The Tales of Aylfenhame Compendium

Chapter Seven-2

‘Miss Landon,’ said Mrs. Adair, her tone slightly stiff.

Sophy made her a curtsey, still mystified.

‘Mr. Stanton has requested the honour of an introduction,’ she said, sounding none too pleased about it—and no wonder, if the gentleman had ignored her daughter in favour of Sophy.

She made no objection, of course—covering her surprise, she thought, very creditably. The introduction was swiftly performed, and Mrs. Adair as swiftly withdrew. Mr. Stanton did not so much as glance at his hostess’s retreating form, dismissing her as thoroughly as he had dismissed her daughter moments before.

But there was no pride or arrogance in his manner. He seemed so entirely unconscious of wrongdoing, as though he had ignored and dismissed them simply because they were unimportant to him. Unimportant! Whereas she, Sophia Landon, somehow ranked as important enough for him to request an introduction.

He gave her another of those warm smiles, held out a hand to her and said:

‘It is the greatest pleasure to make your acquaintance at last, Miss Landon. Will you do me the honour of dancing with me?’

Sophy felt too much surprise to venture any ready response. She blinked stupidly at his handsome face, certain she must be misunderstanding the moment somehow.

Propriety obliged him to open the ball with the daughter of his hosts, if she wished it, and she clearly did. And given that the lady in question was beautiful, rich and generally considered charming, it could be no hardship to do so.

Instead he had requested an introduction to one of the least worthy females in the room, and actually wished to dance with her! The all-important first dances, too! Nothing had prepared her for this singular experience; she had shrugged off all of Anne’s hints and predictions without a moment’s thought, as being far too ridiculous for serious contemplation.

Yet, here it was. So unused was she to being seriously solicited for a dance—let alone by one of the handsomest and most sought-after gentlemen in the room—that she had no idea what to say. She ought to refuse, she knew, for he and his first dances belonged by right to Miss Adair. But her refusal would not make him any more likely to choose instead a woman whom he plainly did not wish to dance with. Besides, that wonderful smile was back as he waited for her reply. How could she resist an invitation delivered with so much warmth, so much apparent delight in her company? Unaccountable as it was, she could not resist. She accepted, and tried not to be conscious of the attention she was receiving as Mr. Stanton led her into the set. Much of it would not be in her favour, she knew; her neighbours must marvel as much as she had at her good fortune. She put it from her mind.

Mr. Stanton took his place opposite to her and bowed. His smile had faded, but he continued to look at her with a kind of happy delight that was impossible to explain. She arched a brow at him, and said: ‘You appear to me to be in a state of uncommon enjoyment, Mr. Stanton. Do you love a ball so very much?’

‘I do, indeed!’ he replied. ‘Especially this one. It is already my very favourite above all others. And it is a long time since I had the pleasure of dancing.’

‘Your favourite, indeed? You enjoy being a guest of honour, and the knowledge that all this splendour and gaiety is for your entertainment.’

Mr. Stanton appeared to be giving her flippant remark some serious consideration. ‘No, I do not think that is the reason,’ he said, with a twinkle in his eye that she knew not how to interpret. ‘Though I believe you have described my friend’s feelings perfectly.’

Sophy glanced up to the top of the set. Mr. Green had stepped into his friend’s place and asked Miss Adair, and the two were just beginning to go down the dance. Once again, he struck her as being as fully sensible of the attention he was receiving as her own partner was oblivious to it. He played to it, making a fine show, and Miss Adair followed his lead with only an occasional piqued glance at Mr. Stanton and Sophy.

‘How obliging of him to take responsibility for some of the more onerous duties,’ she said.

He cast her a look of keen appreciation and replied, with a swift grin: ‘Oh, he is the most obliging of fellows.’

‘You, however, are not very obliging at all.’

‘I am known to be, on occasion.’ He paused, and smiled. ‘This is not one of those occasions.’

‘You are resolved upon being entirely selfish, I collect.’

‘Entirely, thoroughly selfish, I admit.’

A faint, sardonic smile crossed her face. ‘Some might say that this is the one occasion, above all others, when you ought to be unselfish and obliging, and do as the company expects.’

‘Not at all, for if I had been more obliging I would have lost the opportunity of securing the most desirable partner in the room for the first dances. This is full reason enough to be selfish, you must agree.’

This was far too much. No degree of eccentricity could explain his finding her the most desirable partner in the room, especially on no acquaintance at all. This sort of flattery made sense when it was directed at the enchanting countenances of Miss Adair, or the younger Miss Winbolt, or even Isabel. It could only sound fatuous when directed at Sophy herself.

‘You have given that honour away to your friend,’ Sophy said pointedly, hoping to recall him to sense.

He refused to understand her, saying instead: ‘I was speaking of you, Miss Landon.’

She coloured, feeling more uncomfortable than charmed. ‘You mock me!’ she accused.

His brows rose and his eyes widened with every appearance of surprise. ‘No indeed! How can you suppose it?’

Sophy was not inclined to reply to this. To be forced to enumerate her shortcomings was an intolerable prospect. Besides, to do so was to court further flattery, as politeness would oblige him to contradict every point she might advance. Her pride revolted on both counts, particularly since he must be perfectly well aware of the grave differences between a Miss Landon and a Miss Adair. He was merely being charming, in his odd way, seeking perhaps to put her at her ease. However well-meant she judged it to be, she would not humour him by going along with it.

Fortunately, it was now their turn to go down the dance, and conversation must be over for the present. She put all thought of Mr. Stanton’s peculiarities out of her mind, anxious to acquit herself well under the scrutiny she was receiving from those who were not themselves dancing.

And something else occurred to drive the thoughts from her mind. She had not anticipated what it would be like to dance with Mr. Stanton. She could not remember another occasion in her life when she had been so particularly solicited as a partner; she could not recall when she had ever danced with someone who seemed so sincerely desirous of dancing with her. Gentlemen had danced with her out of politeness only, or perhaps out of pity, both of which were intolerable. It was this circumstance that had led her to adopt the role of matron, as soon as she had felt herself old enough to carry it off; the caps she wore, and her habit of placing herself with the mothers and older spinsters in a ballroom, had for the last year or so excused the young gentlemen of Tilby from the tiresome duty of dancing with her.

She had never experienced anything like this. When their hands met for the first time, she felt a frisson of excitement that took her wholly by surprise. Their eyes met, and she found that his betrayed a surprise, a pleasure, a degree of shock that mirrored her own.

Throughout the dance, he watched Sophy with the intentness of a man who was very much interested, and treated her not only with perfect courtesy but also with the kind of particularity she had seen bestowed upon others, but never upon herself.

And she found that she was far from indifferent to Mr. Stanton. She knew not how to explain it: perhaps it was merely the experience of being sought-after that had turned her head, or perhaps it was his extreme handsomeness. Perhaps it was even something else entirely, some indefinable characteristic of his, or combination of qualities that shone through his behaviour; for she felt interested in him. She wanted to know more of him—his tastes, his opinions, his ideas, his pursuits—and she heartily welcomed that beautiful smile which was, once more, shining down upon her.

Somewhere in the midst of this whirl of emotions, she found a moment to observe that Mr. Stanton danced uncommonly well, with a grace she did not often see. There was a hint of peculiarity about the way he formed the steps, as if he had learned from an unusual source. Perhaps he had been in France.

When their part in the dance was over, they returned to the set and stood in silence for some minutes. Sophy’s mind was too full of what had just occurred; the power of speech eluded her altogether, her thoughts too distracted by the racing of her heart, and the flutter of nerves and excitement in her stomach. She regretted that Mr. Stanton had now returned to a more proper distance; she missed the closeness that the dance had briefly rendered allowable.

What occupied Mr. Stanton’s thoughts, she could not tell, and she did not dare to venture a guess. He remained as silent as herself, only looking at her with an indescribable expression on his face.

At length, she found her voice. ‘Have you travelled much, Mr. Stanton?’ It was an insipid enquiry, but it would do for the present.

He looked a little startled at the suddenness of her question, but replied readily enough. ‘Why, yes. I suppose you could say that.’

‘Now! That makes me quite envious, for I have never travelled anywhere. Perhaps you will be obliging for just a few moments—no longer, I assure you, I have no wish to strain your good nature—and tell me a tale or two.’

His eyes sparkled with amusement at her small—very small—piece of wit, but he shook his head. ‘I cannot believe that you have not travelled at all. Perhaps you have not seen France or Italy, but you must have been somewhere beyond the borders of England. Now, have not you?’

Sophy’s thoughts turned instantly to Aylfenhame and the village of Grenlowe. This was not an experience she wished to share with a stranger, however, and since Mr. Stanton could not possibly know of it she felt no hesitation in saying: ‘No, indeed, I assure you. It is among my greatest regrets, for I should so like to see more of the world.’

He eyed her thoughtfully, and made no reply.

The rest of the dance passed off with no more than commonplace remarks on her side, and his; but she felt that a certain tension persisted between them, lending unusual significance to the familiar motions of the dance. The moment the end of the second dance released them from each other, he immediately bowed and said, ‘Will you do me the honour of dancing the next with me, Miss Landon?’

‘Sir!’ Sophy spluttered, ‘You cannot possibly ask me again so soon!’

‘No? And why not?’

‘It is not proper, as you must know. Not after your—that is—you must choose another partner.’

‘I will dance with whomever I choose. I see no reason to ask someone else, when I wish to dance with you.’

This was a step too far. Part of Sophy’s heart went into an absurd flutter at finding him still so desirous of her company; but the rational part of her nature—always the stronger force—overruled her silliness and drew a firm line. For a man to dance twice with the same partner was undeniably particular; to dance twice in immediate succession with the same woman was very particular; to do so having already snubbed the very desirable daughter of the hosts in favour of someone else was enough to excite talk for the next month at least. A flicker of annoyance intruded upon Sophy’s happy glow. He might be important enough to flout convention and disregard talk, but she was not. He might go away at the end of another week, or another month, but she would have no escape from the censure he seemed determined to excite.

‘You may think nothing of wagging tongues, Mr. Stanton, but you might give my position a little more consideration. I thank you for your kind invitation, but I do not mean to dance any more this evening.’

An expression of concern mingled with confusion crossed his face, and he nodded awkwardly. She waited for a moment, allowing him time to make his apologies if he would. He seemed tongue-tied, however, and so she curtseyed and withdrew.

She found a seat in a relatively quiet corner of the ballroom and claimed it with relief. She was overheated; perhaps that had contributed to her uncharacteristic irritation a moment ago. It was a pleasure to sit quietly and grow cooler, and watch the goings-on from a safe distance. She saw Miss Adair and her brother, both dancing, along with their primary rivals in importance, the Winbolts; Mr. Snelling was present, dancing with Anne but with his eyes fixed upon Miss Adair; Miss Gladwin and Miss Lacey had formed a little huddle in one corner with old Mrs. Snelling and Mrs. Ash; Anne’s sisters were giggling around the punch-bowl; Isabel was dancing with Mr. Andrew Winbolt. This last caught her attention for a moment, as they did make a remarkably suitable-looking couple. She wondered if Mr. Winbolt had any intentions.

Mr. Stanton did not immediately seek another partner. Instead he retired to the nearest wall and stood, his eyes turned in her direction. This would not do either! To stand aloof when other young ladies besides herself had no partner—to prefer staring at her to dancing with another—he was thoroughly scandalous! She averted her gaze.

When the dance ended, Isabel spotted Sophy sitting down and made her way over. She quietly took the adjacent seat and said softly, ‘I must agree with Anne, Sophy. You have made a conquest there.’

She nodded in the direction of Mr. Stanton and his wall, who seemed every bit as pleased with each other as they had at the beginning of the dance.

‘He has certainly paid me a great deal of attention,’ Sophy said cautiously.

Isabel was silent. Sophy guessed that she meant to enquire why Mr. Stanton had singled her out above every other woman in the room, but would not do so for fear of offending.

‘I can account for it no more than you can,’ Sophy said.

‘I did not mean to suggest—’ Isabel began, but then she sighed. ‘It is a little strange.’

‘Quite, quite strange,’ Sophy agreed. But also agreeable, she thought privately.

Mr. Stanton chose that moment to leave the companionship and safety of his wall and make his approach.

‘Heavens!’ Sophy said despairingly. ‘Here he comes again!’

He wove his way through the crowd—ignoring several attempts to interrupt him—and stopped in front of Sophy and Isabel. He bowed.

‘Mr. Stanton—!’ Sophy began, but with a gentle smile he cut her off.

‘Perhaps you will introduce me to your friend, Miss Landon?’

Relieved, Sophy did so. She was even more relieved when Mr. Stanton asked Isabel to dance, and they went away. This went some way towards mending matters, and she was pleased that he had chosen to distinguish Isabel. It spoke well of his taste.

The rest of the party passed with little to trouble Sophy. She maintained her seat for some time, until she felt quite cool; then she began to seek out her friends for conversation. Everyone had some remark to make about Mr. Stanton, but since he had, by this time, enjoyed dances with a few different partners and had made no further attempt to approach her, she was able to turn these off with a laugh and a joke.

Only one small disappointment occurred, when Mr. Green approached and asked for her hand. Having told Mr. Stanton that she did not mean to dance again, she was obliged to tell Mr. Green the same. She was sorry for it. The two gentlemen had begun to intrigue her more than she cared to admit, and she would have appreciated an opportunity to converse with Mr. Green as well. But perhaps there would be other occasions.

She travelled home at last with the Ellerby family, at a very late hour and with a great many yawns shared among the company.

‘I believe we shall soon be wishing you joy, Miss Landon!’ said Isabel’s mother, with her usual liveliness. ‘I like him the better for it, I do indeed. Although I must own that I think he and my Isabel looked very well together, do not you think?’

Sophy agreed to this without hesitation. They had made a very fine couple, and if Mr. Stanton had any sense at all he would cease his odd pursuit of herself and transfer his attentions to her sweet-natured and far more beautiful and eligible friend.

This would be the logical thing for him to do, certainly, but in spite of her love for Isabel, Sophy found she could not truly wish for it in her heart.