Page 18 of A Counterfeit Engagement

“I have never seen anything like it,” Jonathan agreed.

They were not alone in staring. Each group that entered the ballroom stopped dead still in shock for long moments before remembering that they blocked the way for those behind them. Indeed, it was difficult to grow accustomed to the sight.

What must normally be a formal ballroom had become something like a forest fallen under the power of some mad sorcerer.

A fortune’s worth of greenery and flowers had been arranged all around the room, creating alcoves all about the central dance floor.

Small mirrors were hidden among them, joining the great mirrors on the walls in reflecting light back into the room and sending it flashing into the corner of one’s eye at odd moments.

A grand staircase dominated the back of the room, wide enough at the bottom for five couples to stand abreast. One story up, it split into a viewing gallery that encircled the room, offering access to the rest of the mansion on one side and a view over the dance floor on the other.

Rather than allowing her servants to wear formal attire, Mary Collins had outfitted them in outlandish costumes.

The maids were dressed as fairies, with gossamer winds trailing behind them.

The manservants were dressed in sumptuous costumes, but their faces were masked.

“It’s rather…” Isabel began, and then trailed off uncertainly. “It’s quite…”

“It’s rather unearthly,” Sarah said flatly. “And downright unpleasant.” She kept her voice low, inaudible beyond their immediate party.

Isabel looked relieved. “I can’t think why, but it is. It should be enchanting, but I feel like something might leap out at me at any moment.”

“It’s those blessed mirrors,” Jonathan said grimly. “It is not that I dislike my own image, but I feel no need to see it everywhere I go.”

A rather chilled silence fell over the party. The routines and practices of a ball were well known even to Sarah and Isabel, the least experienced of them all, but they felt almost frozen in place.

Suddenly, Sophie broke the tension with a laugh. “I will say this for Mary Collins: no one could call it boring.”

Her merry smile lifted the spirits of the others, and they began to feel that after all, a ball was still a ball.

“The music is first rate,” Isabel offered.

“And the decorations are beautiful, for all their oddity,” Sarah added.

Sophie smiled her approval at them both. “And odd or no, I am sure you will both have a wonderful time.”

“We shall indeed,” Sarah said eagerly. “In fact — Isabel, look! There’s Mr MacCraig.

Let’s go greet him!” She began towing her friend with her without waiting for an answer.

Sophie looked closely at Isabel’s expression as they crossed the floor.

It was not the normal open, cheerful look of her darling little sister, to be sure.

She did not like Mr MacCraig, Sophie was sure of it.

She only hoped that Isabel would eventually agree to tell her why.

Mr MacCraig saw them as they approached and came to meet the party.

The more Sophie saw of him, the more utterly unaccountable she found Isabel’s behaviour.

There was nothing at all in him that would normally raise her sister’s ire, not so much as false pride or mild boorishness, let alone the greater sins of selfishness or cruelty.

But that the antipathy was now mutual, Sophie unfortunately had no doubt.

Though he greeted them all with perfect civility, his eyes quickly darted to Isabel with a look that was far colder than the admiration Isabel received from most gentlemen.

Jonathan had assured him that Isabel’s own character was unimpeachable, Sophie knew, but perhaps he still harboured suspicions of her snobbery all the same.

It was too bad to have such unnecessary conflict among their circle, but perhaps there was simply nothing for it.

Mr MacCraig was talking to Sarah with the jovial grin of a beloved older brother, and quickly made an appointment to dance one of the shorter dances with her.

“My leg is doing well tonight. Though I’ll not dance the night through, I may yet be on the floor for two or three dances — if I can find my way through all this greenery! ”

Sarah laughed merrily. “You must come and collect me when it is time for our dance, or I shall lose my way for sure!”

They chuckled together for a moment before Mr MacCraig turned to Isabel with precisely correct formality. “I remember well how quickly Miss Isabel Anderson’s dance card was filled,” he said with only slightly forced gallantry. “I am sure it will fill just as quickly tonight.”

Isabel bowed slightly in acknowledgement of the compliment. “You are too kind, Mr MacCraig. In fact, I have no partner for either of the waltzes yet.”

Mr MacCraig looked rather surprised for a moment, before fitting on a bland social smile.

“I should be delighted to stand with you for the first waltz if you would have me, Miss Isabel Anderson.” Sophie rather thought she could guess his thoughts — why on earth did she choose a response that would all but force us to dance together?

Simply thank me for the compliment, and we could have spoken no more.

Perhaps she lost her head. Whether or not her surmises of Mr MacCraig’s thoughts were correct, she could not begin to guess what Isabel had meant by it.

It was good that Jonathan had claimed two of Sophie’s dances from the first, for the rest were being spoken for more quickly than she would have believed possible.

It soon began to feel like a ball after all, with all the joyous gaiety that belonged to it.

Even the formal greeting of Mary Collins and her parents went smoothly.

There was something odd in her face as she welcomed them and wished them merry, but after all, that was no more than might have been expected.

And if there was something pointed in her manner as she hoped that the evening might exceed all Sophie’s expectations, it was easy enough to reply politely to her spoken message and ignore all that which might lie beneath.

“Shall you dance with me, Your Grace? I had thought perhaps the first waltz.”

Jonathan was shocked at Mary Collins’s boldness, though not shocked enough to forget his own manners. “I am afraid I am engaged for the first waltz, Miss Collins.” He hesitated, but felt that both politeness and strategy demanded that he offer another. “Perhaps the second waltz, or the cotillion?”

“The second waltz it is then,” Mary Collins agreed, smiling, and promptly wrote it down on her dance card. Thankfully, others behind them were waiting to greet their hosts, and they were finally able to bow and move away.

Sophie was more than glad. It had been difficult to observe Mary Collins’s boldness to the duke with equanimity.

She had almost felt sorry for her. Such a line to walk, Sophie thought ruefully.

To suspect that he is aware of all her plotting, and to seek to charm him even still!

For though her manner might not quite be called obvious, she certainly made her hopes and wishes clear enough.

For his part, Jonathan had struggled to reply with even common politeness.

Though he would not stoop to encouraging Mary Collins’s pretensions, it would be better not to let her know just yet how far they were from ever becoming a reality.

Indeed, had he replied as he wished, he would have been uncivil to the point of causing a scene.

With that unpleasant duty done, it was finally possible to move through the ball with some enjoyment. It was not long before Jonathan and Sophie were taking their places for the first dance of the evening.

The music swelled, and for long moments, Sophie forgot all their scheming and complications in the pleasure of feeling Jonathan’s arms around her. We move together well, Sophie thought. I have always loved dancing, but it was never like this.

Jonathan’s eyes sparkled as he looked down at her. “At times like this, I feel as though we were entirely alone,” he said into her ear. “Is not that strange?”

“Stranger still that I feel the same way,” Sophie said breathlessly.

They fell silent and merely moved with the music, looking in each other’s eyes so steadily that Sophie almost wondered that they did not crash into the other couples or trip over their own feet.

The dance went on timelessly, until Sophie wished that it might never stop and only then heard the final chords.

Reluctantly, they parted and went on to circulate through the ballroom, speaking to acquaintances old and new.

Between watching over his sisters of both the conventional and faux-in-law varieties, dancing all the dances, properly greeting his wide circle of acquaintances, and keeping an eye on Mary Collins, Jonathan had more to do than he could readily keep up with.

While Arthur was introducing him to a new member of their club, he saw an unpleasantly familiar face across the room.

It was Roger Webb, and he was deep in conversation with Mary Collins.

Jonathan felt an unpleasant chill go up his spine.

Something was suspicious about so intent a conversation, particularly after having happened upon Roger Webb speaking to Miss Collins in the park.

To the best of his knowledge, there had been no acquaintance between the Webbs and the Collinses.

Of course, it might be the merest coincidence that that had changed now.

Somehow, he didn’t think it was. Mary Collins was speaking to Roger Webb with an expression that amply showed her seriousness, even though her words were lost to the noise and bustle of the ballroom. He would have given much to hear them.

Reluctantly, Jonathan dragged his attention back to the present conversation.

“Any friend of Mr MacCraig is a friend of mine,” he said heartily.

The acquaintance would no doubt prove a pleasant one, for Arthur was an unassailable judge of character.

He only wished he had leisure to attend better now.

∞∞∞

Across the room, Sophie was speaking eagerly to Agatha Whimmerly.

Miss Whimmerly proved as pleasant and engaging on the second meeting as she had been on the first. As Miss Jennifer Haverly’s dear friend and companion, she had known Sarah almost from infancy.

Soon Lady Sarah came to find her friend, and the conversation grew more lively still.

For their sakes, Sophie thought but would never have said, I am glad that not all Jonathan and Sarah’s relations are as unpleasant as Lady Phoebe and her son!

Suddenly, a voice Sophie had not yet succeeded in forgetting broke in on the conversation. “Miss Anderson.”

Sophie turned around to face Roger Webb. “Mr Webb,” she said evenly, and fell silent. Let him lead the conversation, if he feels we must have one.

It seemed he did. “Miss Anderson, would you do me the honour of dancing the second waltz with me?”

In a moment of horror, Sophie knew she was not engaged for the second waltz.

Thankfully, there was always the other way to escape a partner too unpleasant to be borne.

“You must forgive me, Mr Webb. I am afraid I do not intend to dance the second waltz.” The strictest standards of politeness would have had Sophie add an explanation of her tiredness or a sore ankle, but she had no intention of obliging Roger Webb so far.

It was enough that she would now be forced to sit out the second waltz to fulfil the demands of propriety.

If Sophie had formed any expectation of what Roger might do next, it could have only been inquiring about another dance. Thankfully, her dance card was already so full that she had few left to lose. However, he did no such thing. Instead, he merely bowed and, after a few polite nothings, left them.

Miss Agatha Whimmerly, Miss Jennifer Haverly, and Sophie all stared after him. “How odd,” Miss Whimmerly finally said. “I can’t think what he means by it.”

“Nor I,” Sophie said. She felt rather shaken. It would have been less disconcerting if she could have understood his aims. Sophie was sure that actually dancing with her played no part in them.

“Perhaps it would be as well to tell Jonathan about this,” Miss Jennifer Haverly suggested. “I am persuaded he would want to know.”

“You are right, I think,” Sophie agreed.

She looked around the ballroom, but between the great crowd and the odd decorations, even Jonathan’s tall frame was impossible to spot.

“As soon as I meet with him.” With a bow, she left them and began to search through the crowd, scanning for his tall figure and graceful posture.

The room and the crowd were particularly ill-adapted for such a task.

The more Sophie looked, the more she felt all London was there in truth.

She saw her mother speaking with a few old friends and Mary Collins holding court among her admirers, but no sign of Jonathan.

By the time the second waltz was announced, she had had no luck at all.

Since I must look at least somewhat tired or indisposed for the sake of politeness, I may as well get some fresh air, Sophie thought.

In wandering through the crowd, she had noticed a small balcony particularly well suited for her purposes.

It had a long wicker fainting couch and an excellent view of the night sky.

The enforced break in her evening might even be rather refreshing, after all.

Bother Roger Webb anyway, Sophie thought as she climbed the grand staircase towards her little hideaway.

She did not look back. It might have made no difference if she had.

A casual glance can miss much. Sophie still might not have seen Mary Collins’s eyes curiously intent on her, the signal she made across the room to Roger Webb, or his answering nod.