She’d forgotten there were other people in the world.
She whipped her head around again and found Genevieve next to her.
“Oh, there you are! Good heavens, don’t you look beautiful! Do come with me, Tansy. We’ll have your dance card filled in moments, I assure you.” Genevieve looped her arm companionably through hers and pulled her determinedly away. “And please don’t feel shy. Everyone will be delighted to meet you, I promise you.”
Tansy allowed herself to be led away, far away, from that man, and as she did, she aimed a smile radiantly, recklessly, across the room, into the crowd. The young man who happened to be standing in the path of it went scarlet, and then his face suffused with yearning and she knew, she felt , him watching her walk away.
And as she and Genevieve wended through the ballroom, she sensed male heads turning, one by one, like a meadow full of flowers bending in a summer breeze.
Before the night was over, she’d make that man take notice, too.
G ENEVIEVE LED HER through the crowd, making introductions to young men and young women. A gratifying number of eyes went wide; conversation was stammered; dances were begged. In short, everything was as it should be, and she began to relax and enjoy herself. Stingily, strategically, she gave away just one waltz to a randomly chosen young man, so that all of the others would wonder why she’d chosen him, before she told Genevieve, “All of this conversation has made me a bit thirsty. Do you think we can visit the punch bowl?”
She began heading in that direction before Genevieve could reply or effect another meeting.
The man was still standing alone against the wall, observing the ballroom at large. Time seemed to slow as she approached.
She watched as if in a dream he straightened, turned, and said, “Well, good evening, Genevieve. Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
He was on first name terms with the duchess!
Tansy’s heart was now pounding so hard it sent the blood ringing into her ears.
Genevieve said, “Miss Danforth, I’d like you to meet my brother, Mr. Ian Eversea. Captain Eversea, since his promotion.”
Her brother ! The brother no one would expound upon!
Ian. Ian. Ian Ian Ian.
It wasn’t Lancelot, but it would do.
His bow, which was graceful, seemed unduly fascinating. She suspected everything he did would be fascinating—yawning, scratching, flicking sand from the corners of his eyes when he woke up in the morning. She found it difficult to imagine him doing anything so very ordinary.
Up close his face was a bit harder, a bit scarier, and more beautiful. Cheekbones and jaw and brow united in an uncompromising, faceted, diamondlike symmetry. His mouth was elegantly sculpted. His eyes above cheekbones as steep and forbidding as castle walls were blue, amused, ever-so-slightly cynical. He was older than she’d originally thought. He was even larger than she’d originally thought. He had shoulders that went on for eons. And he was able to look at her without scarlet flooding his cheeks, unlike so many other young men.
All of the things she felt in his presence felt too large to contain, too new to name. And it was this, perhaps, she’d been waiting for her entire life.
Could this be the balcony man?
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Danforth.”
His voice was so baritone, resonant, she fancied she could feel it in the pit of her stomach, like a thunderclap. Aristocratic. Warm but not too enthusiastic. Good. Fawners could be tedious.
And she would see what she could to amplify that enthusiasm.
It occurred to her then she hadn’t spoken yet. She steeled herself to dazzle.
“I hope you’ll call me Tansy.”
Funny. Her voice had emerged sounding surprisingly small.
He smiled faintly down at her. “Do you?”
The English all seemed to find this amusing.
To her shock, she could feel a fresh wave of heat rushing into her cheeks. He was likely looking at a literally scarlet woman.
She tried a
She whipped her head around again and found Genevieve next to her.
“Oh, there you are! Good heavens, don’t you look beautiful! Do come with me, Tansy. We’ll have your dance card filled in moments, I assure you.” Genevieve looped her arm companionably through hers and pulled her determinedly away. “And please don’t feel shy. Everyone will be delighted to meet you, I promise you.”
Tansy allowed herself to be led away, far away, from that man, and as she did, she aimed a smile radiantly, recklessly, across the room, into the crowd. The young man who happened to be standing in the path of it went scarlet, and then his face suffused with yearning and she knew, she felt , him watching her walk away.
And as she and Genevieve wended through the ballroom, she sensed male heads turning, one by one, like a meadow full of flowers bending in a summer breeze.
Before the night was over, she’d make that man take notice, too.
G ENEVIEVE LED HER through the crowd, making introductions to young men and young women. A gratifying number of eyes went wide; conversation was stammered; dances were begged. In short, everything was as it should be, and she began to relax and enjoy herself. Stingily, strategically, she gave away just one waltz to a randomly chosen young man, so that all of the others would wonder why she’d chosen him, before she told Genevieve, “All of this conversation has made me a bit thirsty. Do you think we can visit the punch bowl?”
She began heading in that direction before Genevieve could reply or effect another meeting.
The man was still standing alone against the wall, observing the ballroom at large. Time seemed to slow as she approached.
She watched as if in a dream he straightened, turned, and said, “Well, good evening, Genevieve. Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
He was on first name terms with the duchess!
Tansy’s heart was now pounding so hard it sent the blood ringing into her ears.
Genevieve said, “Miss Danforth, I’d like you to meet my brother, Mr. Ian Eversea. Captain Eversea, since his promotion.”
Her brother ! The brother no one would expound upon!
Ian. Ian. Ian Ian Ian.
It wasn’t Lancelot, but it would do.
His bow, which was graceful, seemed unduly fascinating. She suspected everything he did would be fascinating—yawning, scratching, flicking sand from the corners of his eyes when he woke up in the morning. She found it difficult to imagine him doing anything so very ordinary.
Up close his face was a bit harder, a bit scarier, and more beautiful. Cheekbones and jaw and brow united in an uncompromising, faceted, diamondlike symmetry. His mouth was elegantly sculpted. His eyes above cheekbones as steep and forbidding as castle walls were blue, amused, ever-so-slightly cynical. He was older than she’d originally thought. He was even larger than she’d originally thought. He had shoulders that went on for eons. And he was able to look at her without scarlet flooding his cheeks, unlike so many other young men.
All of the things she felt in his presence felt too large to contain, too new to name. And it was this, perhaps, she’d been waiting for her entire life.
Could this be the balcony man?
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Danforth.”
His voice was so baritone, resonant, she fancied she could feel it in the pit of her stomach, like a thunderclap. Aristocratic. Warm but not too enthusiastic. Good. Fawners could be tedious.
And she would see what she could to amplify that enthusiasm.
It occurred to her then she hadn’t spoken yet. She steeled herself to dazzle.
“I hope you’ll call me Tansy.”
Funny. Her voice had emerged sounding surprisingly small.
He smiled faintly down at her. “Do you?”
The English all seemed to find this amusing.
To her shock, she could feel a fresh wave of heat rushing into her cheeks. He was likely looking at a literally scarlet woman.
She tried a
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