said again.
How the devil had he got himself into this?
“So am I,” she said, unfurling her fan and plying it before her face. “But Hedley is gone and I am still alive and you did not know him and do not know me and so there is no point in either of us becoming maudlin, is there? Thank you for the set. I will be the envy of all the other ladies, having been the first to dance with you.”
She smiled dazzlingly at him as he bowed to her.
“You will not boast of it, though,” he said. “You are not conceited.”
She laughed.
“Good evening to you, Mrs. Dew,” he said, and turned away.
Before Sir Humphrey could bear down upon him again and take it upon himself to force another dancing partner upon him, he strolled off in the direction of what he thought must be the card room.
Fortunately, he was right. And the din in there was marginally muted.
He had made himself visible in the ballroom and reasonably agreeable for quite long enough.
So Mrs. Vanessa Dew was the third sister, was she? Strange irony that one so plain had been the first to marry. Though there was admittedly a sparkle to her that sometimes belied her looks.
She had knowingly married a dying man, for the love of God.
4
THERE was still no one up at Rundle Park when Vanessa had finished her breakfast the following morning except for Sir Humphrey, who was preparing to ride into the village to call upon Viscount Lyngate and Mr. Bowen at the inn. He was, he told Vanessa as he rubbed his hands together and looked thoroughly pleased with life, going to invite them to dinner.
“Perhaps,” he said, “if I were to call out the carriage, you would care to ride with me, Nessie, to visit your sister. She is an early riser like you, I daresay.”
Vanessa was happy to accept. She was eager to discuss the assembly with Margaret. It had been such a wonderful evening. She had, of course, lain awake half the night thinking about the opening set. It was hardly surprising. No one else at the assembly had been willing to allow her to forget it. The viscount had danced with her and only with her.
She had made up her mind even before the dancing began that she would not maintain an awed silence with him. After a few minutes it had become obvious, though, that he had no intention of conversing with her, though surely any really polite gentleman would have made the effort. Obviously he was not a very polite gentleman—yet another fault she had found in him without really knowing him at all. And so she had started talking to him .
They had ended up almost joking with each other. Almost flirting . Perhaps, she had conceded, there was more to the man than she had thought. Goodness, she had never flirted with any other man. And no other man had ever flirted with her.
One dance with her, though, had obviously frightened him off from dancing with anyone else. He had spent the rest of the evening in the card room. It would all have been very lowering if she had felt that his good opinion was worth having. As it was, it had merely been disappointing for a dozen other women who had hoped to catch his eye and dance with him.
But it was what he had said to her after the set was over that had kept her awake more than anything else. It had puzzled her at the time and had continued to puzzle her ever since. She wondered what Margaret would make of it.
“Viscount Lyngate and Mr. Bowen are remarkably amiable young gentlemen, would you not agree, Nessie?” Sir Humphrey asked her when they were in the carriage.
“Indeed, Papa.”
Mr. Bowen had been very amiable. He had danced with as many different partners as there had been sets, and he had conversed with them and with almost everyone else too between sets and during supper. Viscount Lyngate, Vanessa strongly suspected, had not really enjoyed the evening at all. And it was entirely his own fault if he had not, for he had arrived expecting to be bored. That had been perfectly obvious to her.
How the devil had he got himself into this?
“So am I,” she said, unfurling her fan and plying it before her face. “But Hedley is gone and I am still alive and you did not know him and do not know me and so there is no point in either of us becoming maudlin, is there? Thank you for the set. I will be the envy of all the other ladies, having been the first to dance with you.”
She smiled dazzlingly at him as he bowed to her.
“You will not boast of it, though,” he said. “You are not conceited.”
She laughed.
“Good evening to you, Mrs. Dew,” he said, and turned away.
Before Sir Humphrey could bear down upon him again and take it upon himself to force another dancing partner upon him, he strolled off in the direction of what he thought must be the card room.
Fortunately, he was right. And the din in there was marginally muted.
He had made himself visible in the ballroom and reasonably agreeable for quite long enough.
So Mrs. Vanessa Dew was the third sister, was she? Strange irony that one so plain had been the first to marry. Though there was admittedly a sparkle to her that sometimes belied her looks.
She had knowingly married a dying man, for the love of God.
4
THERE was still no one up at Rundle Park when Vanessa had finished her breakfast the following morning except for Sir Humphrey, who was preparing to ride into the village to call upon Viscount Lyngate and Mr. Bowen at the inn. He was, he told Vanessa as he rubbed his hands together and looked thoroughly pleased with life, going to invite them to dinner.
“Perhaps,” he said, “if I were to call out the carriage, you would care to ride with me, Nessie, to visit your sister. She is an early riser like you, I daresay.”
Vanessa was happy to accept. She was eager to discuss the assembly with Margaret. It had been such a wonderful evening. She had, of course, lain awake half the night thinking about the opening set. It was hardly surprising. No one else at the assembly had been willing to allow her to forget it. The viscount had danced with her and only with her.
She had made up her mind even before the dancing began that she would not maintain an awed silence with him. After a few minutes it had become obvious, though, that he had no intention of conversing with her, though surely any really polite gentleman would have made the effort. Obviously he was not a very polite gentleman—yet another fault she had found in him without really knowing him at all. And so she had started talking to him .
They had ended up almost joking with each other. Almost flirting . Perhaps, she had conceded, there was more to the man than she had thought. Goodness, she had never flirted with any other man. And no other man had ever flirted with her.
One dance with her, though, had obviously frightened him off from dancing with anyone else. He had spent the rest of the evening in the card room. It would all have been very lowering if she had felt that his good opinion was worth having. As it was, it had merely been disappointing for a dozen other women who had hoped to catch his eye and dance with him.
But it was what he had said to her after the set was over that had kept her awake more than anything else. It had puzzled her at the time and had continued to puzzle her ever since. She wondered what Margaret would make of it.
“Viscount Lyngate and Mr. Bowen are remarkably amiable young gentlemen, would you not agree, Nessie?” Sir Humphrey asked her when they were in the carriage.
“Indeed, Papa.”
Mr. Bowen had been very amiable. He had danced with as many different partners as there had been sets, and he had conversed with them and with almost everyone else too between sets and during supper. Viscount Lyngate, Vanessa strongly suspected, had not really enjoyed the evening at all. And it was entirely his own fault if he had not, for he had arrived expecting to be bored. That had been perfectly obvious to her.
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