LITMIR.BIZ

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had spoken to him, hesitated and stepped back. Joanna saw him push aside the curtain that was partly draped over an archway and enter the room beyond.

      The crowd was thick at that end of the room where circulating guests from both directions met and spoke before moving on their way. She was held up by the crush and it took her perhaps three minutes to reach the same archway.

      When she finally lifted the curtain she found herself alone in a little lobby and looked around, confused for a moment. Then she heard his voice, unmistakably Giles’s voice. Deep, lazily amused, caressing her senses like warm honey over a spoon. She stepped forward and saw into the next room where Giles was standing…smiling down into the upturned face of the exquisite young lady clasped in his arms.

      ‘So you will talk to Papa, Giles darling? Promise?’ she was saying, her blue eyes wide on his face.

      ‘Yes, Suzy, my angel, I promise I will talk to him tomorrow.’ Giles’s voice was indulgent, warm, loving. Joanna’s hand grasped the curtain without her realising it; her eyes, her every sense, were fixed on the couple in the candlelit chamber.

      ‘Oh, Giles, I do love you.’ The young lady suddenly laughed up at him and Joanna’s numbed mind realised who she was. Lady Suzanne Hall was the loveliest, the most eligible, the wealthiest débutante of that Season. Niece of her Grace the Duchess of Bridlington, eldest and most indulged daughter of the Marquis of Olney, blonde, petite, spirited and the most outrageous flirt, she had a fortune that turned heads, but, even penniless, she would have drawn men after her like iron filings to a magnet.

      Why does she want Giles? Joanna screamed inwardly. He is mine!

      ‘Oh, it is such an age since I have seen you! Do you truly love me, Giles, my darling?’ Suzanne said, her arms entwined round his neck, his hands linked behind her tiny waist.

      ‘You know I do, Suzy,’ he replied, smiling down at her. ‘You are my first, my only, my special love.’ And then he bent his head and kissed her.

      The world went black, yet Joanna found she was still on her feet, clutching the curtain. Vision closed in until all she could see was a tiny image of the entwined lovers as though spied down the wrong end of a telescope. Blindly she turned and walked out. By some miracle she was still on her feet although she could see nothing now: it was as though she had fainted, yet retained every sense but sight.

      Outside the archway she remembered there had been chairs, fragile affairs of gilt wood. Joanna put out a hand and found one, thankfully unoccupied. She sat, clasped her hands in her lap and managed to smile brightly. Would anyone notice?

      Gradually sight returned, although her head spun. No one was sitting next to her, no one had noticed. She tried to make sense of what had happened. Giles was here, and Giles was in love with Lady Suzanne.

      She had read—for she read everything 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

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