Remember Love (Ravenswood #1)(29)

He waited for the inevitable laughter to subside before continuing with a few words of welcome and the hope that they would all enjoy the ball more than they had ever enjoyed any other. He reminded them that there were beverages and light refreshments available in the dining room just through the open doors at the other end of the room.

“But remember too,” he added, “that there will be supper at half past ten, and my wife informs me that a banquet is even now being prepared. Leave room for it or she will be terribly hurt. Maybe even wrathful.”

He smiled warmly at the countess, who was shaking her head. Everyone laughed again.

“Gentlemen,” the earl said. “Lead your partners into the opening set, if you please. My most humble apologies to you all, however—the loveliest lady at the ball, the Countess of Stratton, is already spoken for.”

There was yet more laughter, a few boos, and one ear-piercing whistle as he gave his hand to the countess and led her down the steps and along the room to place her at the head of the line of ladies that was already forming. He took his own place in the line of men opposite her, a space of a few feet between the lines.

But Gwyneth scarcely noticed. For Devlin, elegantly dressed in a dark blue tailed evening coat with gray knee breeches and white waistcoat, stockings, shirt, and neckcloth, was standing before her and extending a hand for hers.

“Gwyneth?” he said. “My dance, I believe?”

He was not smiling. Not openly, at least. But there was a glow in his eyes and behind his face that suggested he was smiling inside. Not just a social smile, but something for her alone. Or so she fancied. Ah, she had so looked forward to this moment, and now it was here. She set her hand on his, palm to palm, and he closed his fingers about it and led her to the head of a new set, the original one having already stretched the full length of the ballroom. She stood next to Susan Ware, Devlin’s cousin, in the line of ladies while he took his place opposite her next to Dr. Isherwood in the line of men. He continued to look at her across the space between them with that same expression. Almost, she thought, as if he wanted to devour her. It was a look that sent shivers of pleasure through her body. She smiled with all the sparkle that was inside her, and his eyes crinkled at the corners.

Soon there were four long parallel lines of dancers, two of women, two of men. A few adults, mostly elderly people, and a crowd of children stood or sat off to the sides, watching. Gwyneth remembered those days of childhood and the longing to be grown-up and able to participate.

The orchestra struck a chord and the dancing began.

The pounding of several dozen feet on the wooden floor set a rhythm with the music of violins and cello and flute and pianoforte while partners joined hands and promenaded to their left and then to their right, both pairs of lines moving in unison with each other. With their immediate neighbors they formed arches of hands like mini maypoles as they paced in a full circle, changed hands, and paced back again. At the end of each pattern of steps the couple at the head of the line joined hands crosswise, and twirled down between the lines to take their places at the foot before the whole thing began again.

Devlin smiled fully at Gwyneth as they twirled, the first couple in their line to do so, and she laughed while everyone else in the lines clapped in time to the music. The earl was laughing in his own set as he twirled the countess. And ah, she had never, ever been happier, Gwyneth thought. Not even this afternoon in the rose arbor. As happy, maybe, but not more so. How absolutely . . . exhilarating it was to be eighteen years old and in love and full of hope that perhaps she was loved in return.

But inevitably the music came to an end, and there was only a leftover ball to enjoy for the rest of the evening. She tried not to feel sad about it. How ungrateful that would be.

“Thank you, Gwyneth,” Devlin said as he offered his arm and led her in the direction of her parents, who had danced the set together. “Have you promised every other dance?”

“Only the next and the one after it,” she told him.

“Are you willing to keep the set after supper for me?” he asked.

She looked at him in surprise. The Wares never danced more than one set with the same partner, either at this annual ball or at the Christmas ball or at any of the assemblies. It was a point of strict etiquette with them.

“Yes,” she said.

“It will be dark by then and the air ought to be cooler,” he said. “Perhaps we can step outside.”

Step outside? To dance on the terrace? To take a stroll beyond it? He did not elaborate.

“I would enjoy that,” she said. She had not noticed until this moment how breathless the dancing had made her.

“As would I,” he said.

Nicholas was with her parents, all warm charm and cheerful smiles. He was looking impossibly handsome in ice blue and silver and white. He had danced the opening set with Sally Holland.

“You are particularly lovely tonight, Gwyn,” he said, looking her over appreciatively.

“So are you,” she told him.

“Lovely?” He winced theatrically. “Not handsome? Or manly?”

“Just be thankful you did not use the word pretty, Nick,” she said, and they both laughed.

“Enjoy the evening,” he said as he and Devlin moved away to claim their next partners.

He had not asked her to reserve a set for him. She was both sorry and glad. Sorry because he was an accomplished dancer and an amusing partner, and he was her friend and she really was missing him and would miss him more after September. Glad because she could not bear to have anyone look knowingly at them tonight and make any of those pointed and teasing remarks that were always so embarrassing.