'mister' would not be near startling enough. No, no, I wait for someone of more exalted rank."
She would have swept past him with an arch look, but he was not finished. "Ah," he said, "the Marquess of Hetherington, perhaps? He seems quite the Prince Charming. He has the looks, wealth, and rank."
Elizabeth tried to keep her tone light. "He has one missing attribute," she said, pretending to consider. "He refuses to recognize me as Cinderella."
"Foolish man," commented Mr. Rowe. "But I am glad of it. I cannot like the man's attentions to Cecily. He has made her the target of his gallantry, but I cannot fathom why. He treats her much as he would a child. I wonder if he is not trying to make Miss Norris jealous. There seems to be some attachment between the two, though I would guess it is more on her side than on his. Which now makes me wonder, why would he try to make her jealous? My wife always tells me, Miss Rossiter, that one should never try to think before luncheon. I begin to appreciate the wisdom of the lady."
Elizabeth smiled and again would have moved into the breakfast room. He again detained her.
"Miss Rossiter, will you watch Cecily very closely?" he asked. "She is a silly little chit in many ways, but she has a good heart and I should hate to see it hurt."
"Believe me, sir," Elizabeth replied gravely, "I have a deep affection, too, for your daughter, and I take my position seriously. She shall not be taken advantage of if I have anything to say in the matter."
Mr. Rowe nodded vaguely and moved off in the direction of his office.
Mrs. Rowe, meanwhile, was a different story altogether. When she joined Elizabeth at the table, she was bubbling with high spirits.
"Do you not agree that everyone enjoyed last evening excessively, Miss Rossiter?" she began. "Such friendly, informal entertainment, such agreeable company, such stimulating conversation."
"Indeed, ma'am, it appeared to me that your efforts had met with great success," Elizabeth agreed kindly.
"Elva Hendrickson assured me that the evening was a tar greater success than the Worthing ball was. Insipid, she called that."
Elizabeth murmured a diplomatic comment.
"I do believe the Marquess of Hetherington is smitten with Cecily, do you not agree, Miss Rossiter?" Mrs. Rowe continued. "He is so particular in his attentions to her. It would be such a splendid match for her. I can hardly wait to see Maria Worthing's face if he should offer for her."
Elizabeth felt that her opinion was being called for. "His lordship is a very charming man," she said carefully, "and of course, he is taken with Cecily's prettiness. I am not sure, though, ma'am, that his behavior amounts to more than gallantry. I believe I have heard that he is something of a rake." Elizabeth had heard no such thing, in fact, but it seemed likely to be true, she assured herself guiltily.
"A rake?" Mrs. Rowe repeated incredulously. "Surely not, my dear. Such a charming man! But I certainly do not like that sharp-tongued Miss Norris, who seems forever to be hanging on his sleeve. She sets her cap at him altogether too openly."
"I believe they may have an understanding," Elizabeth said hesitantly. "She hinted as much when she was introduced to me."
"Indeed!" the other lady said sharply. "Then perhaps it may be a good idea to keep a close eye on Cecily at tomorrow's picnic, Miss Rossiter. I do not want the girl to be hurt or made to look foolish."
"I shall do all in my power to prevent either, ma'am," Elizabeth replied calmly.
And so, if Elizabeth had not gone to the picnic as a result of Hetherington's dare, she would certainly have gone as a result of the express concern of Cecily's parents.
It had been decided that the old church should be the site of the picnic. Hetherington had taken on the role of host. All the members of the Ferndale party were to be present, and in addition he had invited Cecily and Elizabeth, Ferdie and Lucy Worthing, Anne Claridge, and Mr. Dowling. The party was to assemble at Ferndale at eleven in the morning and travel together by horse or barouche.
After much animated discussion, it was decided that the gentlemen would ride and also Amelia Norris and Lucy Worthing, who was an excellent horsewoman. The remaining four ladies were handed into the barouche by a smiling, high-spirited Hetherington. When it came to Elizabeth's turn, she gathered her skirts together and would have stepped into the conveyance unassisted. But his outstretched hand did not waver. She had to accept his assistance or appear rude in front of an audience.
And so she placed her hand in his and he gripped it firmly. She was touching him again after six long years. For a moment she forgot time and occasion. It could be no one else's hand: warm, broad, capable. She had once thought she could put her whole life in it and be safe. She looked up wide-eyed into his face. His blue eyes looked steadily-and blankly-back into hers.
"Ma'am?" he said politely, and she stepped into the barouche and released his hand.
Once the picnic site had been established, the party broke up into two groups. The picnic blankets were laid at the foot of the small hill, at the only spot that was well sheltered by a clump of trees. And they would need that shelter later on, they all agreed. The sun was already blazing down on them with all its summer heat.
Several of the party decided to stroll beside the stream that meandered around the base of the hill. Hetherington insisted that Cecily show him the old church that she had dragged them all there to see. Amelia Norris, Ferdie, and Elizabeth, for reasons of their own, tagged along too. So did Mr. Mainwaring.