Once Upon a Maiden Lane (Maiden Lane #12.5)(30)

And she did, her soul, her body flying apart.

She let go and fell, her limbs shaking, gasping for air. It was awful. It was bliss. It was like nothing she’d ever felt before.

And when she opened her eyes she saw his eyes locked on hers.

His beautiful, witty mouth was twisted, and his gaze was somehow tender. “Darling Mary, you destroy me.”



A week and a half later Mary took a deep breath and stepped into her first ball.

The Angrove House ballroom was ablaze with candles and crowded with the very cream of London society, dazzling in their colorful dress.

Mary took a deep breath and told herself that fainting was a very bad idea.

“Oh, good, it’s a crush,” Jo said from beside her.

Mary was so nervous she could only look at her sister questioningly.

Jo leaned close. “Mama will be happy. All the best balls are overfull.” She snapped open a painted fan and held it before her face, wrinkling her nose. “Although a crush does make it rather hot and smelly.”

Mary’s lips twitched at that, and she began to relax. After all, body odor was universal: everyone from the King to beggars suffered from it.

She smoothed down the azure skirts of her new ball gown. It was sumptuously trimmed in cream lace, and she wore ruby drop earrings—a gift from the countess. Mary still couldn’t bring herself to call her Mother, but thought she’d be able to soon.

“You look lovely,” Jo said, as if sensing Mary’s nervousness. She flashed a quick smile. “Well, of course you do—you look exactly like me, and I’m always lovely.”

Mary couldn’t help but laugh at that and link her arm with Jo’s.

Across the room she could see Lady Caire talking to her mother-in-law and the Duchess of Montgomery, and the sight touched her. Lady Caire had told her nearly all the members of the Ladies’ Syndicate for the Benefit of the Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children meant to come to the ball. Only a few years ago Mary had been a girl serving the ladies at the home during their meetings. The ladies had all seemed so grand to her back then, and now they were here, helping to welcome her to society.

The thought brought tears to her eyes.

“Oh, look, there’s Johnny and Lord Blackwell,” Jo exclaimed.

Mary’s pulse picked up as she caught sight of Henry, making his way through the crowd with Mr. Seymour.

“Is my necklace straight?” Jo hissed.

“Yes, of course,” Mary said.

“Thank you.” Jo gave her a sheepish glance. “It’s just…now that you’re marrying the viscount, we have a chance, Johnny and I. Father won’t approve, but if I can get Grand-mère’s blessing he’ll come around.”

It took Mary a moment to realize that Grand-mère was the rather intimidating marchioness.

She just had time to squeeze Jo’s arm, and then the gentlemen were upon them.

Mr. Seymour walked right up to Jo and bent over her hand. “Lady Joanna, you are simply radiant tonight. Will you dance with me?”

“Certainly, sir,” Jo said with commendable serenity, though the wide smile that lit her face rather gave her away.

Mr. Seymour beamed down at Jo as he tucked her hand in his elbow. He glanced up and, almost as an afterthought, blinked at Mary and said, “Good evening, Lady Cecilia. May I compliment you on your entrance to society?”

“Thank you, sir,” Mary replied, firmly keeping her lips from twitching.

The social niceties fulfilled, Mr. Seymour bowed and abruptly led a giggling Jo off.

“How are you?” Henry murmured next to her, his voice low enough that none of the people surrounding them could hear.

Mary ducked her head, feeling shy. She hadn’t been able to speak alone with Henry since he’d shown her the orangery and turned her world upside down. The preparations for the ball, along with fittings and lessons, had taken all her time.

It had been agonizing. All she could think about was how he’d held her in the orangery. His mouth, his hands.

And besides that, she found herself wanting to talk to him half a dozen times a day. She’d see a pigeon and want to tease him about his so-called bird hobby. She’d hear about a new edition of a favorite book and want his opinion.

Sometimes she’d just wanted to sit with him.

His mere presence made her want to smile, and suddenly she was in perfect sympathy with her sister and her giggling.

“I’m well,” she replied, glancing at him sideways. “And yourself, my lord?”

“Glad to finally see you,” he replied. He held out his hand. “Will you dance with me, my lady?”

She placed her fingers in his palm, and if they trembled, only she and he were aware of it.

A line of ladies and gentlemen were already assembling for the dance. Mary inhaled and hoped she would remember all the steps and not embarrass herself.

When the music began, however, she was pleased to discover that her body seemed to know how to move. After the first couple of seconds she could stop concentrating and mentally counting steps and just enjoy the dance.

It was fun.

She’d never danced before coming to Angrove House. Why should she have? She’d been a poor girl who had worked since she was old enough to wash the dishes at the orphanage. She’d looked forward to her days off and someday, God willing, meeting a man of her own station.