Her face was raised to his, wonder and love naked in her eyes. She danced the steps lightly and correctly for those first minutes until he felt her relax fully, and their steps became more instinctive as he whirled her into the turns and steered her past slower dancers without colliding.
He was aware only of the woman in his arms, and yet there was an unconscious awareness too of their surroundings—candlelight swirling, colored gowns swaying, music lilting, the flowers fragrant and lovely, the sounds of conversation and laughter enclosing them in their own private world of magic and romance.
He supposed, when he thought about it, that his expression must match hers. Certainly he had been making no effort to hide his feelings. He did not care. He would take a few weeks to court her before speaking to her father, and he would show the Deans that he knew how to do it properly, with the proper care for her reputation. But he would make no secret from this moment on of the fact that he was courting her. The long wait was over even if a twinge of uncertainty remained.
“Happy?” he asked her.
“This is the happiest night of my life,” she assured him.
Ah, Philippa. Where was the feigned ennui with which most young girls making their come-out armed themselves so that they would not appear overeager to prospective suitors?
“And of mine,” he told her.
Her smile was so openly happy that he almost stopped to gather her into his arms. Almost. But he was not quite dead to his surroundings.
They waltzed in silence for what remained of their half hour before supper.
For really there was no need for words. Words—written words—had been the only medium of communication between them for two years. Now they were together.
And for the moment, for tonight, that was enough.
4
Julian courted Philippa for six weeks.
She continued attending balls, soirees, concerts, the theater, picnics, and Venetian breakfasts just as if nothing had happened to shift her world. She spent an evening of music and dancing and fireworks at Vauxhall Gardens as a member of a party made up by Mr. Mendelhall’s mother. She walked in Hyde Park with her sisters and their governess, and with Miss Ginty and a few of her other lady friends, their maids trailing behind. She was driven there at the fashionable hour by four different gentlemen. She went shopping with her mother and with her friends.
And three weeks after her return from Gloucestershire, her father received an offer for her hand from Mr. Mendelhall.
It pained Philippa to say no to him, for she liked him exceedingly well, and he had been kind to her. So had his mother.
“I daresay,” he said when she refused him in the book room where her father had summoned her before leaving the two of them together, “it is Crabbe, is it, Miss Dean? And that was an unmannerly question to ask. Do please forgive me. I wish you well, and I hope we may remain friends.”
“I hope so too,” she told him unhappily.
She had indeed danced on several occasions with Julian. She had sat beside him at a private concert, driven twice in the park with him, conversed with him at various parties and soirees, and met him once by chance on Bond Street when she was with her mother. He had invited them on that occasion to partake of tea and cakes with him at a nearby pastry cook’s. She and her mother called upon Lady Charles Crabbe one afternoon when she was entertaining, and Julian put in an appearance there and conversed with them for a few minutes before moving on to speak with other ladies.
Lady Charles paid particular attention to Philippa during the visit, even taking her hand in her own at one point and keeping it there longer than was necessary while they conversed with someone else.
It seemed an endless six weeks to Philippa. But she honored Julian’s determination to do things correctly at last, for of course their two-year correspondence had been anything but correct. He wanted to win the trust and approval of her parents.
And it seemed to be working.
“He is a pleasant young man,” Philippa’s mother commented after the visit to Lady Charles. “A dutiful son and attentive to all her guests, which I know men find difficult when all those guests are ladies. I believe he favors you, Philippa.”
“I was unsure whether to be pleased or disturbed when he called here on his arrival in London,” her father said at dinner one evening when Julian’s name had been mentioned. “He was a wild jackanapes when he came to Bath, and I came very close to boxing his ears when he had the effrontery to take Philippa’s hand in his for all the world to see at Sydney Gardens when she was just a schoolgirl. But I have heard nothing but good of him since then, I must say, and his behavior seems to bear that out. And he appears to like you all over again, Philippa.”
“I like him too, Papa,” she said. “But I like a number of the gentlemen who have been obliging enough to seek out my acquaintance.”
“Oh, I think you like him a little more than you like the others,” her mother said with a twinkling smile.
Philippa could feel her cheeks grow warm. “I do,” she admitted. “But I hope I am not making my preference obvious to other people. I always try—”
“And you succeed.” Her mother’s hand stretched across the table to cover hers. “Your papa and I are very pleased with you, Philippa. You are a good, dutiful girl.”
She felt guilty then, for she had not always been good. She had frightened off Viscount Darleigh quite deliberately. And she had written secretly to Julian for two years.
“Your mama is quite right,” her father agreed, beaming genially at her. “And if young Crabbe should come offering for you and can convince me that he is as eligible as he appears to be, then I will allow him to speak to you.”