The Society Catch. Louise Allen
break down and turn sobbing into your arms in front of all these people.
Giles Gregory was on his feet, but not in answer to her silent pleas. ‘Has a gentleman here offered you some insult?’ he asked, keeping his voice low and his body between her and the throng around the dance floor.
‘Oh, no, nothing like that,’ Joanna assured him. She forced herself to look up. The grey eyes with their intriguing black flecks regarded her seriously, and, she realised, with some disbelief at her protestations.
‘I will fetch you something to drink Miss Fulgrave; I will not be long, just try and rest quietly.’
Joanna sat back in the chair, wishing she had the strength to get up and hide herself away, but her legs felt as though they were made out of blanc manger. Her mind would not let her think about the disaster that had befallen her; she tried to make herself realise what had happened, but somehow she just could not concentrate.
‘Here. Now, sip this and do not try to talk.’ He was back already, two glasses in his hands. How had he managed to get through the press of people? she wondered hazily, not having observed the Colonel striding straight across the dance floor between the couples performing a boulanger to accost the footmen who were setting out the champagne glasses.
The liquid fizzed down her throat, making her cough. She had expected orgeat or lemonade and had taken far too deep a draught.
‘I would have given you brandy, but I do not have a hip flask on me. Go on, drink it, Miss Fulgrave. You have obviously had a shock, even if you are not prepared to tell me about it. The wine will help calm your nerves.’ He sat down again, turning the chair slightly so his broad shoulders shielded her. He watched her face and apparently was reassured by what he saw.
‘That is better. Now, let us talk of other things. How are your parents? Well, I trust? And your sister is married by now, I expect?’ He seemed happy to continue in the face of her silent nods. ‘And William—how old is he? Twelve, I should imagine. And still army mad?’
‘No.’ Joanna managed a wan smile. ‘Not any longer. He is resolved to become a natural philosopher.’
Giles Gregory’s eyebrows rose, but he did not seem offended that his disciple had abandoned his military enthusiasms. ‘Indeed? Well, I do recall he always had an unfortunate frog or snail in his pocket.’
‘That is nothing to the things he keeps in his room.’ Joanna began to relax. It was like having the old Major Gregory back again: she could not feel self-conscious with him and the last few minutes seemed increasingly unreal. She took another long sip of champagne. ‘And he conducts experiments which cause Mama to worry that the house will burn down. Papa even takes him to occasional lectures if they are not too late in the evening.’
‘And your father is not anxious about this choice of career?’
‘I think he is resigned.’ Despite herself Joanna smiled, fondly recalling her father’s expression at the sight of the kitchen when Cook had indignantly summoned him to view the results of Master William’s experiment with the kettle, some yards of piping and a heavy weight. She took another sip and realised her glass was empty.
Giles removed it from her hand and gave her his untouched glass. ‘Very small glasses, Miss Fulgrave,’ he murmured.
‘Have you heard from the Earl of Tasborough lately?’ she asked. It must be the shock still, for she was feeling even more light-headed, although the awful numbness was receding to be replaced by a sense of unreality. She was having this conversation with Giles as though the past three years had not been and as though she had not just seen him kissing Lady Suzanne and declaring his love for her.
‘Not for a week or so. My correspondence is probably chasing me around the continent.’ He looked at her sharply. ‘Why do you ask? Is Hebe well?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Joanna hastened to reassure him. ‘You know she is…er…in an—’
‘Interesting condition?’ the Colonel finished for her. ‘Yes, I did know. I had a letter from Alex some months ago, unbearably pleased with himself over the prospect of another little Beresford to join Hugh in the nursery. I will visit them this week, I hope.’
Joanna drank some more champagne to cover her confusion at his frank reference to Hebe’s pregnancy. Mama always managed to ignore entirely the fact that ladies of her acquaintance were expecting. Joanna had wondered if everyone secretly felt as she did, that it was ridiculous to pretend in the face of ever-expanding waistlines that nothing was occurring. The Colonel obviously shared her opinion. ‘You are home on leave, then?’
‘Yes.’ He frowned. ‘It is a long time since I was in England.’
‘Almost a year, and then it was only for a week or two, was it not?’ Joanna supplied, then realised from his expression that this revealed remarkable knowledge about his activities. ‘I think Lord Tasborough said something to that effect,’ she added, crossing her fingers.
‘I am a little concerned about my father. My mother’s letters have expressed anxiety about his health, so when the chance arose to come home I took it.’ He hesitated, ‘I have many decisions to make on this furlough: one at least will entail a vast change to my life.’
His marriage, Joanna thought bleakly. That would certainly be a vast change to a man who had lived a single life up to the age of thirty, and a life moreover which had sent him around the continent with only himself to worry about.
‘Shall I take your glass?’ Joanna realised with surprise that the second champagne glass was empty. Goodness, what a fuss people made about it! She had only ever had a sip or two before and Mama was always warning about the dangers of it, but now she had drunk two entire glasses, and was really feeling much better. She gave Giles the glass, aware that he was studying her face.
‘You seem a little restored, Miss Fulgrave. Would you care to dance? There is a waltz next if I am not mistaken.’
Joanna took a shaky breath. Mama did not like her to waltz at large balls and permitted it only reluctantly at Almack’s or smaller dancing parties. But the temptation of being in Giles’s arms, perhaps for the first and only time, was too much.
‘Yes, please, Colonel Gregory. I would very much like to waltz.’
Joanna let Giles take her hand and lead her out on to the dance floor, trying not to remember what had just happened, forcing herself not to think about how she would feel when this dance was over and he was gone. Time must stand still: this was all there was.
She let her hand rest lightly on his shoulder and shut her eyes briefly as his fingers touched her waist. This was another memory to be added to the precious store of recollections of Giles, the most vivid being the fleeting kiss which she had snatched in the flurry of farewells when Hebe and her new husband had driven off after the wedding. Everyone had been kissing the bride and groom: what more natural in the confusion than that she should accidentally kiss the groomsman? Giles had laughed at her blushes and returned the kiss with a swift pressure of his lips on hers: Joanna could still close her eyes and conjure up the exact sensation, the scent of Russian leather cologne…
‘Miss Fulgrave?’
‘Oh, I am sorry! I was daydreaming, thinking about my steps,’ she improvised hurriedly to cover up her complete abstraction. She must not waste a moment in his arms by thinking of the past: only this moment mattered.
The music struck up and they were dancing, dancing, Joanna realised, as if they had been practising together for years. Giles Gregory was a tall man, but her height made them well-matched partners and his strength and co-ordination meant that their bodies moved together with an easy elegance which took her breath away.
‘You dance very well, Miss Fulgrave,’ he remarked, looking down and meeting browny-green, sparkling eyes. He had thought her much improved on the bouncing schoolroom miss he remembered;