Fic: "Nine Years Later," Chapter 1/7
Title: Nine Years Later, Chapter 1 of 7
Summary: Pike/One Regency AU.
Pairing: Well, nothing yet in this chapter.
Rating: G for this chapter
Content Advisory: Dancing.
Word Count: This chapter, about 3800; 23,657 total.
Notes: Please go here for the full header.
CHAPTER 1
In which everyone dances, but with the wrong partner
June 1816
Seabourne House
All of London agreed on two things: that Lady Christine Chapel, youngest daughter of the Earl of Patterson, was the Incomparable of the Season, and that Captain Lord Christopher Pike and Captain Lord James Kirk, Baron Prescott and the Earl of Riverside, respectively, were the most eligible bachelors. The betting-book at White's was rapidly expanding with wagers debating which of the two she'd accept and when. Neither of the gentlemen had even shown up at any social events since returning to the city, but already rumors were flying.
The aforementioned Lady Christine had heard the rumors and while she was not-so-secretly gratified to be considered the Incomparable of the season, she was absolutely not going to marry either of the men, and told her oldest sister and chaperone, Lady Eve Chapel, as much. "I will allow that they are both said to be handsome men," Lady Christine said, "but Lord Riverside is well-known to be reckless and, well, you know why I would never marry Lord Prescott."
"He is twice your age," Lady Eve murmured, surveying the crowd. Lord and Lady Seabourne's parties were commonly known to be mad crushes, despite Lady Seabourne's unfortunate Irish heritage, and it seemed that half of fashionable London was packed into the ballroom.
Lady Christine shot her sister a sidelong glance. "Yes, he is of quite advanced age, and with that limp, it is likely that he will not be as active as he was before."
"Chrissy," Eve said, keeping her voice even. "It is impolite to talk about a war hero in such tones."
"Evie," Christine said, matching her sister's cadence, "it is perfectly polite to talk about the man who left one's sister behind in such tones."
"Chrissy," Eve said, showing slight annoyance, "we are in public."
Miss Gaila Seabourne, daughter of the hosts and possessed of her mother's curly bright-red hair and green eyes and her father's infectiously social nature, descended upon them before Christine could respond. "Chrissy! Evie! You must dance!"
"I am here as a chaperone," Eve protested, and despite Gaila’s encouragement, remained against the wall. Christine, however, had nearly all her dances spoken for, of course, and a curly-headed Russian princeling came to take her hand for the quadrille. Gaila partnered with Lord Scott, and the music started.
"Lady Eve," she heard behind her, and turned to see Alexander Grayson, Viscount Spockton, heir to the Marquess of Searick, holding a glass of lemonade, dressed in his habitual unrelieved black and white. She accepted it with brief words of thanks. He settled in, standing straight and tall next to her, not propping up the wall like so many of his contemporaries. “You are well?” he asked.
“Quite,” she said. “And yourself, Lord Spockton?”
“I am content,” he said. “Do you and your family attend the Duke of St. Ives’s musicale next week?”
“I do not know,” Eve said. “Who is performing?” They had long been acquaintances, both standing on the periphery of society, but there was certainly little formality and no romance between them.
“I believe it is a young Indian woman,” he said, and she understood his interest-his mother was Indian, and he carried her dark hair and features. “She is said to have the purest tone ever heard on an Italian stage.”
“I will inform my father,” Eve said. “Thank you for the information.” She watched her sister dance, her light blue dress swirling around her ankles. Christine was certainly deserving of the Incomparable title even without the mention of her twenty thousand, she thought. At eighteen, she was slender and graceful, with their mother’s blonde hair and the blue eyes that all five Chapel siblings shared. If perhaps she was taller than some of the other debutantes, no one had yet complained, and Eve had heard more than one gentleman indiscreetly speaking of her sister’s legs.
When Eve had been eighteen, she had not been nearly as graceful as Christine, and with unfortunately-common dark hair, she had not made as much of an impression on London society. She suppressed a sigh. Lord Spockton looked at her, followed her gaze, and said, “Your sister appears to be doing quite well under your tutelage.”
“Oh, I doubt any of it is my doing,” Eve said, but she was interrupted by a wave of murmurs going through the crowd, and the announcement of the arrival of the Earl of Riverside. She did not try to crane her head to see him; he would undoubtedly try to claim a dance from Christine, and she would observe him then. Lord Spockton looked supremely uninterested in the goings-on at the other end of the ballroom, so she asked, “Do you know the Earl of Riverside?”
“We attended Oxford at the same time,” he said. As they watched another suitor claim Christine’s hand for a polonaise, he asked, “Are you sure you would not care to dance, Lady Eve?”
“No, thank you, Lord Spockton. It is rather out of my purview as a chaperone.” She smiled at him, assuming that he was asking out of perceived social duty.
He looked a bit disappointed, nonetheless, and she wondered why until a voice called out, “Spock!” from only a couple feet away. Lord Spockton cringed as the highly-recognizable Earl of Riverside appeared out of the crowd and clapped him on the shoulder. “Spock, old man, how have you been?”
“I am fine,” Lord Spockton said, but nothing more.
Eve tried her hardest not to giggle at the audacity of Lord Riverside in giving Lord Spockton a nickname and almost succeeded, but Riverside turned to look at her. “Lady Eve Chapel, is it? Michael’s sister?”
His eyes were intensely blue, his hair blond in the fashion of men accustomed to spending a good deal of time outdoors. He’d chosen a dark blue coat to wear, and it emphasized the breadth of his shoulders. Eve was acutely aware of two things: first, that he was younger than she, and second, that as handsome as he was, he could not remotely hold a candle to Christopher. “Lord Riverside,” she said, acknowledging him, despite the fact that it was not completely proper.
“Ah, Lady Eve Chapel, allow me to present James Kirk, the Earl of Riverside,” Lord Spockton said.
“So good to meet you finally,” Lord Riverside said with a broad grin. “You’re twice as beautiful as he said. I believe you know how to waltz?”
“I think you have mistaken me for my sister, my lord,” she said as Lord Riverside held out his hand.
“No-Lady Christine has blonde hair, does she not? I definitely mean you.”
Somehow Eve found herself taking his hand, and an instant later, she was in his arms, waltzing around the floor. She knew how to waltz, had taught all of her younger sisters, and was impeccably correct, but had never danced at an event. Lord Riverside was light on his feet and very skilled as well. “I have two other sisters,” she said, while they were on the floor, as a final token protest.
“And I’m sure they’re lovely as well, but you are the eldest, correct? The number one sister?” He had the audacity to wink at her after saying that, but she’d already frozen for a moment before relaxing back into the dance.
Christopher had dubbed her Number One many years before, and since he had left, no one had dared called her that. “I was not aware that you were acquainted with Lord Prescott, my lord,” she said at her iciest, not bothering to deny that he’d scored a point.
“He was my captain before my last promotion,” Lord Riverside said, still cheerful. “Of course he only mentioned you in the most respectful fashion.”
“Of course,” Eve said, perhaps the tiniest bit more warmly. “We are so grateful for your service to our country.”
“Thank you, Lady Eve,” he said. “Kit is back in town, you know.”
She froze again, and narrowed her eyes. “I was not aware. I do not follow his comings and goings.”
“He might even stop by tonight.”
She stumbled intentionally and kicked him in the knee. “Oh, I am so sorry, my lord,” she said, false sincerity dripping from her voice.
“No trouble at all,” Lord Riverside said, gritting his teeth. Fortunately, the song ended very soon after that, and he led her back to the side of the room quite correctly. “Thank you so much, Lady Eve, for the lovely waltz.”
“You’re quite welcome, Lord Riverside.” She dipped into a curtsey, and after a short bow, he disappeared into the crowd. Lord Spockton had since disappeared, she noticed, and she searched for him along the walls.
Christine appeared from that same crowd a moment later, flanked by Gaila, and said, “Did you dance?”
Galia added, “I saw you waltzing! Evie, you waltzed with Lord Riverside!”
“I did, and I am afraid I shall live to regret it.” Eve smiled at her sister and her friend.
“Was it that bad? Does he wish to court you?” Gaila asked. “You do make quite a handsome couple.”
“No, of course not,” Eve said. “Gaila, he is a year younger than I am, if not more.”
“I don’t see what’s wrong with that,” Christine pointed out. “Everyone is determined to marry me off to a man twice my age. Is that so much stranger than you marrying a man a year younger than you are?”
“You have a point,” Eve said, chuckling. “But no, my dears, he was very definitely not courting me.”
Gaila accepted that answer with a nod, and turned as Lord Riley came to collect her for a set of country dances. Christine checked her fan and said, “I am not partnered for this dance. How do you know he is very definitely not courting you?”
“I shall tell you later,” Eve said, and then she remembered the content of his message. “I fear I have a bit of a headache, Chrissy. Would you mind if we left?”
Christine hesitated. “I am sure Gaila’s mother will serve as chaperone for me. Or,” she said, when Eve frowned, “there is Miss Rand. I am sure her mother will look after me as well. They only live two doors away from us, and I shall certainly be able to get home in their carriage.”
“Let me speak to her,” Eve said.
A quick word and Lady Rand was more than willing to look after Christine as well as her own daughter, and Eve sent for the carriage to bring her home, hopefully before Christopher made an appearance. A footman held the door for her, and she turned to the carriage, putting her foot carefully on the step, turning back for the footman’s hand up, when two large, warm, male hands caught her about the waist and handed her into the carriage.
Eve turned to see who her benefactor had been-certainly no footman would have touched her so-and stared into a pair of warm gray eyes, and a familiar half-smile. The crinkles and gray temples are new, she thought, in the moment before she recollected herself. “Thank you, Lord Prescott,” she said, and pulled the door shut quickly. She tapped the ceiling of the carriage and sat back against the cushions, staring straight forward as the driver pulled out.
No, no, no. Not only was Christopher back in town, but she’d seen him, and he’d seen her. He’d always been well-favored, of course, but nine years of not-entirely-peaceful living had given his face more character. At twenty-seven, he’d been attractive, but at thirty-six, by torchlight, he was positively breathtaking. Eve squeezed her eyes shut and prayed, silently, that Christine would not see him.
* * *
Christopher, Baron Prescott, stared after Lord Patterson’s carriage as it pulled away from the Seabournes’ house. Well, that hadn’t gone how he’d pictured it. Eve was not supposed to be running away from the party, and certainly not from him. She was still uncommonly beautiful, he thought. The intervening time had added more curves to her figure and more angles to her face, and she wore both of them with a poise that she hadn’t quite had at nineteen. He raised one hand to scrub through his hair, but remembered at the last minute how long it had taken Boyce to tousle it à la Brutus, and held himself back.
He went up the stairs slowly-they still gave him trouble, courtesy of the musket ball formerly lodged in his right hip-entered the foyer, and handed his card to the footman waiting at the door to the ballroom.
“Captain Lord Christopher Pike, fourth Baron Prescott!” rang out through the hall-or maybe it just sounded that way to him. There were altogether too many people in that room, and he’d lost his only reason for showing up to the Seabournes’ dance, but he’d gotten this far; he had to make it the rest of the way. Plastering a politely interested expression on his face, he greeted his hosts, and headed for the refreshments.
On the way there, he heard his nickname, and turned. “Jamie!” he said, greeting the younger man.
“You came!” James Kirk, Earl of Riverside and former subordinate of his, shook his hand. “Did you see her?”
“Who, Lady Eve?”
“Who else, man? She looks quite lovely tonight, wearing some dark purple thing with ruffles or something.”
“Clearly you follow fashion quite closely,” Christopher said, arching an eyebrow. “And as a matter of fact, I did see her. I helped her into her carriage as she left, and she thanked ‘Lord Prescott’ quite formally and sped away.”
“Bad luck, Kit,” Jamie said, shaking his head. “I waltzed with her, mentioned you, and she kicked me in the knee. I don’t think it was a coincidence.”
“You did what?” Christopher said, and sighed. “Great. No wonder she was leaving.”
“Her sister is here,” Jamie said, gesturing ineffectually. “I didn’t think she’d leave!”
“Lady Christine is here?” He peered over the crowd.
“Yes; she’s dancing with Spock at the moment,” Jamie said, waving a careless hand in the general direction of the dancers. “Come; I left McCoy attempting to speak to someone’s mother. I should rescue him.”
“And how is McCoy doing?” Christopher asked as they navigated their way through the crowd. “And Miss McCoy?”
“Joanna’s quite well,” Jamie said, his face lighting up. “We’ve finally found a proper governess for her.”
Christopher privately thought Jamie was perhaps a bit too attached to Miss Joanna McCoy and her father, but didn’t say anything. He wouldn’t judge, if Jim wouldn’t judge his attachment to an on-the-shelf ice queen that he’d essentially deserted nine years previous.
They reached Lieutenant McCoy, who was fending off all sorts of misses in brightly-colored dresses. Apparently a traumatic past with a wife who had died in childbirth while he was fighting Napoleon made up for the fact that he was merely a Scottish viscount’s second son with a five-year-old daughter. “McCoy, I found Kit,” Jamie said.
McCoy’s head flew up, and a look of relief spread across his face. “Captain. Lord Prescott.”
“Lieutenant McCoy,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“Always a pleasure to see you as well, sir. My lord.” The young ladies scattered, somewhat.
“‘Christopher’ is perfectly acceptable,” he said. McCoy’s accent was starting to show, which probably meant he was nervous. “I suppose we ought to dance with some of these lovely young ladies.” The three of them standing together were attracting quite a bit of attention. He really didn’t want to dance and wasn’t entirely sure how well that would work with the hip, but society dictated certain actions and he wasn’t going to jeopardize his status right when he’d come back to claim Eve. “Except I don’t think I know any of them.”
“You know that one over there,” Jamie said, jerking his chin towards a stunning blonde in a light-blue gown, standing by a curvy redhead and a shorter blonde in a light-yellow gown. She turned, and he caught the line of her chin silhouetted against the wall. Realization dawned.
“That’s not little Chrissy, is it?”
McCoy snorted. “You keep callin’ her that, sir, and the odds are going to jump in your favor.”
“What, do you have money on it, McCoy?” Jamie drawled.
“I’ve got money on that lovely young lass having the smarts to marry neither of you. Meaning no disrespect, sir.”
“Of course not, McCoy. If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen?” He didn’t wait for a response before heading over to the trio of lovely young women, his gait fairly even. “Lady Christine. May I have this dance?”
Lady Christine looked up at him, blue eyes wide, and he held out a hand. The petite blonde nudged her in the arm, and she took his hand, carefully. “Lord Prescott,” she said. “I believe I’m engaged for this dance.”
The redhead veered off suddenly, and the blonde said, “Not anymore you’re not.”
Christopher smiled at her. “Please?”
She smiled back, not entirely pleasantly. “Yes, my lord.” She took his arm and headed to the floor. “It’s the supper waltz, you know. I was to dance with Marquess Korby until Gaila intercepted him.”
“Gaila?” He looked behind him. “That’s Ellen’s daughter? I should have known.”
“Yes, my lord,” Lady Christine said. “You have been gone for nearly a decade.”
He looked at her and laughed. “I suppose I deserve that.”
“And more, my lord.” She smiled at him again, and this time it was entirely poisonous.
“You don’t like me,” he observed as they danced. He was only a bit stiff on the turns, he was pleased to note.
“You left,” she said.
“I had duties.”
“That was the first four years,” Lady Christine said. “Do you care to explain the next five?” Suddenly, like a candle being blown out, her entire demeanor changed. “I’m so sorry, Lord Prescott. I should not have said that. Please forgive me. We are, of course, all grateful for your service to and sacrifice for our country.”
“Apology accepted, Lady Christine. It was, I suspect, immature for me to believe that I could disappear for so long and not invoke your wrath.” He smiled at her again.
“I do not feel wrath towards you,” she said, but he knew she was lying.
“I expect that if I ask you about Lady Eve, you will not answer.”
“I will not, my lord.”
“We will run out of conversation topics well before the end of the meal, Lady Christine, if you do not wish to speak about the primary subject we have in common.”
“Perhaps you should have thought of that before you requested the supper waltz, my lord,” she said tartly.
Christopher laughed again. “I am sure you know that I just arrived.”
“I am aware, my lord.”
“I apologize for displeasing you by my mere presence, my lady.”
Lady Christine sighed. “You do not displease me by your mere presence,” she said, “as you know, Lord Prescott. I am displeased with you on my sister’s behalf, and I did wish to waltz with the marquess.”
Christopher looked over at Korby, dancing with Miss Gaila Seabourne. “I daresay Miss Seabourne is doing nothing but singing your praises.”
“Probably,” Lady Christine said, her lips twisting as she tried not to smile.
“You’ve grown up quite nicely,” he offered.
“Thank you, my lord. I will not be marrying you under any circumstances, my lord.”
“Chrissy, I remember you with pigtails and a brand-new pony. I apologize for finding you less than ravishing, but any beauty I see in you is a reflection of Eve’s.”
“Please don’t call me that,” she said, and looked at him, wide-eyed. “You have quite a row to hoe in front of you.”
“I know,” he said, imbuing the words with a wealth of feeling. “You will not actively work against me?”
“I will not,” she said, “provided you promise that your intentions are entirely aboveboard.”
“Lady Christine, if there is any doubt in your mind that I returned to London with any intentions other than marrying Lady Eve, I wish to banish it now.”
She nodded. “All right; I can accept that. She still may try to kill you, you know.” She smiled, genuinely, for the first time since they’d started dancing.
“I would expect no less,” he said.
* * *
Eve was reading the latest novel by Miss Austen in bed when a tap came on her door. “Evie, I know you’re awake.”
“Come in, Chrissy,” she said, placing a bookmark into her book and setting it on the bedside table.
Christine bounded in and perched on the foot of the bed, already wearing her nightgown. “So, Evie, how are you feeling?”
“I’m fine,” she said, which was essentially true-two hours of novel-reading had mostly cleared her mind of the earlier incidents. Mostly. “How was the rest of your evening?”
“I had a very interesting partner for the supper waltz,” Christine said.
“Marquess Korby?” Eve asked, trying to recall her sister’s dance card.
“No,” she said. “Someone of a much longer acquaintance of mine.”
Eve closed her eyes and took a breath. “I am sorry that you had to undergo that.” It was not worth pretending that she misunderstood her sister.
Christine shrugged. “He’s remarkably pleasant, other than the fact that I have hated him for nine years.”
Eve smiled briefly. “You don’t need to hate him on my behalf, Christine.”
Chrissy grabbed her sister’s hand and squeezed it. “It does not signify, Evie. I’ve hated him for half my life. It’s a difficult habit to break.”
“Did he-” She hated herself for asking, but did anyway. “Did he say anything about me?”
“What do you think?” Christine asked.
“I think if he did, he was very careful about it,” Eve said. “So I should expect a card and a bouquet of roses tomorrow?”
“He didn’t say,” Christine said, “but I would not be surprised. Are you sure that he and Riverside cannot duel for your affections rather than mine?”
“Riverside danced with me solely to inform me that Lord Prescott had returned to town and was intending to see me.” Eve sighed. “I may have lost my footing and kicked him in the knee.”
Chrissy laughed, then leaned forward and kissed her sister on the forehead. “Please try to get some sleep tonight, Evie. You must look positively ravishing tomorrow.”
“You as well, Chrissy. I may have one potential admirer tomorrow, but you shall have dozens.”
Christine laughed. “It only takes one, Eve.” She squeezed her hand again and left, closing the door gently behind her.
Eve opened her book again. It was going to be a long night.
Chapter 2 | Master Post
Summary: Pike/One Regency AU.
Pairing: Well, nothing yet in this chapter.
Rating: G for this chapter
Content Advisory: Dancing.
Word Count: This chapter, about 3800; 23,657 total.
Notes: Please go here for the full header.
CHAPTER 1
In which everyone dances, but with the wrong partner
June 1816
Seabourne House
All of London agreed on two things: that Lady Christine Chapel, youngest daughter of the Earl of Patterson, was the Incomparable of the Season, and that Captain Lord Christopher Pike and Captain Lord James Kirk, Baron Prescott and the Earl of Riverside, respectively, were the most eligible bachelors. The betting-book at White's was rapidly expanding with wagers debating which of the two she'd accept and when. Neither of the gentlemen had even shown up at any social events since returning to the city, but already rumors were flying.
The aforementioned Lady Christine had heard the rumors and while she was not-so-secretly gratified to be considered the Incomparable of the season, she was absolutely not going to marry either of the men, and told her oldest sister and chaperone, Lady Eve Chapel, as much. "I will allow that they are both said to be handsome men," Lady Christine said, "but Lord Riverside is well-known to be reckless and, well, you know why I would never marry Lord Prescott."
"He is twice your age," Lady Eve murmured, surveying the crowd. Lord and Lady Seabourne's parties were commonly known to be mad crushes, despite Lady Seabourne's unfortunate Irish heritage, and it seemed that half of fashionable London was packed into the ballroom.
Lady Christine shot her sister a sidelong glance. "Yes, he is of quite advanced age, and with that limp, it is likely that he will not be as active as he was before."
"Chrissy," Eve said, keeping her voice even. "It is impolite to talk about a war hero in such tones."
"Evie," Christine said, matching her sister's cadence, "it is perfectly polite to talk about the man who left one's sister behind in such tones."
"Chrissy," Eve said, showing slight annoyance, "we are in public."
Miss Gaila Seabourne, daughter of the hosts and possessed of her mother's curly bright-red hair and green eyes and her father's infectiously social nature, descended upon them before Christine could respond. "Chrissy! Evie! You must dance!"
"I am here as a chaperone," Eve protested, and despite Gaila’s encouragement, remained against the wall. Christine, however, had nearly all her dances spoken for, of course, and a curly-headed Russian princeling came to take her hand for the quadrille. Gaila partnered with Lord Scott, and the music started.
"Lady Eve," she heard behind her, and turned to see Alexander Grayson, Viscount Spockton, heir to the Marquess of Searick, holding a glass of lemonade, dressed in his habitual unrelieved black and white. She accepted it with brief words of thanks. He settled in, standing straight and tall next to her, not propping up the wall like so many of his contemporaries. “You are well?” he asked.
“Quite,” she said. “And yourself, Lord Spockton?”
“I am content,” he said. “Do you and your family attend the Duke of St. Ives’s musicale next week?”
“I do not know,” Eve said. “Who is performing?” They had long been acquaintances, both standing on the periphery of society, but there was certainly little formality and no romance between them.
“I believe it is a young Indian woman,” he said, and she understood his interest-his mother was Indian, and he carried her dark hair and features. “She is said to have the purest tone ever heard on an Italian stage.”
“I will inform my father,” Eve said. “Thank you for the information.” She watched her sister dance, her light blue dress swirling around her ankles. Christine was certainly deserving of the Incomparable title even without the mention of her twenty thousand, she thought. At eighteen, she was slender and graceful, with their mother’s blonde hair and the blue eyes that all five Chapel siblings shared. If perhaps she was taller than some of the other debutantes, no one had yet complained, and Eve had heard more than one gentleman indiscreetly speaking of her sister’s legs.
When Eve had been eighteen, she had not been nearly as graceful as Christine, and with unfortunately-common dark hair, she had not made as much of an impression on London society. She suppressed a sigh. Lord Spockton looked at her, followed her gaze, and said, “Your sister appears to be doing quite well under your tutelage.”
“Oh, I doubt any of it is my doing,” Eve said, but she was interrupted by a wave of murmurs going through the crowd, and the announcement of the arrival of the Earl of Riverside. She did not try to crane her head to see him; he would undoubtedly try to claim a dance from Christine, and she would observe him then. Lord Spockton looked supremely uninterested in the goings-on at the other end of the ballroom, so she asked, “Do you know the Earl of Riverside?”
“We attended Oxford at the same time,” he said. As they watched another suitor claim Christine’s hand for a polonaise, he asked, “Are you sure you would not care to dance, Lady Eve?”
“No, thank you, Lord Spockton. It is rather out of my purview as a chaperone.” She smiled at him, assuming that he was asking out of perceived social duty.
He looked a bit disappointed, nonetheless, and she wondered why until a voice called out, “Spock!” from only a couple feet away. Lord Spockton cringed as the highly-recognizable Earl of Riverside appeared out of the crowd and clapped him on the shoulder. “Spock, old man, how have you been?”
“I am fine,” Lord Spockton said, but nothing more.
Eve tried her hardest not to giggle at the audacity of Lord Riverside in giving Lord Spockton a nickname and almost succeeded, but Riverside turned to look at her. “Lady Eve Chapel, is it? Michael’s sister?”
His eyes were intensely blue, his hair blond in the fashion of men accustomed to spending a good deal of time outdoors. He’d chosen a dark blue coat to wear, and it emphasized the breadth of his shoulders. Eve was acutely aware of two things: first, that he was younger than she, and second, that as handsome as he was, he could not remotely hold a candle to Christopher. “Lord Riverside,” she said, acknowledging him, despite the fact that it was not completely proper.
“Ah, Lady Eve Chapel, allow me to present James Kirk, the Earl of Riverside,” Lord Spockton said.
“So good to meet you finally,” Lord Riverside said with a broad grin. “You’re twice as beautiful as he said. I believe you know how to waltz?”
“I think you have mistaken me for my sister, my lord,” she said as Lord Riverside held out his hand.
“No-Lady Christine has blonde hair, does she not? I definitely mean you.”
Somehow Eve found herself taking his hand, and an instant later, she was in his arms, waltzing around the floor. She knew how to waltz, had taught all of her younger sisters, and was impeccably correct, but had never danced at an event. Lord Riverside was light on his feet and very skilled as well. “I have two other sisters,” she said, while they were on the floor, as a final token protest.
“And I’m sure they’re lovely as well, but you are the eldest, correct? The number one sister?” He had the audacity to wink at her after saying that, but she’d already frozen for a moment before relaxing back into the dance.
Christopher had dubbed her Number One many years before, and since he had left, no one had dared called her that. “I was not aware that you were acquainted with Lord Prescott, my lord,” she said at her iciest, not bothering to deny that he’d scored a point.
“He was my captain before my last promotion,” Lord Riverside said, still cheerful. “Of course he only mentioned you in the most respectful fashion.”
“Of course,” Eve said, perhaps the tiniest bit more warmly. “We are so grateful for your service to our country.”
“Thank you, Lady Eve,” he said. “Kit is back in town, you know.”
She froze again, and narrowed her eyes. “I was not aware. I do not follow his comings and goings.”
“He might even stop by tonight.”
She stumbled intentionally and kicked him in the knee. “Oh, I am so sorry, my lord,” she said, false sincerity dripping from her voice.
“No trouble at all,” Lord Riverside said, gritting his teeth. Fortunately, the song ended very soon after that, and he led her back to the side of the room quite correctly. “Thank you so much, Lady Eve, for the lovely waltz.”
“You’re quite welcome, Lord Riverside.” She dipped into a curtsey, and after a short bow, he disappeared into the crowd. Lord Spockton had since disappeared, she noticed, and she searched for him along the walls.
Christine appeared from that same crowd a moment later, flanked by Gaila, and said, “Did you dance?”
Galia added, “I saw you waltzing! Evie, you waltzed with Lord Riverside!”
“I did, and I am afraid I shall live to regret it.” Eve smiled at her sister and her friend.
“Was it that bad? Does he wish to court you?” Gaila asked. “You do make quite a handsome couple.”
“No, of course not,” Eve said. “Gaila, he is a year younger than I am, if not more.”
“I don’t see what’s wrong with that,” Christine pointed out. “Everyone is determined to marry me off to a man twice my age. Is that so much stranger than you marrying a man a year younger than you are?”
“You have a point,” Eve said, chuckling. “But no, my dears, he was very definitely not courting me.”
Gaila accepted that answer with a nod, and turned as Lord Riley came to collect her for a set of country dances. Christine checked her fan and said, “I am not partnered for this dance. How do you know he is very definitely not courting you?”
“I shall tell you later,” Eve said, and then she remembered the content of his message. “I fear I have a bit of a headache, Chrissy. Would you mind if we left?”
Christine hesitated. “I am sure Gaila’s mother will serve as chaperone for me. Or,” she said, when Eve frowned, “there is Miss Rand. I am sure her mother will look after me as well. They only live two doors away from us, and I shall certainly be able to get home in their carriage.”
“Let me speak to her,” Eve said.
A quick word and Lady Rand was more than willing to look after Christine as well as her own daughter, and Eve sent for the carriage to bring her home, hopefully before Christopher made an appearance. A footman held the door for her, and she turned to the carriage, putting her foot carefully on the step, turning back for the footman’s hand up, when two large, warm, male hands caught her about the waist and handed her into the carriage.
Eve turned to see who her benefactor had been-certainly no footman would have touched her so-and stared into a pair of warm gray eyes, and a familiar half-smile. The crinkles and gray temples are new, she thought, in the moment before she recollected herself. “Thank you, Lord Prescott,” she said, and pulled the door shut quickly. She tapped the ceiling of the carriage and sat back against the cushions, staring straight forward as the driver pulled out.
No, no, no. Not only was Christopher back in town, but she’d seen him, and he’d seen her. He’d always been well-favored, of course, but nine years of not-entirely-peaceful living had given his face more character. At twenty-seven, he’d been attractive, but at thirty-six, by torchlight, he was positively breathtaking. Eve squeezed her eyes shut and prayed, silently, that Christine would not see him.
* * *
Christopher, Baron Prescott, stared after Lord Patterson’s carriage as it pulled away from the Seabournes’ house. Well, that hadn’t gone how he’d pictured it. Eve was not supposed to be running away from the party, and certainly not from him. She was still uncommonly beautiful, he thought. The intervening time had added more curves to her figure and more angles to her face, and she wore both of them with a poise that she hadn’t quite had at nineteen. He raised one hand to scrub through his hair, but remembered at the last minute how long it had taken Boyce to tousle it à la Brutus, and held himself back.
He went up the stairs slowly-they still gave him trouble, courtesy of the musket ball formerly lodged in his right hip-entered the foyer, and handed his card to the footman waiting at the door to the ballroom.
“Captain Lord Christopher Pike, fourth Baron Prescott!” rang out through the hall-or maybe it just sounded that way to him. There were altogether too many people in that room, and he’d lost his only reason for showing up to the Seabournes’ dance, but he’d gotten this far; he had to make it the rest of the way. Plastering a politely interested expression on his face, he greeted his hosts, and headed for the refreshments.
On the way there, he heard his nickname, and turned. “Jamie!” he said, greeting the younger man.
“You came!” James Kirk, Earl of Riverside and former subordinate of his, shook his hand. “Did you see her?”
“Who, Lady Eve?”
“Who else, man? She looks quite lovely tonight, wearing some dark purple thing with ruffles or something.”
“Clearly you follow fashion quite closely,” Christopher said, arching an eyebrow. “And as a matter of fact, I did see her. I helped her into her carriage as she left, and she thanked ‘Lord Prescott’ quite formally and sped away.”
“Bad luck, Kit,” Jamie said, shaking his head. “I waltzed with her, mentioned you, and she kicked me in the knee. I don’t think it was a coincidence.”
“You did what?” Christopher said, and sighed. “Great. No wonder she was leaving.”
“Her sister is here,” Jamie said, gesturing ineffectually. “I didn’t think she’d leave!”
“Lady Christine is here?” He peered over the crowd.
“Yes; she’s dancing with Spock at the moment,” Jamie said, waving a careless hand in the general direction of the dancers. “Come; I left McCoy attempting to speak to someone’s mother. I should rescue him.”
“And how is McCoy doing?” Christopher asked as they navigated their way through the crowd. “And Miss McCoy?”
“Joanna’s quite well,” Jamie said, his face lighting up. “We’ve finally found a proper governess for her.”
Christopher privately thought Jamie was perhaps a bit too attached to Miss Joanna McCoy and her father, but didn’t say anything. He wouldn’t judge, if Jim wouldn’t judge his attachment to an on-the-shelf ice queen that he’d essentially deserted nine years previous.
They reached Lieutenant McCoy, who was fending off all sorts of misses in brightly-colored dresses. Apparently a traumatic past with a wife who had died in childbirth while he was fighting Napoleon made up for the fact that he was merely a Scottish viscount’s second son with a five-year-old daughter. “McCoy, I found Kit,” Jamie said.
McCoy’s head flew up, and a look of relief spread across his face. “Captain. Lord Prescott.”
“Lieutenant McCoy,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“Always a pleasure to see you as well, sir. My lord.” The young ladies scattered, somewhat.
“‘Christopher’ is perfectly acceptable,” he said. McCoy’s accent was starting to show, which probably meant he was nervous. “I suppose we ought to dance with some of these lovely young ladies.” The three of them standing together were attracting quite a bit of attention. He really didn’t want to dance and wasn’t entirely sure how well that would work with the hip, but society dictated certain actions and he wasn’t going to jeopardize his status right when he’d come back to claim Eve. “Except I don’t think I know any of them.”
“You know that one over there,” Jamie said, jerking his chin towards a stunning blonde in a light-blue gown, standing by a curvy redhead and a shorter blonde in a light-yellow gown. She turned, and he caught the line of her chin silhouetted against the wall. Realization dawned.
“That’s not little Chrissy, is it?”
McCoy snorted. “You keep callin’ her that, sir, and the odds are going to jump in your favor.”
“What, do you have money on it, McCoy?” Jamie drawled.
“I’ve got money on that lovely young lass having the smarts to marry neither of you. Meaning no disrespect, sir.”
“Of course not, McCoy. If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen?” He didn’t wait for a response before heading over to the trio of lovely young women, his gait fairly even. “Lady Christine. May I have this dance?”
Lady Christine looked up at him, blue eyes wide, and he held out a hand. The petite blonde nudged her in the arm, and she took his hand, carefully. “Lord Prescott,” she said. “I believe I’m engaged for this dance.”
The redhead veered off suddenly, and the blonde said, “Not anymore you’re not.”
Christopher smiled at her. “Please?”
She smiled back, not entirely pleasantly. “Yes, my lord.” She took his arm and headed to the floor. “It’s the supper waltz, you know. I was to dance with Marquess Korby until Gaila intercepted him.”
“Gaila?” He looked behind him. “That’s Ellen’s daughter? I should have known.”
“Yes, my lord,” Lady Christine said. “You have been gone for nearly a decade.”
He looked at her and laughed. “I suppose I deserve that.”
“And more, my lord.” She smiled at him again, and this time it was entirely poisonous.
“You don’t like me,” he observed as they danced. He was only a bit stiff on the turns, he was pleased to note.
“You left,” she said.
“I had duties.”
“That was the first four years,” Lady Christine said. “Do you care to explain the next five?” Suddenly, like a candle being blown out, her entire demeanor changed. “I’m so sorry, Lord Prescott. I should not have said that. Please forgive me. We are, of course, all grateful for your service to and sacrifice for our country.”
“Apology accepted, Lady Christine. It was, I suspect, immature for me to believe that I could disappear for so long and not invoke your wrath.” He smiled at her again.
“I do not feel wrath towards you,” she said, but he knew she was lying.
“I expect that if I ask you about Lady Eve, you will not answer.”
“I will not, my lord.”
“We will run out of conversation topics well before the end of the meal, Lady Christine, if you do not wish to speak about the primary subject we have in common.”
“Perhaps you should have thought of that before you requested the supper waltz, my lord,” she said tartly.
Christopher laughed again. “I am sure you know that I just arrived.”
“I am aware, my lord.”
“I apologize for displeasing you by my mere presence, my lady.”
Lady Christine sighed. “You do not displease me by your mere presence,” she said, “as you know, Lord Prescott. I am displeased with you on my sister’s behalf, and I did wish to waltz with the marquess.”
Christopher looked over at Korby, dancing with Miss Gaila Seabourne. “I daresay Miss Seabourne is doing nothing but singing your praises.”
“Probably,” Lady Christine said, her lips twisting as she tried not to smile.
“You’ve grown up quite nicely,” he offered.
“Thank you, my lord. I will not be marrying you under any circumstances, my lord.”
“Chrissy, I remember you with pigtails and a brand-new pony. I apologize for finding you less than ravishing, but any beauty I see in you is a reflection of Eve’s.”
“Please don’t call me that,” she said, and looked at him, wide-eyed. “You have quite a row to hoe in front of you.”
“I know,” he said, imbuing the words with a wealth of feeling. “You will not actively work against me?”
“I will not,” she said, “provided you promise that your intentions are entirely aboveboard.”
“Lady Christine, if there is any doubt in your mind that I returned to London with any intentions other than marrying Lady Eve, I wish to banish it now.”
She nodded. “All right; I can accept that. She still may try to kill you, you know.” She smiled, genuinely, for the first time since they’d started dancing.
“I would expect no less,” he said.
* * *
Eve was reading the latest novel by Miss Austen in bed when a tap came on her door. “Evie, I know you’re awake.”
“Come in, Chrissy,” she said, placing a bookmark into her book and setting it on the bedside table.
Christine bounded in and perched on the foot of the bed, already wearing her nightgown. “So, Evie, how are you feeling?”
“I’m fine,” she said, which was essentially true-two hours of novel-reading had mostly cleared her mind of the earlier incidents. Mostly. “How was the rest of your evening?”
“I had a very interesting partner for the supper waltz,” Christine said.
“Marquess Korby?” Eve asked, trying to recall her sister’s dance card.
“No,” she said. “Someone of a much longer acquaintance of mine.”
Eve closed her eyes and took a breath. “I am sorry that you had to undergo that.” It was not worth pretending that she misunderstood her sister.
Christine shrugged. “He’s remarkably pleasant, other than the fact that I have hated him for nine years.”
Eve smiled briefly. “You don’t need to hate him on my behalf, Christine.”
Chrissy grabbed her sister’s hand and squeezed it. “It does not signify, Evie. I’ve hated him for half my life. It’s a difficult habit to break.”
“Did he-” She hated herself for asking, but did anyway. “Did he say anything about me?”
“What do you think?” Christine asked.
“I think if he did, he was very careful about it,” Eve said. “So I should expect a card and a bouquet of roses tomorrow?”
“He didn’t say,” Christine said, “but I would not be surprised. Are you sure that he and Riverside cannot duel for your affections rather than mine?”
“Riverside danced with me solely to inform me that Lord Prescott had returned to town and was intending to see me.” Eve sighed. “I may have lost my footing and kicked him in the knee.”
Chrissy laughed, then leaned forward and kissed her sister on the forehead. “Please try to get some sleep tonight, Evie. You must look positively ravishing tomorrow.”
“You as well, Chrissy. I may have one potential admirer tomorrow, but you shall have dozens.”
Christine laughed. “It only takes one, Eve.” She squeezed her hand again and left, closing the door gently behind her.
Eve opened her book again. It was going to be a long night.
Chapter 2 | Master Post