asked her aunt about the Ansteys’ party.
‘They are with their cousins, the Verekers—the ones who live in Berkeley Square. And the young man who is paying such particular attention to Marianne Anstey is Lord Morrissey. Would you like to meet them?’
She took Eleanor over to the other side of the room and made the introductions. Mr and Mrs Vereker were an amiable couple, who were clearly enormously proud of their beautiful protégée. Mrs Anstey was soberly dressed and stayed quietly in the background, pleased to let her cousins take charge. Eleanor, who was guiltily aware that she had spent half an hour in the park that afternoon with Mrs Anstey’s reported enemy, was prepared for some coolness, but when they were introduced the lady smiled pleasantly enough, if somewhat timidly. Marianne proved to be as amiable as she was beautiful. Her manner was a delightful mixture of modesty and charm, and Lord Morrissey’s attentions had brought an appealing flush to her cheeks and a sparkle to her lovely eyes. He was obviously well on the way to falling in love, and Eleanor privately agreed with Mr Guthrie’s words that it might do very nicely.
After a few minutes Lord Morrissey made his excuses and took Miss Anstey off towards the ballroom. A young man Eleanor had met at a previous party came up and took her off as well, and soon the ball was well on its way. Though she did not quite dance every dance, Eleanor was seldom without a partner, and received a good many compliments on her appearance. She found herself enjoying the evening. She had just returned from a set of country dances and was standing with her aunt and uncle when she saw that the ambassador himself was approaching them. She stood back modestly in order to allow him to speak to her uncle, but then saw that Mr Guthrie was with him. She looked anxiously at her aunt. Lady Walcot was smiling at the ambassador, and though the smile faltered a little when she saw his companion she quickly recovered.
‘Lady Walcot, I am enchanted to see you so well,’ said His Excellency. ‘I see that you have lost one daughter only to gain another—and such a pretty one! Mademoiselle?’
Eleanor curtsied low and blushed as the ambassador took her hand and kissed it. He glanced mischievously at Mr Guthrie. ‘And now, Lady Walcot, I see that your niece is not dancing at present. That is quite wrong. May I present Mr Guthrie to you as a most desirable partner for the young lady?’
Eleanor had difficulty in suppressing a smile. Her aunt was undoubtedly outraged by a manoeuvre which made it impossible for her to refuse, but no one could have guessed it from her demeanour. She smiled graciously, then inclined her head.
‘How can anyone refuse you, Ambassador? My niece would be delighted, of course.’
‘Excellent! And I shall take you and Lord Walcot to the refreshment tables—I have a champagne there which will please you, I think. Come, my friend Guthrie will take good care of the pretty niece, n’est-ce pas, Jonas?’
‘Lady Walcot may have every confidence in me, Ambassador,’ said Mr Guthrie smoothly, whereupon Lord Walcot made a curious noise which he was able to turn into a cough. Mr Guthrie raised an eyebrow, then turned to Eleanor. ‘Miss Southeran?’ he said, offering his arm, and Eleanor, with an apologetic glance at her aunt, moved forward. Lady Walcot exchanged a long look with Mr Guthrie and then turned to accompany the ambassador, and Eleanor’s uncle, still amused, shook his head and followed his wife.
‘That was not well done, sir!’ said Eleanor severely as they walked towards the ballroom.
‘Not well done? Well, upon my word, I wouldn’t know how a man could do it better! To get His Excellency himself to plead my case…what more would you expect? The Prince Regent?’
Half laughing, Eleanor said, ‘You know very well what I mean, Mr Guthrie! It was to pay my aunt back for refusing you last night, was it not?’
‘You underrate yourself,’ he said with a smile. ‘There were other merits in the idea.’ Then he stopped and said, ‘But there’s something you should know about me, Miss Southeran. When I play, I don’t take chances. I play to win.’
‘And the prize in this case? Was it worth calling out such big guns?’
‘Well, now,’ he said softly, ‘it depends on what you mean by the prize. Victory over your aunt? An opportunity to dance with you? Or…what?’
Surprised by his tone, Eleanor looked at him, which was a mistake. He was looking down at her with amusement and something more disturbing in his eyes. She said uncertainly, ‘If you are trying to flirt with me, Mr Guthrie, I must tell you that I don’t appreciate it. I prefer sensible conversation such as we had this afternoon to…to silly compliments and empty phrases.’
‘I assure you, I was not trying to flirt with you. And if I were capable of flattery—which I am not—I would tell you that you outshine every other woman in the room, that that entrancing dress is a perfect foil for your sea-green witch’s eyes, and the dark gold of your hair—’
‘Mr Guthrie!’
Undeterred by her angry exclamation, he went on, ‘That, lovely though your features are, they are rendered yet more entrancing by your animation, the liveliness of your expression—’
‘Mr Guthrie, stop this at once or I shall leave you instantly!’
‘But I am not saying such things, Miss Southeran,’ he said earnestly. ‘They are quite clearly false, the merest flattery. You are pretty enough, but far from being the prettiest woman in the room. Miss Anstey, for instance, is a star!’ After a brief pause he added, ‘I grant that you’re livelier than she is—and much more intelligent.’ He gave a delighted laugh at her indignant expression. ‘What sensible things shall we talk about, Miss Southeran?’
Eleanor had never known such a man! Never before had she experienced such a mixture of feelings—anger, amusement, puzzlement, sympathy. Never had she felt so alive.
‘You shall tell me more about the East. But first we shall enjoy your prize, which,’ she said firmly, ‘is a dance.’
They didn’t talk about the East, but after the dance was over he took her to supper, and they talked of other things. They walked through the crowded rooms and at one point found themselves among the plants in the winter garden, still talking. Eleanor had objected to something disparaging Mr Guthrie had said about life in England, and was arguing her case passionately. But her voice died away as she saw him looking at her as she spoke, his eyes focused on her lips. She was overcome with a feeling of panic and turned away from him. ‘We…we must go back,’ she said nervously. ‘My aunt will be looking for me.’
‘No, wait a little. How can we talk sensibly out there among all those people—?’
‘I cannot stay here—it is most improper. My aunt would be very angry if she saw me.’
‘The devil take your aunt!’
‘Sir!’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s just that I have something I want to say to you, and there never seems to be a suitable moment. I keep putting it off…’ He gave an exasperated laugh. ‘I think I’m afraid!’
‘Afraid?’ she echoed, looked at him wide-eyed.
‘Yes, and when you look at me like that it all goes out of my head. You have a most extraordinary effect on me—like no other I have ever known. How do you do it?’
Eleanor suddenly became aware of the very strange effect this conversation was
