The Case of the Season

Chapter Seven

"I think you look lovely, Robin," Violet disagreed, smiling triumphantly as she looked her up and down.

The dress was a shock of red silk embroidered with outlines of red roses done in damask. It had puffed sleeves, a low neckline, and swirled about her ankles perfectly. She had matching slippers and gloves, along with gold earrings and a necklace, both featuring molded roses.

"Here. Some color on your lips and cheeks will complete your ensemble," Violet decided.

"No cheek rouge, please," Robin requested. "It takes forever to get off."

Violet laughed. "Very well, dear."

She relented to having her lips filled in, frowning at the bright red color her aunt had chosen to match her dress. She looked entirely unnatural.

She was to meet Sherlock tonight and show him how to circulate among the ton. As much as he wanted to immediately begin asking questions, she knew he couldn't. He had to ingratiate himself first. He had to be accepted as one of them so they would bring him into their circle.

"We're all ready." Violet smiled in satisfaction. "Let's go."

A short carriage ride later, they boarded a small boat in preparation for yet another opulent event. It was rather exhausting, Robin thought, and the season had only just begun. Perhaps it was more fun, she reflected, if one had actual suitors and a real chance at marriage. It wasn't a futile exercise for everyone, after all.

Robin's breath caught in her throat as she realized Sherlock was waiting for her. He was dressed in shades of gray this time, which was at least preferable to his usual brown, though still rather bland for such an occasion. Regardless, he was extraordinarily handsome, as always.

He offered her a hand to help her out of the boat and she accepted it, stepping onto the grass and trying not to trip in the process. She smiled at him rather self-consciously as his eyebrow quirked when he saw how she was dressed.

"Miss Ballard, you are a study in scarlet," he observed.

She snorted. "Well, at least you're learning to try and sound complimentary, even when you don't mean it."

He laughed and shook his head. "Was I that obvious?"

"Only to me," she assured him. "The dress was a gift from my aunt. She wanted me to have something currently fashionable, and even though I don't enjoy red, she insists that I wear it well."

"I didn't think it seemed like you," he agreed, choosing not to add that her aunt was not wrong about her presentation of the color. Then he glanced towards the party. "Shall we?"

"Of course," she answered, taking his arm. "We must waste no time attempting to make you charming, sir. It's going to take a while."

"Ha ha," he said deprecatingly, looking down at her and winking. "I am your eager pupil, Miss Ballard."

She spent the next hour directing him as to where to escort her, teaching him how to chat, how to grovel, and how to flatter so he could get the information he wanted out of people. It was just a beginning lesson, of course, but he paid attention, and she thought that was a victory in itself.

She also discovered that he was very adept at being subtle and not revealing his true motives. It was quite shocking, really, considering how bumbling he was at other aspects of being social.

"You see?" she pointed out as they circulated back to where they'd started. "The trick is to convince them that you're off the clock, so to speak. That you really are here courting, or at the very least, preparing to court. Then they'll be disarmed."

"I see. Thank you for being patient with me," he remarked, reaching out and pushing a strand of hair back over her ear.

She coughed slightly and set her lips in a firm line. "Mr. Holmes," she whispered, "do you remember what we discussed about not giving my aunt the impression that you are seeking my hand?"

"Of course, Miss Ballard."

"When you touch me like that, you are doing quite the opposite," she informed him. "Accompanying each other at these events, and even sharing a dance once in a while, which will be essential to the ton seeing you as amiable, are not necessarily courting behavior. But visiting me, and staying for dinner, combined with being too intimate, crosses a line. Eventually, you may find that you've trapped yourself, unless you are quite content to abandon me to the disgrace that you've caused."

"My apologies, Miss Ballard. I am still getting used to the way this portion of the world operates."

His voice was soft and sincere. Lately, he had been constantly contemplating why he was being so free with her. It was not the way he usually acted at all.

"I understand, Mr. Holmes. Honestly, I'm quite impressed with how quickly you learn, and that you are so willing to have an open mind. Most men would hardly bother."

"High praise coming from you, Miss Ballard," he teased.

They found themselves standing at the edge of the dance floor, which was outside and made of beautiful dark wood planks flanked by white and gold pillars topped with lanterns. Sherlock tilted his head as the music stopped. Another dance was about to begin.

"Shall we, Miss Ballard?" he suggested impulsively. "You said dancing was essential."

"It is, Mr. Holmes, so we shall."

He helped her onto the platform and they took their places. She stared up into his blue eyes, stepping closer as more couples joined them.

The dance began. He moved so gracefully for a man of his size, and was also able to hold her larger frame easily as he briefly dipped her.

Fireworks began to explode overhead, and as she gazed at them, she realized that she could see them reflected in his eyes. The flashes hid the slight imperfection she'd found in the one, though she'd decided that she rather enjoyed seeing it, when all was said and done.

As they whirled about each other, a plan suddenly formed in her mind. It was brash, and it was bold, but she knew without a doubt that it was perfect, provided he would go along with it.

Her heart hammered in her chest as he dipped her one last time to end the dance. He was holding her in his strong arms, and their faces were practically touching. The unruly curl that often escaped to rest on his forehead was dangling enough to touch hers.

She took a deep breath and his scent filled her nose. It was spicy, cloves and musk with just a hint of plum, and it made her head spin.

She gripped him tightly and the words escaped her mouth before she could stop them.

"Marry me, Mr. Holmes."