Page 42 of Leap of Faith
“Will you be terribly sad you cannot join us?” Faith asked.
“I have Freddy here to keep me company. I can watch from the gallery if I wish. Besides, Mr. Cunningham said he might sneak up there and dance with me.
Faith smiled. It really was good of Mr. Cunningham to dote on Joy the way he did.
There was a knock on the door, which made them all jump. Faith opened it herself to see Lord Westwood standing there, looking precisely how she would have imagined Lucifer the Tempter to look.
Unostentatious bytonstandards, she could not imagine anyone more handsome. All in black save his crisp, white neckcloth tied in the Mathematical fashion, no fobs or seals or large buttons were needed to proclaim his elegance. He bowed deeply. “Ladies, you are positively ethereal. But that was the point, was it not? I do believe my mother has equalled, if not surpassed her rival’s creation.”
Faith and her sisters laughed. “Flatterer!”
He smiled with deviltry, and the wicked gleam in his eyes melted her insides. She needed to guard her heart. The more she was in his company, the more she allowed her thoughts to consider him, and that would never do. That way led only to heartache.
“Are you ready to go? Your audience awaits.”
Faith turned to survey her sisters, including Joy, who wanted to watch the procession, and sent each one of them through the door as she approved, tucking a loose curl up or straightening a glove.
“But what of you?” Lord Westwood asked as she was about to pass by him through the door.
He placed his hands on her nearly bare shoulders, and that simple touch was like fire. He examined her critically, but his gaze was warm and approving. He lifted one hand and trailed a light fingertip down her cheek.
“Perfection,” he whispered.
A shivering warmth passed through her body, rendering her tongue-tied as her gaze joined with his. It was intimate and disturbing and she both relished and hated in equal measure that he was affecting her so.
“Are you coming?” Hope interrupted, recalling Faith back from her reflections.
They descended the stairs to the ballroom, and entered when they were announced. They were surrounding Lord Westwood, with Faith and Hope on each arm.
First, there was silence, followed by loud murmuring. She was too overwhelmed with trying not to miss a step as they descended, and also with the transformation of the ballroom before them. Lady Westwood had not allowed them to peek.
The ceiling was draped with sky-blue silk, and angels swung on swings above the ballroom. There were fountains and harp players on clouds on dais’ so well disguised that they looked like they were floating in the air. A very large tree with colourful fruit graced one corner, surrounded by a flowing river with a waterfall.
“It’s magical,” she whispered.
“It is impressive,” Lord Westwood conceded. “And now thepièce de résistance!”
Lord Rotham stepped forward to claim Hope’s hand, Major Stuart for Patience, and Montford claimed Grace. This had been scripted by Lady Westwood as well as every other detail.
Lord Westwood took Faith’s hand and led her onto the ballroom floor, which had been chalked white to appear as if they were on clouds.
The four couples lined up for a set of the minuet as the stringed orchestra began to play.
Faith finally noticed the crowd surrounding them, and the people staring.
“Heed them not. Keep your eyes on mine,” Lord Westwood said as her gaze wavered.
“There are so many of them.”
“Yes, a proper crush. My mother will dine on this for years to come.”
The note struck signalling the beginning of the dance, and he bowed to her and she curtsied.
Keeping her eyes on him, which was no great imposition, she followed his lead and managed to perform the steps creditably, she felt.
“Now you must smile, as if you are happy to be here. Whether you are or not.” His eyes twinkled.
“I am grateful you practiced with me, or I would certainly be stumbling over my feet. How will I dance with another partner?”
