Bewitching Season (20 page)

their stable books. He wouldn’t have missed tonight for anything, and neither would I.”

It was, indeed, Lochinvar, in an exquisitely cut black coat and snowy linen. The darkness of his

coat only made his hair shine the brighter, and his eyes were unusually vivid above the starkness of

black and white.

Mama examined him. “You still look pale. Are you sure you’re well enough to be out, my boy?”

“Er, well, mostly recovered, thank you.” He nodded to Mama, but Persy thought that rather than

appearing pale, he looked flushed. Even his ears. How funny. She could just see them blushing pink

under his carefully combed hair. Now, why should Lochinvar be turning so pink? Then she realized

he was speaking.

“Would you do me the honor of dancing with me, Persy—um—Miss Leland?” he asked, bowing to

her again.

His ears had grown a deeper shade of rose, she noted. Sometimes Papa’s ears turned red right

before he had a sneezing attack, as he frequently did when the autumn flowers began to—

He had said Persy and bowed in her direction. That meant he was talking to her, didn’t it? He was

asking her to dance. The sense of disembodied serenity that had started to creep over her again

vanished for good. That was why he was blushing and stuttering. The love spell. It had started to

work.

“Dance? Right now?” she blurted.

“Er, well, yes, that is, if you don’t mind.” The easy conversational tone that he had used with

Mama had vanished, and his voice had become abrupt and a little squeaky. “It is a ball, and there’s,

um, music. Unless you’re already engaged for this dance …”

Persy gulped, or at least tried to, with a throat gone dry as Egypt. Which was where she wished she

were right now. Why couldn’t he have asked her to dance later, when she’d had a chance to get over

her initial fright at being at her first ball? Or better yet, have stayed at home with the remnants of his

flu? With a quick, desperate look at Mama, who was smiling and nodding at her behind Lochinvar’s

back, she took his proffered hand and let him lead her into the crowd.

It was a waltz. Good. At least she wouldn’t have to concentrate as hard as she would with

quadrille figures. Her practice with Pen had paid off. As Lochinvar turned to her and placed his hand

lightly on her waist, she found that her eyes were level with his mouth. That was reassuring too. She

and Pen were tall enough that dancing with someone like Freddy Gilley, for instance, meant dancing

eye to eye. Persy knew that she could never have danced with Lochinvar if she’d had to gaze into his

eyes the entire time. Her feet would simply not have been capable of movement.

Oh, why couldn’t she just close her eyes, the way she did when Pen made her practice? That made

it so much easier to concentrate. She stared straight ahead at Lochinvar’s unsmiling mouth.

Then again, maybe she didn’t want to close her eyes. Lochinvar’s upper lip was a little too narrow

to be classically handsome, and his whole mouth held too stiffly just now, but the gentle upturn at the

corners and that soft dimple in his chin were mesmerizing. If she closed her eyes now, she wouldn’t

be able to stare at it and think about what it would be like to brush her own lips across it.

Persephone!
One part of her mind gasped in shock at such an unmaidenly thought, but she ignored

it. This was her first waltz, at her first ball, and she was dancing with a man with the most imperfectly

perfect mouth she had ever seen, and she would treasure this moment forever. What if she did

suddenly pretend to lose her footing and collapse against his chest? Then he would gather her in his

arms and—

Oh God, Persy, what have you done?

—and he would tell her that he loved her …

No! He couldn’t!

Well, wasn’t that what she’d wanted? Wasn’t that why she’d cast that love spell on him? So that

he’d fall in love with her and do something foolish and romantic like kiss her in the middle of a

crowded ballroom?

So why was the thought of it making her cringe with embarrassment? Or was it really

embarrassment?

Was it, just maybe, shame?

The night of the Gilleys’ party, she’d been very unhappy and … well, perhaps just a little tipsy

from all the punch Freddy had given her. Tipsy enough, at any rate, not to have been thinking clearly

when she’d found that love spell in Ally’s room. It seemed so clever, such a good idea, to make sure

Lochinvar would fall in love with her and not Pen.

But was that really love?

What good was Lochinvar falling in love with her because of a spell? What kind of love was that?

Did she want to marry him, to spend the rest of her life with him never knowing if he truly loved her,

or if he’d been forced into it by magic? What if one day the spell wore off and he woke up and

realized he hated her or, even worse, was totally indifferent to her?

She’d made a complete mess of everything.

The perfect lips were moving. Persy tore her gaze from them and looked up into his eyes. That was

nearly fatal. The hazel eyes were examining her with far more intensity than she liked just now.

“It’s your first ball,” he stated.

“Yes,” she agreed. Dear Lord, those eyes!

“It’s my first, too, since I got back from the continent.”

“Oh, indeed. How, um, agreeable.” She winced inwardly at this inanity.

“Do you think you shall like the season?”

No, not at all. I shall hate every minute of it except when I see you, and then it will be even

worse because I’ll know that the only reason you’re talking to me is because I manipulated you

into it.
“Er, I hope so.”

He nodded, but did not reply.

Persy stole another look farther up his face, and met his eyes gazing down into hers. She blushed,

and said quickly and without thought, to draw his attention from her pink cheeks, “I am sure Pen will

have a pleasant time of it, though. She’s the one who enjoys dancing and—and …”

“You don’t care for it?” He smiled. “If I might confess … I’m not all that fond of it either, most of

the time. But with the right partner it can be quite pleasant.” He placed an unmistakable emphasis on

the word “right.”

Oh, heavens, now what should she say? More important, what should she do? That dratted spell

really was working, wasn’t it? And here he was, saying all the wonderful things that she’d longed to

hear him say … and that he never would have, without her interference. There was only one thing for

her to do.

“Well, I don’t care for it in the least,” she blurted. “I’m very bad at it, and don’t get any pleasure

from it at all. You were very kind to ask me, but I must confess that I don’t enjoy it. Please don’t feel

you have to ask me in the future.”

Lochinvar frowned. “But I—” he began.

Just then, the music ended. Persy curtsied to Lochinvar as was proper at the conclusion of a dance,

forcing him to stop speaking and bow. She was not sure whether to be grateful or disappointed that he

had been unable to finish what he was going to say. Probably grateful. Again she took his hand so that

he could lead her back to their seats, hoping that he couldn’t feel how sweaty her palms were through

their gloves.

“What’s this?” Lochinvar murmured.

Persy looked up from her glum reverie and saw that a knot of people, among them Freddy Gilley,

had congregated around Mama and Pen. Evidently Freddy had brought several of his friends with him,

mostly rather unfinished-looking young men with slightly too-vibrant cut-velvet waistcoats or

oversnug trousers with gold buttons up their calves. Mama appeared slightly alarmed, while Sally

Louder and her two friends and chaperones stood nearby, looking envious.

“Ah, there she is!” Freddy crowed when he caught sight of Persy and Lochinvar. “Sneaked in

already, you sly dog Seton? But you can’t keep her all evening. Here, Miss Leland, is the flower of

London youth, dying to tread a measure with you.” He bowed, hand on heart.

Persy gawked at him. Dear heavens, was this what Mama had meant that evening after the musicale

at the Gilleys’? Would she be popular despite herself? The absolute last thing she wanted right now

was this. She looked away from the blushing Pen and the chattering bucks, and her eye lighted on

Sally Louder, still at the edge of their group.

Sally looked like a wilted flower, her round blue eyes watching the fun with the hurt, puzzled

expression of a child locked out of a sweet shop that others freely enter. Persy felt her own pain

recede in the face of the other girl’s dejection. She wasn’t the only one not enjoying this situation.

Without thinking, she leaned forward and pulled Sally into their midst. “Mr. Gilley, she may be
une

petite fille
, but Miss Louder does not deserve to be overlooked by you and your friends,” she heard

herself say loudly.

Sally blushed as pink as her ribbons as Freddy looked down at her with a slowly spreading grin.

“Good God, Miss Leland, you’re right. How d’ye do, Miss Louder? I didn’t see you there at first,

you’re such a dainty morsel.” He took her hand and kissed it, leaving her looking stunned and

delighted. Then Lady Louder, as small and mousy-plump as her daughter, stepped forward, and soon

Sally’s two friends had been introduced as well.

Feeling drained, Persy sank into a seat. But she was not long allowed to contemplate her misery in

solitary peace among the potted palms before Freddy appeared to claim a dance. She found herself

engaged for the rest of the presupper dances with the boisterous young men of Freddy’s acquaintance.

One of the less boisterous ones, in his second or third season, was kind enough to point out some of

the ball’s better-known guests just before the midnight pause for supper and champagne. Persy tried

not to stare as Lord Palmerston and Lady Cowper waltzed past, smiling into each other’s eyes. Even

she had heard of their long-standing affair, through Grandmama Leland’s gossipy letters. And there

was Princess Victoria’s cousin, Prince George of Cambridge, a young man just her and Pen’s age, but

very short and sorely afflicted with spots.

“They say he shall make a match of it with little Vicky,” her escort, Viscount Carharrick,

whispered as he led her to the great staircase en route to the dining room. “Keep it in the family, you

know. Myself, I wouldn’t envy him.”

“Nor would I envy her,” Persy snapped back. How dare he speak so cavalierly about the princess?

“She deserves someone who looks a little more like a prince.”

“Like ‘young Lochinvar come out of the west,’ here? A bit more the handsome prince sort, don’t

you think? If you care for that sort of thing.” He nodded toward a couple preceding them down the

stair.

It was Lochinvar and Pen, gold head and honey brown bent together in conspiratorial fashion. As if

he’d heard them, Lochinvar glanced back over his shoulder, straight at Persy. She froze in midstep.

But her escort, who hadn’t noticed her pause, kept descending.

“Oh!” Jerked off her stair, Persy fell into him and felt her ankle twist. She hissed as pain lanced up

her leg.

“Whoa there, Miss Leland,” Lord Carharrick said, catching her. “Are you all right?”

Heart pounding, she gripped his arms, grateful for their solidity under her hands. Heavens, she’d

nearly gone tumbling down the stairs, straight into Pen and Lochinvar. “Quite,” she said, trying to

catch her breath. “My foot slipped.”

“Persy! What is it?”

Pen had started back up the stairs. Below Pen, others were pausing and looking up at them. Persy

realized that she was standing in a near stranger’s embrace in the middle of a crowd of descending

suppergoers, and felt her cheeks start to burn. She pulled herself as unobtrusively as possible out of

Lord Carharrick’s arms as Pen and Lochinvar approached. “It’s nothing. I just tripped, that’s all.” She

set her foot down on the next step and winced.

“Why, you’ve hurt yourself.” Lord Carharrick slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her

against his side. “You must let me help you down.”

“Really, I’ll be fine,” Persy repeated. Her face felt close to bursting into flame. Oh, why were they

all staring?

“No, I insist. It was my fault. Don’t worry, Miss Leland,” he said to Pen. “I’ll see that your sister is

made comfortable.” Lord Carharrick’s voice was authoritative and sincere.

“Perse?” Pen sounded unsure.

Persy saw Lochinvar frown ferociously at him, and an idea clicked in her mind. “I’ll be fine, Pen.

Thank you so much, Lord Carharrick. You are too kind. And so
strong
!” She leaned against him to

take the weight off her throbbing foot, then glanced up at him through her eyelashes in as coquettish a

manner as she could.

“Umm …” Persy could almost feel Pen’s astonishment in that one syllable. She ignored it, and after

what seemed like forever Pen and Lochinvar turned away.

Persy concentrated on her feet the rest of the way into the dining room. Lord Carharrick led her to a