Page 35 of A Marriage is Arranged

The ballroom was almost full when Louise heard Lisle intone, “The Honorable Denis Youngbrough and Mrs. Diane Courtland.” She felt her husband stiffen and turned enquiringly towards him. He was bowing over the hand of a voluptuous dark-haired beauty. She was not in her first youth but had a lovely complexion, green eyes, and trim waist. He muttered a few words Louise could not catch, and then the newcomer was in front of her, curtseying low. As she sank down, Louise was treated to a view of her full bosom, enhanced by swansdown that fluttered alluringly around the décolleté. She was wearing a beautiful emerald necklace with matching earrings. The gown was the one Diane had been ordering from Véronique’s the day she had seen the future Countess and declared her a country mouse. The jewels were presents from the Earl.

Based on Diane’s gossiped assessment, word had gone around that the Earl of Shrewsbury was marrying a country mouse of no distinction or beauty. She was clearly just a well-born vessel for the future heir. Guests had come to the Ball expecting a nobody, and were therefore surprised at being welcomed by a self-possessed, calmly quiet and beautifully-gowned young woman. She was no beauty, to be sure, but she was certainly not undistinguished.

“La belle Courtland was obviously just jealous,” whispered one matron to another. “ Au fait de beauté , the wife’s not a patch on Diane, but she don’t disgrace him.”

“No indeed,” responded the other, sotto voc e , “She seems most ladylike, and that gown is a triumph!”

Diane’s first inkling that she had been mistaken was when she had glimpsed the bride from across the street. Now, close up, she had the distinct impression the new Countess was considerably more than she had bargained for.

Louise, not knowing who she was addressing, smiled and said, “What a very beautiful gown! How well it becomes you, Mrs. Courtland.”

Diane could detect no trace of irony in this speech and her ladyship’s smile was entirely without guile. She didn’t know what to think. To cover her confusion, she said, “Thank you. But yours must be the most beautiful one here tonight, I think.” Then she stepped away to allow her cavalier Youngbrough to bow over their hostess’s hand.

When the couple walked away, Louise turned to her husband.

“You seemed alarmed just as Mrs. Courtland arrived. Is there a problem?”

“Er, no. Not at all. Er,” he hesitated, “I’m just tired of standing here. I could wish Grandmother had invited fewer people.”

Louise laughed. “It is a crush. She said it would be. But the line of arrivals has gone now. I think we could have the dancing begin, don’t you? Lisle will come to get us if more guests arrive.”

At a sign from Louise, the musicians drew their musical selection to a close and struck up for the first dance: as always, La Belle Assemblée . This began with lines of ladies and gentlemen facing each other on either side of the dance floor, but ended up with them dancing down the room side by side with their partners in one or two long lines depending on the number of participants. It was always a lovely sight to see the toilettes of all the ladies, with their jewels, their tiaras, their plumes, and their colorful gowns.

The maids crept upstairs to see it, amongst them Rose, who had never seen anything like it. She was proud of her mistress in the center of the front row, but her eye was also caught by a pretty lady with a mass of floating stuff around her bosom. Now, that was a gown to sigh over!

La Belle Assemblée was also an opportunity for the host and hostess to dance with all the other pairs, as well as for gentlemen to ogle all the women and for ladies to signal their availability for future dances by coy peeps and smiles at partners they desired. Louise wanted to dance only with her husband, but at the end of La Belle Assemblée he muttered he should look into the card and billiard rooms.

“But will you at least sign my card for the first waltz?” she said. “Look, it’s the dance after next. That is, I didn’t even ask you — do you waltz?”

“Of course. And I’d be delighted.”

“You might not say that if I tread on your toes! But please let me tread on yours before I tread on anyone else’s!”

He smiled at that. “Certainly. My toes are at your service.”

He took her card and the pencil she provided him with, for, of course, the Dowager had been right and he didn’t have one, and scrawled Shrewsbury in the appropriate space. Then he kissed her cheek and left.

Diane, watching jealously from across the room, saw the smile and the kiss and determined to have it out with him. He had said their arrangement would not change, but he hadn’t been near her since his wedding. Youngbrough was well and truly hooked, but he didn’t give her the thrill Shrewsbury did. He had been useful, though. It was he who had enabled her to come to the Ball; she hadn’t been invited, needless to say. He had received an invitation because his grandmother was a friend of the Dowager, and Diane had persuaded him to take her. Gareth had been shocked and the Dowager had looked daggers at her, but everyone was too well bred to make a fuss. She knew they would be.

Louise was solicited for the next dance by the very good-looking Bernie Smithers, a self-professed poet who deplored his prosaic name. He looked the part, though, with wavy blond hair that fell across his brow until in desperation he pushed it into wild curls when a word or image wouldn’t come. Just down from Oxford, he too was invited because his grandmother was a friend of the Dowager. The truth was, Lady Esmé loved to be amongst young people, and Balls were one of the few opportunities to be so these days. She had invited an equal number of young ladies, but the poet wasn’t interested in them. He had been struck by the Countess’s appearance when he arrived. Her ivory slimness reminded him of a naiad. He could imagine her tiptoeing on a lily pad. Louise had to smother a laugh when he told her this, for she wasn’t keen on the idea of open air bathing, and as for balancing on a lily pad, she could only imagine what a ridiculous sight she would be.

But she was so kind to him and talked so encouragingly about his poetry that he clung to her side when the dance was over and only with the greatest reluctance relinquished her to her husband for the waltz. Seeing her in the arms of the ape-like Earl offended his very soul.

For his part, Gareth had been surprised to see the handsome youngster evidently so taken with his wife. He experienced an odd sense of possessiveness. He would have recognized it as jealousy, had he ever been jealous of anyone in his life before.

Louise was oblivious to all this in the pleasure of waltzing with her husband. His firm hand in the small of her back thrilled her. In spite of his bulk, he was light on his feet and danced well. She wanted it to last forever.

“My toes are completely unscathed,” he said at the end. “You dance delightfully. In fact, let me quickly write my name against the last waltz before young Smithers does.”

“Oh, he’s so funny! Not meaning to be, of course. He said I was like a water nymph! And truthfully, I dislike open water!”

“What? Have you never been sea-bathing?”

“No, and I don’t care to!”

“Hmm…, I think we should go to Brighton and have you give it a try. I think you’d find it exhilarating.”

“Well, if I’m to be a naiad, I suppose I must, though I’m afraid I should be more like a flounder!”

They both laughed and the sound reached Diane’s ears. It caused her to narrow her eyes with determination. In the event, the Earl forgot to write his name against the last waltz with his wife, an omission he was later to regret.