Page 12 of One Perfect Dance
In the end, he stayed the night with Vivienne. In the weeks that followed, his French improved beyond his expectations. In bed, Vivienne was skilled, and happy to tutor him in how to please her.
Out of bed, things were not so pleasant. They really had very little in common, even when he had learned enough French to hold a conversation with her. Her world revolved around the Opera and the petty rivalries within the ballet.
Perhaps Vivienne’s greatest contribution to Ash’s life was a temper tantrum one evening, when he accompanied her to a costume ball and refused to dance with her.
“Explain to her, Rex,” Ash begged, unable to understand more than one word in three of the torrent she hurled at him.
Vivienne stopped long enough to listen to Rex, as he rattled away in quick-fire French, pointing to Ash’s leg. She spat a few more words at him, turned on her heel and went off with one of the male dancers from the Opera.
Rex was staring after her with his mouth open.
“What did she say?” Ash asked.
“She asked why you don’t have your shoe built up so both legs are the same length,” Rex replied. “Would that work, do you think?”
He dragged Ash off to a cobbler the very next day, and within a week, the constant ache was largely gone from Ash’s hip and lower spine. Furthermore, at the next opportunity, he took Vivienne dancing.
When he told her she’d always have his gratitude for the suggestion, Vivienne said she’d rather have a present. He changed the subject and later bought her a bonnet she admired.
Chapter Six
London, June 1802
By the middleof June, London was getting hotter and hotter, and Papa began to make noises about going home for the summer.
Regina was happy at the thought. For the most part, she had enjoyed her first Season. Cordelia’s friendship was a great blessing, and over the weeks, other young ladies had joined their circle, forming a loose group in opposition to those who hovered around the edges of the Wharton flock.
On the other hand, Regina was tired of being constantly on show, constantly aware of the lurking gossipmongers waiting for a misstep.
The risk of nasty gossip had grown worse since the open declaration of war with Miss Wharton and her two friends—orthe three harpies, as Cordelia called them.
Already, several rumors had been nipped in the bud when one of Regina’s friends heard about it before it could blossom into full-fledged poison. Each time, she had been able to prove she was somewhere else, and not the lady one of the harpies claimed to have seen in a compromising situation.
As for suitors, most of Regina’s court had no interest in settling down any time soon, which suited Regina very well. Regina’s father had had several applications for her hand, two from known fortune hunters and none from anyone to whom Regina could imagine herself married.
She had been inclined to regard one of the fortune hunters with favor when she learned he was stepbrother to Elijah Ashby, but one mention of Elijah was enough to change her mind. Mr. David Deffew’s opinion of Elijah was scathing and nasty. When he followed up by gleefully repeating some of the tricks he and his brother had played to get poor Elijah into trouble, Regina asked him to leave, and assured him she would not be at home if he called again.
She was grateful her father was prepared to let her take her time, though Mama was another matter, and inclined to regard Regina’s unwed status after three months on the marriage market as a personal affront.
In a desperate last attempt to see her daughter “settled,” as she called it, she persuaded Papa to stay until the end of the third week in June and began accepting every possible invitation that came into the house. Regina found herself rushing to as many as five events a night—perhaps a formal dinner, followed by a short visit to a rout-party, then an hour at a ball, then another rout, and afterwards another ball.
The afternoons were just as busy. More than once, Regina came home in one gentleman’s curricle, only to be assisted down and then immediately passed over to the next gentleman to be helped up into his.
A quiet outing, or even a talk, with her friends was impossible to organize, and Regina began counting down the days until her family’s return to the country. One evening, in the second week of June, Cordelia approached her where she stood with her mother and asked if the two of them might be allowed to stroll on the terrace.
One set had just finished, and the musicians were refreshing themselves. “Please, Mama,” Regina begged. “I shall be back for the next dance.”
Mama hesitated. She looked around as if for a potential suitor who might be substituted for Cordelia as a walking companion. Her initial objections to Cordelia had diminished in recent weeks since Lord Spenhurst’s attentions to Regina’s friend had become obvious enough to signal Cordelia’s potential change in status. Lord Spenhurst was the son and heir of the Marquess of Deerhaven, and if he proposed to Cordelia, she would instantly become the highest-ranking lady in this Season’s crop of debutantes.
Mama gave her consent.
Regina did not allow her any time to change her mind. She slipped a hand through her friend’s arm and tugged her in the direction of the French doors that let out onto the terrace.
“My mother!”
Cordelia giggled. Regina, whose thoughts had been on her own miseries, took a good look at her friend. Cordelia was glowing, so happy about something that she was unable to cease smiling. “Something has happened,” Regina guessed. “Something delightful.”
“My aunt and I have been invited to a house party by Lady Deerhaven,” Cordelia confided. “I am terrified, Regina. What if his parents don’t like me?”
