that she could find on military matters—that it was possible to receive a mortal wound and yet feel no pain, to continue for some time until suddenly one dropped dead of it. Shock, the doctors called it, a far more serious and deadly thing than the everyday shocks of ordinary life. Perhaps that was what she was feeling: shock.
Joanna was conscious of a swirl of bluebell skirts by her shoulder and Lady Suzanne appeared, hesitated for a moment and plunged into the throng. Her voice came back clearly. ‘Freddie! I would love to waltz with you, but I have not got a single dance on my card left. No, I am not teasing you, look…’
Joanna found she could not manage to keep the smile on her lips. Her hands began to tremble and she clasped them together in her lap. Any minute now someone was going to notice her and start to fuss. She had to get herself under control.
‘Madam, are you unwell?’ The deep voice came from close beside her. Joanna started violently, dropping her fan, and instantly Colonel Gregory was on one knee before her. ‘Here, I do not think it is damaged.’
She began to stammer a word of thanks, then their eyes met and he exclaimed, ‘But it is Miss Joanna Fulgrave, is it not?’ Joanna nodded mutely, taking the fan from his outstretched fingers, using exaggerated care not to touch him. ‘May I sit down?’ Taking her silence for assent, he took the chair next to her, his big frame absurdly out of place on the fragile-looking object.
‘Thank you, Colonel.’ She had managed a coherent sentence, but it was not enough to convince him that all was well with her. Joanna fixed her gaze on her clasped hands, yet she utterly aware of him beside her, his body turned to her, his eyes on her face.
‘You are not well, Miss Fulgrave. May I fetch someone to you? Is your mother here, perhaps?’
‘I need no one, I thank you,’ she managed to whisper. ‘I am quite well, Colonel.’
‘I beg leave to differ, Miss Fulgrave. You are as white as a sheet.’
‘I…I have had an unexpected and unwelcome encounter, that is all.’ Her voice sounded a little stronger, and emboldened she added, ‘It was a shock: I will be better presently, Colonel.’ Please leave me, she prayed, please go before I break down and turn sobbing into your arms in front of all these people.
Giles Gregory was on his feet, but not in answer to her silent pleas. ‘Has a gentleman here offered you some insult?’ he asked, keeping his voice low and his body between her and the throng around the dance floor.
‘Oh, no, nothing like that,’ Joanna assured him. She forced herself to look up. The grey eyes with their intriguing black flecks regarded her seriously, and, she realised, with some disbelief at her protestations.
‘I will fetch you something to drink Miss Fulgrave; I will not be long, just try and rest quietly.’
Joanna sat back in the chair, wishing she had the strength to get up and hide herself away, but her legs felt as though they were made out of blanc manger. Her mind would not let her think about the disaster that had befallen her; she tried to make herself realise what had happened, but somehow she just could not concentrate.
‘Here. Now, sip this and do not try to talk.’ He was back already, two glasses in his hands. How had he managed to get through the press of people? she wondered hazily, not having observed the Colonel striding straight across the dance floor between the couples performing a boulanger to accost the footmen who were setting out the champagne glasses.
The liquid fizzed down her throat, making her cough. She had expected orgeat or lemonade and had taken far too deep a draught.
‘I would have given you brandy, but I do not have a hip flask on me. Go on, drink it, Miss Fulgrave. You have obviously had a shock, even if you are not prepared to tell me about it. The wine will help calm your nerves.’ He sat down again, turning the chair slightly so his broad shoulders shielded her. He watched her face and apparently was reassured by what he saw.
‘That is better. Now, let us talk of other things. How are your parents? Well, I trust? And your sister is married by now, I expect?’ He seemed happy to continue in the face of her silent nods. ‘And William—how old is he? Twelve, I should imagine. And still army mad?’
‘No.’ Joanna managed a wan smile. ‘Not any longer. He is resolved to become a natural philosopher.’
Giles Gregory’s eyebrows rose, but he did not seem offended that his disciple had abandoned his military enthusiasms. ‘Indeed? Well, I do recall he always had an unfortunate frog or snail in his pocket.’
‘That is nothing to the things he keeps in his room.’ Joanna began to relax. It was like having the old Major Gregory back again: she could not feel self-conscious with him and the last few minutes seemed increasingly unreal. She took another long sip of champagne. ‘And he conducts experiments which cause Mama to worry that the house will burn down. Papa even takes him to occasional lectures if they are not too late in the evening.’
‘And your father is not anxious about this choice of career?’
‘I think he is resigned.’ Despite herself Joanna smiled, fondly recalling her father’s expression at the sight of the kitchen when Cook had indignantly summoned him to view the results of Master William’s experiment with the kettle, some yards of piping and a heavy weight. She took another sip and realised her glass was empty.
Giles removed it from her hand and gave her his untouched glass. ‘Very small glasses, Miss Fulgrave,’ he murmured.
‘Have you heard from the Earl of Tasborough lately?’ she asked. It must be the shock still, for she was feeling even more light-headed, although the awful numbness was receding to be replaced by a sense of unreality. She was having this conversation with Giles as though the past three years had not been and as though she had not just seen him kissing Lady Suzanne and declaring his love for her.
‘Not for a week or so. My correspondence is probably chasing me around the continent.’ He looked at her sharply. ‘Why do you ask? Is Hebe well?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Joanna hastened to reassure him. ‘You know she is…er…in an—’
‘Interesting condition?’ the Colonel finished for her. ‘Yes, I did know. I had a letter from Alex some months ago, unbearably pleased with himself over the prospect of another little Beresford to join Hugh in the nursery. I will visit them this week, I hope.’
Joanna drank some more champagne to cover her confusion at his frank reference to Hebe’s pregnancy. Mama always managed to ignore entirely the fact that ladies of her acquaintance were expecting. Joanna had wondered if everyone secretly felt as she did, that it was ridiculous to pretend in the face of ever-expanding waistlines that nothing was occurring. The Colonel obviously shared her opinion. ‘You are home on leave, then?’
‘Yes.’ He frowned. ‘It is a long time since I was in England.’
‘Almost a year, and then it was only for a week or two, was it not?’ Joanna supplied, then realised from his expression that this revealed remarkable knowledge about his activities. ‘I think Lord Tasborough said something to that effect,’ she added, crossing her fingers.
‘I am a little concerned about my father. My mother’s letters have expressed anxiety about his health, so when the chance arose to come home I took it.’ He hesitated, ‘I have many decisions to make on this furlough: one at least will entail a vast change to my life.’
His
