Dedicated to Kassilassie for being such an awesome person :) I wish you, me and Aivy (stuffhappens) all lived on the same continent so we could go shopping and have a gossip session :) xo

-----

Chapter Seven

As soon as Jane had arrived home Emilia had pounce on her. Not only was she berated with questions on her whereabouts as Emilia sat her in front of the dressing mirror in her bedchamber but she was also drowned in information about Mr George Orwell, the man to inherit the dukedom of Chatsworth.

As Jane told Emilia that nothing had occurred on her walk she had to listen to Emilia’s praises of Mr Orwell’s character as her hair was pulled in every possible direction with a comb. Ever since marrying Emilia’s confidence had risen above and beyond anything that Jane would have expected. She was extremely happy for her sister – in – law. She deserved eternal happiness.

“Mr Orwell is such a gentleman,” Emilia exclaimed as she tried to detangle Jane’s mess of dark curls. “Such good manners,” she continued. “I danced with him a couple of times when he first came to town.”

Sebastian came in the bedchamber that moment with a grimace on his face. “He liked dancing with you a lot more than you liked dancing with him,” he said slightly angrily. He stood behind his wife and placed his hands on her shoulders as she worked on Jane’s hair.

“You don’t like the way Mr Carter looks at me, darling, you really are a jealous one, aren’t you?” Emilia winked at her husband through her reflection in the mirror.

Sebastian kissed the back of Emilia’s head and rubbed his hands up the sides of her arms. “I know, I’m jealous, but I like knowing that all they can do is look at you when I actually got to marry you.”

Emilia blushed slightly. “You are charming,” she smiled. “Can you ring the bell for Genevieve? My talents don’t exactly extend to hair styling,” she laughed at herself as she lifted a piece of Jane’s hair up.

Sebastian rolled his eyes as he walked over to the side of their bed and pulled the bell rope. He left the room to lock himself in his study, as Emilia had said, until it was time to leave for the military salute.

Genevieve walked in the room after a few minutes and curtseyed to Emilia and Jane. Genevieve had been hired after Kassandra had left to start her family with Peter. She’d remembered Emilia writing to tell her about Genevieve. She’d studied hair design in Paris and she spoke three languages and she was talented at both dress making and millinery. She was a pretty girl, couldn’t be anymore that two and twenty with soft red curls and lovely, almond shaped green eyes. Jane thought she was nice enough but she would always prefer Kassandra. She’d have to remember to stop in at their farm in Nottingham on her way back to Yorkshire. The thought of their home in Nottingham reminded her of somebody else who also had a home in Nottingham.

“You rang, milady?” Genevieve knitted her fingers together as she surveyed what Emilia was doing to Jane’s hair.

“Yes, so we have to make Jane look exceptionally stunning tonight – not that you aren’t already, Janey – but we do want your hair to have more than just a single braid in it.” Emilia ushered Genevieve over and motioned for her to begin.

“I liked how you made sure I knew I was already pretty before you instructed Genevieve to change my appearance,” Jane commented slyly. “I do like having a singular braid, I hope you know.”

Emilia blushed slightly with embarrassment. “You know what I mean,” she huffed. “Now, I’ll leave you two alone to get ready. I need to go and sort out my children for tonight. Poor Miss Church is to look after them again ... we really should pay her more,” she said to herself as she left the room.

By sunset the children were upstairs in their bedclothes and the carriage was ready to take Jane, Sebastian and Emilia to the Duke of Chatsworth’s residence.

Genevieve was truly a talented hair stylist. Jane’s hair was curled perfectly with each tendril being pinned in its exact place. She’d even put little flowers in her hair to make it look its best. Her dress was borrowed from Emilia and made of beautiful blue silk. It hugged her around her small bust but Jane didn’t care, she felt the prettiest she’d ever been.

Emilia gathered up the skirts of her cream coloured dress as she climbed into the carriage. Sebastian helped Jane into the carriage before following himself.

Jane sat opposite the couple as the carriage took off.

“If you don’t like Mr Orwell when you meet him, Jane, you can say so. We don’t want to force anything,” Emilia said worriedly as she looked at Jane cautiously.

“She’s lying, she wants to force it,” Sebastian teased her. For his remark Emilia gave him a slap on his thigh.

“No, I don’t,” Emilia urged. “Catherine sent you here in hopes of you finding a husband and Mr Orwell is the first man in my acquaintance that I would ever consider being suitable for our Jane.”

Jane decided to test her sister – in – law at that moment. She put on a fake giggle and said to Emilia “What, not Lord Southerby?”

Emilia snorted which was very uncharacteristic for her. “Definitely not, ‘rake’ is too grand a word for him.”

Jane pretended to be amused at her dismissal of Daniel. Now that she knew what was behind his scowl she saw him in a different light. He didn’t bed women to be a rake, it was a way for him to forget, granted it wasn’t a very respectful way, but it was his way.    

When the carriage finally stopped the door was opened immediately by footmen dressed in white tails with brass buttons. Sebastian exited first and helped Emilia and Jane out.

They were handed dance cards at the door and Jane immediately scanned the list until she saw the waltz listed as the second last dance. She frowned knowing that it would be at least four in the morning before Daniel came to claim his dance.

She counted a total of four and twenty dances – twelve before midnight and twelve after the band’s midnight break.

Sebastian comically grabbed Emilia’s dance card and filled in at least ten dances with his name. Sebastian had spent hours in the ballroom at Ethridge teaching Emilia how to dance. She now loved it as much as he did.

Jane had never seen so many red coats in her life. There were at least a hundred officers engaged in several conversations in the first part of the ballroom not to mention the several officers that were dancing with the young ladies of the ton.

Sebastian was immediately claimed by a few other finely dressed men so Emilia took it as her chance to introduce Jane to Mr George Orwell. She pulled her through the crowd of people eagerly.

Jane tried not to be flattered at the several turned heads she received as she walked past the many parties of officers.

Emilia stopped in front of a slightly rotund, balding man who Jane presumed to be the Duke of Chatsworth and a younger man by his side. His hair was a dirty blonde colour and his eyes were a nice hazel. He wasn’t the leanest of men but he was still quite muscular. He didn’t look that much older than Jane, perhaps only a year or two older.

“Your Grace, Mr Orwell,” Emilia smiled kindly as she curtseyed slightly, as did Jane.

“Lady Ethridge,” the duke smiled at Emilia. “I trust you remember my nephew, Mr George Orwell.”

Emilia nodded. “Yes, I do, how are you this evening, Mr Orwell?” she asked politely.

“Very well, thank you, your Ladyship, and who is your companion?” he asked of Jane, smiling widely as he looked her over not so subtly.

Emilia brought Jane forward a little. “This is my husband’s younger sister, Miss Jane Alcott,” she introduced proudly. “Jane, this is His Grace, Richard Orwell, Duke of Chatsworth and Mr George Orwell.”

Jane curtseyed again as George held his hand out for Jane’s. She placed her hand in his and he kissed her knuckles lightly.

“I am honoured to finally make your acquaintance, Miss Alcott,” George said kindly. “Lady Ethridge has sung your praises at our last few meetings.”

Jane glanced at Emilia who was looking very devious. “I’m sure she has exaggerated,” Jane said bashfully.

“Not at all,” George replied. “She described you perfectly, ‘a woman of exceptional wit and incomparable beauty’ as I recall, is that correct, Lady Ethridge?”

Jane could not believe how smooth the man was. She now knew why Emilia thought him perfect; he had no doubt charmed her as well.

“Exactly so, Mr Orwell,” Emilia smiled. Jane resisted rolling her eyes. ‘Incomparable beauty’? She did not have a large dowry ... what was this man after? “I just had a brilliant idea,” Emilia said in a false voice, Jane could tell. “Why don’t you two dance the quadrille, it is the next dance I believe.”

George smiled and nodded. “Could I persuade you to dance the next two dances with me, Miss Alcott?”

Jane could not think of a reason that would prevent her dancing with him without seeming rude. “I would be delighted,” she lied.

“Excellent,” George smiled happily. “I shall claim you once this dance has finished.” With that Jane felt as though she and Emilia were dismissed.

Emilia linked her arm through Jane’s and pulled her towards the edge of the dancing circle. “What did you think?” she whispered.

“I think he is very good at talking to women,” Jane said conspicuously.

“What?” Emilia furrowed her eyebrows. “He’s so charming, isn’t he?”

Jane rolled his eyes. “I never thought that between the two of us that you would be the naïve one,” Jane commented dryly. “George Orwell is the type of man who would marry a woman and put a mistress up in another dwelling and visit her more than he does his wife. I want Sebastian.”

Emilia’s eyes widened. “I beg your pardon?”

“Not Sebastian!” Jane exclaimed. “I mean a man like Sebastian. He cannot wait to return to you at night and he loves no other but you.”

“Oh,” Emilia realised. “I suppose you are right. I guess I take him for granted, I don’t think about the many marriages I know of that include infidelity. I am very lucky.”

“You are, and I want that. George Orwell cannot give me that.” At that moment Daniel stepped in front of them as they walked around the dancers.

“Good evening, ladies,” he smiled as they stopped before him.

Emilia’s eyes widened as she took him in. “Lord Southerby,” she managed dryly.

“I’m looking forward to our waltz later this evening, Miss Alcott, I do not forget,” he said as his dark eyes quickly scanned Jane’s figure.

Jane froze as Emilia stiffened at Daniel’s comment. “Excuse us,” Emilia smiled at Daniel as best she could manage and dragged Jane in the opposite direction. Once they were out of Daniel’s earshot she spoke. “When did he ask you to dance and why in God’s name did you say ‘yes’?” she demanded to know.

“I bumped into him on my walk this morning,” Jane lied. “He asked if I was going to the ball and I said ‘yes’ and then he asked me to dance the waltz with him and it felt rude to say ‘no’,” she lied again. She would suffer through two dances with George Orwell so that the waltz would finally come around.

“Oh ... well why did you not tell me? I could’ve helped you out of the situation, we could have thought of something together,” she laughed lightly and pulled Jane into an opening in the dancing circle.

“I don’t mind,” Jane said simply. That was an understatement.

“Nevertheless, George Orwell might fall hopelessly in love with you and change his ways. Even if you are not destined to be with him then you are in full view of all the other single, young gentlemen in the room.” Emilia scanned the room and paused with a sour look on her face. “That Lord Southerby is looking at you, Janey, perhaps you made quite an impression on him when you spoke today. Don’t spend any more time with him though; you don’t want the reputation of being one of his women.”

“You really hold disdain for him, don’t you?” Jane grinned as she subtly glanced in Daniel’s direction and he was very unsubtly staring at her.

“Just wait until you are a mother. I picture an eighteen year old Kitty being approached by a man like him and I want to heave,” Emilia shivered.

“I could understand that,” Jane admitted. She stole another glance at Daniel to see if he was still looking at her but he wasn’t. He was having an intense conversation with a man who was wearing valet’s tails. She would recognise them anywhere as she’d seen Peter in them many times. The valet was handing Daniel what looked to be a letter. Daniel tore open the seal and read the letter quickly. His facial expression was unreadable. What he did do though was race out of the ball with his valet in tow.

What had been in that letter that demanded his quick exit? Jane hoped it was nothing bad but to warrant such a fast getaway it had to have been.

Before she could finish her worries over Daniel her thoughts were interrupted by George Orwell.

“Miss Alcott, you hand, if you please,” he said smoothly. Jane felt like heaving. All she wanted to do was race after Daniel.

-----

I hope you all enjoyed the chapter :D

Next one will be from Daniel's POV as he reads the letter and what happens after he leaves the party :)

Happy New Year everyone!! It's an hour and twenty-three minutes until the ball drops here, I've got the champagne ready to go :) May 2013 be better than 2012, for me, I sure hope it is!

Be safe xx