Oft Expectation Fails, And Most Oft There

[Mr Nicholas Goulding]

((Tag: Miss Charlotte Delaford))

Nicholas would forever be at a loss as to why the people of Meryton were so fond of assemblies. There was only one place where a public assembly could be formed in their little town, and it was a shabby little place with no air and little charm. Though these would have been marks against it enough, once all the local folk were crammed into it, it was made insupportable by the influx of strangers that seemed to think it their right to infringe on Meryton for an evening. Had they no consciences? Were they not aware that their presence in Meryton only lead the silly to become sillier, the vain to ratchet up their vanity and his temper to flare? He conceded -- as he stood apart and glowered at the lot of them from the least-crowded corner he could find -- that they were each of them selfish beyond reason and thus were hardly worth his consideration at all.

Perhaps the only saving grace of this gathering was the wine that was readily available. A drunkard by no means, Nicholas could appreciate the relaxing qualities that a very little wine could infuse. He held his glass delicately, in the manner of a man who would still be holding it thus some hours later, and found himself contemplating the quality of the musicians assembled for their entertainment. Country roustabouts, the lot of them, with their inferior fiddles and windswept looks! Though he had not the fondness for music that his good friend Delaford had, he attended the operas with that gentleman whenever he deigned to go into London. His visits to town were always short0lived and fleeting; like a crow, he would swoop in and caw his disapproval at the wanton displays of the hedonistic before leaving them all gasping for relief just as suddenly as he had arrived.

He really was at something of a loss as he nodded curtly to various revellers who greeted him out of habit, for certainly none greeted him out of joy. His nose remained aloft as the dancing begun, and some time later he decided that he could not -- in all good conscience -- allow himself to go home again until he had sought out Miss Delaford and done his utmost to torment her. It was a favourite pastime of his, for not only was she so full of herself that she was fit to bursting, she was also the only woman he knew who could at least attempt to take a shot back at him. The fact that his banter with her also amused her brother was simply a bonus, and he could not be sorry that those in town preyed upon by Miss Delaford’s pert opinion also seemed to smile slightly whenever he set her down.

Whereas before the crowd had been an insurmountable tide of wasted air, Nicholas cut through it now as though he were a shark on the hunt. He could smell one whiff of Miss Delaford’s brazenness on the wind, and like any true predator he wasted no time in ferreting her out. He sidled up to her where she stood, hands clasped behind his back and feeling justified in keeping his face just as dour as he liked. “I hear we are to expect an addition to the assembly this evening,” he mused, standing just behind her and slightly to her left. This enabled them to survey the crowd together – Charlotte because she would no doubt be curious and he because he was as ready for new people dislike as ever he was. “I do hope they properly attire themselves, for a gathering such as this, and do not disappoint your sensibilities with plain muslin.”

[MISS CHARLOTTE DELAFORD]

There was nothing better with which to separate one’s days than the merriment of an assembly! Certainly Meryton was not St James, but it was a queer truth about Miss Charlotte Delaford that, while she was known to hold harsh judgement over a great many things, she found a generous diversion in the country that she held quite dear. While much of the community there was the usual flurry of pretence and homage to the unsettling pattern of things that she so disliked, she was infinitely more likely to discover a kernel of true novelty amongst this somewhat ramshackle gathering, than in all of Grosvenor Square. Of course, when she was in London - as James was always so eager to point out – there was nothing quite so thrilling as the raw spectacle of the Ton. That there was an inherent contradiction in this matter of thought was something she had little difficulty discarding at that moment, like a rag-doll at the end of its youth; for Charlotte could be sure that this night promised to be superior to both instances, a little morsel of unexpected surprise as an unforseen complication came to rattle them and usher up a kink in the throw rug.

It was not often that St James actually appeared in Meryton.

Mr Bingley – while no doubt a fine gentleman – could not have so roused Charlotte’s interest in his own environment, nor perhaps could an eve, where the ladies outnumbered the dancing gentlemen so abominably, be relied upon to rustle up her good spirits to total delight, but the twain annexing in such a way was nigh on impossible to ignore. It would be a veritable frenzy, to be sure. She had already heard the village gossips falling to pieces over it, and to watch it all unravel would surely be well worth the second dance with Mr Goodwell, who had an extraordinary talent for finding a lady’s feet, however nimble, and trotting on them fiercely.

James had disappeared to his own merriment, knowing full well that his sister would be little good for dancing when she was like this. Charlotte was an avid observer, taking infinite delight in the pantomimes outplayed. She would remain at her perfectly chosen vantage point until she was well and truly satisfied that she had seen all that could be seen and more. Here she was perfectly in her element and perfectly happy. In fact, there was but one thing that could add to her present mirth and that was evidence of yet another truth; that a certain gentleman would be absolutely hating it.

It was an odd sort of affection that so enjoyed the vexation of another, but some simply begged to be teased, - well, not to be teased so much as tortured - and Mr Nicholas Goulding was one such gentleman. His sour demeanour and wilful determination to be displeased at everything made for such excellent sport, rather like the Arabian habit of poking fun at angry cobras, and Charlotte would be a liar of the worst order if she did not admit to enjoying it a little more than was strictly necessary. There was no doubt he would be found amongst the throng this night; for a recluse he was remarkably social when he could be sure of ruining the evening of a lady or two; and where hopes were high, so much harder their falling. That he might have ruined Charlotte’s evening at any point in their acquaintance was not something she readily held up for discussion – though James had attempted it more often than she cared to count.

She knew well that thoughts of the devil drew him near, so it ought not to have been such a surprise that such tender memories mingled suddenly with the voice that lived in them, giving cause to no other reaction from his target than the slight upturn of a smirk that must now be so familiar to him as his own reflection. She did not skip a beat at the manner of his greeting, “Well, after so much time in the company of your wardrobe, anything at all might be at least a subtle improvement. I am assured by the most vital of sources that this Mr Bingley is a very animated fellow.”

[Mr Nicholas Goulding]

The beginnings of a laugh were suppressed before they could find themselves a foothold, only reaching their full potential as a short breath that was immediately lost to the atmosphere in the assembly room. Had he wanted an easy target he most certainly would not have been on the lookout for her; Nicholas had long since noted that unless he was in a truly foul temper there was no satisfaction to be had by insulting those who had not the wit to understand the slight. He continued to lurk behind her, his eyes for the crowd and not for the lady who occupied his mind with her well-honed jab at his own typical mode of attire. He didn’t bother to spare himself an insecure glance; he was impeccably dressed and if it were not to her tastes then so much the better.

“Only a subtle improvement?” he asked, sounding wounded. “I had better try harder, then, to mismatch my waistcoat and breeches.” He raised an eyebrow at another young lady of the township that passed them, a surreptitious glance in his direction before she quickly dissolved into the crowd. It had been a long time since he had been considered an eligible bachelor of any sort in Meryton, for all those mothers seeking good matches for their daughters had long since resolved to themselves that he was the most miserable man in all of Hertfordshire. It was a belief he avidly encouraged; he had not the time nor the inclination to spend his days lecturing misguided young women on how to better situate their affections.

Which was yet another reason why, if he must have feminine company at all he much preferred it in the form of the sharp-tongued Miss Delaford. She was not blind to the sort of creature that he was, and so he could be as horrible to her as he liked without any fear that she would claim he had broken her heart or any such nonsense. It also seemed that his being in company with her actually kept other women away, a pleasant sort of trade off for having to put up with her nonsense in the first place. He had half a mind to wonder how Delaford remained as unaffected in life as he did, through having such a sister, until he smirked and recalled that he could hardly counted his friend as unaffected by any definition of the term.

“He cannot be more animated than the younger Miss Bennets,” he added nastily. “Poor man will be set upon like a tired hare after the hunt, immediately he arrives.” He took another small sip of his wine, apparently taking great comfort in knowing that she would wish to be observing the company rather than bothering with him. “I hope he is swift on his feet, with you among the pack of hounds sure to pursue him. Do be gentle, won’t you? For his sake. I am sure he has seen nothing so rabid as a Meryton girl before in his life.”

[MISS CHARLOTTE DELAFORD]

Charlotte resisted the instant want to assure him that his breeches were perfectly mismatched as they were, knowing full well that he made his comment only to pull from her the response. It was far more satisfactory, then, that she refuse him his wish. That she had not yet seen his breeches was beside the matter entirely. She continued her purveyance of the room as he made no effort to formally greet her, in no mind that she should be the first to extend the olive branch of acquaintance – as though all that were gathered did not know that he was the particular friend of her brother, or that they spoke almost so much as they were in the other’s company.

There was no sign yet of the illusive Mr Bingley, or those who would no doubt be in his company, so Charlotte must make do with the usual staples of the town. She nodded her head politely at Sir William Lucas as he raised his glass and thought she caught sight of Marianne Lewis loitering most unbecomingly near the port. Mr Goulding’s comment on the Miss Bennets seemed fortuitously timed, for no sooner had he uttered the words than Miss Lydia Bennet made a hasty dash across the floor, upsetting a dancing couple in order to engage a young friend of hers. Despite this evidence, however, she could not abide being at all agreeable to her sparring partner and began to fashion a response, which might defend her sex and her manner toward him.

She progressed all of an inch before she was halted by what was truly insufferable.

To suggest that she might hasten to pursue any man was infuriating in and of itself, but to use the term ‘hound’ in the analogy was simply insulting! Her smile broadened by way of illustration of her thoughts at such a remark. It would not do at all to allow him to think that it might affect her in any way. “I should worry more at my being gentle with you, Mr. Goulding, and not at all for the same line of reasoning.” It was a strange juxtaposition that existed between them, that when either experienced any form of true emotion, it was exhibited in its exact opposite. So was their odd little rapport. “Or you may soon not have any need of breeches at all.”

For the simple fact that one required legs to wear them.

She sipped at the rataffia in her hand before turning her light antagonism further with a tilt of her face ever so slightly in his direction, “So, to what do we owe this inestimable pleasure? Have you too come to marvel at Mr Bingley’s marvellous prospect, or are you merely here to inform the general populace of your disapproval? Since such would have been conveyed just as neatly by your staying away, I must conclude that you were at least vaguely curious abut this evening’s guests. Am I to take that the Captor of Young Women’s Hearts is threatened in his position already?”

[Mr Nicholas Goulding]

Nicholas endured the antics of his fellow man with the same skewed expression with which he always bore them, his mouth slightly off kilter and one brow raised sardonically above its partner. It was the look of a man who was supremely unimpressed, and not even the unlikely realisation that no one really cared a fig for what he thought would be enough to knock that rather large chip from his shoulder. He was who he was, and he embraced it and was happy in that harmonious state. He rather thought that if Miss Delaford embraced who she was -- a bitter, aging shrew of little taste and wasted wit -- then she would be far better off. She would know what to expect from the world, then, and learn what it expected from her in return. By being exactly the sort of nasty man he knew he was thought to be, Nicholas felt as though he fulfilled his destiny beautifully.

His perceptive mossy gaze flicked sideways to regard her as she made to turn towards him, his mouth twitching with amusement as she readily nibbled on the bait he had provided. The breadth of her smile could not mask the heat of her censure, when she spoke to him at last. Brows lifted as he considered her threat; if it had been anyone else to speak to him thus he might have doubted the potency of the words. The analogy in this situation, however, was a touch too astute. Miss Delaford was undoubtedly a terrier when it came to matters she felt herself to have a stake in, and she could be irritatingly determined to win at something with only the slightest provocation. It was one of her qualities that Nicholas to often banked on, when it occurred to him to deliberately annoy her.

Because he much preferred to pick his battles where he could win them, he opted to allow her to change the subject back to the mysterious Mr. Bingley. No sooner was the decision made than he regretted it; where only moments before he had shown pride in his adversary on account of her intelligence he now repented for ever having credited it to her as she began to wax philosophical on all manner of absurdities. He had no opinion on Bingley -- yet -- for the fellow was abominably late. He had no care whether the people of Meryton (and the addition of the fickle blow-ins) knew of his disapproval of anything, and would tell them such as soon as look at them. No, rather it was this business about hearts that he chose to take issue with.

He rolled his eyes at her drivel, disappointed and chagrined that of all the things she might have taken up as her battle for the evening, his dubious role as an eligible bachelor had been the one that had captured her attention at last. “I have no use for hearts,” he sneered. “They either beat too slowly or else they beat too fast! They are inconstant, dreadful things that would betray you at a moment’s notice and leave you to rot forever in their absence.” He paused as the music swelled, leaning a little closer so that he might be heard above the provincial din. “It is no wonder that women are so very fond of them. If it weren’t for the constant breaking of their hearts, they would have nothing to cry about!”

At this point the music dulled a little, and his last was overheard by Mrs. Phillips, who was just passing by en route to her sister. It earned him a glare for his trouble, which he returned every bit as fiercely.

[MISS CHARLOTTE DELAFORD]

That he should be so offended at her title of him – as was obvious by his little tirade – was utterly ridiculous, especially when one considered the unmerited and flowery fabrication of her substance that he had uttered but moments before. That he then went on to speak of the weakness of her sex in such an unsupportable manner was unfathomable. That she did not seek to point out this injustice was all bit miraculous, going a very long way towards illustrating just how gloriously impressed she was with herself to have prompted such a poetic loosening of the tongue. She would swear up and down the high street that she had never heard quite so many syllables offered by the gentleman in quite so quick succession!

That he had earned the ire of Mrs Phillips in his indelicacy was merely glaze for the lamb. While Charlotte would not normally have held the woman in high esteem, at this moment she might well have been Queen Elizabeth and she offered her ongoing smile to the passing judge. After a moment’s pause, she fully turned to address her accuser – though of what crime she was being accused, save her being in possession of a heart and of a feminine dispossession she was unsure – and calmly addressed him with an almost casual disregard, her voice lowered in a manner that was more appropriate for avoiding the offence of drifting gossips.

“I wonder at your being so very hard on hearts,” she tilted her head in mock query, “One might almost suggest that the Bard was not far from the mark in his somewhat prophetic ejaculation; ‘Methinks the lady doth protest too much’. Though, since you neither seem very fond of ladies perhaps there are yet amendments to be made?”

She was now well and truly distracted from the true purpose of her attendance for the evening, and would have lamented it herself had she not been caught up in the process of ensuring that she would maintain the high ground – though James would later argue that it was another instinct altogether that allowed her focus to slip so easily to the taunts of a man she professed to be so inconsequential to her. Relent she did not and, since he had so unceremoniously laid his disdain at her feet, she felt absolutely no remorse at offering him a similar courtesy, taking her momentum and moving forward on the pendulum of his thrust.

“It is strange, indeed, that you should have such studied opinions on matters in which you profess to be so wholly disinterested. Though that is your mark, I’d wager, for if there were not so much about the fairer sex that was uninteresting to you, you would have nothing left to complain so bitterly about.”

[Mr Nicholas Goulding]

Upon having won the triumph of forcing her to turn and attack him with the full force of her attention, his chin dipped towards his chest and he leaned back as though afraid of her. He wasn’t, of course -- his mockery of her would never be satisfied unless he had been as blatant as possible (to please himself) and as childish as possible (to annoy her). That she spoke in a more reserved tone only served to ensure that he would speak more loudly, and his eyes skipped over her face with something akin to devilish glee as she gave him his dressing-down, so to speak. When it seemed she had done for the moment, he pressed his lips together and narrowed his eyes thoughtfully as though attempting to recall something important.

“I have every right to complain,” he told her, “as a superior male creature. A mere female cannot know the sufferings of her betters, because she has not the capacity with which to understand them!” He sipped his drink again, while waiting for her to reward him for his impudence by spluttering into hers. If she gave one of those choking kinds of coughs, he would consider the battle half won. “I cannot believe that you wonder at my severity on the worthlessness of hearts, for you of all people ought to remember that I have not one of my own. And a good thing, too,” he smirked, “for between your condemnation and Mrs. Phillips’ scowl it would have almost certainly been decimated and then I would have been far worse off than I am not having had one in the first place!”

Nicholas himself could not make up his mind which part of these little disturbances of the general peace he liked the better; the smooth transition from normalcy to the volatile environment that must eventually come into existence between them or the rapid-fire nature of their discourse. The carthasis was always rather pleasurable; seeing her walking away from him in frustration or walking away from her and leaving her gaping behind him were both equal in terms of excellence. If he could leave her lying awake in the dark stretches of the night (though he had no such delusions of his having made himself such a nuisance yet, he had every hope that with time he would be able to plague her to such an extent) then he would know he had become a master of his art. Because he could not help himself -- not really -- he leaned forward to speak with her in such a way that was shockingly over-familiar.

“Hearts or ladies, they are both of them ninety-nine percent folly and one percent pain. For my part, I shall avoid them both at all costs.”

[MISS CHARLOTTE DELAFORD]

Whatever her joy in calmness a moment before was utterly obliterated at the word ‘superior’ and she was suddenly grateful for her having turned at an earlier stage, for rounding on him now would have been far more deserving of his faux intimidation. She so longed for the same control over her temper that James possessed – though at times she wondered at his getting angyr at all – and lamented the flash that was all too often to be seen in blue eyes. Even to suggest that she lacked capacity in any way, regardless of his actual thoughts on the matter - though with Mr Goulding, one could not be sure of his not thinking exactly that - was absolutely beyond her. She rather ungracefully turned her annoyance into a slightly unconvincing smile as she attempted to cover over her much more convincing scoff.

It was a blessing, indeed that her drink had passed away from her lips at that point, or it may well have been deposited on his cravat. Of course, they were not yet at the end of this conversation, so to exclude the possibility was to be ever-so-slightly premature.

“It is a small mind that must assure others of its superiority, sir,” she bit out at him rather more viciously than she had intended, “and you need not allude to the absence of your heart, either, for while extraordinarily rare, your correctness does occasionally descend and has done so in illustrating how very hollow you are. It is a coward’s courage that does not lament his lack. For to feel is a strength that men of your calibre can never understand!”

Charlotte reigned herself in at once – a feat in and of itself – which could not be attributed to any care for the gentleman’s feelings or of her mother’s ire at addressing him in such a manner, but rather to that lingering discontent that he was defeating her in this regard yet again. The loss of temper between them seemed to be almost the object of their discourse and she was an abominably poor victim. She could not help but continue to fix her heated gaze on him.

It was then her turn to retreat somewhat as he moved intentionally into her sphere in a way that was shocking for any who was not Mr Nicholas Goulding, and while his retreat had been a work of the will, hers was entirely and frustratingly responsive to his nearness. She cut it short at once, attempting to stand her place and confront his liberties with her person. There was no way on this green earth that she would be bested at breaking such boundaries.

It was a great pity that she did not take note that they were surrounded by potential onlookers, for she was not able to actively pronounce how distinctly she did not care for their opinions on the matter.

Her neck poised rather like a prize mare, she tried to regain her earlier serenity, her self-satisfaction returning as she purposefully minded not a jot about his closeness, “Again, sir, you are a walking contradiction, for I believe it was you who sought me out, which – I must say – is a radical departure from my definition of ‘avoidance at all costs’.”

[Mr Nicholas Goulding]

Nicholas considered the battle won the instant her eyes betrayed the depth of her anger at his comment; the heated manner of her retort only sweetened the victory. He heard her with a keen eagerness to have it all said and done; the manner of a man who was used to being told by almost anyone he met that he was insufferable and ought not be allowed out in public without first consenting to muzzle himself. He rocked forward on the balls of his feet with true enjoyment, and if the brother of the poor woman suffering him at this moment had spied them, it surely would have earned Nick a chuckle for his trouble.

“I do not know whether to think you excessively kind or intolerably stupid for attributing even a coward’s courage to me!” he laughed, with a shake of his head. Over her shoulder he caught sight of Mrs. Phillips speaking to Mrs. Bennet before both ladies glanced in their direction, but he was too enthralled in the argument of the moment to give them any kind of attention that was not expressly their due. His eyes moved back to wordlessly challenge hers. “The very presence of feelings is that cause for lamentation in men of sense.” It was his turn to take a breath, now, and he allowed it to leave him in the form of a feigned sigh of disappointment.

“I had hoped that you of all people would understand my meaning when it comes to such matters. Though you are not in possession of enough sense to make you the equal of a man, I do not think there is one among us who could truly call you feminine.” He smirked, his eyes alight with a devilry that each of her attempts to quiet him only served to fuel. The perfection of her last was not lost on him, and though he was a man predisposed towards a sour expression in general, anyone looking on that at that moment would have surely remarked on how jovial and agreeable he seemed (to the untrained eye) as he laughed at her unabashedly.

“I do beg your pardon, for stopping to talk to you along my way. I was bound for Miss Mary Bennet and happened to pass you. Commenting on the state of my non-existant heart and your excessive opinion was much simpler than saying a polite ‘pray excuse me’, to say nothing of the quality of the entertainment.” He knew that she would wish for nothing more than to have her say (always she was determined that the last words in any of their many rapid-fire conversations ought to be hers) and then remove herself from his company. He was now making calculated bets with himself that her curiosity at what he could possibly have to say to Miss Mary Bennet that would be of any consequence would overtake her sense of self-preservation.

He had but to wait three seconds, to find out whether he was right.

[MISS CHARLOTTE DELAFORD]

Damnable creature!

There is nothing so unnerving to a woman who takes such pride in distinguishing herself as a man who plays on her interior mechanism as though each cog were a string on a harp. While Charlotte happily dismissed his quick shots at her earlier comments - his sense no doubt meant to punch holes in that sensibility that she had so briefly begun to champion and could justify readily enough to herself that she did not need his approval of it -, his next was so craftily constructed, and constructed it undoubtedly was, as to have come from Mephistopheles himself. She had skated quite smoothly over his laugh and then even at his attempted jab at her vanity. Knowing full well what his idea of femininity might entail, she rather took his slight as a compliment. In fact, it was practically a shining endorsement, since Mr Goulding had so kindly taken the time to explain to her the superiority of the masculine mind!

Again, she uncovered the contradictions that revealed his motives more and more plainly as irritant above all else. He slighted her femininity because he thought it might elicit a similar reaction with which she had not a moment before gifted him. He slighted her mind because he knew it would do so.

This truth only made it all the more abhorrent to her that her curiosity bounded so neatly to sit at attention when he had clearly invented this last for that particular purpose. Miss Mary Bennet indeed. And yet, there lingered in her, right at the core of what seemed her very soul, an innate sense that perhaps he had not merely created the story. It was the same sense that had pulled her to the place she stood that evening, the same sense that had her awaiting so eagerly the arrival of a mysterious gentleman that she professed could not have influenced her world for anything. It was like an invasion force upon her quick mind, a need to broadly embrace information that might expand the little circle of light that was her knowledge of the world into the darkness that was all she could perceive she did not know. She would, one day, be done in by this relentless need, she well knew, and certainly tonight she could sense impending demise but seconds from the edge of her tongue.

The smell of blood could be caught off of the varnished wooden floors. Damnable creature.

“Ah! So it is Miss Mary Bennet that pulls you out into our company this evening! Then the riddle is solved. No doubt you have come to ask her opinion of the colour scheme for next Season. I should have guessed, since the two of you are so perfectly matched and so equally out of sequence with the rest of us,” she beamed, settling for a chuckle where she had so wholly martyred her victory on every other standing. She would be content enough to know whether he had truly only crossed her path in search of Miss Mary Bennet, and whether or not there truly existed a reason for him to seek her company, of course.

[Mr Nicholas Goulding]

Never was a man so duplicitous as Nicholas Goulding, and he would not have liked himself were he anything but. He did not care for fishing, but felt the thrill of the sport when the fish were biting. He did not like to hunt, but enjoyed the rush of the chase. He had no time for people, yet was at his happiest when deliberately in company to vex them. And he took the greatest of pleasure in simultaneously igniting Miss Delaford’s predictable temper while offering her the most convoluted compliment he could conjure. It was a game that they had both been playing at since they had been old enough to establish the order of play -- there would have been rules, but they neither of them would have seen fit to play by them and so they had been done away with before they could be dreamt up.

His pleasure at her disdainful acquiescence to assume Mary Bennet his motive in sallying forth for the evening only pleased him all the more, for they both knew that she was wrong. He saw no need to lend strength to her argument by pointing out her error, and instead only allowed her the benefit of a sly smile before turning his gaze on the particular Miss Bennet in question. Nicholas would gladly allow Charlotte to speculate whatever she liked regarding his imminent conversation with Mary Bennet; it would do her good to think about someone but herself for a change, no matter the inducement for her doing so. He would be certain to make it a long conversation, just to give her something to truly ponder.

“As I have been discovered, there is no point in denying it.” He shrugged himself further into his coat, straightening it as though he wished to make a good impression on the next woman he was to converse with, even if he had not the intention of doing so with the present one. He allowed his eyes to venture in search of the very lady he had just unwittingly brought into his scheme and, seeing her discussion with Miss Maria Lucas coming to a conclusion, he turned slowly to Miss Delaford with a rather serious, polite expression on his face. “Ah! I see that she is not occupied.” And with that he set himself to his stride across the ballroom toward his latest quarry. He did not leave an ‘Excuse me,’ behind him, because she certainly would not deign to grant him the favour of her pardon and he should not have liked it even if she had.

[MISS CHARLOTTE DELAFORD]

The salt to the wound was that Charlotte knew that it was her fault. She had blundered straight into the trap he had set for her and done so all but knowing what the outcome would be. She almost felt as though she deserved his final remark, rather like a fencer who had conceded a point to another player on account of his own false step. This, of course, did not make it grate against her any less and as she held her breath to keep from shouting her displeasure at him, her teeth pulled together into a grit of dissatisfaction.

Oh, how he vexed her; and oh how that only served to vex her more!

She had every good mind to pull her shoe from her foot and lob it across the room towards the self-assured back of his head. She daren’t though, not for fear of the assembly around her – were that her fear, she would likely have ceased speaking to Nicholas Goulding many moons before – but for fear of his taking it captive and her having to dance the night through in only one shoe. She should never live it down if he returned to Hadleigh to deliver it her, or worse yet, refused to return it at all!

The longer she pondered the outcome, the further he removed himself and the less sure she became of her aim. Thus, she steeled herself to await her moment - another time, another footing.

If one could pardon the pun.

Fin.