Lesson Seventeen
Trust No One But Me
Zane is desperate to stop Jess from making the biggest mistake of this whole incident. Put aside the fact that he fancies her insanely, and the unhappy knowledge that he wouldn’t have a chance with her because she thinks he is a real player.
But he wants to keep her safe from the clutches of Richards. Absently revisiting the old school habit of calling boys by their surnames, he considers Richards is slimy and deceitful, but wealthier than he could imagine. Oh yes, he had everything going for him, new model sports car, opulent riverside flat, bespoke suits and casuals with Italian leather handmade shoes and access to a family villa in the south of France. All that is blindingly obvious the minute you see him walk into a room.
But if you look carefully, you can see the infinitesimal pause on the threshold, like a dancer gathering her skirts at the end of the introduction of her music, prepared to launch into opening steps the minute the first note of the symphony begins. The silent command,
All eyes on me…And…
Like a dancer being directed, not as a natural would perform. Zane catches another glimpse of Jess, it is almost impossible to spot anyone in this crowd of the beautiful and the hopeful. If he squints he can separate the colourful nectar gathering butterflies from the sober purposeful suited men, it is not an equal match, the butterflies outnumber the sober suited men. But that brings the odds of being able to monitor who Jess is with down considerably.
She is currently talking animatedly with unknown female in lilac 1 and unknown female in pale green 1. They are not known to him, as are two thirds of the room unknown, but hovering behind Jess’ group is a small selection of males, Jameson, Richards, Twomey and Twomey’s sister, Natasha with an ‘unknown female’ in coral 1 and another ‘unknown female’ in salmon 1. Natasha is in an unforgiving claret and silver, with a tiara, one of only a handful in the room.
Jess is wearing a soft shade of hyacinth, and it brings out the blue in her eyes. She has even been able to match her dancing slippers, into which Zane has placed a tracker. It is supremely unfair to expect him to keep an eye on one girl in this melee. He prefer to stack the odds in his favour. Jess accepts an invitation to dance, again from Richards. Is it Zane’s imagination noticing that she looks at him and frowns as she dances, or is she just thinking of a piece of porridge, (or worse) stuck on the sole of her shoe?
Jess and Richards skilfully dance the Blackberry Basket round and then await the music for the next number, a cotillon, something that is in Jess’ favourite 3 of the Victorian dances. Zane had practised with her often enough to know.
Soon all others are watching, rather than participating, and only three brave couples choose to join in. He was just thinking that if Jess remained dancing like this, keeping an eye on her would be so easy, when she stopped Richards right in front of him and says defiantly,
“This is a ladies’ excuse me, Mr Willow, can I entreat you to dance the next one with me?”
Zane is completely shocked and barely manages to splutter, “Of course, Miss Cuthbert, it will be my pleasure.” And they are off dancing in the fastest reel that he is able to keep up with.
Breathless very quickly, they are unable to engage in speech for a long while. When they have steadied, Zane begins to try to ask her if she is enjoying this evening, when he is warned by the icy glint in her eye not to continue. She took her hand away from his and urged, “Do I have your auspices to thank for this monstrosity?” She slipped the tracker into his top pocket.
And murmured, “I have disabled it, so you can’t keep tracks on me with it again.”
Zane gulped and looked at her closely.
Her eyes blaze! “If you want to keep tabs on me, you only need to ask me to dance and you will know where I am. Then, perhaps ask me to take the evening air with you and come outside with me. Stay with me, while we get a drink and some food and then converse with me at a table for an hour or two, before dancing with me again.
Otherwise, if that all sounds too boring for you, remember the limits on dancing with others on a night like this and go cross eyed watching me dance with every man in this room and enjoying your confusion, as you try to work out which one of those dressed in hyacinth I am.”
Zane’s eyes widen in what might be taken for terror, confusion, or panic. He might say a mixture of all three. All around the room, ladies are releasing a panel of hyacinth from their dresses, on the bodice with coral, lilac and pale green; on the skirt for salmon and claret with silver; as a waistband with primrose, apricot and buttermilk, until every woman in the ballroom has a partial colouring of hyacinth in their apparel, which would render keeping an eye on her impossible.
Jess is almost tapping her toes, as the sheer futility of keeping an eye on her from a distance reaches the ‘Dinggg’ stage of Zane’s brain and he bows over her hand, still in his, and gently brushes it with his lips, something he has never done before, to anyone.
“Would you like to take the air Miss Cuthbert?”
A tight pressure on his hand, still holding hers, provoked a response, “I mean, would you like to take the air with me, Miss Cuthbert?”
Satisfied that she had him just where she wanted him. Jessica Cuthbert smiled like the cat with the cream and walked towards the open French window door.
