The men in front of us parted, and out from between them stepped another man. I blinked in surprise. He was lean, and he was tall, just like Mr Ambrose – but there was still no way this man could be mistaken for my employer. He had longish blonde hair that was combed back in elegant waves, a slightly curvy, hawk-like nose and light, steel-blue eyes.
Even if all this could have been faked and underneath that inviting exterior somewhere lurked the brooding self I had suspected to find here, there was one characteristic which definitely identified this man as somebody other than Mr Ambrose: he had a broad, inviting smile on his face.
"Ah, good evening, Wilkins. What a pleasure to see you again." The blonde man bowed to Ella's admirer, who in turn bowed back. "And who, if I may ask, are these lovely ladies you have brought with you?"
His voice, too, was nothing like Mr Ambrose's. It sounded smooth and eloquent, like a public speaker who could move whole crowds, or maybe a young, dashing general who by his voice alone could persuade men to follow him into battle. For some reason, I felt a blush creep up my cheeks.
"Of course, where are my manners?" Wilkins let go of my hand, so he could point us out in turn. "Lord Dalgliesh, may I present Mrs Brank, Miss Linton, Miss Linton, Miss Linton, Miss Linton, Miss Linton and Miss Linton. Ladies, this is Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh."
He bowed to each of us in turn, slowly and elegantly.
"I am charmed. Who knew that such bewitching company would await me at this ball."
It hadn't escaped my notice that Wilkins had introduced us to him, and not the other way around. Normally, men were introduced to women. For it to be done in reverse, the man must be presumed to be ten times more important than any woman.
With any ordinary man, this would have sent me into a fit of rage. Yet as Lord Dalgliesh bowed to me and for a moment I met his steel-blue gaze, I knew without doubt that this was no ordinary man.
There was an aura about him, a presence that bespoke of greatness. I felt as though those steel-blue eyes could analyse every bone in my body and gaze into the darkest recesses of my soul. Which was complete bilge, of course. My soul didn't have any dark recesses! Did it?
I was ripped from the contemplation of my soul by my loving sister Maria, who shoved me out of the way to be closer to her target.
"It is I who am charmed to meet you, My Lord. Tell me how it is that, though I have been a frequent visitor to many balls in the city, I have yet never had the pleasure of making your acquaintance? Such a great Lord as yourself should surely be the life and soul of every ball."
Bravo, Maria, Bravo! I really had to admire her. She had flattered him, depicted herself as a worthy object of his undying love, fished for information, and flattered him again, and that all in one sentence. She really knew how to catch her fish. Only I had a suspicion this one would prove to be a little bit too big for her nets.
Lord Dalgliesh gave a light, pleasant laugh. "The matter is susceptible of a ready explanation, Miss Elliot. I assure you that I am no recluse or social outcast. In fact, I have been away from the Metropolis, even from Britain, for a long time now, looking after various matters in the colonies." He shrugged apologetically, and smiled a smile so charming, it could maybe even have charmed a fairy queen. "It was very unfortunate, considering what I was missing here."
My sister wasn't a fairy queen. She didn't have a hope.
"Oh, Lord Dalgliesh," was all she managed to whisper.
"What brought you back?" Sir Philip wanted to know. "I would have thought you had enough out there to keep you busy for a lifetime."
Seeing our questioning looks, he added with a smile, "Lord Dalgliesh is the main Shareholder of the East India Company."
Maria's eyes lit up. If she hadn't been determined to grab this man for herself before, she was now. Anne seemed to experience similar feelings. I must say, I was pretty floored myself.
The East India Company... Did such a conglomerate even deserve to be referred to as only a 'company', when it owned and ruled most of the Indian subcontinent, along with its own army and state apparatus? If this man truly was in charge of the East India Company, he was as close to a king as you could get without actually wearing a crown.
"What brought you back?" Sir Philip repeated the question.
For a moment, just a moment, the smile on Lord Dalgliesh's face flickered. It looked almost like what had happened to me not too long ago. But that was hardly likely, was it? What reason could Lord Dalgliesh have for only pretending to smile?
"Oh, no great matter," he said, smoothly. "Just a little unfinished business with an old friend. There's a game of chess we need to finish."
I frowned.
"You came to England, travelled thousands of miles... just to finish a game of chess?"
Turning his head towards me, he cranked his smile up a notch. But his steel-blue eyes didn't lose their cool, assessing look. Blimey, he was faking! A darn side more convincing than me, but he was faking.
"In a manner of speaking," he said, nodding. "Though we may use no actual board, or figures made from wood."
My frown deepened. "You've lost me, your Lordship."
"Do not worry. I can always find you again."
He turned his head, and started a light, flirtatious conversation with Anne, who leaped at the chance of overtaking her sister. I just stood there, shaking my head. This man was... disturbing. As soon as I could manage without seeming offensive, I excused myself. I wanted to get away from him. He was a darn side too fascinating for me to want to be anywhere near him. I wanted to be alone – maybe find a quiet refreshment table, and a chocolate bar. Gripping Ella by the hand, I started to tug her away with me.
"Come!" I whispered. "It's time we made ourselves scarce!"
She threw me a grateful look and let herself be dragged away. On her own, she would never had the nerve to go run from that bloody Wilkins. But being forcibly carried off by her sister, that she could manage all right.
"Can you see where the refreshment tables are?"
Standing on my toes, I tried to determine a safe route through the jungle of people in evening wear barring our way. But it was no good. As soon as we detached ourselves from our group, we were swallowed up by another, and welcomed with friendly voices.
Blast! It had all been so much easier when I had been impolite to everybody and scowled instead of smiled. Back then, nobody had given me a second glance.
Oh well, the good old days...
"Miss Linton! And another Miss Linton," a gentleman with a huge waxed moustache greeted us. I couldn't for the life of me remember his name. "Hello and welcome. Join our little group."
"Oh, no," said another gentleman. "I'm sure ladies wouldn't like to listen to our topic of conversation."
"Nonsense," gentleman A overrode him. "These are no modern, unladylike females. I danced with this young lady," he inclined his head towards me, "myself, and she was a model of charm and modesty."
How nice of you. And you were the model of arrogance and idiocy.
"Why, thank you, Sir," I said, curtsying. "If I may ask, what is it that you were talking of before we came?"
Gentleman A leaned closer, and so did his companion. "Now, I normally wouldn't be mentioning this in the hearing of any ladies. But I can see you two are sensible, demure and well-bred young girls. So it's all right."
I must admit, he had peaked my interest. I was always interested to know what a person like me wasn't supposed to know.
"Go on," I encouraged.
"Do you know what is going to happen next Wednesday?" gentleman A whispered.
"No. What, Sir?"
"There's going to be a meeting about this confounded nonsense called women's suffrage."
"Indeed, Sir?"
"Aye. A few influential gentlemen with press contacts are going to meet with sympathetic scholars and scientists at speaker's corner in Hyde Park, and try to put a stop to this codswallop once and for all."
"Indeed?"
"Oh yes." Gentleman B nodded gravely. "Imagine, ladies, that there are actually mad creatures that call themselves women and want to make decisions in politics!"
I shook my head, solemnly. "You are joking? Can such individuals really exist?"
Ella stared at me, her eyes wide. Then she blinked, and quickly turned back to the men. "As for my part," she ventured demurely, "I find politics incredibly complicated. I am very glad that I do not have to deal with them."
Gentleman B nodded energetically, and smiled at Ella. "Exactly! That is exactly what I was talking about. I can see you are sensible young girls who know their God-given place in the world, just as my friend said. So, no word about this to anyone, hmm?" He gave us what was supposed to be a fatherly smile. "It will remain our little secret."
I smiled at him, brightly "You mean it would be bad if somebody found out about it?"
"Oh yes." Gentleman B gave a vigorous nod. "If those infernal suffragists found out, they could use the meeting to spread their insane message."
"Ah, I see. Well, every sensible person can see that such a thing must never happen."
"Exactly," Gentleman A entered the conversation again. "Women's brain aren't big enough for politics."
"Plus," added Gentleman B, "they do not have the potential for violence that men have and that is the basis for all stable political systems, a fact that I have pointed out to Parliament on numerous occasions."
My eyes flicked to gentleman B.
"So it was you who came up with that idea, was it?"
"Yes, indeed." He nodded proudly. "Why, have you heard of my theories on female vulnerability?"
"You could say that..." My eyes narrowed infinitesimally. He didn't notice. "I wonder, Sir, if you would mind stepping into this side-room with me for five minutes. I have something important to demonstrate to you in regard to your theories."
"By all means. After you, Miss."
Five minutes later, I re-entered the ballroom, my hair a bit ruffled, but otherwise perfectly fine. Ella was waiting for me.
"Where is the gentleman who went with you?" she asked.
"He experienced a sudden desire to leave through the back door." I gestured to the side-room from which I had just emerged, a smile turning up one corner of my mouth. "I believe something in there might have scared him a little."
My smile widened. All that was missing now was a feat for the victorious warrior! Not far away, I spotted a refreshment table with something brown on it that might be chocolate. Yum!
"Come," I said, grasping Ella by the hand. "We could..."
"Miss Linton? Miss Lilly Linton?"
I turned, and stiffened. In front of me was standing none other than Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh, smiling at me as if I were another continent to be added to his empire.
"It is Miss Lilly, isn't it?" The charm-factor of his smile went up another level or two. "I'm afraid I might have confused all these lovely Lintons."
"Yes, um... yes," I muttered. "My name is Lilly."
"Very well, Miss Lilly. Would you do me the honour of granting me the next dance?"
You could have struck me down with a feather. A piece of fluff would probably have sufficed as a cudgel, too. I stood there, mute, staring up at him.
"Lill? Lill!"
Somebody was tugging on my arm and whispering in my ear. "Lill, answer him! For Goodness' sake, please answer him!"
Who... oh yes. Ella. That was my sister's name, wasn't it? Lord Dalgliesh. Dancing. Hell's whiskers! Had he just really asked me to dance with him? The owner of an entire continent wanted to dance with me? Something was wonky in this world!
From somewhere, I heard a voice that sounded suspiciously like my own say: "Certainly, Lord Dalgliesh. I would love to dance with you."
A hand grasped mine. It was firm, but smooth. The skin of an aristocrat who had never done manual labour. As if in a dream, or maybe a nightmare, Lord Dalgliesh led me onto the dance floor with small, elegant steps.
I heard it around us: voices hushing, then whispering, the clatter of my aunt's jaw as it hit the floor. But I didn't see any of it. I only saw my own feet, thinking: In half a minute, those will have to start dancing.
Then the music started. Lord Dalgliesh gripped my hand, and suddenly we were whirling around each other with unearthly grace. He was tugging on my hand, throwing me this way and that, too fast for me to do anything about it.
Ha! I had thought the other men on the dance floor tried to lead when dancing? I had known nothing. This was real leading. Not pushing me forward, but pulling me into following him with masterful moves. I was powerless to resist. Part of me didn't even want to.
We went through the forms of the dance, stepping away from each other, marching down the line of dancers. He passed out of my sight. But in passing, I saw the look in his eyes as he gazed at me. In that look was something I hadn't seen in the face of this paragon of power: curiosity.
At the end of the line I turned, facing him again. Normally, I went down the line slowly. I was a careful dancer. But he rushed towards me, so I had to follow. Grasping be by my arm, he whirled me around once again.
I met his curious gaze.
"Why did you ask me to dance with you, Lord Dalgliesh?"
The question, uttered low but distinct, was out of my mouth before I knew I had opened it. Some central, unchangeable, nosy part of me must have shoved it past my teeth, in spite of the mesmerizing effects of his presence. It was good to know I was still myself, somewhere in there.
We danced another turn.
"Why on earth should I have a special reason?" he enquired, as we passed again. "Is not the pleasure of your company enough?"
"Not really, no." And he actually gave a little laugh. It rang like bells, pleasant to the ear.
"You do not think much of yourself?"
It's not that. It's just that I think you think a lot more of yourself than you do of me.
"Oh please." I looked down, demurely. Tonight was play-acting night, after all. "I am only a simple gentry girl, not such an exalted personage such as yourself, My Lord."
He flashed his brilliant smile again, and started to pelt me with a hundred little compliments, all perfectly arranged to melt the heart of any maiden. The compliments themselves did not get to me. The skill which with they were delivered, on the other hand, did.
What does this bloody fellow want with me? He could have dozens of women mooning at his feet!
Of course, there was always the possibility that he had fallen madly in love with me at first sight. But that was the kind of thing Ella might have believed, not I. And even if he had, he'd better fall out of love again right speedily!
Slowly, the flow of niceties ebbed. We continued to dance, and I had to admit he was an excellent dancer. Lord Dalgliesh lead in a way that made me not even feel like being led: it was effortless, graceful, and enthralling. And that was exactly why I hated it. He didn't make me feel like I was being led – but in fact I was, very skilfully. And I didn't take kindly to people trying to fool me.
Oh really? a tiny voice inside me asked. Not even when it's done as magnificently as this?
Finally, after three more turns, and several more compliments, he got to the point. As we passed each other, he whispered:
"I must make a confession, Miss Linton."
"Oh?"
He turned on the spot in a perfect pirouette. Grabbing my hand, he pulled me towards him, past him, and launched me into the movement alongside the other ladies. When I returned, he said, in a low voice:
"Yes. I did have a motive to dance with you, other than your charms. Although I assure you," he added, smiling again, "that no other motive would have been needed."
I faked a smile back at him. Now we were talking business! "But there was one?"
Taking hold of my arm, he lead me into another smooth turn.
"Yes. I was curious. When we first met, you looked at me rather strangely. As if you expected to see somebody else. I am used to how people react around me, and your reaction was startlingly different. So, as I said, I am curious. What was going through your mind when you saw me?"
Hm... How about "Thank God, it's not him!"?
I hesitated. But I had already fulfilled my quota of lies for the day. And anyway, why shouldn't he know?
Fixing my gaze on his mesmerizing steel-blue eyes as the ballroom turned around us in a blur, I said:
"Sir Philip hinted to us that we were going to meet a person of great importance at the ball. From what he said....I was expecting somebody else."
"Oh?" One of his brows rose in interest. "Whom, if I may ask?"
I opened my mouth to speak.
At that precise moment, three heavy, loud knocks came from the large door leading into the ballroom. The music stopped. The dancers stopped. Everything stopped. I nearly stumbled over Lord Dalgliesh's feet and only grabbing onto his shoulder kept me from falling. Quickly, I steadied myself again, letting go of his shoulder.
I looked around. I could see the same question on everybody's faces: who on earth would be daring, impatient, bad-mannered and arrogant enough to interrupt a ball in the middle of a dance?
Oh no...
The doors swung open, and, as I knew he would, in strode Mr Rikkard Ambrose, his face harder and more stunning than ever.
Everybody stared at him, as he stood there, facing the motionless dancers. Everybody except me, that is. I was too busy staring at the tall, ravishingly beautiful woman that had entered the room on his arm.
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My Dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,
Now we're starting to get somewhere! How many of you, my fabulous fans, were already pulling their hair out because they thought that Mr Rikkard Ambrose wasn't going to show up at the ball, if I may enquire? ;-)
Now we're about to start the next ballroom battle!!
Yours Truly
Sir Rob
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GLOSSARY:
Gentry: The word "gentry" is an expression unique to British English as it refers to a certain social class among the upper classes of British society, the members of which were, during the entire nineteenth century, (and still are nowadays, to some extent) wealthy landowners who mastered the impressive art of behaving and being treated like aristocracy without actually having a title or coat of arms. On the social ladder of Victorian Britain, they ranked somewhere between the "real" aristocracy and the rich, but socially not very respected, merchant & industrialist class. [SPOILER ALERT] The main female character of Jane Austen's world-famous romance novel Pride & Prejudice, Elisabeth Bennet, and the hero of the book, Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy, both belong to this particular social class. The same applies to most of the other significant characters in Austen's works.