The Companion by Mary Kingswood

Author:Mary Kingswood [Kingswood, Mary]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sutors Publishing
Published: 2018-11-15T16:00:00+00:00

18: An Evening Party

The ladies were at the instrument when Mel entered the withdrawing room. One of the Viscount’s nieces was playing and singing with perhaps more ebullience than talent. There was a smattering of applause. Then Miss Maria Herbert played, to rather more enthusiasm. Mel was no expert, but he found both performances pleasing. Then, to his delight, someone asked Margaret to perform.

“Will she sing?” one of the viscount’s sisters said to another lady, and they both sniggered.

They did not snigger for long. Margaret took her seat, declined the offer of music and performed from memory the most enchanting Italian air. She played and sang like an angel, and it was not his own partiality that declared it so, but the opinion of several of the assembled audience, who cheered and clapped afterwards, and begged her to play again.

Blushing, she demurred and rose from the stool, but Susan Herbert said loudly, to much laughter, “You had much better stay there, Margaret, for I am sure no one could better your performance. I shall certainly not attempt it!”

With several of the others likewise pressing her to continue, she sat down again, smiling shyly, and played on for half an hour or so, before the company permitted her to leave the instrument.

After that, Mrs Herbert agreed good-naturedly to play for the young people to dance, and the carpets were rolled up. The viscount’s elder son, Mortimer, led Margaret to the head of the set that instantly formed, and Mel watched in the greatest delight as she demonstrated her graceful steps in the cotillion. How lightly she jumped and turned! How gracefully she positioned her feet and held her arms, and how radiant she looked.

As soon as that dance ended and her partner led her off the floor, several more surrounded her, begging for the honour of her hand. It was as well that Mel recognised his own inability to dance at this point, for had he not been possessed of two left feet, he would indubitably have been a part of her cloud of admirers, hoping for the favour of twenty minutes of her undivided attention. As it was, all he could do was look on in delight. His heart swelled with pride to watch her, as if she were truly his own, instead of merely a friend.

He had to remind himself sharply that she would never be his own, and not just because of his promise to Lord Delacrost. Watching her dance, seeing her at ease in such company, was like meeting her for the first time. She was still painfully shy, she still found words troublesome, but she was used to such social engagements and had found ways to cope. Conversation would always be a struggle for her, but she could play and sing and dance, she could move through the company with practised ease, her demureness an attraction for these wealthy, assured men. Mel was the one out of place here, the curate who would never be more than a country clergyman.

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