Dancing at Midnight

In a shaky voice Belle related her tale. By the time she was finished, her voice was so racked with emotion that she had to sit down.

Emma perched herself on the end table next to Belle's chair and placed her hand gently on her arm. "We'll leave for London immediately," she said quietly.

For the first time in a week Belle felt a glimmer of life within her. Somehow she felt that she might be able to heal herself if she could just get away from the scene of her heartbreak. She looked over at Emma. "Alex won't like your going."

"No, he won't, but you haven't left me much choice now, have you?"

"He could come with us. I wouldn't mind."

Emma sighed. "I think he has some important estate business that he has to conduct here."

Belle knew how much her cousin hated to be separated from her husband, but still, she was desperate to get away. "I'm sorry," she said lamely.

"It's all right." Emma stood and straightened her shoulders. "We'll make plans to leave tomorrow." Belle felt tears forming in her eyes. "Thank you."

***
Belle had been correct about one thing: Alex hadn't liked his wife hightailing it off to London one bit. Belle had no idea what had transpired between them in the privacy of their own chamber, but when the two ladies headed down the steps the next day to their carriage, Alex was not in a good mood.

"One week," he said warningly. "One week, and I'm coming to get you."

Emma placed her hand on his arm and told him to hush. "Darling, you know that my aunt and uncle aren't returning for a fortnight. I can't come home until then."

"One week."

"You can come and visit me."

"One week." And then he kissed her with so much passion that Belle blushed.

***
Soon the two ladies were comfortably ensconced in the Blydon house in Grosvenor Square. Now that she was some distance away from John, Belle felt herself growing stronger, but she could not shake off the melancholy which pervaded her spirit. Emma was doing her best to be insufferably cheerful, but she obviously missed Alex. He wasn't helping at all, sending notes twice a day telling her that he missed her and would she please come home where she belonged.

Belle made no effort to let anyone know that she was back in town, but on her third day back, her butler informed her that she had a visitor.

"Really?" she asked without much interest. "Who?"

"He asked that he be allowed to surprise you, my lady."

Her heart slammed in her throat. "Did he have brown hair and brown eyes?" she asked frantically.

"He did wish it to be a surprise."

Belle was so nervous she actually grabbed the butler and shook him. "Did he? Please, you must tell me."

"Yes, my lady, he did."

She dropped her hands and sank into a nearby chair. "Tell him I don't wish to see him."

"But I thought Mr. Dunford had always been a special friend of yours, my lady. I shouldn't like to send him away."

"Oh, if s Dunford." Belle sighed, relief and disappointment both flowing through her. "Tell him I'll be right down." After a moment or two, she rose and went to her mirror to check her appearance quickly. William Dunford had been a close friend of hers for several years. They had courted briefly but had quickly realized that they would not suit and decided not to ruin their friendship by pursuing a romance any further. He was also Alex's best friend and had played a considerable role in the not so easy task of helping Alex and Emma find their way to the altar.

"Oh, Dunford, it's so good to see you!" Belle exclaimed as she entered the salon where he was waiting. She crossed the room to give him a quick hug.

"It's good to see you again, too, Belle. Did you enjoy your spell of rustication with the newly-weds?"

"Westonbirt was lovely," Belle answered automatically, sitting down on a sofa. "Although there was an uncommon amount of rain."

Dunford plopped down lazily into a comfortable chair. "Well, this is England, after all."

"Yes," Belle replied, but her mind was a thousand miles away.

After a full minute of waiting patiently, Dunford finally said, "Hello? Belle? Yoo-hoo."

Belle snapped back into the present. "What? Oh, I'm sorry, Dunford. I was just thinking."

"And obviously not about me."

She smiled sheepishly. "I'm sorry."

"Belle, is something wrong?"

"Everything is fine."

"Everything is not fine, that much is clear." He paused and then smiled. "It's a man, isn't it?"

"What?"

"Aha! I see that I am correct."

Belle knew she had no chance fooling him, but she nonetheless felt she ought to give it at least a weak try. "Maybe."

"Ho!" Dunford chortled. "This is rich. After years of men falling prostrate at your feet out of love and devotion, little Arabella has finally been felled herself."

"This isn't funny, Dunford."

" Au contraire . It's most amusing."

"You make me sound like some kind of heartless ice princess."

"No, of course not, Belle," he said, immediately contrite. "I must admit, you have always been uncommonly nice to every pimply-faced boy who has ever asked you to dance."

"Thank you. I think."

"It's probably why so many pimply-faced boys ask you to dance."

"Dunford," Belle warned.

"It's just that after God knows how many proposals, none of which you showed the least inclination of accepting, it's amusing to see you similarly besotted." After his long explanation Dunford sat back. When Belle offered no comment, he added, "It is a man, isn't it?"