Married By Christmas. Anne Herries

Marianne might have married.

      ‘Yes, as you say, Aunt. I cannot know. We have hardly met and one should be certain about these things, for to marry in a rush would be both unseemly and perhaps foolish—do you not think so?’

      Her aunt looked at her suspiciously, for the answer was too measured to be Jo’s true sentiments, unless she had changed her ways overnight.

      ‘Do not imagine you can fool me, Josephine. I am merely pointing out a possible chance to you, and one that you would be well advised to consider. You will not get a second chance for a visit like this, and you may grow bored with being at home. Most women prefer their own home—and children. I know that you like children, Jo. How can you content yourself to think that you might never hold your own child in your arms?’

      ‘But what of liking and respect, Aunt? You notice that I do not speak of love, for I am not sure it exists, though Marianne was certainly in love. But one should at least like the man one marries—do you not agree?’

      ‘Yes, of course, and I should never dream of suggesting that you marry a man who was not worthy of your consideration—but I believe Mr Browne is a man that many girls would be glad to marry. Especially those who have no fortune.’

      ‘I expect you are right, Aunt. Would you excuse me now, please? I think that perhaps I should change for the evening.’

      Jo went upstairs to her own room. After she had finished dressing, she sat down at her dressing table and looked at her hair. If only it was a pretty honey blonde like Marianne’s and straighter!

      Picking up her brush, she tugged at the tangled curls, pulling them back and securing the knot at the back of her head with pins, into which she pinned a spray of silk flowers. Tendrils of flame-coloured hair had escaped to curl attractively about her face. She sighed, because she knew that nothing she could do would tame it completely.

      What did it matter? Jo fastened her mother’s pearls about her throat and applied a dab of cologne to her wrists and behind her ears; the perfume smelled faintly of violets, a very soft delicate scent. Satisfied that she could do no better with her appearance, she went downstairs to wait for her aunt in the parlour. It was a chance to read for a few minutes, which was a treat, because Lady Wainwright did not like to see her with her nose in a book too often. She was just becoming engrossed in the story when she heard the sound of footsteps and looked up to see that her aunt had arrived.

      ‘Reading again?’ Lady Wainwright looked annoyed. ‘I hope you haven’t spoiled your gown sitting there. I do hate to see girls in creased gowns when they arrive for the evening. You should have walked about the room until I came down.’

      ‘I do not think that sitting here has harmed my dress, Aunt.’

      ‘Well, you are fortunate if it has not. Are you ready? It is already past six and we are engaged for half-past.’ She looked about her and made a sound of annoyance. ‘I have left my fan. Please go upstairs and fetch it for me. It lies on my bed.’

      ‘Yes, Aunt.’ She ran upstairs, and found the fan on the dressing chest after some few seconds of searching. Her aunt gave her a hard look when she came back down, but said nothing, taking the fan without a word of thanks.

      They went out to the carriage, neither of them speaking to the other during the short ride, Jo because she did not have anything in particular to say, and Lady Wainwright because she was annoyed about something. Jo wasn’t sure whether she had caused her aunt’s mood or whether it was to do with something quite different, but it was clear to her that the best course of action was to remain silent.

      Mrs Marsham had taken one of the larger houses in Bath, but her rooms were already overflowing with guests when they arrived. Jo was surprised for she had expected a small card party, but she soon discovered that cards were to be only a part of the evening’s entertainment. A quartet was playing music as they entered, and Chloe told her that one of the drawing rooms had been cleared so that the younger people could dance.

      ‘There is room for no more than ten couples,’ Chloe said, her eyes glowing. ‘But the older ladies do not dance and will content themselves playing cards or simply listening to the music.’

      ‘I am not sure that I am dressed for dancing,’ Jo said, because she was wearing a very simple evening gown. ‘I did not expect it.’

      ‘Oh, but you look very nice,’ Chloe said. ‘You always do—though I think it is a shame that you scrape your hair back so tightly. Do you never think of wearing it in a softer style?’

      ‘Never! I should look like a gypsy,’ Jo said and Chloe went into a fit of the giggles.

      ‘Oh, you do say such droll things, Jo!’ she cried. ‘A gypsy, indeed. Mama would have a fit if I were to say such a thing.’

      ‘But you always look so elegant,’ Jo said and Chloe gave a pleased nod of her head.

      Chloe had only waited for Jo to arrive. Her mother had released her almost at once, and the two girls went into the long room together. Jo saw that several young men she had met at the Assembly rooms were present, including Mr Tanner, and it was not long before both girls were dancing. Surprisingly, Jo found that she was sought after almost as eagerly as Chloe, and she did not sit out one dance, which might have been because Mrs Marsham had cleverly invited more gentlemen than young ladies.

      It was not until an hour later that Jo felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to find herself looking at Mr Hal Beverley. She had not noticed him come in, because she had been enjoying herself, and her eyes were bright with laughter.

      ‘Good evening, Mr Beverley,’ she said. ‘Chloe did not tell me that she expected you this evening.’

      ‘Did she not, Miss Horne?’ Hal’s brows rose. ‘Now why should that be, I wonder? For it must be an object of great public interest if I am to attend a card party, must it not? Indeed, had I thought, I should have had a blast of horns announce me.’

      ‘You are a wicked tease, sir,’ Jo said. ‘You knew very well what I meant.’

      ‘Did I?’ His eyes gleamed with unholy amusement. ‘Pray give me the pleasure of this next dance, Miss Horne—unless it is promised to another?’

      ‘No, it is not,’ Jo replied. She had planned to slip away to find herself a cooling drink, but could not give up the opportunity to dance with him. ‘Oh, listen, I believe this is a waltz.’

      ‘Yes, so I believe,’ Harry said and gave her his hand. ‘I trust you are a lady of your word, Miss Horne? You will not refuse?’ His eyes quizzed her. ‘Perhaps you are but an illusion and will disappear in a puff of smoke rather than waltz with me.’

      ‘I…No, of course not,’ Jo said. She was a little unsure, because the waltz was not yet thoroughly approved of everywhere, though she had heard that it was no longer frowned on at most venues and was certainly allowed at private parties. ‘Yes, Mr Beverley, I should love to dance the waltz with you.’

      Her heart fluttered as he placed his hand at the small of her waist, and she looked up at him, her eyes widening as she saw the challenge in his eyes.

      ‘Why do you look at me that way, sir?’

      ‘Because I am waiting,’ Hal said. ‘Most young ladies would have come out with it at once, but then, as I have observed before, you are different from most young ladies of my acquaintance.’

      ‘Are you speaking of Ellen?’ Jo asked.

      Oh, he danced divinely! She had not realised that a waltz could be this much pleasure. She felt as if she were floating on air, the music filling her soul as she followed his lead effortlessly, their steps perfectly in tune.

      ‘Ellen informs me that you have become her friend.’

      ‘I believe we are friends,’ Jo replied. ‘She tells me that you have been kind enough to offer her help should she need it.’

      ‘I would do more if she would permit it.’

      ‘Yes,