Even from a distance, she could see Mina and Deirdre seemed determined to catch his attention. And their so-called chaperone was nowhere in sight. The naïve girls could still get into trouble.
Was that why the ghosts had not yet sent her home? Would they send her back if she failed?
Eleanor paced again. She couldn’t do anything cooped up in her rooms, and she had to do something other than mope around in self-pity. She spotted the girls’ sewing boxes and got a brainstorm. Digging in one, she found white embroidery thread. She cut a length of fourteen inches and separated one of the six twisted strands to use as dental floss. She dislodged a piece of food. After several saltwater rinses, she felt well enough to get dressed.
She heard Mina and Deirdre moving around in the sitting room and opened the door from the bedroom to find the girls had brought a guest.
Shermont stood in the open doorway to the hall and refused Mina’s invitation to enter. He extended both hands, one with a simple bouquet of cheerful daisies and the other with a recently published book, Mansfield Park. “I thought you might enjoy this.”
“Thank you,” Eleanor said, touched by his thoughtfulness. Just seeing him brought back vivid memories of the previous night, causing the back of her neck and other body parts to heat. She didn’t want to get any closer, so she asked him to lay the gifts on the table by the door.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” he said.
“Of course, we are, too,” Deirdre said. “What a rapid recovery. One might even say miraculous.”
“Yes,” Mina said. “When Lord Shermont insisted on bringing his trinkets in person, we told him you were probably asleep. Where is your red flannel?”
“I believe you are mistaken,” Shermont said. He leaned against the doorjamb. “I asked you to deliver my best wishes personally, and you insisted it would mean so much more if I accompanied you. Though I admit, due to my concern, I wasn’t difficult to convince.”
Deirdre glared at Mina as if the younger girl had let the cat out of the bag. Indeed, she had.
“How sweet of both of you.” Eleanor smiled with insincere sweetness at the sisters. They had meant for Shermont to see her swollen and wrapped in red flannel.
“Come in,” Mina said to him. “Make yourself comfortable. Eleanor can act as our chaperone.”
“Yes,” Deirdre said. “We’ll order some tea and have a nice cozy chat.”
“No, thank you,” Shermont refused again, maintaining his position in the doorway. He covered a fake yawn with his hand. “I hate to admit it, but I think I’ll take a little rest. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
He said it with a straight face, but a hint of a cat-that-got-the-cream smile curled the corners of his mouth.
“Apparently the storm made for a restless night for everyone,” Deirdre said.
“Yes,” he agreed. “A tempest of a night.”
“Hopefully we’ll have good weather for the ball tonight,” Deirdre said.
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “I now have a certain fondness for storms. I was rather hoping for a repeat of last night.”
“Don’t even say that,” Mina said, horrified. “We must have good weather, or we can’t set off the fireworks we ordered. Oops! I wasn’t supposed to let out the surprise. Please don’t tell anyone, especially Teddy.”
“Why? Doesn’t he know?”
“Of course he does. He made the arrangements, but I don’t want him to know I told you.”
“My lips are sealed,” Shermont promised. “However, I will take my leave before any more secrets are revealed.”
He bowed, but Eleanor caught his glance.
“I have no secrets worth revealing,” she said with what she hoped was a nonchalant shrug.
He raised an eyebrow and would have said something, but Mina grabbed his arm, demanding his attention.
“I can’t let you leave without promising me a dance tonight,” she said.
“Mina!” Deirdre said with a horrified expression. “A girl should never, ever ask a gentleman for a dance.”
“Then how will he know I want one?” Mina replied and stuck out her bottom lip.
“Very sensible,” Shermont said. “I shall be honored to ask you to dance this evening.”
“And me,” Deirdre said.
“A promise gladly given to both of you,” he said. His gaze touched each face, but his look to Eleanor promised much more than a dance. “By your leave.” He stepped back and bowed before walking away.
Mina closed the door and sagged against it. “He is sooo handsome. He makes my knees weak.”
“Well, don’t faint now,” Deirdre said. She stood. “We have lots to do today. Change your shoes quickly. Mr. Foucalt is scheduled to start the dancing lesson in ten minutes.”
Eleanor fought the urge to roll her eyes. She’d just put on her walking boots to go outside. At least her day dress was appropriate. She changed into soft leather dancing shoes, and the three of them hurried downstairs to the ballroom, where the other women of the party waited. She was disappointed to note the Austen sisters were not in attendance.
“Excellent,” Mr. Foucalt said. “Now we begin.” The dancing master waved the late arrivals forward.
The tall, gaunt dancing master reminded Eleanor of an exotic bird with his large hooked nose, heavy-lidded dark eyes, bright yellow coat, and royal blue satin knee breeches. Sparse wisps of hair escaped his combed-forward hairdo and stuck straight up like the feathers on a parrot’s head. Red stockings covered his thin legs. Eleanor suspected his talented tailor had added strategic padding to his ensemble, even to supplement the calves of his hose. Although obvious to a seamstress who had been called upon more than once to perform costume magic to make an actor look better, a casual observer would assume the man was in fantastic physical shape.
Mr. Foucalt had them stand at arm’s-length in two lines six feet apart. Eleanor, Mina, Beatrix, and Fiona made one set of four, and Deirdre, Hazel, Countess Lazislov, and a mousy girl named Cecily made up the second group. Patience sat at the harpsichord in the corner, and the other chaperones sat in the chairs along the wall.
“Now take the hand of your imaginary partner,” Mr. Foucalt said, demonstrating by raising his left hand to almost shoulder height, elbow slightly bent.
“My partner is Raoul Santiago De Varga, aide to the Spanish Ambassador,” Mina said.
“Lieutenant Whitby,” Fiona said, batting her eyelashes to her left.
Beatrix didn’t have to announce, though she did, that her imaginary partner was Teddy.
“You are with Lord Shermont,” Mina said to Eleanor with a knowing smile.
“No, this dance belongs to Mr. Darcy,” Eleanor said.
“Your attention, please,” Mr. Foucalt said, pounding his tall walking stick on the floor. “Thank you. This dance is one I composed for the Prince Regent and is now all the rage in London. I call it “On a Midsummer Night,” and it is included in my new book of dances available next month from Corinthian Publishers on Fleet Street. Maintenant, salute your partner.” He demonstrated a half turn to his left and a curtsey.
All the dancers copied him.
“Now, all take two steps forward and clasp your hands behind your back. You will promenade to your right around the men in a lively step-close-step. Right foot first. Music please. Allez-vous.”
Eleanor followed Mina, imitating her footwork, while Patience pounded out a fairly fast pace.
Mr. Foucalt called, “Right, close, right, left, close, left. Non, non, non. Mademoiselle Maxwell. Do not lift your knees so high like the prancing horse.”
“How dare you,” Mrs. Maxwell said, jumping up with fisted hands. “My daughter—”
“It’s all right,” Fiona said to her mother. “He’s only trying to help me.”
Mrs. Maxwell sat down, but she glared at the dancing master.