Dancing at Midnight

But then again, why couldn't she?

Well, for one thing, he didn't like her.

Which, she countered, was precisely the reason she ought to pay him a visit. She wasn't going to be able to rectify the situation if they never saw each other again.

Belle raised her eyebrows as she pondered the thought. If she brought along a maid as a chaper-one, she wouldn't be so far outside the bounds of propriety. Well, actually she would, but no one was about, and Lord Blackwood didn't strike her as overly high in the instep. Making her decision, she wandered over to the kitchen to see if Mrs. Goode could spare some scones. They would make a lovely breakfast. Perhaps Lord Blackwood hadn't yet eaten.

She'd be fine. This wasn't London, after all. Forty gossips would not be wagging their tongues later that evening at her scandalous behavior. And she wasn't going to do anything dreadful. She just wanted to greet their new neighbor properly. Mostly she just wanted to see what his house looked like, she told herself. What was it called? Alex had told her the night before. Bletchwood Place? Blumley Manor? Blasphemous Burg? Belle laughed to herself. It was something hideous, that's all she remembered.

She wandered down to the kitchen, where Mrs. Goode was only too happy to arrange a basket. Belle soon departed, laden with fresh jams and homemade scones.

She strode purposefully to the stables where she mounted Amber, her mare. She wasn't quite certain where John's house was located, but she knew it was to the east. If she stuck to the roads and kept heading toward the sun, she'd be bound to run into it eventually.

She set off at an easy trot as she headed down the long drive that led from Westonbirt to the main road. Emma's lady's maid knew how to ride, and she kept pace alongside her. They turned east on the main road, and sure enough, after about a quarter of an hour, they happened upon a drive that looked as if it led to another house. After a few moments Belle found herself in a wide open clearing, at the center of which stood an elegant stone house.

It was small by the standards of aristocracy, but it was stylish and obviously well-built. It suited her. Belle smiled and urged her mare forward. She didn't see any stables, so she saw to her horse herself, tying it to a tree. Emma's maid did the same. "Sorry, Amber," Belle murmured and then took a deep breath and marched up the front steps.

She picked up the giant brass knocker and let it fall with a resounding thud. After a few moments, a white-haired, elderly man answered the door. Belle took him to be the butler. "Good morning," she said in cultured tones. "Is this the home of Lord Blackwood?"

The butler raised an eyebrow. "It is."

Belle offered him her brightest smile. "Excellent. Please inform him that Lady Arabella Blydon has come to call."

Buxton didn't doubt for a moment that she was a lady, not with her fine clothes and aristocratic accent. With a regal nod of his head, he showed her to an airy room decorated in shades of cream and blue.

Belle was silent as she watched the butler disappear up the stairs. Then she turned to Emma's maid and said, "Perhaps you should, ah, go to the kitchens and see if there are any, ah, other servants about."

The maid's eyes widened slightly at being dismissed, but she nodded and left the room.

John was still in bed when the butler arrived, having decided to treat himself to some much-needed rest. Buxton entered silently, then put his mouth very, very close to his master's ear. "You have a visitor, my lord," he said loudly.

John swatted the butler with a pillow and reluctantly came awake. "A what?" he asked groggily.

"A visitor."

"Good Lord, what time is it?"

"Nine o'clock, my lord."

John staggered out of bed and grabbed a robe to cover his naked body. "Who the hell comes calling at nine in the morning?"

"Lady Arabella Blydon, my lord."

John whirled around in shock. "Who?"

"I believe I said Lady-"

"I know what you said," John snapped, his temper shortened by his rather unceremonious awakening. "What the hell is she doing here?"

"I am sure I do not know, my lord, but she did ask for you."

John sighed, wondering when Buxton would realize that every question did not require a response. He sighed again. He didn't doubt for a moment that the sly old butler knew very well that John's remarks had been hypothetical. "I suppose I have to get dressed," he finally said.

"I should think so, my lord. I took the liberty of informing Wheatley that you would require his services."

John turned around and headed to his dressing room. Like Buxton, the valet had also come with the house, and John had to admit that it was not difficult to get used to the luxury. In no time, he was dressed in form-fitting biscuit-colored breeches, a crisp white shirt, and navy blue coat. He deliberately ignored his cravat. If Lady Arabella required a cravat, she shouldn't have come calling at nine in the morning.

He splashed some water on his face then ran his wet hands through his unruly hair, trying to tame the sleep-tossed look. "Damn it all," he muttered. He still looked half-asleep. Hell, who cared? He went downstairs.

Buxton intercepted him on the landing. "Lady Arabella is waiting for you in the green salon, my lord."

John took a breath, trying not to let his exasperation show. "And which one is that, Buxton?"

The butler gave him an amused smile and pointed. "Right over there, my lord."

John followed Buxton's finger and entered the room, leaving the door respectably open. Belle was standing near a blue chair, idly examining a painted vase. She looked utterly charming and damnably awake in her rose-colored gown. "This is a surprise," he said.