Miss Landon and Aubranael (Tales of Aylfenhame Book 1) (11 page)

But there remained another problem to be resolved: the question of what she could wear. She had, in the past few years, become somewhat notorious for wearing the same yellow silk gown to each and every assembly. Her skill with a needle might ably transform the neckline or the hem, adjust the sleeves or trim it anew, according to the changes in fashion; but nothing could disguise the faded primrose colour, or fool Tilby society into thinking it new.

She hardly knew how it was, but the prospect of wearing this tired old friend yet again filled her with dismay. The silk was beginning to break down under the arms, which must be her excuse; the elderly fabric might fall into tatters at any moment. But she had no choice in the matter, for she had no gown with which to replace it.

She dared not ask her father for the means to buy another. The anxious care he took of her health did not extend to her wardrobe; content with patched and fraying attire himself, he could see no reason why Sophy should be any more concerned with neatness. Blind to the vagaries of fashion and oblivious to the censure and ridicule that Sophy’s shabby appearance often brought, he had far rather secure another brace of birds for his table than advance Sophy so much as a shilling for such frivolities as ball clothes. She knew better than to ask.

Her meagre allowance would stretch as far as new shoe-roses and a little trim, but no farther. With a heavy heart, Sophy resigned herself to wearing her old primrose silk.

And why should it trouble me so much?
She asked herself. Her wardrobe had been the subject of ridicule before; it had used to pain her, when she was a younger woman, but it could not trouble her very much now. She had learned to care less about such things. Something had changed, however, and left her feeling very differently affected.

Isabel took note of the alteration in Sophy’s feelings, it would seem, for three days before the projected ball, she arrived late in the morning, carrying a parcel and wearing a diffident expression.

Sophy, always glad to see her, greeted her with delight; but her pleasure quickly turned to dismay as Isabel continued to hover on the threshold, nervously turning the parcel around in her hands and not quite meeting Sophy’s eye.

‘Isabel, is anything the matter? Please come in; there can be no call for dancing on my doorstep in such a fashion! Have we not been friends these ten years at least?’

Sophy’s warm smile drew a tentative one from Isabel in response, and she took a few quick steps into the room. ‘There is nothing amiss,’ she said. ‘I have brought you something, that is all. That is—if you are minded to accept it.’ She held out the parcel, finally meeting Sophy’s gaze. ‘If you do not like it, you have only to say so; and indeed, Sophy, I would have you know that I mean no slight at all upon your gowns, for they are quite beautiful and you maintain them all so skilfully—if I had half your ability I should have the prettiest clothes in Tilby—’

She stopped, flustered, and Sophy began to understand. She took the parcel and unwrapped the paper, discovering a pile of folded, dark red silk inside. Unfolding it, Sophy discovered that it was a ball-gown, with delicate short sleeves and a gathered neckline.

‘It was one of mine,’ Isabel said apologetically, ‘so it is not new—the merest trifle—I thought perhaps you may wish to make it up new, and so I have brought it to-day. You will have time, I think?’

She paused, and when Sophy still said nothing she added anxiously, ‘You are not offended?’

It was not offence that silenced Sophy’s tongue, but the opposite. Much moved, she smiled at Isabel and said: ‘You are quite the dearest girl there ever was, and everyone shall know it.’

Isabel smiled in relief, and said: ‘Oh, no! It is the merest nothing.’

‘On the contrary, it is everything. It will fully restore my credit with Tilby society—at least, those parts of it worth the impressing. I will indeed trim it—some ribbons about the hem, I think—and it will require only the smallest alteration to the neck. It will look very well!’ After a moment’s thought, she added: ‘And I can contrive a cap to match, I think.’

‘A cap! Oh, Sophy! Must you? It is playing the old maid very sadly!’

‘But so I am,’ Sophy said, laughing. ‘There can be no shame in owning my true state—and it will save the young men from any tiresome sense of obligation when they see me standing by. They will be free to seek more agreeable partners.’

‘You should not talk so—especially when Mr. Stanton has been so particular!’

Sophy rolled her eyes heavenwards, and shook her head. ‘You must not heed Anne; her fancy runs away with her. How can a gentleman be
particular
to a woman with whom he is not even acquainted? If to stare in a rude fashion is to be
particular,
why, I am sure that Mr. Stanton has been particular to a great many other people besides.’

Isabel smiled, and conceded. ‘Perhaps Anne has been imagining a great many things; but still I beg you, Sophy,
not
to wear the cap.’

Sophy eyed her, and would not promise. It was of no use, in her estimation, to put herself forward as a young woman, as a desirable partner, or as a marriageable lady. Better to declare her matronly status at once, with a well-made cap to hide her flyaway hair.

Isabel was not able to prevail on this point. Sophy’s gown was made ready, her cap assembled and the whole was elegantly trimmed in no time at all; and on the evening of the ball, the Ellerby carriage conveyed Sophy to the Adair house in finer style than she had ever appeared before, and in only a slight flutter of spirits.

Chapter Seven

Ye may be wonderin’ why I dwell so much on the topic o’ the ball. Well! And why not? It’s an important event, as ye’ll soon see. Fer Aubranael, poor fellow, the promise o’ the ball was as the promise o’ water to a man dyin’ o’ thirst. An’ t’Sophy… well, she was by no means so indifferent as she pretended. All that faffing wi’ gowns an’ trim! But who could wonder at it? My Sophy’s no more impervious to a little admiration than any other, that’s fer sure—no matter what she may say. An’ this ball… well, let’s just say that nothin’ was quite the same after.

Aubranael stood near the great double doors of the Adairs’ ballroom, keeping a close eye on the stream of guests as they arrived. Miss Landon was late, he thought; the room was rapidly filling up, and as yet there was no sign of her. The Adairs had spared no expense in turning out their house for the ball: the room shone with the light of hundreds of wax candles, and an abundance of flowers decked every available surface. The effect was undeniably pretty, but Aubranael had no eyes for it. In his estimation, the ball could receive no higher adornment than the presence of Miss Landon, and as yet, she had failed to grace it at all.

Restless, he paced away a few steps and then back again. Grunewald had assured him that Miss Landon’s invitation was secured, but as he had seen no direct evidence that it had been sent, Aubranael could not dismiss the suspicion that the Adairs had refused to honour his request after all.

Or perhaps they had invited her, but she had declined to accept! That was always possible.

Perhaps she had accepted and was on her way, but some mishap had befallen her carriage. Grunewald assured him that she was likely to travel with the Ellerbys—a family wealthy enough to merit an invitation without any interference from Grunewald—so she would be sure to arrive safely. But the light was fading fast; the possibility of their meeting with some danger upon the road did not seem distant enough to Aubranael’s mind; and besides, the roads of Tilby were not always very good. He tried not to imagine the Ellerby carriage overturned in a ditch, or held up upon the road by a pair of thieves.

He was not left alone with his fears for very long. His choice of station was not altogether ideal in some respects: he had placed himself where he would be the first to see each new arrival, but that meant he was also one of the first people
they
saw as they stepped into the room. Many paid their respects to the hosts of the evening and then walked directly up to him, with a seemingly endless series of greetings and poor jokes and insinuations to share. They obliged him to exert himself to be sociable, when he wished only to brood; and besides this, they blocked his view of the door.

Worse, he found that Miss Elizabeth Adair was determined to attach herself to him for—he feared—the whole of the evening. She hovered near his elbow, doing her part to welcome guests with many a winning smile and gracious comment, but never moving more than a few paces away from him. And whenever there was a lull in the arrivals, and she found herself with a few moments of quiet, she would invariably direct those winning smiles and gracious comments at
him.

He was well aware by now that he had been marked out for her by Tilby society, as handsome enough to match her in looks and wealthy enough to match her in importance. She seemed to feel it, too, for she was doing her level best to fascinate him at every opportunity. But as he found her affected, arrogant and cruel, nothing could recommend her to him as a tolerable companion—certainly not the beauty for which she was lauded across the whole of the county. He did his best to suggest to her, by way of a courteous but distant manner, that her interest was by no means returned; but he found that her self-assurance carried her through it all with an unimpaired confidence of winning him in the end. No hint won through to her ear, no subtlety made any impression upon her; she was oblivious to it all.

At length he found that the ball was on the point of beginning. All the company seemed assembled, save that one, precious presence; the orchestra began, in a flurried cacophony, to warm up their instruments; gentlemen began to solicit the ladies for the first dance. He was displeased to notice that no one approached Miss Adair, nor did she seem to expect anybody to do so. All her expectations were fixed upon him, and it appeared that the rest of the guests were equally sanguine in their expectation that Miss Adair would open the ball with Mr. Stanton.

Aubranael ground his teeth together in frustration, and did his best to ignore the smiling presence of Miss Adair beside him.

But the lady was by no means willing to take the hint, and let her prize escape. As the orchestra began to strike up a tune, she approached him directly, opened her pretty blue eyes very wide and directed her most gracious smile at him. ‘I can hardly think how it should happen that I should want for a partner—and at my very own ball! Perhaps—just between you and I—I have been saving the first dances for a particular favourite of mine.’

This was a bold speech; Aubranael had learned enough of English manners to recognise that much. But she had been spoiled by too much privilege and admiration, ever since childhood, he would wager. Used to having her own way, and to receiving a great deal of praise and admiration whenever she could desire it, she could not conceive of a world where the handsome young man that she had chosen should not wish to dance with her.

Aubranael stared hard at her. She was looking so becoming in a blue silk gown, rich with embroidery and beads. Her glossy brown hair was perfectly arranged, through the efforts of a very expensive abigail he had no doubt. Her young face looked as though her rich mother and father had simply purchased the most winning countenance for their daughter that the imagination could conceive of.

The whole picture left him utterly cold.

If he had ever hoped to find the people of England less blinded by beauty than those of Aylfenhame, those hopes were long gone. Beauty and wealth; no more powerful combination existed anywhere. He began, just a little, to regret the part he was playing. By masquerading as yet more beauty and wealth, he pandered disgracefully to the superficial attitudes that governed the lives and the opinions of so many of the people around him. He had sought a handsome face, and accepted the appearance of wealth, fully expecting that these things would win him the favour he had never before enjoyed—and so they had. But was he any better than Miss Adair?

And if Miss Landon was moved to bestow her favour upon him because he was now beautiful and rich, was she any better either?

His whole approach began to seem like a colossal mistake. His mouth turned dry, and something like blind panic washed through him. He did not have time to consider these ideas for very long, however, for at that moment there came a little commotion of arrival at the door, and at long last he saw Miss Landon.

She was wearing a dark red gown which was, he thought, very becoming with her slightly brown complexion. The gown was neither so fine nor so richly adorned as Miss Adair’s; her face was not nearly so perfect, and not even the silk cap that she wore could disguise the fact that her curling, sun-coloured hair was not at all well arranged.

But she brought with her something special, an indefinable air that Miss Adair wholly lacked. Perhaps it was the way her smile lit up her face, or the way her blue eyes danced with pleasure at the sight of the crowded ballroom. Perhaps it was the way she hung back, diffidently allowing Miss Ellerby and Miss Daverill to enter first. Whatever it was, the sight of her set Aubranael’s troubled heart leaping with delight.

She met his gaze, and her sunny smile did not falter.

Miss Adair continued to hover, and he realised he had made no reply to her daring sally. He looked back at her, and smiled. ‘That is the greatest coincidence,’ he said slowly, ‘for I, too, have been saving the first dances for one lady in particular.’

Miss Adair’s smile grew satisfied, and she somehow summoned a becoming blush to grace her pretty cheeks. But before she could celebrate what she believed to be her victory, he bowed and said: ‘Would you excuse me?’

He walked away without looking back, hoping that he had released himself from her tiresome attentions. He had been rude, he knew that, but he felt that she deserved it. She had probably never received such a set-down before; it was long overdue.

Her mother, Mrs. Adair, was standing not far away. He made his way towards her as quickly as he could, his heart hammering with anticipation. It was time at long last to be formally introduced to Miss Landon.