The Society Catch

He swept her round a tight corner, catching her in close to avoid another couple who were making erratic progress down the floor. Joanna was very aware of the heat of his body as she was suddenly pressed against him, then they were dancing once more with the conventional distance between them.

‘Dances?’ He had been considering her question. ‘Surprisingly, yes. We take whatever opportunities present themselves, and as not a few officers have their wives with them whenever circumstances allow—and certainly when we were wintering in Portugal—there is often an impromptu ball.’

‘And the Duke encourages such activities, I believe?’ Joanna asked. As they whirled through another ambitious turn she caught a glimpse of her mama’s face, a look of surprise upon it. She felt wonderfully light-headed. This was reality, the music would never stop. Giles would never leave her.

‘Yes. Wellington enjoys a party and he thinks it does us good,’ Giles smiled reminiscently.

‘His family, he calls his officers, does he not?’

‘You know a lot about old Nosey, Miss Fulgrave. Are you another of his ardent admirers? I have never known such a man—unless it were that fellow Byron—for attracting the adulation of the ladies. None of the rest of us ever stood a chance of the lightest flirtation while Wellington was around.’

‘Why, no, not in that way, for I have never seen him.’ Better not to think of Giles wanting to flirt. ‘But he is a fine tactician, is he not?’

She saw she had taken Giles aback, for he gave her a quizzical look. ‘Indeed, yes, but that is a question I would have expected from Master William, not from a young lady.’

‘I take an interest, that is all,’ she said lightly, wishing she dared ask about his life with his regiment, but knowing she could never keep the conversation impersonal.

And then, with a flourish of strings, the music came to an end, Giles released her and they were clapping politely and walking off the floor. Joanna felt as though the places where his hands had touched her must be branded on her skin, it felt so sensitive. Her hands began to tremble again.

‘Miss Fulgrave, might I hope that the next dance is free on your card?’ It was Freddie Sutton looking hopeful. ‘And now that I know you have changed your mind about waltzing tonight, may I also hope for one a little later?’

‘Miss Fulgrave.’ Giles Gregory was bowing to her, nodding to Freddie. ‘Sutton.’ He smiled at her, and she read a look of reassurance in his eyes and guessed that she must be looking better. ‘Thank you for the dance.’

Then he was gone, swallowed up in the crowd. She looked after him, catching a glimpse of the back of his head and slowly realising that with the ending of that dance the entire purpose for which she had been living for the past three years, and her every hope for the future, had crumbled into dust.

‘Thank you, Lord Sutton.’ She turned back to him, her smile glittering. ‘I would love to dance the next waltz with you, but just now what I would really like is a glass of champagne.’

To the chagrin and rising dismay of her mama, to the censure of the flock of chaperons and to the horrified and jealous admiration of her friends, Joanna proceeded to stand up for every waltz and most of the other dances as well. She did refuse some, but only to drink three more glasses of champagne, to be escorted into supper by Lord Maxton, a hardened rake and fortune hunter, and to crown the evening by being discovered by the Dowager Countess of Wigham alone with Mr Paul Hadrell on the terrace.

‘I felt I must tell you at once,’ that formidable matron informed an appalled Mrs Fulgrave, who had been looking anxiously for her daughter for the past fifteen minutes. ‘I could not believe my eyes at first,’ she continued, barely managing to conceal her enjoyment at having found the paragon of deportment engaged in such an activity with one of the worst male flirts in town. ‘I am sure I do not have to tell you, Mrs Fulgrave, that Mr Hadrell is the last man I would want a daughter of mine to be alone with!’

This final observation was addressed to Mrs Fulgrave’s retreating back, for Joanna’s harassed mother lost no time in hurrying to the doors that led to the terrace. It had never occurred to her for a moment that Joanna might be out there, but there indeed she was, leaning against the balustrade in the moonlight, laughing up at the saturnine Mr Hadrell, who was standing far too close and, even as Mrs Fulgrave approached, was leaning down to—

‘Joanna!’ Her errant daughter moved away from her beau with her usual grace and no appearance of guilt. He, however, took one look at her chaperon’s expression and took himself off with a bow and an insouciant,

‘Your servant, Miss Fulgrave. Mrs Fulgrave, ma’am!’

‘Joanna!’ Emily Fulgrave repeated, in the voice of a woman who could not believe what she was seeing. ‘What is the meaning of this? You have been flirting, waltzing—and, to crown it all, I find you out here with such a man! And to make things even worse, I was told where I could find you, and with whom, by Lady Wigham.’

Joanna shrugged, a pretty movement of her white shoulders. ‘I was bored.’

‘Bored!’ Mrs Fulgrave peered at her in the half-light. ‘Are you sickening for something, Joanna? First your obstinacy this morning, now this…’

‘Sickening? Oh, yes, I expect I am, but there’s no cure for it,’ she said lightly. She did indeed feel very odd. The aching pain of Giles’s loss was there somewhere, deep down where she did not have to look at it yet, but on top of the pain was a rather queasy sense of excitement, the beginnings of a dreadful headache and the feeling that absolutely nothing would ever matter again.

Her mother took her arm in a less than sympathetic grip and began to walk firmly towards the door. ‘We are going home this minute.’

‘I cannot, Mama,’ Joanna said. ‘I am dancing the next waltz with—’

‘No one. Home, my girl,’ Emily said grimly, ‘and straight to bed.’

The dreadful headache was there, waiting for her the next morning when she awoke, as was the hideous emptiness where all her plans had once been. It was as though the walls of a house had vanished, leaving the furniture standing around pointlessly in space.

Joanna rubbed her aching head, realising shakily that she must be suffering from the after-effects of too much champagne. How much had she drunk? Hazily she counted five glasses. Could she have possibly drunk that much? She could recall being marched firmly from the ball with her mama’s excuses to their friends ringing in her ears. ‘The heat, I am afraid, it has brought on such a migraine.’ But the carriage ride home was a blur, with only the faintest memory of being lectured, scolded and sent upstairs the moment they arrived home.

Oh, her head hurt so! Where was Mary with her morning chocolate? The door opened to reveal her mama, a tea cup in her hand.

‘So you are awake, are you?’ she observed grimly as her heavy-eyed daughter struggled to sit up against the pillows. ‘I have brought you some tea, I thought it might be better for you than chocolate.’ She put the cup into Joanna’s hands and went to fling the curtains wide, ignoring the yelp of anguish from the bed as the light flooded into the room. ‘Well, what have you got to say for yourself, Joanna?’

‘Have you said anything to Papa?’ Joanna drank the tea gratefully. Her mouth felt like the soles of her shoes and her stomach revolted at the faint smell of breakfast cooking that the opening door had allowed into the room. Surely she could not have a hangover?

‘No,’ Emily conceded. ‘Your papa is very busy at the moment and I do not want to add another worry for him on top of your refusal yesterday to receive dear Rufus. Unless, that is, I do not receive a satisfactory explanation for last night.’

‘Champagne, Mama,’ Joanna said reluctantly. ‘I had no idea it was so strong.’ She eyed her fulminating parent and added, ‘It tasted so innocuous.’

‘Champagne! No wonder you were behaving in such a manner. Have I not warned you time and again to drink nothing except orgeat and lemonade?’

‘Yes, Mama. I am sorry, Mama.’ I am sorry I drank so much, her new, rebellious inner voice said. I will know better next time, just a glass or two for that lovely fizzing feeling…

‘I had thought,’ Emily continued, ‘of forbidding you any further parties until we go down to Brighton for the summer, but I am reluctant to cause more talk by having you vanish from the scene, especially as I know the earl will be in town for at least another fortnight. Fortunately there are only minor entertainments for the rest of the month. I hope the headache you undoubtedly have will be a lesson to you, my girl.’

She got up and walked to the door. ‘I must say, Joanna, this has proved greatly disappointing to me. I had been so proud of you. I can only hope it is a momentary aberration. As for Rufus Carstairs, I will have to tell him you are indisposed and will not be able to receive him for a day or two.’

On that ominous announcement the door closed firmly behind her and Joanna curled up in a tight ball of misery and had a good weep. Finally she emerged, feeling chastened and ashamed of herself. It was very good of Mama not to punish her for what had happened, she fully appreciated that. And dissipation only made one feel ill, it appeared. Perhaps she should return to normal, if only to prevent her mother ever speaking to her in that hurt tone of voice again.

It was all hopeless, of course: she was twenty years old and as good as on the shelf. How could she bear to marry another man when she would always be in love with Giles? Still, spinsters had to behave with modesty and decorum, so she might as well continue like that and become used to it.

This pious resolve lasted precisely two days; in fact, until the rout party at Mrs Jameson’s and her next encounter with the Earl of Clifton. Mrs Jameson’s parties were always popular although, as she admitted to Mrs Fulgrave when the ladies were standing talking halfway through the evening, it did seem rather flat after the Duchess’s grand ball. Emily, who could still not think of the ball without a shudder, agreed but pointed out that anything on such a scale must induce a sense of let-down afterwards.

Her daughter was certainly feeling that sensation, for the combination of being on her best behaviour, and knowing that many of those present this evening had observed her behaving in quite the opposite way, was oppressive. She tried hard not to imagine that people were talking about her behind her back, but could not convince herself. It became much worse when she realised that Lady Suzanne Hall was amongst the young ladies present.

Joanna had never had more than a passing acquaintanceship with Suzanne, who was at the centre of a group of her friends, all talking and giggling together. Knowing that she was going to regret it, but quite unable to resist, Joanna strolled across and attached herself to a neighbouring group so she could hear what was being said behind her.

There was a lot of giggling, several gasps of surprise and then one young lady said, ‘Colonel Gregory? Why, Suzy, you cunning thing! What does your papa say?’

‘As it is Giles, why, what could he say? He has always been against it, but darling Giles is so persuasive.’

‘Oh, you lucky thing! I saw him at the Duchess’s ball and I thought he was so dashing and handsome…’

Joanna moved abruptly away. So, he had asked Lord Olney for Suzanne’s hand in marriage and the Marquis had agreed. Now all she could look forward to was the announcement. Joanna scooped a glass of champagne from the tray carried by a passing footman and drank it defiantly before she realised that the Earl of Clifton had entered the room and was being greeted by his hostess. Joanna took a careful step backwards towards a screen but was too late: he must have enquired after her, for Mrs Jameson was scanning the room and nodding in her direction.

Regretting her height, which made her so visible, Joanna slipped her empty glass on to a side table and prepared to make the best of it. He could hardly ask her to marry him in the middle of a crowded reception, after all.

She watched him make his way across the room, critically comparing him to Giles. Rufus was slightly above medium height with an elegant figure and a handsome, slightly aquiline, face. His hair was very blond, his eyes a distinctive shade of blue, and Joanna suspected he knew exactly how attractive he was to look at. He was also always immaculately dressed in an austere fashion.

But compared to Giles’s tall, muscular figure, his air of confident command and the quiet humour in his face, Rufus Carstairs cut a poor figure to her eyes, and, although she could not quite decide why, a sinister one at that. His eyes flickered over her rapidly as he approached and once again she had that disconcerting feeling that he was paying more attention to her figure than was proper.

‘My lord.’ She curtsied slightly as he reached her side.