The dinner was excellent, and everyone was in exuberant spirits. There was conversation and laughter. There were speeches and toasts. Mr. Rowlands, who had got to his feet to thank everyone, impulsively bent from the waist and kissed Mrs. Rowlands on the lips, setting up a boisterous cheer around the table. Then, of course, Cousin Sebastian, not to be outdone, had to get to his feet to thank everyone for their congratulations on his looming anniversary, and he had to bend to kiss his wife on the lips and set up another roar of appreciation. Hugo wondered fleetingly if any ton dinner would include such raucous displays and put the thought firmly from his mind. Gwendoline was leaning forward in her chair and clapping her hands and smiling warmly at Sebastian and Olga. And then she was turning her head to talk animatedly with Ned Tucker at her right.
Two small, exquisitely decorated cakes were carried in, one for each couple, and the two ladies sliced them, to the applause of everyone else, and the two men handed around pieces for everyone to sample. And everyone seemed agreed when the meal was ended and it was time to remove to the ballroom for the arrival of the outside guests that they would not be able to stuff another morsel of food inside themselves until at least tomorrow.
“I daresay all the supper dainties will have to be consumed by my neighbors, then,” Hugo said.
“Let’s not be hasty, lad,” his Uncle Frederick said. “We are to dance, are we not? That will work up a fresh appetite soon enough, especially if the tunes are lively.”
And finally it was time to stand in the doorway of the ballroom, greeting the outside guests as they arrived. Hugo had Fiona beside him and Constance beside her and just wished that his father could be here now to see them. He would have been happy.
He glanced about the ballroom, seeing all the familiar faces, knowing that he had done the right thing in bringing everyone here for a few days. The right thing for them, and definitely the right thing for himself. Maybe there would always be a little darkness in his soul when he remembered the brutality of war. He would far prefer to nurture life than to take it. But, as he had explained to Gwendoline in different words, life was not made up of neat blacks and whites but of a vast whirlwind of varying shades of gray. He would no longer beat himself to a pulp over what he had done. Perhaps in doing it he had averted a greater evil. And perhaps not. Who was to know? He could only continue his journey through life, hoping that along with experience he was picking up some wisdom.
If there was some darkness in his soul, then there was also a considerable amount of light. One bright ray of it was at the far side of the ballroom, dressed prettily but simply in a pale lemon silky gown with scalloped hem and short, puffed sleeves and modest neckline—and a simple gold chain as her only ornament. Gwendoline. She was talking with Ned Tucker and Philip Germane—and looking back at him with a smile on her face.
He winked at her. Winked. He could not remember ever winking before in his life.
But his steward was entering the ballroom with his wife, and the vicar and his wife and son and daughter were coming behind them. Hugo turned his attention to his guests.
It was all really quite delightful, Gwen decided during the next hour. She paused to examine the thought, but there was no condescension in it. People were people, and these people were enjoying the occasion with unabashed pleasure. There was none of the restraint and polite ennui one encountered all too often with the ton, so many of whose members seemed to believe that it was either naïve or vulgar to enjoy anything with too great an exuberance.
The orchestra made up in enthusiasm what it lacked in skill. Most of the sets were vigorous country dances. Gwen danced them all, having assured the few people who were bold enough to ask that her limp did not deter her from dancing. And in no time at all she was flushed and laughing.
Mrs. Lowry, Hugo’s Aunt Henrietta, drew her aside between the second and third sets and asked her without preamble if she was going to marry Hugo.
“I was asked once and said no,” Gwen told her. “But that was quite a while ago, and if I were to be asked again, I might give a different answer.”
Mrs. Lowry nodded.
“His father was my favorite brother,” she said, “and Hugo has always been my favorite nephew even though I did not set eyes on him for years. He never ought to have gone away, but he did, and he suffered, and now he is back, just as tender-hearted as ever, it seems to me. I don’t want to see his heart broken.”
Gwen smiled at her.
“Me neither,” she said.
Mrs. Lowry nodded again as a few more of the aunts gathered about them.
The next set was to be a waltz. The news was buzzing about the ballroom. Some of Hugo’s neighbors had requested it and he had given the order to the orchestra leader and now there was a chorus of laughter from those same neighbors, who were all loudly urging Hugo to dance it.
He, interestingly enough, was laughing too—and then holding up both hands, palm out. For a moment as she watched him, something caught at the edges of Gwen’s mind, but it refused to come into focus and she let it go.
“I will waltz,” he said, “but only if my chosen partner clearly understands that at worst she may be dealing with squashed toes at the end of it and at best she may have laid herself open to some ridicule.”
There were a few cheers, a few jeers, and more laughter—from everyone this time.
“Come on, Hugo,” Mark, one of his cousins, called. “Show us how it is done, then.”
“Lady Muir,” Hugo said, turning and looking fully at her, “will you do me the honor?”
“Yes, go on, Gwen,” Bernardine Emes urged. “We won’t laugh at you. Only at Hugo.”
Gwen stepped forward and walked toward him as he walked toward her. They met in the middle of the gleaming dance floor, smiling at each other.
“Are my eyes deceiving me?” he asked her when they met. “Is no one else stepping onto the floor with us?”
“They are probably all taking heed of your warning about squashed toes,” she said.
“Hell and damnation,” he muttered—and did not apologize.
Gwen laughed and set her left hand on his shoulder. She held out her other hand for his, and he clasped it. His right hand came to rest at the back of her waist.
And the music began.
It took a few moments for him to get his feet under him and the sound of the music into his ears and the rhythm of the dance into his body, but then he accomplished all three and danced off about the floor with her, holding her firmly at the waist so that it felt as if her feet floated over the floor and there was no discomfort from the fact that her legs were not of equal length.
There was applause from all his family and guests gathered about the perimeter of the room, a few loud comments, a little laughter, one piercing whistle. Gwen smiled up into his face, and he smiled back.
“Don’t encourage me to relax,” he said. “That is when disaster will strike.”
She laughed and suddenly felt a great welling of happiness. It was at least equal to that tidal wave of loneliness she had felt on the beach below Penderris just before she met Hugo.
“I like your world, Hugo,” she said. “I love it.”
“It is not really so very different from your own, is it?” he said.
She shook her head. It was not so very different. It was different enough, of course, that moving back and forth between them would not be always easy—if that was what was going to happen.
But she was too happy for speculation at this precise moment.
“Ah,” he said, and she looked around to see that others were taking the floor and starting to waltz, and the focus of attention was no longer exclusively on them.