Chapter Text
Having been disappointed in his quest to claim the lovely Miss Marianne Bolderwood’s hand in the waltz, Ulverston’s only satisfaction was that St Erth had also been similarly disappointed. St Erth, however, had been more adroit in finding an alternative partner, and had immediately asked Miss Drusilla Morville to dance with him.
“I do hope Drusilla enjoys herself. She has put such a lot of work into this evening, Lord St Erth told me,” said Marianne, sweetly, as St Erth drew Miss Morville away. “She dances so very well, doesn’t she—?”
Ulverston glanced over at the pair. Drusilla was indeed an exceptional dancer, a small smile on her face, as if she knew how very surprised everyone was to realise it.
“Ah, propriety dictates that I must dance with another lady—and I have no desire to get in trouble with your Mama!—but I will come back and speak to you later.” Ulverston had noticed Lady Louisa Grampound advancing in his direction, and privately sighed at the thought, but he had been too well-brought up to allow this thought to show.
Instead he said, “My dear Louisa, would you do me the honour of dancing with me?”
St Erth’s half-sister beamed at him. He led her onto the dance floor, whereupon he was regaled with tales of how her two sons had suffered the measles. Ulverston listened to this litany of woe with half an ear, making appropriate noises at appropriate moments, while he scanned the room and assessed the state of play.
That foolish pup, Martin Frant, was hovering over Marianne, a scowl on his face; Marianne looked unimpressed and a little scared. Ulverston felt rather sorry for the lad—he had a lot to learn about how to comport himself, and had been too damned spoiled to realise it—but he also regarded the pup with a good deal of suspicion. Was his resentment and spoiled nature enough to make the boy murderous? St Erth’s cousin Theo certainly seemed to think so.
Concern for his friend caused him to search out St Erth in the dancing throng, whereupon he received a shock. Drusilla Morville was looking up at St Erth in an unmistakeable way, laughing. She was not the kind of woman who shone easily, but at that moment, Ulverston realised that she could be attractive, although she’d never be pretty. He supposed that women were as susceptible to the charms of a pretty face as men were, and hoped devoutly that St Erth wouldn’t break the woman’s heart. Ulverston had rather liked Miss Morville, from the conversation he’d had with her when they’d ridden to Whissenhurst.
Meanwhile, he murmured that yes, he perfectly understood that Lady Grampound would prefer to stay at Stanyon, but he did also understand Lord Grampound’s view that they should hire out a house, as Stanyon was terribly draughty. Eventually, the song ended, and Ulverston extricated himself politely, to rejoin Marianne.
He was delighted to see Marianne’s eyes light up as he approached. “Oh, Lord Ulverston! I hope you are not cross with me for not dancing the waltz with you?”
“Not in the least,” said Ulverston. “See, here I am, asking if I may sit beside you.” On Marianne’s other side, Martin glowered at him in a saturnine and singularly unattractive way.
“Of course you may sit, my lord,” said Marianne warmly, a very attractive blush spreading across her cheeks.
“Dash it all, what’s that fool St Erth doing with Drusilla?” growled Martin.
They watched as Miss Morville tried to leave the dance floor, and St Erth laughingly chased after her and put his arm around her, and gently guided her back to the dance floor. Miss Morville smiled too, and they danced as if they had been partners for years: they were by far the most elegant couple on the dance floor.
“Goodness me!” Marianne looked excited, and sat up. “St Erth’s in love with Drusilla? Don’t tell me?”
“Don’t be a gudgeon, Marianne! She’s not at all pretty; a little squab of a woman,” said Martin, rudely. “I should say that the situation is the reverse, and she has no hope at all.”
“But when we rode from Whissenhurst to come here, St Erth urged Miss Morville to ride off ahead with him,” objected Marianne.
“That! I wouldn’t set any store by that!” said Martin, with scorn.
“Hmm. I wonder—” Ulverston turned to Marianne. “In any case, did I tell you of the time we had to outrun the French, in Spain? We had to ride ahead in a way very like St Erth did today—”
“No!” said Marianne, her eyes shining. “How very brave of you, Lord Ulverston.”
After supper, Marianne was at last forced to dance with Martin. Ulverston noted that one of her flounces was torn by Lord Grampound, a man who danced like a clod-footed fool, and she went off to repair it, Martin in tow.
Ulverston waited for some time, and then said to St Erth, who was standing with Lady Grampound, “Miss Bolderwood tore a flounce and disappeared with Martin just now.”
The Earl gave Ulverston a sharp look and said, “Louisa, will you come with me, see if we can find Marianne?”
“My Lord is a very good man, but terribly clumsy,” said Lady Grampound. “Not an elegant dancer like Ulverston here, or St Erth, and isn’t Drusilla so very elegant?—but in any case, let us seek out this girl, St Erth—”
Ulverston watched them go, following at a distance. After a while, he fancied he heard raised voices, and decided to intervene. He found Marianne, Martin, St Erth and Lady Grampound in the saloon. It was immediately obvious that Marianne was terribly upset. She was trembling, clutching St Erth’s arm, and cringing away from Martin. Ulverston thought he saw tears standing in her eyes. Meanwhile, Lady Grampound was looking at Martin with horror and disgust painted all over her face, and Martin was clearly a hair’s breadth from knocking down his older half-brother. At that moment, Ulverston had no difficulty in believing Theo Frant’s hints that Martin harboured murderous intentions towards St Erth.
Ulverston thought it was best to play it as if everything was terribly normal. “What are you doing with Marianne, you traitorous fellow?” he said in an amiable tone, nudging his old friend. “Ger, you must know that she’d promised me a dance next! I shall have to call you out for it!”
St Erth smiled, immediately joining in the game, and in short order, Ulverston had Marianne on his arm, and had plucked her out of the unpleasant situation. She was indeed trembling. “Oh Lord Ulverston,” she said in a fainting voice.
“Would you like a lemonade?” Ulverston asked, pretending not to notice. “I am sure you must be very thirsty from all that dancing. It’s insufferably hot in this ballroom, isn’t it?”
“Oh yes, please,” said Marianne. “It is so very hot!”
He watched with pleasure as she sipped her lemonade and stopped trembling; she was restored almost to her previous happiness. “I’ve got another funny story to tell you,” he informed her. “Are you ready for it?”
Marianne beamed at him, her eyes shining. “I would like that very much.”
“And I like very much to see you smile, so we are both satisfied,” said Ulverston. “In any case—let me tell you of this ridiculous fellow I came across in London once—”