LITMIR.BIZ

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      Amelia congratulated both the marquis and his wife and received a kiss on the cheek from the young mother, who was not much above Helene’s own age. Helene curtsied and thanked her hostess for the invitation.

      ‘You are very welcome, Miss Henderson,’ the marquise replied and smiled. ‘Amelia Royston is a friend—any guests she cares to bring are always welcome to me. Perhaps we may talk later.’

      Helene inclined her head and moved on, because there was a line of guests waiting to greet and be greeted by their hosts. She had thought there were a lot of guests at the soirée the previous evening, but this was clearly a much grander occasion. There were two large reception rooms, which were overflowing with guests. Footmen circled with trays of champagne and many people were content to linger here. However, Amelia was moving steadily through the crush, Emily, Mrs Henderson and Helene following in her wake. Beyond the two crowded reception rooms was a large, long room, which was where the ball was to be held. Helene could hear music playing and already a few couples had taken to the floor.

      She looked about her, entranced by the theme. Yards and yards of some pale pink gauzy material had been draped over the stage where the musicians were grouped. Banks of pink roses and carnations were at the foot of the stage, and arranged tastefully in alcoves to either side.

      ‘Where on earth did they find so many roses?’ Helene asked of no one in particular and heard a throaty chuckle just behind her. Turning, she found herself staring up at Lord Coleridge. ‘My lord…’ She dipped a curtsy. ‘I was just admiring the flowers. There are such a profusion and it is a little early in the year, would you not agree?’

      ‘I believe they are all forced in a hothouse,’ Max told her, a gleam in his eyes. ‘Have you remarked that they have little scent? For myself I prefer a natural rose…one that is allowed to blossom in its own good time. Ours at Coleridge House begin to flower from May onwards in the most sheltered spots, and there is one white bush that always gives us a rose at Christmas. When I was a child my father always plucked it for my mother on Christmas Day.’

      ‘How lovely,’ Helene said. She felt a flutter in her stomach as she gazed up into his dark, slate-grey eyes. There was something so very attractive about him! ‘Tell me, do your roses smell wonderful?’

      ‘Yes, particularly a dark red one that was my mother’s favourite—and an old pink damask rose that no one knows anything about.’

      ‘Someone must know something of it, surely?’

      ‘No, it is true that no one can name it, and no one remembers it being planted. My mother was a great gardener until her health went and she died suddenly when I was young, but even she could not remember having it planted. My head gardener thinks it must have grown from a seedling—but we have no record of it. I have made inquiries, but even the experts cannot put a name to it.’

      ‘How fascinating. If it is truly a new variety you must name it,’ Helene said. ‘I love gardens and gardening. I had my own at home, but my uncle’s gardener does not wish for help.’ She looked at him steadily. ‘I am sorry that your mama died when you were young. I know what it is to lose a parent too soon.’

      ‘Yes, your mama is a widow, I believe. We have something in common, Miss Henderson. In Mama’s case, it was very sad because in his grief my father neglected her garden—and a garden gives much pleasure,’ Max told her. ‘I am sorry your uncle’s gardener does not wish for your help, but I am sure you will have your own garden again one day.’

      ‘Yes, perhaps I shall.’

      ‘May I ask if you will dance this with me?’ Max asked as they saw couples beginning to take the floor for a country dance. ‘I hope you like to dance, Miss Henderson?’

      ‘Yes—at least, I have not had much opportunity, though I have been given lessons.’

      ‘I am sure you will enjoy the pastime now that you have the opportunity,’ Max said and offered her his hand. ‘Shall we, Miss Henderson?’

      Helene gave him her hand, smiling up at him. The answering smile in his eyes made her feel instantly at home with him, and she found the steps came easily to her. He was a large man, but she was acutely aware how well he danced, seeming to have a light step and an elegant bearing that some of the other gentlemen did not quite possess.

      It was for Helene an enchanted moment—it seemed only a moment before he was returning her to her friends.

      ‘That was most enjoyable, Miss Henderson,’ Max told her as he bowed. ‘May I ask you to reserve the dance before supper, please?’

      ‘Yes, certainly,’ Helene said. Her heart did an odd little flip as he wrote his name, nodded his head and walked away. Her mama was looking at her, but before she could make a remark, another gentleman approached and asked her to dance. Since she had already met Mr Peters in Amelia’s company, Helene was in the happy position of being able to accept. He wrote his name in one further space at the end of their dance.

      ‘Miss Henderson, I hope you have reserved a dance for me?’

      Helene turned her head as she heard a familiar voice. ‘Good evening, Mr Bradwell. I have not reserved anything, for I did not know if you were here,’ Helene said. ‘But there are still several spaces.’ She offered him her card and he wrote in two of them.

      After that, several young men she had not previously met approached Helene and it was not long before every space on her card was filled. Helene found herself swept from one dance to the next, scarcely finding the time to draw breath. When the supper dance became due, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes shone with pleasure. She had not expected to be this popular at her first dance and felt pleasantly surprised.

      ‘You are enjoying yourself this evening?’ Max asked as he arrived to claim her for the supper dance. ‘I believe this is a waltz, Miss Henderson. You do not object?’

      ‘Not at all,’ Helene said. ‘Mama has given me permission to waltz and I have done so twice this evening.’

      ‘I like it very well,’ he said, placing his gloved hand at the small of her back. ‘But I know some ladies find it very shocking to be held so. It was held to be fast when it was first introduced and I believe some still feel it so.’

      His eyes held a gleam of humour as he gazed down at her. Helene wondered if he was trying to provoke her.

      ‘Yes, I believe it was frowned upon at first,’ she said. ‘I understand that one cannot dance a waltz at Almack’s unless one of the hostesses gives permission. Not that it can signify. I do not suppose that I shall be given vouchers.’

      ‘Not be given vouchers?’ Max looked at her quizzingly. ‘Why should you not receive vouchers? You seem a respectable young lady to me.’

      ‘Oh…I hope I am respectable,’ Helene said and gurgled with laughter. ‘But we are not important. Papa had no title and hardly any fortune. He was a gentleman, but if it were not for Miss Royston I dare say I should not have been invited here this evening. I am not certain I shall be approved by society, sir.’

      ‘Nonsense! You have been seen, Miss Henderson. News of your beauty and good nature will spread. In the next few days you will be invited everywhere—and I am certain you will receive vouchers for Almack’s. You have not lacked for partners this evening, I think?’

      ‘No, not at all…’ She wondered if she might have more to thank him for than she knew. Had he perhaps sent his friends to ask her to dance? ‘But Almack’s is rather different, I believe?’

      ‘I assure you that you will receive your invitation, Miss Henderson. It is unthinkable that you should not.’

      ‘Perhaps…’ Helene held back a sigh. ‘Mama is so grateful for this chance for me.’

      ‘It would be a pity if someone of your nature were not to grace the drawing rooms of society more often,’ Max said. ‘However, I am certain that I am right. By tomorrow everyone will be wanting to know you.’

      ‘You

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