The Sweet Far Thing

Page 160

An older gentleman taps Simon on the shoulder to signal his intention to break in, but Simon pulls me closer. We dance on, gathering more and more attention, and when it is enough—when I decide it’s enough and the point has been made—I bring it to an end. Time to stop, Simon. Say good night, sweet prince.
Blinking, Simon comes back to himself, utterly perplexed to find me in his arms.
“Thank you for the dance, Mr. Middleton,” I say, stepping away.
A faint confused smile appears on his lips. “It was my pleasure.” At once, he searches for Lucy in the crowd.
Gossip spreads like contagion. I’m whispered about, glared at from behind fans as I leave the floor.
The magic crashes over me in a wave. I’m suffocating with it. It comes off me like a sickness, infecting all who come into contact with me, liberating their hidden desires. A gentleman gives me a helpful arm, and in that gesture he is seized. He turns to the older gentleman sitting near.
“What did you say to me earlier, Thompson? You’ll answer for that.”
The older man’s mouth tightens. “Fenton, have you gone mad?”
“Is it madness to say that I will not be blackmailed for my debts to you any longer? You do not own me.” He lays a hand on old Thompson, and just like that, the magic spreads.
The old man rises to his feet. “Here now, chap, I daresay if it weren’t for my charity, your standing would be a shambles and your family in the workhouse.”
Quiet, quiet, I think. Forget. To your brandy and cigars. They take up their glasses again. What has been said is forgotten, but the bitter rancor remains, and they eye each other warily.
I careen into a spinster chaperone with her charge, and I feel the pain in her heart. The aching desire she has for her married employer, a Mr. Beadle.
“He does not know,” she says in a sudden rush. “I must tell him. I must confess my fondest affections for him at once.” And it is all I can do to grab hold of her hands until the feeling is replaced by the one I put in its stead.
“Shall we have cake?” she says to her confused charge. “I have a sudden need for cake.”
A prickly sweat rises upon my brow. The magic burns in my veins.
Lord Denby sidles up to me. His face is florid; his eyes burn. “You’re playing a very dangerous game, Miss Doyle.”
“Have you not heard, sir? I am a very dangerous girl.”
“You’ve no idea what we can do to you,” he says evenly, but his eyes flash.
I whisper low in his ear. “No, sir. You’ve no idea what I can do to you.”
Fear shows itself briefly in his eyes, and I know I have won this round.
“Let my brother be or face the consequences,” I warn.
“Thank heavens I’ve found you!” Felicity trills. “Good evening, Lord Denby. Would you mind awfully if I borrowed Miss Doyle?”
Lord Denby is all smiles. “Not in the slightest, my dear.”
“Where have you been? You must save me,” Felicity insists, linking her arm tightly through mine.
“From what?”
“Horace Markham,” she says with a laugh. I glance over her shoulder and see Horace looking after her. He holds fast to her fan as if it were Felicity herself. “The way he moons over me,” she says, making a face. “Hideous.”
I laugh, happy to be in Fee’s world, where everything from a lovesick suitor to the choosing of a hat is ripe for drama. “You shouldn’t be so charming,” I tease.
“Well,” she says, tossing her head, “I can’t help that, now, can I?”
Felicity and I take refuge on a terrace overlooking the street. The drivers have gathered in a huddle, keeping one another company. One tells a joke, and I can see by the way the others lean in that it is naughty. They fall into laughter but quickly disperse at the sight of one of the guests. Hats are donned, spines are stiffened as Lucy Fairchild walks toward her carriage. Simon keeps pace, but Lucy’s chaperone shuts him out. The driver helps the women into the carriage and it pulls away from the curb, leaving Simon behind.
“How delicious!” Felicity exclaims. “Scandal! At my ball—and not involving moi. Astonishing!”
“Yes, it is rather astonishing that there are events which have nothing at all to do with you, isn’t it?” I quip.
Felicity puts her hands on her hips, a wicked smile on her lips. “I was to offer you lemonade, but now, I shall only satisfy myself. You may watch me enjoy it and suffer.”
She saunters off and I let the cool night air wash over me. Down below, Lord Denby consoles his son. They exchange words I cannot hear. Lord Denby prevails, and he and Simon return to the ball.