Work Text:
It was easy to spot Julian Tremblay, and not only because Eleanor was quite certain she could find him anywhere. He drew her eye because he was beautiful, because his dark hair and golden skin made her think he might have sprouted from the earth like a flower, because his delicate smile was like sunlight shining through leaves. He drew everyone else’s eye for the opposite reason: his clothes were at least a season out of date, and looked worn besides. They looked almost as though they might fade away entirely.
That thought only made her blush, and she had to look away quickly. When she looked back, Mr. Tremblay was just where she had seen him before, still watching her.
She wondered what he saw when he looked at her. That was something they had never once discussed.
Henry, by her side, leaned in close. “I think you might wish to stare more fervently,” he murmured. “I think only half the people in the room have noticed the attention you pay to him.”
Eleanor’s blush deepened, and she ducked her head a little even as she tried to take a sip of the drink her brother had brought her. She was able to catch herself before the motion became awkward, but though her sip bought her time, she knew the color had not faded from her cheeks. “Are my thoughts really so clear?” she asked in an undertone.
Henry shrugged a little. “To those who know you, perhaps. To anyone else… well, look around the room. Do you imagine they have noticed you?”
Eleanor did give the room a subtle glance. As far as she could tell, no one paid her or her brother any mind. They were all engaged in their own little affairs and flirtations, all caught up in whatever stories they were telling about themselves.
All save Mr. Tremblay. His gaze found her, and she saw that his cheeks had colored as well.
Eleanor quickly looked away again, turning her attention back to Henry, who only gave her a small smile. “You see?” he said. “They are all caught up in their own romances. Why should they pay any attention to yours? Now, if you were to dance with Mr. Tremblay…”
Again, that flush of heat in her cheeks. If she were a more delicate girl, she would have let herself fall into a swoon. That would let her escape the moment, even if at the expense of some dignity and the rest of the evening. Unfortunately, she was sturdier than she appeared, and there was no chance she might collapse, or even have a spell of dizziness.
Eleanor took a careful breath and another sip of her drink. “I believe you know my feelings on that matter,” she murmured. “I believe you also know that Mr. Tremblay must ask me rather than the reverse.”
“Of course,” Henry said, though his teasing smile did not leave. “I believe, if the two of you were but a few steps closer, he might be so bold as to ask.”
Eleanor felt a sharp twist in her stomach, a sensation that made her feel almost giddy. She knew what Henry meant, how far below the Tilneys the Tremblays stood, even if they still held onto the status of gentlemen as well as they could. She knew Mr. Tremblay might well be accused of being a fortune hunter if he were to pursue her, and she a fool if she were to allow it.
But oh, how wonderful it felt to imagine that those steps needed only to be physical, that it was only their distance in the room which kept Julian from asking her for a dance, from asking for still more!
Her thoughts must surely be clear to Henry. She could only trust that they were hidden from everyone else. (Save perhaps Mr. Tremblay.) After one last glance, one last assurance that his gaze still turned to her, she turned back to her brother. She could not pass the entire evening without dancing, but perhaps she could sit out one or two, in honor of the quiet half-romance which had been building up between them. It was the best she could do; the only thing she could do.
“One dance,” Henry murmured to her. He took a small step, beginning a stroll about the room. Eleanor fell into step with him; she had no wish to be left to her own devices and be asked to dance now. “One dance would hurt nothing, and it would give the two of you a chance to talk.”
“It would be promising something I could not give,” Eleanor replied.
“Is every dance a promise, then?” Henry asked. “How many hearts you must have broken in your time! Eleanor, I fear you are becoming quite notorious.”
Her smile was wan and did not reach her eyes. Henry must have seen that, for he carefully took her arm and drew her a little closer.
“I share your concern,” he said, his voice lower still, “both for your heart and for your reputation. I would not see you unhappy. Nor would our father, if you will credit it.”
“I will do my best.” Eleanor’s smile was a little stronger this time, and it must have reassured Henry, who took her hand and squeezed it gently. “I am not so far gone as to think I could only be happy with Mr. Tremblay, and yet…”
“And yet you imagine you would be most content with him, compared to any other man in the room?”
Eleanor nodded. She hoped she could convince Henry, for she was completely convinced herself.
Henry pressed her hand again. “I’ll try to ensure you have at least one dance with your Mr. Tremblay,” he said, “and perhaps a moment or two for only the two of you. If nothing else, you can be assured of a little time to talk. I’ll see to it that no one troubles you.”
Eleanor gazed at her brother in delight. “You would do that?”
“And much more, if I were able.” His gaze slid past her, and his face fell, just a little. “I’m afraid we must hurry. Someone else is speaking with Mr. Tremblay.”
Eleanor turned, expecting to see another woman catching his attention, but what she found was much worse.
Her eldest brother, Frederick, had come up to Mr. Tremblay. Henry had steered her closer to him, but they were still too far away for her to hear any of their conversation. Many visits to Bath and the high society there had given her practice in observing faces and judging the sentiments of conversants, but even that practice would not have been necessary. It was clear enough from the expressions on both men what transpired.
Frederick was furious. The tallest of the family, he towered over Mr. Tremblay as well, though part of that was simply the imposing presence he carried. Thunder was in his gaze, and Eleanor could easily imagine the lightning flashing between every word.
And Mr. Tremblay was like a sapling before a storm. He did not physically sway or shiver, but Eleanor could see him looking ready to bend away from the force of Frederick’s will. How often Frederick had seen the two of them dancing or exchanging looks, she could not say, but she knew what he would think of it. The kindest interpretation was that he would believe his sister deserved better than a man whose family had slid closer to pennilessness, even if they still held most of their ancestral land.
She chose not to understand his anger uncharitably. Frederick was her brother. For all his faults, she knew he loved her.
Henry, still close by, leaned in and whispered, “What shall you do?”
“I do not know,” she replied, but even as she spoke, she knew that was not true. She knew exactly what she would do, exactly what she must do. The thought frightened her a little, but not so much as the thought of doing nothing at all. “Pray excuse me.”
She did not wait for Henry to release her hand, although as soon as she drew her hand away, she found it was held far more lightly than she had realized. Henry must have known what she intended, and he tacitly gave his blessing.
It was unnecessary. She liked to think she would have acted all the same. Still, there was some comfort in knowing one brother would support her in this.
Eleanor knew the crowds did not part before her, though there was some romantic appeal to the notion. Later, she would have to ask Henry how it looked to an observer, for she had little doubt he observed every moment. He would give some poetic answer, of course, but then he would laugh, and tell her how she had appeared in the more prosaic, more realistic manner which would not break her heart but ensure her feet remained firmly on the earth, just as she would have done for him had he pursued some object of his affections.
The thought gave her courage, and by the time she reached Frederick and Mr. Tremblay, the high color in her cheeks came not from embarrassment but from determination. Frederick was a glorious man and a good brother, but she would be the one to carry the day.
Mr. Tremblay was the first to see her. His eyes widened, as though to warn her away, but she gave him a small, reassuring smile. It eased his mind a little, just enough that he remained still.
Then she turned her attention to Frederick.
In her younger days, she would have attempted to take the battle directly to him, to face him broadsides, so to speak, and let fire as many of her metaphorical cannons as she felt capable of. That was certainly one method of waging war, but she had no intention of doing so now. She had aged and matured, and now at her ripe age of one-and-twenty, she felt quite wise and capable of more subtler forms of victory.
“Frederick,” she said, with a warm smile, “I had not expected to see you here tonight.”
“Had you not?” His answering smile was tight but genuine. There was a war within him, surely, and Eleanor could not help but feel a touch of pride that she had begun it. “Surely you knew I meant to come to Bath. Did you think I would be delayed?”
“Not at all,” Eleanor replied. “I merely did not expect to see you at this gathering. Have you had a chance to dance yet?”
A bit of color touched his cheeks, surprising her. She had not expected such emotion, but there was not time now to pursue such matters. Later, she promised herself, she and Henry would uncover all. For now, she had her own end.
“I have,” she went on, “and Henry was kind enough to escort me about to catch my breath and refresh myself.” She still had the empty cup in her hand, she realized, and held it out to Frederick. “If you would be so kind, dear brother? For I have promised Mr. Tremblay this next dance, and I should not like to miss the beginning of it.”
The color rose higher in Frederick’s cheeks, but his hand closed around the cup. It closed around her hand as well, and he drew her close. “If he should be overly familiar,” he began, but Eleanor cut him off before he could finish the statement.
“If he should,” Eleanor replied in an undertone, “I will do my utmost to catch your attention, and Henry’s besides. Mr. Tremblay is a good man, Frederick. I hope you might trust my judgment in such matters.”
The way Frederick’s eyes followed her made it clear he did not entirely trust her judgment, but he did not try to restrain her. He released her hand, and allowed her to turn and offer it to Mr. Tremblay.
Julian took her hand. Eleanor had little doubt everyone in the room – at least, everyone who cared to look – could see the delight on her face.
“I hope,” Mr. Tremblay said, “that I may ask for the next dance as well.”
“I am afraid that one has been claimed,” Eleanor said. (A lie, but one said for the sake of her brother. Frederick would not care to see her dance with Mr. Tremblay twice, and she was kind enough to have some discretion.) “But the one after that is free, if you would care to join me.”
“I would be honored,” Mr. Tremblay said.
Together, they whirled into the dancing crowd.