Page 31 of A Lady Igniting Wicked Passions
At first, she had kept her eyes from him, not wanting anyone else in the room to see the desire that she felt sure was shining from her. Aaron had whispered to her as they took their place.
“Behave as though you take the floor with your old dancing instructor and I will do the same.”
She had behaved as though the man who led her about the ballroom was nothing more than an aged teacher. But as they whirled and flew, she felt the magnetic attraction of his eyes. She stole glances at his face and almost stumbled. Her eyes were drawn to his, glancing off his emerald eyes like a stone skipping across the waves.
Then back, this time being held only to be torn away as both remembered their surroundings and who might be watching. Those moments of pleasure were brief, but Arabella was prepared to endure days of boredom for the promise of just a few minutes with Aaron.
In the beginning, Helena made sure that, in public, those moments were few and far between, as Arabella expected. But, as the days went on, she seemed less and less vigilant. It culminated in the ball of the Duke of Sussex.
***
The occasion of the ball was to celebrate the completion of Hanover Terrace, the duke’s home, and a truly palatial construction, designed by a leading architect. The ton were present, to a man and woman, with all wishing to see and be seen at what was being whispered of as the social even of the year.
Arabella had dressed for the occasion at the relentless insistence of her mother. She wore silks, coloured in pale yellow to accent the golden sheen of her auburn hair, which she wore in ringlets. The warm, bronze colours of her hair and dress emphasized the perfect feminine paleness of her skin.
Her swan-like neck was bejewelled with a necklace that Edgeworth had taken credit for, even producing the bill of sale as an out of character demonstration of largess. It was silver, to contrast with the yellow of her dress, and the stones that it held were sapphires.
“You do look radiant, Arabella,” Edgeworth said, as they moved through the crowd that thronged the Great Hall.
Arabella smiled sweetly and patted his arm. “Thank you,” she said.
“It is wasted on me,” Edgeworth replied. “Apart from the purely aesthetic. You would look wonderful in watercolour on canvas. Have you ever had your portrait painted?”
“Only as a child. Helena has three, so far,” Arabella replied with a smile.
Edgeworth gave a slight grimace at the mention of Helena. Arabella had taken him into her confidence regarding her attraction to Aaron and the conflict it caused with Helena. She did not know him as well as she knew his closest friend, Charles Cavendish.
But she knew enough of both to know she could trust him with her secret. That was why Edgeworth had so loudly flourished the bill of sale for her necklace, letting all who heard know how much he had paid for it. In truth, he had paid nothing. The gift had been made to Arabella by Aaron. But that could never be acknowledged or made public.
“I should love to remedy that,” Edgeworth said keenly. “In many ways you are a fascinating study for an artist.”
Arabella was flattered, always having been overlooked when her mother had wished portraits to be commissioned. Helena was the sun, and in comparison, Arabella was regarded as a mere candle.
“I had no idea you painted,” Arabella said.
“Daubs, really,” Edgeworth replied. “But it is a diverting hobby. A man must have a hobby.”
“I should love to be the subject of a portrait. While there are none of me at Eversden, my aunt has many.”
Edgeworth looked at her with confusion. “I did not know you had an aunt.”
“Aunt Victoria is something of a black sheep. She eloped with a commoner, an artist, and was cut off by her father, my grandfather on my mother’s side. She married her painter and he has painted me many times.”
“Have I heard of him?” Edgeworth asked, sounding more interested in Arabella than at any time since their engagement had begun.
“His name is Maxwell Smith and he makes a respectable living painting portraits and landscapes, particularly among the French.”
“What a prosaic name,” Edgeworth remarked. “I should be glad to meet him one day.”
“I am in regular correspondence with Aunt Victoria and Uncle Max. They are fully aware of our…arrangement. So, I should be glad to introduce you. It will not be in London or anywhere the ton like to frequent.”
“Hallelujah!” Edgeworth said fervently.
As they talked, they were moving through the crowd, acknowledging those who greeted them or caught their eye. In some cases, pleasantries were exchanged and their conversation interrupted. The room gleamed about them as though diamonds hung in suspension in the air, like crystal dew drops. Wealth was proclaimed everywhere one looked.
And every eye that fell upon another person weighed their riches and judged their standing. Arabella felt as though she stood in a room full of furiously calculating clerks, adding up the net worth of everyone else.
It was wearying and in that atmosphere the conversation with Edgeworth was refreshing. She had not considered that they had anything in common and was glad to find some shared values.
