All but instantly, Lady Mollison materialized from the crowd to welcome them. “Henrietta!” She caught and squeezed Lady North’s hands. “I am utterly delighted to see you and thrilled that you could persuade these young people to join us.” Her ladyship’s eyes gleamed with triumph as they rested on Julian and Melissa. “I’m sure they’re much in demand.”
Calmly smiling, Melissa greeted Lady Mollison and said all the right things. For his part, Julian smiled charmingly and bowed over her ladyship’s hand, which earned him an openly approving look. He then stood by as the ladies exchanged the usual social chitchat before Lady Mollison consented to allow him to steer Lady North and Melissa on.
They were immediately surrounded by guests eager to congratulate and speak with them, but he’d resigned himself to that. This was their third and, thankfully, last event of the evening; the earlier two had been smaller affairs, and they hadn’t dallied overlong at either. In contrast, Lady Mollison currently ranked as one of the foremost hostesses in the ton, and her ballroom was packed with society’s elite. The colorful, babbling melee was the very epitome of an unholy crush.
Lady North settled with several other older matrons gathered on a pair of sofas halfway down the room. After being introduced to the bevy of avidly intrigued ladies and withstanding their interrogation, Melissa and Julian were allowed to stroll on.
As they did, he murmured, “I am beyond glad that this is the last event of the evening. Over the past few days, it’s been borne in on me that, until now, socially speaking, I’ve led a remarkably sheltered life.”
Melissa huffed. “I cut my social eyeteeth at gatherings such as this, and I can assure you it never gets any easier. The instant you let down your guard, you’ll trip and land in goodness only knows what mire.”
He glanced sidelong at her. “Do I detect a certain weariness with the ton’s never-ending demands?”
“Why do you think I was planning on insisting that this would be my last Season?” She paused, then added, “I can appreciate that, by any and all standards, courtesy of my family’s status and connections, I’ve gained a degree of experience and understanding of the ton and those who comprise it that few young ladies, or even not-so-young ladies, could aspire to. I anticipate that knowledge will be useful in whatever future I pursue.”
“I see. In that case, can you enlighten me as to why that gentleman to our left has chosen such a color for his waistcoat? Is it a statement of some sort or an insignia?”
She glanced at the gentleman in question, who was sporting a waistcoat in a particularly virulent shade of mustard yellow, and made a disparaging sound. “That’s Hildebrand Clayton. He fancies himself a connoisseur of art and has, I understand, declared that color the ultimate in fashion.”
“Has anyone else taken it up?”
“Good Lord, no! His last year’s selection was an eye-watering puce. No one thought that a good idea, either.”
They continued strolling, and in between pausing to chat and receive the apparently unending congratulations and fend off the inevitable inquisitive queries, they exchanged comments and observations.
At one point, Julian murmured, “Carmichael over there looks surprisingly intent.”
The rakish lord was hanging on every word uttered by the lady beside him.
Melissa chuckled. “I wish him luck with Lady Jeffers. She’s a widow just out of mourning and is intent on enjoying life, and everyone knows Carmichael’s pockets are to let.”
“Ah. I see.” Julian smiled, and they continued to wend their way through the gilded throng, entertaining themselves as they went.
Then a group of musicians tucked away in an alcove set bow to string, and the guests obligingly drifted toward the walls, yielding the floor to those who wished to dance.
“Shall we?” There hadn’t been dancing at the previous events they’d attended, at least not while they’d been there, and something in Julian leapt at the chance. He looked at Melissa and saw a similar explorative eagerness in her eyes.
She slid her hand from his arm and offered it to him. “Indeed, my lord. I believe we should.”
He took her hand, and they moved onto the floor. She turned into his arms as he reached for her. Their hands settled, his at her back, hers on his shoulder, and their free hands clasped, then he stepped out, into the slow swirl of couples.
The music swelled, and the dance took hold, and they stepped out with increasing confidence.
Their complementary heights, their suppleness, and the ease with which she matched his steps all contributed to a sensation that was just this side of floating. They whirled down the room with effortless, faultless grace.
He smiled into her eyes. “I always knew waltzing with you would be perfect.”
She all but rolled her eyes, yet the smile that curved her lips stated she felt as he did, that this was yet another indication of their marital compatibility.
Melissa’s senses had come alive, and she was acutely aware of how easily he moved her around the floor. She couldn’t recall any similar experience; none of the other hundreds of gentlemen with whom she’d waltzed had ever made the moment this…magical.
This pleasurable.
She enjoyed dancing, waltzing especially, but had never come across any partner as accomplished as he. She met his eyes. “I recall hearing that Wellington always insisted his officers knew how to waltz and waltz well. I’ve never thought to ask if the Home Office and Foreign Office have the same rule.”
He smiled. “After a fashion, they do. It’s not written anywhere, but it’s understood that your chances of advancement are significantly greater if you can waltz to a certain standard.”
“You are clearly a high achiever.”
