Page 16 of Greystone’s Legacy (To All The Earls I’ve Loved Before #5)

The ballroom of Lady Burrowes' London townhouse glowed with the light of hundreds of beeswax candles, their flames reflected endlessly in the gilt-framed mirrors lining the walls.

Hester paused in the doorway, her new blue silk gown rustling softly as she gathered her courage.

The grand room before her represented everything she had never expected to experience in her quiet life at Plas Wyn.

Her aunts had outdone themselves helping her prepare for this evening.

The blue silk gown was an elegant ensemble that made the most of Hester's height and straight-backed carriage.

Her dark hair had been arranged by Lady Burrowes' personal maid, and though she wore no jewels save a simple pearl pendant that had belonged to her mother, Hester knew she looked as well as she ever had in her life.

"Miss Wynstanley." Lady Burrowes' warm voice drew her attention. The older woman approached with genuine pleasure lighting her aristocratic features. "You look absolutely charming in that shade of blue."

"You are too kind, my lady," Hester murmured, executing a graceful curtsey.

"Nonsense." Lady Burrowes took her arm firmly. "I am merely truthful. Come, you must allow me to introduce you to some dear friends of mine. They are most eager to meet the young lady who showed such resource and kindness to my grandson."

As Lady Burrowes guided her through the crowd, Hester caught sight of Edmund and Arabella Grey standing with their sons. The look Lady Arabella cast at her new gown could have curdled milk, but Hester lifted her chin and refused to be cowed.

"Lady Burrowes is making quite a show of favouring the girl," she heard Sebastian Grey remark to his brother as they passed. "One might almost think she approved of such an unsuitable connection."

"My grandson's life was saved through Miss Wynstanley's quick thinking and generous care," Lady Burrowes said clearly, though she hadn't paused in her progress across the room. "I should be a poor sort of grandmother indeed if I did not acknowledge such a debt."

The assembled company within earshot tittered appreciatively at this set-down, and Hester saw Sebastian's face darken with anger. His father placed a warning hand on his arm, though Edmund's own expression was hardly more pleasant.

"My dear Miss Wynstanley." A cluster of elderly ladies welcomed her warmly as Lady Burrowes made the introductions. "We have heard such wonderful things about you from dear Matilda. Do tell us about your clever management of your estate. Such presence of mind in a young lady is quite remarkable."

It was a far cry from Lady Arabella's sneering references to Hester's estate management.

These ladies, secure in their own social position, seemed genuinely interested in her capabilities rather than scornful of them.

Hester found herself relaxing slightly as she described the arrangements she'd made to ensure Freddie's comfort during his convalescence.

"Quite right, quite right," one particularly ancient dowager nodded approvingly. "A young lady who can think practically is worth her weight in gold. All very well to paint pretty pictures and play the pianoforte, but what use is that in a crisis?"

"Though I'm sure Miss Wynstanley has all the usual accomplishments as well," another lady added kindly.

"I fear not," Hester admitted with a small smile. "My playing is indifferent at best, and my watercolours would make a true artist weep. But I can keep account books accurately and manage a household efficiently."

"Much more useful," the first dowager declared.

"Especially given the state of some of these young men's estates these days.

Take Lord Caldwell there, for instance. Handsome as you please, but his estate's mortgaged to the hilt because neither he nor his wife knows the first thing about management, and he's too stupid to hire a steward who could manage it for him! "

Lady Burrowes squeezed Hester's arm gently. "You see, my dear? True quality recognises worth where it finds it, regardless of its trappings."

The evening continued in much the same vein. For every snub from Lady Arabella's circle, there was a warm welcome from Lady Burrowes' friends. Hester began to understand that while she might never be fully accepted by certain elements of society, there were those who valued substance over surface.

Even Edmund Grey's attempts to subtly undermine her position fell flat. When he made several pointed references to her 'rustic upbringing' within earshot of some influential matrons, one of them merely remarked that country air produced much steadier characters than London smoke.

As the evening wore on, Hester found herself actually enjoying the ball rather than merely enduring it.

The music was elegant, the refreshments excellent, and the company, for the most part, pleasant.

The blue silk of her gown swished pleasantly around her as she moved through the crowd, and she was grateful again for Lady Burrowes' generosity.

The gown lent confidence to her bearing, allowing her to hold her head high even when she encountered less friendly faces among the guests.

Lady Burrowes had orchestrated the evening perfectly, Hester realised.

By presenting her as an honoured guest rather than a supplicant, she had made it difficult for anyone to openly slight her.

Even those who might have followed Lady Arabella's lead were forced to at least maintain a veneer of politeness.

It was, Hester reflected, a masterclass in the wielding of social power.

She found herself admiring Lady Burrowes' technique even as she benefited from it.

The older woman had managed to counter weeks of Edmund and Arabella's subtle undermining in a single evening, all while maintaining an air of gracious hospitality.

When Freddie approached to claim her hand for a dance, Hester felt her heart skip traitorously in her chest. He moved through the crowd with unconscious aristocratic grace, and though she knew she ought to refuse him, ought to protect both their reputations from further gossip, she found herself accepting his outstretched hand.

"Miss Wynstanley," he said formally, though his blue eyes sparkled with private warmth. "Might I have the honour of this dance?"

"The honour would be mine, Lord Frederick," she replied, equally formal. They both knew the proprieties must be observed, especially under the watchful eyes of society.

The orchestra struck up the opening notes of a waltz as Freddie led her onto the floor.

Hester was grateful for the hours she had spent practicing with her aunts in their shabby drawing room at home, for it meant she could move with confidence through the opening steps.

Freddie's hand settled at her waist, proper yet intimate, and they began to move together.

"You look beautiful tonight," he murmured, pitched for her ears alone. "That blue becomes you wonderfully."

"Thank you." Hester focused on maintaining the correct distance between them as they turned. "Your grandmother has been very kind this evening."

"She likes you." Freddie guided her smoothly through a complicated figure. "She has excellent judgment of character, you know. Always has had."

They moved together as though they had danced a hundred times before, their steps perfectly matched.

Hester found herself relaxing into the movement, allowing herself to enjoy these precious moments when she could simply be a young lady dancing with a handsome gentleman, without all the complications of their real situation intruding.

"I should warn you," Freddie said softly as they executed another turn, "that Lady Ashworth is determined to introduce me to her daughter tonight. Apparently, the girl is quite accomplished. Plays seven instruments and speaks four languages, though apparently none of them are Welsh."

"How impressive." Hester kept her tone light, though her heart clenched painfully. "Such accomplishments must be very useful."

"Not nearly as useful as knowing how to manage a crisis with calm capability," he returned. "Or how to make a man feel at home when he's lost and confused."

Hester's breath caught at the reference to their time together at Wynstanley House. "That was different," she said quietly. "This is London."

"And you think London changes everything?" His hand tightened slightly at her waist. "I am still the same man who recovered in your care, Hester. My feelings haven't changed with the location."

The use of her given name, though pitched too low for others to hear, sent a shiver through her. "Your feelings may not have changed," she replied carefully, "but your circumstances have. You know your position requires certain... considerations."

The music swelled around them as they continued to move in perfect synchronicity.

Hester was acutely aware of the eyes following their progress around the floor.

Lady Arabella stood with a cluster of other ladies, all watching with varying degrees of disapproval.

Lady Burrowes, by contrast, observed them with what looked suspiciously like satisfaction.

"I'm well aware of what my position supposedly requires," Freddie said.

"I'm also aware that I owe my life to you.

Not just my physical survival, but my peace of mind during those days when I couldn't remember who I was.

You never treated me as anything but myself, even when you didn't know my real identity. "

"How else should I have treated you?" Hester asked simply.

His eyes softened as he looked at her. "That right there, that's exactly what I mean. You see people as they are, not as their titles or positions dictate."

The dance was drawing to a close, and Hester felt each remaining measure as a precious gift slipping away. Soon they would have to separate, and reality would reassert itself. Already she could see several mothers positioning their daughters for an introduction to Freddie.

"I see you exactly as you are," she said quietly as the final notes faded. "Which is why I know this can't last."

They made their bows as the dance ended, and Hester withdrew before Freddie could respond. She made her way to the edges of the ballroom, where she could observe without being obvious about it as Lady Ashworth successfully cornered Freddie with her accomplished daughter in tow.

The girl was everything Hester was not: petite, golden-haired, and exquisitely dressed in the first stare of fashion.

She moved with the practiced grace of one who had spent years learning the proper way to stand, sit, and walk in society.

Watching her, Hester felt every inch the country mouse that Lady Arabella had accused her of being.

Yet she couldn't bring herself to regret the dance, or the moments of perfect connection it had brought.

She had lived out her girlhood dream of dancing at a London ball, and better still, she had danced with a man who saw her true worth.

Even if nothing more could ever come of it, she would treasure the memory of those few perfect minutes when the rest of the world had fallen away, leaving just herself and Freddie, moving together in harmony.

The orchestra began another dance, and life in the ballroom continued its glittering progress.

Hester straightened her shoulders, smoothed her blue silk skirts, and prepared to face whatever the rest of the evening might bring.

She had survived Lady Arabella's morning reception and proven herself equal to Lady Burrowes' ball.

She could survive this too, even if her heart ached with the knowledge of what could never be.