“I am predisposed to like your Miss Dean,” she said, “if she is prepared to rescue you from the loneliness I thought you prey to, Julian. Goodness, I had not the slightest suspicion of any such thing. I daresay, then, that all those letters you have exchanged with Barbara in the past few years have not been entirely due to a strong cousinly affection between the two of you, have they? I need my head examined.”
He laughed again. “I am fond of Barbara.”
He was not laughing the following evening. He was feeling quite absurdly nervous, considering the fact that this was by no means his first Season. He had attended ton balls by the dozen in the past, but usually only to ogle the newest beauties on the marriage mart and to play a few hands in the card room if the stakes were high enough to be worth the effort. He had danced with all the prettiest girls, flirted outrageously with them, and moved on long before he could become entangled in expectations he had no intention of honoring—or else long before the more careful of the papas could discover the precarious state of his finances and his father’s.
Tonight he was here for another purpose entirely. And tonight he was an almost entirely different person from that careless, expensive, rakish fellow he had been. Both Mr. and Mrs. Dean were present with their daughter, he saw immediately and in some surprise. Most fathers left the dreary business of chaperoning their daughters to their wives.
There were a couple of young ladies with Philippa, and they were engaged in conversation with a group of gentlemen. All were laughing merrily as Julian came up to them and made his bow. He felt a million years old.
Philippa introduced him, and he joined in the conversation for a few minutes before directing his attention exclusively to her.
“Miss Dean,” he said, “dare I hope you have a space free on your dancing card for me?”
“Ho,” the red-haired Sir Dudley Foote cried, “not the first, Crabbe. That is already promised to me.”
“I was hoping for the first waltz,” Julian said, smiling, his eyes still on Philippa.
She gazed back at him with wide, wistful eyes.
“Alas, sir,” she said, “I am not yet allowed to dance it.”
“Then perhaps,” he said, “you will allow me to sit it out with you, Miss Dean.”
“Now why did I not think of that?” Michael Forster lamented, smiting his brow with the heel of his hand.
“That would be kind of you,” Philippa said, and he scrawled his name on her card before lifting his eyes to hers.
But the orchestra members were tuning their instruments, and the opening set was being announced, and Foote led her onto the floor while the other gentlemen claimed all the other young ladies except one.
“Miss Hancock,” Julian said, bowing to her, “may I have the honor?”
Her eyes lit up with relief.
“Thank you, sir.” She set a hand on his wrist.
The waltz—one of two—did not come until just before supper. Julian danced every set before it, for he did not want anyone, least of all her parents, to think he was singling out only Philippa for attention. He thought those dances would never end. His mother had indeed found Lady Jersey at home this afternoon, and that grand lady was in attendance this evening and bowing her head graciously to all about her, her plumes nodding above her head.
“Ah, Miss Dean,” she said as Julian took his place beside her before the waltz and prepared to sit on a bench with her if necessary, “you look very fetching this evening, my dear. Did your dancing master teach you the steps of the waltz in … Bath, is it?”
She made Bath sound as if it were a distant and uncouth province.
“I have learned the steps, my lady,” Philippa said, curtsying low while Mr. and Mrs. Dean closed in on either side of her.
Lady Jersey’s eyes moved to Julian.
“I have seen Mr. Crabbe waltz,” she said, “though it was some time ago. He performs the steps quite creditably, I seem to recall. I believe he is a suitable partner to lead you into your first waltz in public. With your parents’ permission, of course.” Her plumes nodded graciously in their direction.
“I may waltz, my lady?” Philippa’s lovely green eyes were wide with wonder.
“You may, my dear,” Lady Jersey said before sweeping onward to favor someone else with her attention.
“Oh, my love,” Mrs. Dean said, smiling with obvious delight.
Mr. Dean looked hard at Julian.
And then they were on the gleaming dance floor together, waiting for the music to start, and Julian set one hand behind her waist while she lifted a hand to his shoulder and set the other hand in his.
Her waist was warm and tiny and supple. She was wearing a sweet and subtle perfume.
“I can waltz.” Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were shining. “Julian? Did you have anything to do with this?”
“Well,” he said, “my mother does happen to know Lady Jersey, and she did happen to call upon her this afternoon.”
“Your mother?”
“The lady in emerald green sitting over by the first window,” he said. “I hope you will allow me to introduce you to her at supper. This is the supper dance, you know.”
She turned her head to look at his mother, who was looking back. Philippa smiled uncertainly, and his mother inclined her head and smiled back.
And then the music began.
If there was magic alive in this world, Julian thought after the first couple of minutes, it was surely present in the waltz danced with someone one loved more than life itself. The ballroom about them suddenly seemed enchanted.