‘Here.’ Eden put a filled plate in front of her and sat down. ‘Eat.’
‘I can’t. I want some champagne.’
‘Eat,’ he repeated, filling his own glass and leaving hers empty.
Maude forked something up and chewed it with dogged determination. ‘I’ve quarrelled with Jessica,’ she said, sick at heart.
‘You’ll make it up,’ Eden said. ‘Please eat some more, you’ve gone white and it is worrying me.’
A spark of humour surfaced. The poor man was obviously used to dealing w
ith Madame Marguerite’s spectacular tantrums, but pale-faced female misery was outside his experience. ‘I don’t expect this is the usual result of one of your interludes with a lady, is it?’
‘No,’ he confessed. ‘But everything to do with you is unusual, Maude.’ She smiled at his serious face. ‘What are we going to do about this?’ he asked. She had the feeling the question was to himself, as much as to her.
‘Nothing?’ she ventured. ‘See what happens?’
‘Maude.’ He leaned closer under cover of pouring her some wine. ‘We are having trouble keeping our hands off each other. It does not take much imagination to see what will happen next if things carry on as they have been.’
‘We will not meet unchaperoned,’ Maude said. ‘Then things will calm down again.’ From the quizzical lift of his eyebrow she could see that she was not convincing him of that. ‘There will be so much work for the theatrical entertainment that we will not have time to think of anything else.’
Eden shook his head, but made no further comment. In silence they ate, sipped their wine and, and, Maude thought sadly, were alone with their thoughts.
‘Lady Maude?’ She looked up, startled to realise where she was, and found herself looking at the enquiring face of Mr Hethersett, her hostess’s elder son. ‘We have the next set, but if you are still engaged…’
‘No, I have quite finished. Thank you so much, Mr Hurst.’ He was on his feet, assisting her with her chair, putting himself between her and her new partner to give her precious seconds to collect herself. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered again. There was still the last dance to come.
Mr Hethersett, a ponderous young man, was hardly the liveliest of partners for a vigorous country dance. Maude had to concentrate on her footwork, so much so that it was not until she was facing her and had to join hands for a round, that she realised that Jessica was dancing too.
Their eyes met, Jessica’s distressed and hurt, before the dance separated them. Maude stumbled over her partner’s tardily withdrawn foot and continued down the line, blankly miserable not to have the support of the one friend she had always thought would be with her, come what may. Would Jessica really go to Papa? Somehow that was less important than quarrelling with a dear friend.
The set drew to an end at last, Maude dropped a hasty curtsy to her partner and craned to see where Jessica was. She would go to her now—but, no, at the far end she could see her on Gareth’s arm. Leaving.
Maude felt like fleeing the ballroom too, but something—stubborn pride? The need to be in Eden’s arms one more time?—kept her there, dancing and chatting and smiling. When he came to claim her hand for the last dance, Maude was ready to drop.
‘Do you want to dance?’ he asked, pausing at the edge of the floor. ‘You look…tired.’
‘A gentleman should not say such things to a lady,’ she said in a rallying tone. ‘We are always radiant.’
‘Well, I am not a gentleman and you are not radiant.’ He turned back and led her to an alcove. ‘Let us stay here, in plain view. Besides, I have something to give you.’
‘You have?’ He was taking something from the pocket in the tails of his coat, a dark morocco jewellery box. Maude’s heart turned over with a thump. ‘Eden—’
‘I put it in this because otherwise I would be sure to sit on it and squash it,’ he explained, placing the box in her hand. Maude opened it. Inside, nestling on red plush, was one marchpane sweetmeat. Her heart thumped back to its normal location. ‘You did not eat any at supper,’ he explained, his face serious. ‘I came away from the jewellers with that box empty because I had taken a pair of Madame’s earrings to be cleaned.’
Maude looked down at the small yellow-and-green confection and then up at his face. For one startled moment she had thought he was going to give her jewellery and instead he had given her marchpane.
‘Sugar’s good for the nerves,’ Eden added, his eyes smiling into hers. ‘We make sure nervous actresses drink sweet tea.’
‘That was very thoughtful, thank you,’ she said, meaning it. He had remembered that she liked it. Something out of the corner of her eye made her turn her head. ‘Oh dear, people are looking.’
‘They think I am about to fall to one knee, perhaps, and they are ready to faint with shock or rush forward to rescue you,’ he said sardonically. ‘I suggest you eat it immediately, which will confuse them, if nothing else.’
Maude popped the sweet into her mouth, shook the dusting of sugar out of the box and handed it back. The curious onlookers turned away, some of them smiling. That fast Lady Maude again! She could almost hear them saying it.
‘Now, let us dance,’ she said, laying her hand on his arm. ‘I think we waltz rather well together.’
‘You feeling all right, my lady?’ Anna placed the breakfast tray on Maude’s knees and peered at her. ‘You look proper peaky this morning.’