“What was that all about, James? You were rude to Devlin. All he did was dance excellently with me, and amuse me.” When he just kept looking ahead and said nothing, she was presented with a delightful opportunity: she was free to look at him. If she looked fine, then James looked beyond fine. Every feature blended with every other feature, as if by an artist’s hand. His eyes looked pure violet this evening beneath the swarm of candles that shown down from scores of chandeliers.
“Your cravat is crooked,” she said, placing her arm on his and walking to the dance floor, not looking at him, but at the gaggle of girls heading their way. Oh dear, would they walk over her and haul him away?
They stopped only when James had led her into the center of the dance floor. He said, “I would ask you to straighten it but I doubt that is a skill you possess.”
She wanted to snarl at him, kiss him, maybe even hurl him to the floor and bite his ear, and so she twitched the cravat this way and that until it was as straight as it had been before she’d touched it.
All the while, he was looking down at her, a curious smile on his face. “Your gown is lovely. I assume my father selected the pattern and the fabric?”
“Oh yes,” she said, her eyes still on the blasted cravat that wouldn’t cooperate.
“I assume my father also thought that the gown is cut too low?”
“Well, he did gnash his teeth a bit, and he did point out that the gown was cut so low my knees were nearly on display. He started to hoist it up himself, like he does with your mother’s gowns, but stopped fast when Madame Jourdan told him he wasn’t my father, so his odd notions of bosom coverage weren’t to the point.”
An understatement. James could hear his father roaring.
She dropped her hands from his cravat, then lightly traced her fingertips over his shoulders and down his arms. “Lovely fabric, James. Nearly as lovely as mine.”
“Oh no, surely not. Is my cravat perfect now?”
“Naturally.”
“I also assume you learned how to waltz?”
“You certainly weren’t around to instruct me, were you?”
“No. I had to come to London. There were things I had to do.”
“Like what?”
“None of your business.” He put his arm around her, actually touched her back, and she nearly fell off her slippers.
“Pay attention, Corrie.” The music started and so did they.
“Ah, you have the steps down, that’s good.” And he whirled her about, making her nearly swallow her tongue with the excitement and pleasure of it.
“Oh, this is wonderful!” She was smiling and laughing, and he continued to dance her through every part of the dance floor, her wide skirt swishing around his legs, the lovely white of her attire like snow against the black of his trousers. She was panting for breath when he finally slowed. “James,”-pant, pant, pant-“if you are unable to do anything else of use in your life, know that you are excellent at waltzing.”
He grinned into that shining face that had long since lost its rice powder. A face, he realized, he knew as well as his own. Those breasts, though, he didn’t know them at all. One thick braid looked in danger of unwinding. He didn’t think, just said, “Keep moving, slowly.” And he reached up both hands and slipped the wooden pins skillfully back into the braid, anchoring it. Then he slid one of the half dozen white roses securely back in.
“There, that is just fine now.”
She was looking at him oddly. “How do you know how to fix a lady’s hair?”
“I’m not a clod,” he said, nothing more.
“Well, I’m not a clod either, but I wouldn’t know how to do it as well as you do.”
“For God’s sake, Corrie, I’ve had some practice.”
“On whom? I’ve never asked you to braid my hair or anything like that.”
James drew a deep breath. This was something he’d never encountered in his male adult life. Here was a girl he’d known forever, and yet she was now a young lady, and surely he should treat her differently. He said, “No, you’ve always stuffed your braid under your hat, or left it to flap against your back. What was there to do?”
“May I inquire upon whom you practiced?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’ve known quite a few females, and all of them have hair that occasionally needs fixing.”
She was frowning up at him, still not understanding. He said, looking at her breasts, ready to swallow his tongue, “I see you unsmashed yourself.”
She actually arched her back a little so that her breasts were pressed against his chest. “I told you I had a bosom.”
“Well, yes, possibly. I suppose.”
“What do you mean ‘I suppose’? My bosom is quite nice, so Madame Jourdan said when your father took me to her shop.”
Because he didn’t know what to say to that, James picked up speed and danced her around the perimeter of the dance floor, laughing and panting at the same time, as other couples quickly danced out of their way.
Then the music ended.
He looked down at her and saw her smile turn into misery. She looked ready to burst into tears.
“Whatever is the matter?”
She gulped. “That was lovely. I should like to do it again. Now.”
“All right,” he said and thought that surely two dances wouldn’t mean anything to anyone, for heaven’s sake, since they were very nearly related. He saw four young ladies bearing down on them, and quickly took Corrie’s arm and led her into the dozen or so couples still on the dance floor.
She said, “I swear that every gown in this incredible room is either white like mine, or rose, blue, or purple.”
“Lilac, not purple. Lilac is much lighter.”
“Ah, and what about violet?” Was that a hint of a sneer on her mouth?
“Why, I would say that violet is just about the most beautiful color on this earth.”
Corrie swallowed, acknowledging the hit, and said, “Aunt Maybella’s blue fits right in.”
“Not exactly, but close enough.” He eyed her, wanted to touch his fingertips to the tops of her breasts, looked at her white shoulders, and said, “Well, did it require bucketfuls?”
“What? Smeared on me. Well, yes, at least one and a half buckets of cream. Uncle Simon complained about it at first because he said I smelled like lavender compost, but Aunt Maybella said it was necessary or I just might never be able to crawl off the shelf and fall into a matrimony basket.”
“As in no man wants a scaly wife?”
“I’ve been here now five days, James, and I tell you, I haven’t met a single man I would want to have consider my scales.”
He laughed. “How many have you met?”
“Well, I’ve danced with at least a half dozen this evening. Very well, counting Lord Devlin, it’s now exactly seven. Of course now there’s you to add to my list. Eight gentlemen. That’s a rather nice large number, isn’t it? You couldn’t possibly consider me a failure, could you?”
“Er, were they all nice to you?”
“Oh yes. I practiced answers to every sort of question. You know, spontaneous answers. And you know what, James?”
“What?”
“They used nearly all of them.” She frowned a moment. “I think the favorite question was about the weather.”
“Well, that’s normal, I suppose. It is nice and warm, worthy to comment upon.”
She looked over his left shoulder.
“What’s the matter? What did they do besides ask you your opinion on the weather?”
“Well, it wasn’t all of them, but you see, ever since I’ve unsmashed my bosom and lowered my neckline-well, really, it was Madame Jourdan who wouldn’t tolerate your father’s criticism about my neckline-” she rose on her tiptoes and whispered near his ear, “they’ve been looking.”
“This is something that surprises and astounds you? I’d like to know why any female on this earth could possibly be surprised at that.”