AN: Second chapter of the day - quite long, and introducing a familiar face... Sorry, I couldn't resist...
This, at least, was the manner in which Ruth at first regarded her acquaintance. But, several months after the beginning of their acquaintance, something happened to make Miss Evershed regard Sir Henry's attentions in quite a different light…
The significant event took place at a ball held at Lady Radford's town house in June, just a few short weeks before Elizabeth's wedding. Lady Radford had her keen eyes fixed on Elizabeth, who was dancing with her betrothed, so Ruth had no qualms at all, when Sir Henry positioned himself against the wall next to her, about smiling at him in greeting, and informing him somewhat smugly, "I have finished the book you so kindly recommended, Sir Henry." She had spent the past few days alternately poring over an Italian lexicon and engrossed in the Divina Commedia, determined to finish it in order that its discussion might furnish their conversation on the occasion of their next meeting. He shifted his position slightly and scanned her face intensely before shaking his head. "You did not enjoy Dante's verse, I fear, Miss Evershed," he said with a sigh. She looked down at her lap, hiding the rueful grin that was spreading across her face.
"I regret to inform you that I did not. I fear that it was… unrealistic."
His voice was warm with amusement as he pressed her, "Enlighten me."
She looked up at him, her face entirely solemn, and then pointed out, "I merely felt that Virgil, being such a great poet, would perhaps have other business to attend to, rather than guiding a mere mortal through the Underworld." There was a moment of silence, and then a sparkle of fun slipped into Ruth's eyes and the corner of Sir Henry's mouth turned up, showing very white teeth and the fact that he was thoroughly enjoying her joke. He bowed. "Then I shall, in future, endeavour to select my recommendations with more care. You are a fastidious reader, ma'am." At that point, the country-dance that the musicians had been playing ended with a flourish, and Miss Evershed turned her head to watch her young niece returning from the floor to the group of chairs amongst which was seated her aunt.
On reaching them, she curtsied to Sir Henry and took a seat next to her aunt, complacently waiting for Captain Levendis to bring her a glass of lemonade. The musicians were resting for a few minutes, and Elizabeth took this opportunity to address Sir Henry, in the lively, informal manner that Ruth had never been quite easy with. "I am sure my aunt would like to dance, Sir Henry. It cannot be healthy, you know, for her to be sitting still for so long a period of time." There was an excruciating pause, during which Miss Evershed kept her head focused on her lap, feeling her face burning crimson, caught up in a horror so deep that she could not even raise her head to chastise Elizabeth. Then, as if the idea had only just struck her, Elizabeth added brightly, "Perhaps you would like to ask her, Sir Henry!" From the moment the words left Elizabeth's mouth, Ruth began plotting her niece's painful, slow demise. But Sir Henry's voice was entirely steady when he extended his hand to Ruth and asked, "If you are not previously engaged for the next set, Miss Evershed, I should be delighted if you would stand up with me for it."
Stunned, she could do nothing more than stammer out her thanks and acceptance and rise with him to go forth onto the floor, where several other couples were already forming themselves into eight-dancer sets for a cotillion. The music began. Miss Evershed surprised herself by managing to remember the steps enough to turn her attention to observing her partner. As they moved closer together for the first change, Ruth managed to catch Sir Henry's eye and whisper, in mortified tones, "I must apologise for my niece's forward way of addressing you. I assure you I did not request her to beg you to partner me, sir." Sir Henry shook his head reassuringly, taking her hand to skip, with surprising agility, down the set by one place. "On the contrary, Miss Evershed, it was my own preconceived idea, and not your niece's kindly meant admonition, that prompted my request." Ruth frowned, working out what he meant. Had he wanted to dance with her, then? But that was a very strange wish, in a man of his age, who, she guessed from the lack of information available about his private affairs, did not go much into society as a rule.
Sir Henry was watching her face, enjoying her puzzlement. At last, she murmured, "Then… you wished to dance with me?" He gave her an enigmatic smile and did not reply. The dance finished abruptly. Around her, couples bowed and curtsied to one another. Sir Henry bowed over her hand, and then, so quickly that she later thought she must have dreamt it, he pressed his lips to her outstretched fingertips. Ruth trembled, frozen to the floor, until Sir Henry offered her his arm and returned her to her seat. Elizabeth graced him with a bright smile, and rose, her hand moving out to indicate her recently vacated seat next to Ruth, whose heart was beating such a rapid tattoo on her ribcage, for some odd reason, that she could not even open her mouth to second her niece's invitation, and the gentleman seemed quite willing to accept it, when his face, previously a picture of warm, open amiability, suddenly hardened as he looked past Ruth to a figure standing a little behind them and to the right.
Ruth turned her head, but saw only another woman - a few years older than Sir Henry, perhaps, with black hair just visible from beneath a turban of amber silk, which perfectly matched her clearly well-made gown. For a woman no longer in her prime, Ruth had to admit that this female still retained the undoubted beauty of her youth, now refined by the elegance of maturity. However, her eyes were a cold blue-grey, and a rather unpleasant smirk played around her lips as she surveyed Sir Henry. "Juliet…" he breathed, wide-eyed, as she advanced towards him. She didn't bother to curtsey to him, merely inclined her head, and greeted him with, "Good evening, Harry." Ruth frowned at this woman's informal way of addressing Sir Henry, and Elizabeth, wide-eyed with awe, escaped onto the welcoming arm of Captain Levendis, who had just come to claim her for the quadrille. Sir Henry opened and closed his mouth several times before any words came out. Juliet's presence here tonight was clearly a surprise - and not a pleasant one. Finally, he croaked out, "Good evening, my lady." There was silence, and then Juliet raised an eyebrow and Sir Henry, reluctantly it seemed, turned to Ruth.
Miss Evershed, sensing his intention, rose to her feet. "Miss Evershed, might I present Lady Juliet Shaw… Lady Shaw, Miss Ruth Evershed. Lord Shaw holds a post in the War Office. Miss Evershed is the goddaughter of our hostess, Lady Radford." The ladies curtsied politely to each other, Lady Shaw taking in, with a viciously amused eye, the somewhat dowdy simplicity of Miss Evershed's gown. "Delightful," she murmured coolly as they rose. Sir Henry flashed a look full of agonised awkwardness at Ruth, and then forced a smile. "I shall leave you to become acquainted, ladies." He was gone, and did not look back. Lady Shaw watched him leave with an arch look, and then took Elizabeth's seat.
"I sense my appearance here this evening was unexpected - perhaps I should have warned Sir Henry first. I am sorry for it." But she was smirking again, and Ruth felt sure that her regret was insincere. Sir Henry had not made the introduction out of choice, that much she knew, and there was something about her that made Ruth distrust her immediately. Then, deciding that she must say something, Ruth asked in a somewhat unsteady voice, "Have you been acquainted with Sir Henry for many years, ma'am?"
Lady Shaw gave a short, dry laugh and replied airily, "Oh, Sir Henry and I are old friends. He served under my late husband's command in America at one time. He had not long been married, as I recall." Ruth admitted to herself that she was certainly curious about Sir Henry's late wife, and would have made further inquiries, had her companion not then added, "I imagine that you cannot have been acquainted with him for long, Miss Evershed. Sir Henry generally introduces any new acquaintance of his to me with rather more promptness than he did tonight." Her words seemed almost those of a jealous lover, and Sir Henry's embarrassment all at once became clear. No man enjoyed being accosted by his mistress in a public place among his more respectable friends, after all. Ruth closed her eyes, suddenly feeling very foolish. Because Sir Henry had treated her with kindness and attention, Ruth, like a schoolroom miss in the middle of her first season, had believed him to be different from any other gentleman of his class and wealth. Of course, he would present to her a face utterly disparate to the one he offered to his men friends when they, undoubtedly, frequented gaming hells and the like…
"Are you quite well, Miss Evershed? You appear rather flushed." Lady Shaw's voice was smug and self-satisfied, only covered by a thin veneer of concern.
Ruth shook her head, and tried to smile, although she felt bewilderingly close to tears. "I am well, I assure you. Perhaps it is too hot…" Lady Shaw rose in a rustle of expensive skirts. "I will call Lady Radford," she declared and departed before Ruth could open her mouth to prevent her. She closed her eyes, praying she was not about to faint.
Footsteps approached again, and Ruth opened her eyes to find both Lady Radford and Elizabeth gazing anxiously down at her. "Are you quite alright, aunt? Lady Shaw said you felt faint - "
"I shall be quite alright in a moment, my dear. I will take a turn about the terrace in the cool air and be with you again directly," Ruth interrupted firmly, rising from her chair, and preparing to leave the room. She could trust in Lady Radford to act as Beth's distant chaperone for a few minutes. Elizabeth nodded in acceptance, still looking nervous, and watched as her aunt slipped out through the ballroom's French windows onto Lady Radford's small terrace. The main reason for the purchase of this house twenty years ago had been the advantage of having a small garden at the back of the house, with this terrace, for the use of Lady Radford and, later, her goddaughters. Ruth walked the length of the terrace slowly, allowing the light cool breeze to tease curls of her hair from the neat style she herself had pinned it into that evening - both abigails having been too busy in preparing Miss Elizabeth's toilette. Foolish, she fumed silently. Foolish to believe that any man could possibly wish to - that any man could think -
A choked sob escaped her lips. She had never felt so low in all her life as she did standing on that terrace, contemplating the unenviable task that awaited her. She must cut her acquaintance with Sir Henry quam celerrime. Knowing what she did now, about both of them, she could not possibly continue meeting with him or allow their acquaintance to progress any further. An observer would have been able to detect the trace of tears sparkling at the corners of Miss Evershed's eyes, which she swiped at firmly before turning around to return to the ballroom - and coming face to face with Sir Henry Pearce. Her eyes widened and her face, to him, seemed to take on the appearance of a rabbit caught in the grim sight of a sportsman's gun. "Sir Henry… you startled me," she stuttered. He stepped forward curiously, and Ruth thanked God fervently for the dark night, which would hopefully hide the faint tracks of tears on her cheeks. Sir Henry noticed them at once, but was too much a gentleman to make any comment. He bowed. "Forgive me, Miss Evershed. I am come to tell you that Miss Bailey has ordered your carriage. She was concerned that you had not returned to her. She mentioned that you had felt faint, and I thought it prudent to assure myself of your safety." His voice was quiet, subdued, when he added, "May I offer you my arm to your carriage?"
She took a deep breath, her back rigidly straight, although she felt tired and longed to accept his support. "I thank you, that will not be necessary, sir," Miss Evershed replied stiffly. "I shall find my niece directly." Ruth made to walk past him, but he was too fast. He reached out and grasped her lower arm gently, using only enough force to halt her. His eyes looked down, all of their usual warmth replaced by a mournful conscience of having sinned in some unthought-of way. "I wish you would tell me what has put you so out of countenance, Miss Evershed." She made no reply, and merely stared pointedly at his gloved hand, clasped around her wrist. He did not release her, and she could feel his brown eyes burning intently into the top of her head as he looked down upon her. She dared not look up at him again and catch sight of his expression. "I am very tired," she admitted, quivering on the edge of further tears. "I am tired, and wish to go home. Oh, please let me go!"
Her last words, uttered in a birdlike cry, acted as a command to him. His cool fingers dropped from her wrist immediately. "Forgive me," he murmured. "Forgive me if I have done anything that does not meet with your approbation." She shook her head silently, biting her lip to fight the burning sensation behind her eyes.
He frowned. "You are unwell. You must permit me to escort you to your carriage - I will brook no argument." And so saying, he tucked her arm into his, and led her slowly back into the ballroom, keeping to its edge so as to avoid unpleasant questions. Ruth, somewhat relieved at having had all power of resistance taken out of her hands, allowed Sir Henry to take the bulk of her weight, hoping fervently that her knees weren't about to give way. Luckily, most of the room's occupants were engaged in either watching, or dancing, the cotillion which the musicians were playing. Lady Radford was waiting with Elizabeth in the hall, a worried frown creasing her brow.
"My dear Ruth, I do hope you are not sickening for something," she sighed.
Ruth accepted her mantle from a waiting footman and busied herself with fastening it correctly before replying with as much forced cheerfulness as she could muster, "No, ma'am. I shall be quite well in the morning. I was merely a little hot, and have a slight headache." Sir Henry, who had moved from Ruth's side to the door in order to look out for the approach of the carriage, turned his head and announced its arrival. Ruth was glad to escape, and only sorry that she had not been able to leave without taking with her the recollection of the feel of Sir Henry's firm hand on hers as he had helped her into the carriage and the sound of his voice as he warned the driver to curb his speed in light of Miss Evershed not feeling quite the thing at present. And no matter how much she tried, in later days, to banish it from her memory, she could not forget the way he leant inside the carriage and said softly, "Goodnight, Miss Evershed, Miss Bailey."
Ruth rested her head back against the seat of the carriage, and allowed Beth to prattle on about the discussion she and her future sister-in-law had had about the possibility of a shopping expedition next week, glad to have something to take her mind off less pleasant remembrances. At last, Beth fell silent for a moment. Then, she smiled at her aunt, and said, sympathetically, "I am sorry for your headache, aunt. I am sure Sir Henry was vastly sorry to hear of it, too, for I believe he had only approached me in the hope of asking you to dance again. I am sure he likes you." Ruth, sickened, sat forwards, unable for the present to correct her niece. Beth continued. "And I heard Lady Steele telling Lady Radford that she believed the same thing. Oh, Aunt Ruth, you will be so happy!"
Ruth blushed with shame and regret. So that was what the ton thought, was it? That Sir Henry Pearce, a man of vast wealth, intellect, and, she had to admit, powers of attraction, was dangling after an impoverished ape-leader at least seventeen years younger than himself? He would be the laughing-stock of polite society, if he wasn't already. Sir Henry had meant nothing but friendship, and she, foolish as she was, had mistaken his perfectly honourable intentions, and -
Firmly, and rather sharply, she interrupted Elizabeth: "I am afraid Lady Steele is wholly mistaken. Sir Henry is not courting me, and I assure you it would be the greatest of insults to him to accuse him of having any designs of that nature upon me. I am disappointed that you would indulge in such idle gossip, Elizabeth." Beth's face fell at her aunt's words, and when she next spoke, she sounded baffled and not a little hurt.
"But… we have been in society with him so much lately, and he always has something of great import to say to you, and he recommends you books, which I am sure he would not do if he did not care for you, and… I was so positive that you…" Her niece's voice faded away, unsure of how to express herself in terms not totally disrespectful to her much-loved aunt. But her meaning was more than clear. Elizabeth had believed that Ruth was attached to Sir Henry, and the blame for that, Ruth was forced to acknowledge, ought to be laid at no one's door but her own. She had always been so glad to see Sir Henry, so clear in her praise of his good qualities whenever she had been asked, that Elizabeth could have come to no other rational conclusion. The situation was only made worse by the realisation, all too late, that her niece was correct, at least in part. Ruth took a deep breath and forced herself to meet her niece's eyes. "I am sorry if you, or anyone else, has been misled, Elizabeth, but Sir Henry is not in love with me, and I am not in love with him, and I must ask that we do not speak of this matter again."
Beth bowed her head quietly in submission, and the rest of the journey was passed in perfect silence. Therefore, it was that Miss Evershed did not witness Sir Henry's return to Lady Radford's ballroom, and the look of utter loathing that was directed at Lady Shaw as she attempted to approach him just half an hour later.
Just have to admit how much I loved writing this chapter - angst is always fun, especially with H/R...