Page 76 of Holly & Folly

“Even after declaring your feelings?” Miss Orston asked, a brow raised.

“I…uh…that is…” How could he explain why he had not? That it had been for her sake that he had restrained himself.

Miss Orston gave him a shrewd look. “Well, I doubt you will have much work to change her mind. I wish you luck, my lord—and a happy life together.” She gave him one more smile and a curtsy, then walked away.

Archie forced himself to stand in the corner for three minutes rather than dashing over to Nell and asking her to marry him right then and there.

He was approached by Freddie just before the three minutes had passed, and then Mother led the way to the dining room after that, so the virtue of patience was forced upon him.

Mr. Tomlinson would be very pleased indeed.

Now, if only he could persuade Nell into the God-sanctioned state of marriage, not to please the vicar but because she understood that she was the most adored woman in the world.

Twenty-Four

NELL

“You look a vision, miss,” Shaw said as she stepped back and regarded her mistress.

“Thank you,” Nell replied with a smile, glancing down at her blush gown. A thin overlay of silver-embroidered leaves climbed the skirts, ending in a silver band at her waist.

She had saved the dress for this evening. She did not know why, for there was no one to impress at the Twelfth Night ball. In three days, they would take the journey home, and the gown would sit in her trunk for the foreseeable future. Perhaps forever.

She was not even certain she should be wearing it tonight. She had considered keeping to her room rather than joining the Twelfth Night festivities. To watch Lord Dalmeer dance and laugh with Miss Orston was to submit willingly to torture. If she stayed in bed, however, she would be thinking of him and imagining them dancing and laughing together, not to mention making Wesley and Millie worry.

She would simply have to do her best to enjoy herself a final time before retreating from the public eye again.

Giving herself a final critical look, she took in a breath, then went to find Millie.

They strode into the Long Gallery a quarter of an hour later, their gazes taking in the scene. The gallery had been decorated so that it was nearly unrecognizable, with holly and garlands strewn about, candles glimmering on nearly every surface, and an orchestra overlooking the scene. Nell was not the only one who had saved her finest gown for the evening. Everyone looked their best, in part because spirits were so high, filling the gallery with smiles and laughter.

Wesley and Millie joined the first set, and Nell went in search of refreshment, trying not to scour the scene for Lord Dalmeer and Miss Orston.

She noted them standing in conversation at the far end of the gallery, and her chest clenched. She turned away.

Strengthen the spirit so that it might overcome the flesh’s weakness.

That was what Mr. Tomlinson had said, and though the conversation had smothered her with embarrassment at the time, she almost wished he were present to give her more counsel, for the flesh felt weaker than ever.

She took a glass of punch and slipped into the corridor that led to her bedchamber, nearly draining the glass’s contents. She blinked quickly and put the back of her glove to her mouth, her throat burning. She rested her back against the wall and shut her eyes until they no longer stung.

At least the physical pain was distraction from the one in her chest.

Nell let her head fall back against the wall, undoubtedly doing harm to Shaw’s hard work.

Was she being a coward? She could not dance with Lord Dalmeer, but he was not the only gentleman present. Mr. Tinston was thoughtful if a bit awkward. Mr. Stroud might ask her to dance—if his sister was not there to persuade him against it.

More importantly, she should not leave Wesley and Millie to worry where she had gone.

“Miss Prescott.”

Nell’s head whipped around as Mr. Fowell emerged from the gallery.

She stood straight. She had successfully avoided him since their encounter at the musicale.

“I thought you would be dancing,” he said as he approached. He was looking very fine, his gray tailcoat neat and hugging his broad shoulders.

“I shall,” she said, “but I…” She could not find a plausible reason for seeking solitude in the corridor when the ball had only just begun.