Four evenings later, Julian and Melissa stood at the head of the ballroom stairs and welcomed their guests to the Midsummer Ball.
The surrounding gentry had turned out in force, eager to meet the new Countess of Carsely. As the stalwarts of the county rolled in, it was plain as a pikestaff that their expectations of the evening, and of Julian and his new bride, had been not just met but exceeded. Compliments rained down on their heads as the guests admired the handsome couple, so gracious, so assured, then in moving on, took in the greenery-bedecked ballroom already aswirl with color and life as the early comers milled and sipped the champagne dispensed by footmen in full livery.
This was their new mistress’s first major event, and the staff had pulled out all stops. The ballroom had been transformed into a woodland glade, and the ladies in their bright finery were the butterflies flitting through it. As befitted the occasion, the evening was almost balmy, allowing the long doors to the terrace to be propped wide, affording views over the lawns, fields, and woods to the black, star-spangled sky.
By the time the receiving line dwindled and Julian and Melissa quit their post to circulate among their guests, an air of unrelieved gaiety had taken hold. Good cheer abounded, and laughter rose in waves, then the musicians set bow to string, and the dancing began, and everyone threw themselves into enjoying the unfettered pleasure.
Everyone seemed to think it appropriate that Julian and Melissa should lead the company in the first waltz, and they didn’t demur. With his wife in his arms, Julian swept down the floor, the smile on his face a banner of proud happiness.
Melissa drank in the sight, then smiling herself, murmured, “I never expected to feel like this—so unreservedly happy, literally without a care in the world. I didn’t know reaching such a state was possible.”
His smile deepened, and he whirled her through the turn, then drew her closer. “Me, either.”
She glanced aside to exchange a pleased smile with Veronica, circling in Frederick’s arms, then turned back to Julian. “Dealing with Findlay-Wright’s machinations distracted me and diverted my attention from what’s been growing between us and around us, with your family and this household.” She met his eyes. “We’ve somehow meshed together, all of us. We’ve reached an accord with each other, and it all feels so very comfortable.”
While his smile didn’t waver, the expression in his gray eyes grew more serious. “Me, you, all those here, this place, and this time. It’s all clicked together in interlocking pieces, ultimately forming a lock and key.”
Her smile deepened. “And now we turn that key and see what comes?”
His grin flashed. “More or less.”
They whirled on, then he said, “We go forward—together and with everyone who supports us, and they are legion—and see what we can make of the chance Fate has handed us.” He looked into her eyes. “You and me—politically, socially—we know we can be a force for change. For good, for right. If we choose to be so.”
Equally committed, she replied. “If we choose, and we do so choose.”
He nodded. “Agreed.”
Felix whirled his partner close, and Damian, also circling, lightly bumped Julian’s shoulder.
Insouciantly grinning, Damian ducked closer and said, “Just a warning, brother and sister dear, that Felix and I have arranged a little something extra in honor of our new countess. All will be revealed half an hour after supper is over.”
Julian and Melissa came alert, but before they could speak and question, Damian and Felix whirled their partners away and kept their gazes and their attentions focused on the young ladies.
“What on earth have they done?” Melissa asked.
Julian sighed. “I doubt it will be dangerous, and I’m sure they won’t surrender and say no matter how much we badger them, so I suggest we forget that Damian even spoke.” He caught Melissa’s gaze, and his confident, assured expression returned. “Besides, given all we’ve been through, whatever it is, we’ll be able to handle it.”
She laughed and agreed, and they let the last phrases of the waltz reclaim them.
The evening rolled on, and they moved among their guests, with many eager to speak with them regarding local events and concerns, but here and there, they encountered those wanting to engage on wider-ranging subjects, allowing them to gain an informed view of attitudes to and opinions on the issues they felt would soon be addressed in Parliament.
Supper came and went. Engrossed in interacting with their guests, Melissa and Julian had largely forgotten Damian’s warning until shouts went up.
“To the terrace! To the terrace!”
Melissa and Julian recognized the initial voices, but the call was taken up by many others, and the guests dutifully streamed through the wide-open doors to spread along and across the flagstone terrace.
Exchanging amused but wary glances, Julian and Melissa were among the last to leave the lights of the ballroom and step into the cooler air. They paused just outside, taking advantage of a space by the castle wall. As they settled and looked around, a rocket streaked into the sky and exploded in a fiery burst of bright red stars.
A collective “Ooh!” rose from the crowd, and every head rose to stare at the heavens.
Melissa smiled as a second rocket exploded in a cascade of silvery stars. She leaned against Julian, and he wrapped his arms about her, holding her there. As more fireworks lit up the sky, still smiling, she sighed. “I do like your brothers.”
“I’m passingly fond of them myself.”
Heads raised, they watched as the display continued, then Julian looked down at Melissa’s profile. “Here we are, and for my money, life in this moment is perfect.”
“Hmm.” She glanced up and, with her lips irrepressibly curved, met his eyes. “I can’t disagree.”
He tightened his arms and gently squeezed her. “As I recall, you didn’t approve when the grandes dames and so many others dubbed ours the perfect match.” His gaze teasing, he arched his brows. “Yet here we are.”
Melissa allowed her smile to bloom, then faced forward and pressed her head back against his shoulder. “I’ll tell you a secret,” she whispered. “Sometimes—just sometimes—the grandes dames are right.”
