Page 52 of To Dance with a Devil

“Well, I shan’t say a word,” Minerva said at once. “You know that, but… but is that all that happened? Didn’t he flirt with you?”

Matilda made a disparaging noise. “Of course he flirted with me. The wretch has made no secret of his desire to make me his mistress no matter how many times I tell him to go to the devil.” She fell silent for a moment before adding, “The trouble is he is the devil, so it makes no difference.”

“You desire him.”

Matilda looked around at Minerva, wide-eyed with shock.

“Oh, come now, you can admit as much to me, surely?” Minerva said with a crooked smile. “I understand, you know. Mama will murder me with her best fur tippet if she discovers I’m infatuated with an intellectual, of all things. Yet, from the first moment I saw Mr de Beauvoir I knew… I just knew. There was the strangest sensation, in the pit of my belly,” she added in an undertone. “It comes back whenever I think of him and… and when I imagine his arms about me, his lips upon mine….” Minerva sighed and closed her eyes as a shiver ran down her spine. “Well, it only gets ten times worse. I desire him, though he can’t stand the sight of me. I think it is similar for you and Montagu, except the other way about. He is pursuing you, and you are telling him no, even though….” Minerva fell silent, considering that in the light of Mr de Beauvoir’s last letter. “Even though, at heart, you want him.”

“Don’t be foolish,” Matilda snapped. “I would need to be out of my mind to want a man like Montagu. He wants only to dishonour and shame me.”

“What has that got to do with desire?” Minerva asked, laughing a little. “It’s not like it’s something we have any say in.”

Matilda was quiet for a long time and then gave a despairing sigh. “Oh, Minerva, why are we so ridiculously foolish?”

Minerva shrugged, a crooked smile at her lips. “I have no idea,” she said softly. “But it does make life interesting.”

***

Matilda embraced Bonnie and was hugged so fiercely in return that she felt quite winded. The large room of the grand house was full of chatter and laughter as the Peculiar Ladies, and this time some of their husbands too, caught up on all the news and gossip.

“I’m so glad you’re feeling better,” Matilda said, stepping back to look Bonnie over. “And looking very fine indeed,” she added, noting with approval her friend’s dashing new ensemble.

Bonnie laughed. “I’ve been horribly spoilt,” she admitted, doing a little twirl. “Lady St Clair… Charlotte,” she amended, at receiving a reproving glance from her mother-in-law, “took me shopping yesterday. She said it was to cheer me up, but I think it was a nefarious plan to exhaust me in the hopes I’d behave myself today. I never met a woman with such stamina for shopping!”

“It’s true,” Lady St Clair said with a sigh. “And I went and bought the ghastliest orange gown, too. I can’t think what possessed me. Orange? With my complexion? Oh, dear me no, a fatal combination. Why didn’t you stop me, Bonnie? It was very unkind of you.”

She sauntered off then, leaving Bonnie open mouthed. “Stop her?” she exclaimed. “A herd of elephants couldn’t stop her! Of all the nerve. I told her three times to get the green one instead, but she wouldn’t listen.”

Matilda laughed, delighted at the easy manner between the two women.

“There you are,” Jerome said, taking hold of Bonnie’s hand and putting it firmly on his sleeve. The look that passed between them was so intimate that Matilda had to look away for a moment. How lovely it was to see them both so happy. She had to admit she’d not believed Jerome would see everything that Bonnie could give him, not believed there was any option but to see Bonnie hurt, but she was more than relieved to have been proven wrong.

“Miss Hunt,” Jerome said, smiling at her. “It’s a pleasure to see you again. I do hope you’ll accept the invitation to our engagement ball when it arrives.”

Bonnie rolled her eyes at him. “How can it be an engagement ball? We’re married. It’s just a belated celebration, that’s all.”

Jerome shrugged. “Well, whatever it is, whenever it is, I hope Miss Hunt can attend. How’s that?”

Matilda laughed. “I’d be delighted to. When and where will it be?”

“Here,” Bonnie said, shaking her head. “And in ten days. You’ll get the invitation tomorrow all being well and, oh!” she exclaimed, jigging up and down. “I can’t wait for you to see the invitations before I tell you, though they’re very pretty, but I must explain now or I’ll burst. It’s a masquerade ball!”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Matilda said, laughing. “For you never did complete your dare, did you?”

Matilda watched as Bonnie and Jerome exchanged a glance and the two of them dissolved into laughter.

“Oh, no!” Matilda said, holding up a hand in alarm. “Don’t tell me, I beg of you. I’ve already decided it’s likely I’ll have gone grey before the year is out, pray don’t make it happen any quicker than it must.”

Bonnie grinned at her and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “Poor, Matilda, our darling mother hen,” she said with a sigh. “Just know that I completed my dare, but I’m certainly not going to miss another opportunity to dress up.”

“What are you going as this time?” Matilda asked.

“I haven’t decided yet,” Bonnie said, turning her attention to her husband. “And Jerome won’t tell me what he’s wearing so I can’t try to make a matching pair.” She scowled at him, but Jerome just returned a sweetly innocent expression.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he retorted.

“Won’t it be a lark though, Matilda?” Bonnie said, leaning in conspiratorially. “Lady St Clair has invited everyone who’s anyone, to a party in my honour,” she said with a crow of laughter. “All the ton will be there, and oh my, the old tabbies will be beside themselves with fury when they were so looking forward to seeing me go to the devil.”