Remember Love (Ravenswood #1)(27)
She must take care, though, not to set herself up for heartache. Unwillingly she thought of what the fortune-teller had told her. She had been curiously disturbed by it. But no doubt the woman had heard of her supposed courtship with Nicholas. It was he who was going away soon, not to return, perhaps, for years.
“Here we are,” her father said unnecessarily as the carriage drew to a halt outside Ravenswood Hall.
Her first real ball since she turned eighteen. She was going to enjoy every moment of it, no matter what. She was only eighteen, and she was not going to allow anything or anyone to break her heart or even bruise it. The whole of her adult life stretched ahead of her, and she was eager to begin living it. She was hopeful that she would not have to sit out a single set tonight. She would think about sore feet when tomorrow came.
Ah, and there was the opening set with Devlin to be enjoyed.
Chapter Seven
Devlin went to the ballroom early to make sure everything was in place and nothing had been forgotten, though he knew very well there was no chance of that with his mother in charge. Really he was just restless and eager for the evening festivities to begin. That was unusual for him. Dancing was not generally his favorite activity, though he always participated when it was required of him, of course.
Tonight he was going to dance the opening set with Gwyneth Rhys.
The ballroom looked like an extension of the garden. The French windows along the west wall were all thrown open to admit the cooling air of early evening, and the room itself was decked out with banks of fern and flowers in varying shades of pink, purple, and magenta. Violins and cellos and a flute were laid across chairs on the orchestra dais or propped against them, awaiting the arrival of the musicians. The grand pianoforte had been polished to resemble a mirror. So had the wooden floor. The two large crystal candelabra had been raised to their places just below the ceiling, all their candles alight even though it was not dark outside yet.
Dances in the country, even this grand annual ball, started at what in London would be considered an indecently early hour and were over by midnight. Many of those in attendance would have to be up in the morning to perform the usual early chores—feeding the livestock, milking the cows, nursing the babies, for example. None of those necessities would stop just because it was Sunday. And the vicar, kindly and mild-mannered though he was, would not be happy if he found himself delivering his morning sermon to an empty church.
Devlin crossed the room and stood in one of the open doorways. The ballroom was on the ground floor of the west wing and opened onto a broad, flat terrace—an extra dancing area on warm nights. Colored lanterns had been strung about the perimeter, though they had not yet been lit. They would be soon. The sun was getting close to the horizon and the light was turning dusky. It would not be a dark night even when the sun was down, though, Devlin suspected. The sky was clear, and he had noticed last night that the moon was close to the full. There would be lanterns in the trees on the south lawn too and in the courtyard.
A row of velvet-upholstered chairs had been set up about the edges of the ballroom, he saw when he looked back into the room. Just a single row. The room was really not large enough for a second. Besides, only elderly people ever wanted to sit through a ball here, and not even all of them much of the time. People wanted to dance at the Ravenswood ball, or at least walk about and mingle with their fellow guests. Even children who had passed their infancy were allowed to come, though only until ten o’clock. They were almost always well behaved for fear they might be banished early to the nursery. Devlin thought about the balls he had attended in London last year with his father. They had been far more formal and elaborate affairs than this would be, but none of them had been even half as lively and enjoyable as these balls invariably were.
He felt a sudden rush of almost painful love for Ravenswood, for his parents and siblings, for the extended family, for friends and neighbors from miles around. For the traditions that linked the generations down the years. He felt a welling of gratitude that he was heir to it all, that he would always belong here. He would marry and raise his own family here to perpetuate the same traditions, and one day it would all be his. Though he was in no hurry whatsoever for that day to come.
Tonight he would dance with Gwyneth.
He would dance each set following the first with a different partner, of course, as was expected of him as a Ware of Ravenswood. But during that first half hour he knew he would will time to stand still, which it was never obliging enough to do when a man was particularly enjoying himself. Today had been one of the happiest of his life, however, and he would surely always remember it even without the added memory of tonight. In the rose arbor this afternoon, though he and Gwyneth had said very little to each other, he had allowed himself to fall all the way in love with her. And to allow himself to hope, surely without utterly deluding himself, that perhaps she returned his feelings or might return them sometime soon.
His thoughts were interrupted when his father came striding into the ballroom and crossed the floor to join his son. The earl was looking very elegant in black evening coat and breeches, the newest fashion in London, with a waistcoat of silver brocade. His stockings and linen were very white in contrast, his shirt points high and crisply starched. He beamed at Devlin before looking around the room.
“Your mother is a genius,” he said. “Everything today has proceeded without a flaw, and all because she has worked tirelessly for a month or more to bring it about. She organizes her army of helpers, and they do just what she tells them to do—without fuss and without argument.”