Free Christian Regency Romantic Suspense
This post is part of my serialized novel, The Spinster’s Christmas.If you’re new, you can begin with the summary and complete chapter list on the Intro Page.
Chapter 8
Gerard had been helpless. Too helpless to do anything for her.
He had wanted to shout at them all to stop laughing at her, or perhaps go to her, take her hand, and pull her from the dining room. But anything of the sort would only embarrass her further.
He saw the pain in her eyes, and he saw the mask of calm settle over her face. He had never fully realized it was a mask until that moment.
There was a great deal about her that he didn’t know. That he hadn’t cared to know.
He wanted to know all those things now.
Perhaps not at this exact moment. First he had to walk again, properly, without this cursed cane. He wanted to be whole again, and independent, and regain some measure of self-respect.
Also at this exact moment, he had to somehow escape the two chattering women on either side of him before his ears bled.
He sat at the edge of the ballroom as couples swirled to the strains of a country dance. Garlands of greenery draped the walls in graceful arcs, lending the scent of the woodlands to the room, while servants moved about with cups of wassail or punch or wine. Everyone in the county who had been invited had come for the Belmoores’ annual Christmas ball.
However, the two women sitting next to him affected to have no interest in dancing. Miss Church-Pratton was charming, but he noticed that the conversation invariably circled round to herself or something related to herself. Miss Barnes was not so self-centred—she asked him question upon question about his life and interests and thought everything he did was wonderful.
Gerard felt trapped in more ways than one. He used to love dancing. He hadn’t been terribly good at it, but he had enjoyed it. He enjoyed watching it much, much less.
His knee ached as if to remind him, You’re landlocked, my boy.
“Such a crush,” Miss Church-Pratton said. “I am sure Felicity is thrilled at the attendance, but I prefer a smaller, more select party, myself.”
“Did you attend any balls, Captain Foremont?” Miss Barnes asked. “I am sure you must have been quite popular.”
He thought of his men, shirtless, dancing a jig on the upper deck. “Quite a few balls, I daresay.”
He looked up suddenly and saw Miranda across the room. She was not looking at him, but appeared to be searching the ballroom for someone. When she saw him, she smiled slightly, then her gaze slid to the two ladies with him.
And he knew in that instant that he would not be feeling this way if Miranda were sitting next to him instead.
Then someone walked into his line of sight and he could see her no longer.
“I much prefer sitting here with you, Captain Foremont,” Miss Church-Pratton said. “The young country folk whom Felicity was forced to invite are so exuberant when they dance. The men quite crush one’s dress.”
“I am sure you would never do so, Captain,” Miss Barnes said.
He thought of excusing himself on the grounds that he saw his mother signaling to him, but for the small problem that his mother was not in the ballroom and the fear that the two women would insist upon accompanying him to her.
Rescue came in the unlikely person of Lady Wynwood.
“Miss Barnes,” Lady Wynwood said, “your mother may need your assistance in the drawing room. She is partnered with Mrs. Seager at Whist and is so frustrated that she looks as though she might wring her neck.”
“Oh, goodness.” Miss Barnes hurried off to prevent her parent from committing murder.
Lady Wynwood settled into her vacated seat. “Miss Church-Pratton, Captain Foremont, lovely ball is it not? It puts me in mind of one I attended during my come-out in London. I was thrilled to be asked to dance by the most handsome boy in the room—Lord Kellerton, before he lost all his lovely golden hair and contracted the pox from his mistress.”
Gerard choked, and Miss Church-Pratton looked scandalized. Lady Wynwood was up to some sort of trick.
“I had enhanced my décolletage with some, er, strategically tucked muslin. We were engaged in a lively country dance, when a piece of muslin became untucked. You can imagine my consternation, Miss Church-Pratton. How to explain the unevenness of one’s bosom?”
Lady Wynwood stopped and looked expectantly at Miss Church-Pratton, obviously waiting for a response. The young lady actually gulped and said weakly, “Indeed.”
Gerard was forced to look away, his face flaming, unsure if he would perish from embarrassment or break a rib from holding in his laughter. He saw Miranda again. She was still looking for someone, her gloved hand fingering the paste stones at her throat that made her eyes glow like real emeralds. Compared to the more richly dressed women, she looked fresh and unspoiled, and more lovely.
But then Felicity appeared, her mouth pinched. She gripped Miranda by the elbow and dragged her out of the ballroom.
Gerard tensed, and realized he had been about to rise to go after her, rudely leaving Lady Wynwood and Miss Church-Pratton. Something about Miranda made him want to throw off all the conventions of polite society.
“Look at Mrs. Drew, glaring daggers at me,” Lady Wynwood said. “She and my mother are mortal enemies, did you know?”
“If your mother is anything like yourself, I find it hard to believe anyone could dislike her,” Gerard said.
“Oh, you rogue.” Lady Wynwood squeezed his arm. “A year or two ago, at a rout, she and my mother had such a row that Mrs. Drew began waving her cane about, and she popped a poor young man between the legs.”
Miss Church-Pratton made a strangled sound. Her face had turned a dark puce color that clashed with her pink dress. She plied her fan frenetically and her gaze darted about the ballroom with desperation.
The country dance ended, and a young man approached, one of the squire’s sons. He was a stout lad, full of his own consequence and certain he was the catch of the county. “Miss Church-Pratton, are you free for the next dance?”
“Yes.” She nearly dragged him out to form one of the sets.
“Good gracious,” Lady Wynwood said. “I thought I would need to start reciting the contents of my linen closet before she would leave.”
Gerard turned his guffaw into a cough. “She probably would have remained if you had spoken of something so tame as your linen closet.”
“Young people these days are so starched up. We were much more scandalous in my time, I assure you. That was quite entertaining. I am so glad Miranda sent me to you.”
Miranda had known exactly how to rescue him. Gerard was grateful to her, and yet also a bit ashamed because he had not been able to help her in her acute time of need.
“I have spoken to your mother, Gerard,” Lady Wynwood said. “I believe she may be more concerned about Miranda’s status as a single young woman living under your roof.”
The ballroom grew suddenly stifling. “I offered to move to Foremont Lacy.”
“It is too near.” Lady Wynwood regarded him shrewdly. He feared for a moment that she would bring up his marital plans, but she apparently changed her mind. “I shall speak to her again. We must not give up hope. Now, help me to the sofa in the drawing room. Miss Barnes’s chair is terribly uncomfortable.”
“You could have ordered Miss Church-Pratton to relinquish her seat rather than Miss Barnes,” he said with a smile.
“I chose Miss Barnes because it was easier to send her away,” Lady Wynwood said as Gerard took her arm and helped her to her feet. “Miss Church-Pratton is remarkably stubborn. Just like her mother. One day I shall tell you all about it.”
He gave her his arm, and she entertained him with disreputable stories about herself and others, which he was not entirely certain were truthful, until they walked between the open double doors to the drawing room and he deposited her upon a sofa. “May I fetch anything for you, my lady?”
“No. I shall send one of my young cousins to procure me a cup of wassail and add a splash more sherry to it. One of them is sure to know where Cecil keeps his secret cache.”
Gerard obliged her by signaling to one of Mrs. Hathaway’s sons to attend to her before he returned to the ballroom. As he did, he noticed Felicity returning to the room, her face the mask of the gracious hostess, but without Miranda. He waited, but she did not appear behind Felicity.
The dance was nearing its end, and he did not wish to be trapped again by Miss Church-Pratton, so he quickly exited the room to search for Miranda. He had not looked forward to the ball, although he was obliged to attend, and he had not predicted the company of Miss Church-Pratton, whom he had assumed would dance with all the young men. He would rather speak to Miranda. And then perhaps he would retire rather than watching the rest of the dancing.
He looked down the hallway outside the ballroom, but at first he saw no one. Then he peered into the shadows at the end of the hallway, and saw a figure leaning against the wall. He headed toward her.
It was only when he drew near that he realized something was wrong. Her hand over her stomach trembled. Her face was whiter than the painted walls.
“Miranda.”
She saw him, and something in her eyes made him think of the faces of men who were drowning.
He strode forward, his cane dropping to the ground, and he folded her in his arms.
Chapter 9
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