There were no more tears left.  There just couldn’t be.

The ten-year-old boy curled his long legs as tightly to his body as he could on the small bench in the gazebo, his emerald gaze looking out over the English countryside, not seeing the lush green garden filled with people in dark clothes, murmuring softly amongst themselves.  He felt as if his aching chest would burst from the pain.  Was it only yesterday his father had grinned and chucked him under the chin, saying…

“Jim, my lad, your mother and I hope to bring you home good news!”

Katie threw up her hands.  “I don’t know what to do with you.  You’re corrupting him already!”  She turned her cornflower blue gaze to her son.  “Marry her quick, Jim, not bed her.”

His father whooped with laughter, throwing his arms around her and kissing her soundly.  “Now who’s corrupting the boy, my love?”

And now they were gone.  Stolen from him by a gunman’s bullet.  He felt his throat close again and the tears threaten his eyes.  He squeezed his eyelids shut, hoping that if he just could keep them closed, he’d be back to yesterday.  His parents would be alive and he’d…

Footsteps crunched across the grass, startling him.  His eyes flew open and he hastily brushed the tears away from his face.  Oh, just go away.  If one more person…  His thoughts stopped as he looked at the figure in the gazebo's doorway.

Her blonde curls tumbled in chaotic ringlets around her face, merrily ignoring the black ribbon striving to contain them.  Her black dress was simple, her boots dusty under the ruffles peeking out from under her dress.  Her face was alive with freckles and a slight flush ran across her face as she soberly returned his almost haughty glare.  “I…um…” she stumbled over her words as she walked slowly over to the bench where he sat.

He suddenly found he couldn’t breathe.  Who is this girl?  What is she doing here?  What does she want from me?  I just can’t…

She finally sat next to him on the bench, her wide blue eyes suddenly looking at his, an earnest shine in their depths.  “Mama told me I should leave you be.  You don’t even know me,” she said, biting her lip.  “My papa knew your papa and he wanted to come.  I just…” her voice trailed off as she saw the raw pain the words “your papa” had caused in him.  Her eyes welled with tears as she whispered, “I’m just so sorry.  I wanted to…” She broke off again, dabbing at her eyes furiously.

He felt in his pocket and pulled out his handkerchief, unable to take his eyes off the strange girl.  She looked at the kerchief and began to giggle through her tears.

“Thank you, I’m sure.  But it’s you that should use this, not me.”

Suddenly, he found himself talking.  “I can’t cry anymore.  There aren’t any tears left to cry.”

She cocked her head, looking at him, her blue eyes glistening.  “Then you can have mine,” she said simply.  She pulled her feet up underneath her skirt, letting the tears flow freely down her face.

Fifteen years later

December 8, 1889

James Frayne, Duke of Chessington stood over his great-uncle’s grave, his green gaze soberly looking over the rich, lustrous coffin.  His quiet, understated uncle would be outraged at the ornate handles and the gold trim on his final resting place.  He almost, but not quite, smiled as he recalled other funerals he’d attended with the man, enjoying, in spite of himself, his dead-panned critique of the person in question’s choice of a casket.  His cousin, Riordan Grant, Duke of Dexy, had thought it a fitting, final practical joke on their uncle who had been notorious for the elaborate tricks he played on people.

He sighed softly, wishing he could indulge in a little of the grief some of the women around him displayed.  Most everyone assumed he was pleased to have his great-uncle out of the way… so he could now be the Duke of Chessington.  Quite the opposite.  The weight of responsibility sat heavy on his shoulders as he looked out over the large group of tenants and farmers standing back away from the gravesite, their faces lined with sorrow.

You can have mine.  The thought startled him.  He looked around him, almost as if he’d heard the childish voice again.  A sudden longing to be at his parents’ home in Surrey overwhelmed him.  He hadn’t been back since his uncle James had taken him to live at the family estate in Chessington.  The house was kept up by the small staff that had stayed on at the house after his parents' deaths.  But to go there?  To stay?  He stiffened his spine, his green eyes blazing with determination.  I’m the damned Duke of Chessington.  For once, I’m going to do what I want to do.

His cousin stood a little distance away, watching James with speculative eyes.  He saw him stand straighter, a fierce look crossing his face, and Riordan smiled to himself.  It’s about damned time.  He leaned over to his mother, her dark green eyes stark with grief, and whispered, “We’re going to Surrey.”

Caitlyn Frayne Grant looked at him in surprise before turning her gaze to James.  She started to smile.  “I should say, it’s about damned time, wouldn’t you, my dear?”

“Indeed, Mother, I would.”

Auld Lang Syne

December 31, 1890

Lady Beatrix Belden leaned forward, looking out the windows of her father’s carriage, her blue eyes bright with excitement.  “I can’t believe it.  The house at Ten Acres is finally opened and we are going to a New Year’s ball there!”

Her brother, Robert, leaned against the seat and sighed, exchanging a rueful glance with his brother, Brian.  “Please tell me you’re not going to make us all look like fools, Bea.  Don’t go inspecting his stores or crawling through his cellar.”

Beatrix frowned at her brother, saying, “I never did anything of the sort, and you know it.”

“What he’s saying, Bea, is just for once, please just enjoy a ball?”  Brian urged.  “Don’t go looking for trouble.”

“I don’t go looking for trouble,” Beatrix insisted.  Seeing the glances between her brothers, she turned determinedly to look out the window at the house again.

Just because I wanted to see what old Mr. Richards had hidden in that barrel, they’ve never let me hear the end of it.  And it was a dead body, for heaven’s sake!  Someone had to help that poor servant!  She nodded firmly to herself and willed herself to take in the sights around her.

The winter had been long, bitter and dark.  Lord Jeffries had remarked just last week that the sun hadn’t been seen since November.  However, there was something about the velvety darkness that appealed to Beatrix.  She felt a tingle run down her spine.  Something’s going to happen.  Something intriguing.  The old Frayne place was brightly lit, the large drifts of snow surrounding it catching the light from the gas lamps in the window and sparkling even in the stubborn absence of the moon.

1890 was drawing to a close, and 1891 offered a hint of a promise, that whisper of hope that the new year always held for her.  She could barely contain her excitement as the coachmen drew closer to the house.

Already, the line of carriages, carefully dropping off their riders, was lined up as far as the eye could see.  Lord Frayne had invited most of the surrounding countryside to his New Year’s Eve ball, his official end to the mourning for his great-uncle who had passed the year before.  Formal balls had never appealed to Beatrix, as she hated the rigor and pomp of the manners expected.  She had never understood why she couldn’t dance with whom she liked or talk with the men who had much more interesting things to say than most of the women of her acquaintance.

Her mind turned to the elusive Lord Frayne.  He had not entered society other than receiving brief calls from the men in the area as mere polite formalities.  Once she had a glimpse from a distance of two red headed men in a shooting party, but she had not had the opportunity to be introduced, and could not have approached them without having been.

A teasing thought in the back of her mind reminded her of the one time she had talked with him.  It still embarrassed her to this day, as one of her impulsive choices that had branded her as a reckless hoyden.  She had been, for some reason, more overwhelmed in her grief for the young lord dealing with his parents’ murders than she had when her beloved grandfather had died two winters ago.  It was as if something had pulled her to reach out to the boy…something she did not understand.  It was that something that reached out to her even now, as the carriage rode up to the elegant front door of the mansion.

Brian got out of the carriage and helped Beatrix descend.  Robert soon followed, and the three joined their parents who had been following in the carriage behind them.  Beatrix walked unhurriedly, her normal exuberant pace slowed to take in the beauty around her.

Almost immediately after entering the foyer, she noted the elegant mahogany staircase, curving its way to the main floor.  The banister had been wound with green boughs tied with red bows.  A small group of people stood at the top of the stairs, welcoming the steady stream of guests arriving ahead of them.  The gas lamps burned brightly and the rich rugs under her feet made her feel as if she were entering a palace.  Her face flushed with excitement as she gently pulled down the hood of her cloak.  Within a few seconds, her cloak had been whisked away by a smiling servant and she found herself following her parents and brothers up the stairs to the group greeting there.

James, Lord Frayne, looked at the amount of people streaming in and leaned to his cousin in an aside, whispering, “Good God, Grant.  Did you invite everyone in Surrey?”

Riordan flashed a wide smile at Lady Mabel Barry, a rather stout matronly woman who had looked him up and down with a calculating eye, before turning to James and whispering back, “Yes, and all of Kent and London as well.”

James hid a smile at his cousin’s words, bowing respectfully to Lady Barry, but inwardly wishing he were anywhere else but at this interminable ball.  How many hours?  He’d have time to eat, of course, but then there was dancing.  Many of the ladies who had passed by him with their parents, giggling, had been pretty, but the local pressure for him to find a Lady Frayne from among them was not subtle.  He had much preferred it when his great-uncle had the full pressures of being the Duke of Chessington, and he himself could escort ladies on the dance floor without their managing mamas looking at him so closely, coveting his title for their daughters.

He drew a little sigh of relief as he saw the familiar countenance of his father’s old friend, Lord Belden.  The smile that spread across his face was pure pleasure as he bowed.  “Lord Belden, it is an honor and a privilege to have you here tonight.”

Peter smiled back at him.  “Thank you very much, your Grace.  May I introduce my wife?  Lord Frayne, this is my wife, Helen.  Helen, Lord Frayne.”

James bowed, instantly liking the woman, her blonde curls and blue eyes reminding him of his own mother’s.  He smiled at her.  “A real pleasure, Lady Belden.  You are very welcome to Ten Acres.”

“Thank you, your Grace,” Helen said with a smile.  “I’m so pleased to see a Frayne back in this house again.  We have missed your parents very much.  They were wonderful people.”

A slight pang went through his heart at the mention of his parents, but his green eyes were warm as he replied, “Thank you very much.  I know they thought the world of you as well.”  He looked at the two young men, following them and noted that they must be children of the man and woman in front of him, the older one as dark as his father, the younger one as fair as his mother.  He smiled at them before looking at Peter and Helen.  “These must be your sons.  Would you do the honor of introducing me to them?”

The introductions were quickly made and James found himself liking the sons as much as the parents.  Finally.  Someone worth cultivating!  He was about to speak and urge them with an invitation for a future shooting party when he noticed the small, blonde woman behind Robert.  You can have mine.

The din of laughter in the room faded, and suddenly, it was he and she alone together.  She turned laughing blue eyes to his, and her startled shock echoed the surprise in his own eyes.

Her blonde curls were elegantly swept up on her head, but looked as if they threatened to fall at any moment.  One stray lock caressed her forehead, and he felt an inexplicable urge to reach out and run his finger over the glossy curl.  His breath caught painfully as his eyes roamed quickly over the elegant white velvet dress, its lines faithfully hugging the curves that lay underneath.

It’s her.  In wonderment, he gravely bowed, acknowledging the introduction of her father.  Beatrix.  His mind wrapped around the name and tucked it firmly away, not to be forgotten.  Before she could disappear into the crowd of people, he found himself asking, his voice hoarse as if from disuse, “Lady Beatrix, I hope that you will do me the honor of saving a dance for me this evening?”

Beatrix’s eyes widened as she looked into the intensity of the green eyes staring back at her.  A shy smile spread across her face as she nodded.  “I would be delighted, your Grace.”

Brian and Robert exchanged a surprised glance.  Helen gently prodded Beatrix forward into the large ballroom.

James barely heard the next five or six introductions, nodding when spoken to and adding, “A pleasure” to nearly every introduction Riordan made.  By the time the guests had all disappeared into the ballroom, he was itching with impatience to find Lady Beatrix and to talk with her.  Damn conventions anyway.  He thought of his one dance he was allowed and wondered if he could get away with one more.  His mind turned to the long procession of young ladies and sighed.  Not if you are to be polite, Frayne.

Riordan clapped his shoulder and grinned at him.  “So, not one young lady in all of those who you will instantly sweep off her feet and bring here to be Lady Frayne?”

Caitlyn frowned at her son.  “Riordan, such talk!”

Her son grinned unrepentantly at his mother before turning back to James, a sudden gleam in his eye.  “You haven’t given me your standard comments on the long procession of ladies, James!”  He raised an eyebrow.  “Dare we hope that you may have found one?”

James flushed, not looking at his cousin or offering a word in reply.  He offered an elbow to his aunt, who took it with a thoughtful look at Riordan, and left his cousin to follow them into the ballroom.

Meanwhile, Beatrix had located her best friend and sister-in-law, Diana Belden, standing with her husband, Beatrix’s brother, Martin, talking and laughing.  With a determined grip on Robert’s arm, she made her way across the floor, a wide smile on her face.

Diana hugged her before replacing her arm around Mart’s, looking up at Robert with a broad grin.  “So, I see the house of Belden has arrived.  You are both looking well this evening!”

Robert grinned at Diana and Mart.  “As are you, Di.”  His blue-eyed gaze scanned the room and lit up as he saw a quartet of dark haired siblings a few feet away.  “I beg your pardon, but I must speak with Terry and Larry about their new horse.  Will you excuse me?”  He bowed quickly before hurrying across the room to his friends.

Diana’s eyes twinkled as she looked at Beatrix.  “Those three and their horses.  I would suspect that they spend more time on the back of a horse than they ever do on their studies.”

Beatrix’s wide grin flashed at her sister-in-law.  “Indeed, they do.”  She hesitated for a moment, noting her brother’s curious blue eyes on her.  “What?” she demanded of him.

“I hope that nothing is amiss,” Martin said slowly, a speculative look in his eyes.  “Are you feeling all right this evening?  You’re very quiet,” he finished.

“I would be feeling ever so much better if my dear brother would go fetch us a glass of that delicious looking wassail punch,” Beatrix said, her blue eyes pleading with Mart.

He looked suspiciously at Beatrix before bowing and saying, “My pleasure, of course.”  With that, he disappeared toward the punch table.

Diana giggled, watching Mart’s disappearing form.  “You’ve managed to divert him for a moment or so.  Now, tell me what it is that has you so flummoxed!”

Beatrix wrapped a gloved hand around Diana’s arm.  “He asked me to dance with him!”

“Who did?” demanded Diana, her dark blue eyes questioning.

“Lord Frayne!” she whispered.

Diana’s eyes grew wide.  “He did?  Why, Bea, that’s marvelous!”  She looked over to where Lord Frayne had entered the room with his aunt and cousin.  “I must say, he does cut a fine figure, even if he isn’t all that handsome.”

“What do you mean he isn’t handsome?”  Beatrix demanded.  “Are you blind?”

The dark-haired beauty looked at her for a long moment, noting that her friend had not taken her eyes from the tall lord since he had entered the room.  Finally.  A smile curved her lips.  “Of course, I’m blind.  I only see your brother, you know.”

Beatrix rolled her eyes as she settled on the figure of her said brother, returning, carefully carrying a glass of punch in each hand, Brian close at his heels.  “You are blind for certain if you think Mart is more handsome than Lord Frayne!”

Mart gave each lady a glass of punch before saying, “You had better drink them quickly, ladies.  They are about to begin the dancing.  Lady Grant is to dance with the Duke of Marlington, I believe.”

The night seemed to crackle with excitement and electricity as the couples waited until the elegant Dowager Duchess Grant had taken the floor with her stately partner.  Ladies tittered behind their fans as the gentlemen bowed, wreathed in smiles, asking for dances and receiving quick nods.

Mart looked at Diana with a softening of his eyes.  “You will do me the honor of a dance, my dear, won’t you?”

Diana’s meanderings about Beatrix’s sudden fascination with the mysterious Lord Frayne dissipated as she stared up into the warm blue eyes looking into hers.  A slight blush tinged her cheeks as she nodded.  She took a large sip of her punch before handing her cup to Beatrix and then taking Mart’s arm out to the dance floor.

Brian inclined his head to Beatrix.  “So, will the prettiest woman in the room, with the exception of our dear mother, of course, dance with me?”

Beatrix laughed, placing the punch cups on a servant’s passing tray, and took her brother’s arm.  “You are slightly prejudiced, I think, but I daresay I’ll not turn away a compliment like that.”

Across the room, James danced with the dowager Duchess of Riverton.  The older lady chattered continuously as they turned about the floor.  He sighed inwardly, trying to catch a glimpse of the younger Lady Belden when the Duchess’ words broke into his consciousness.

“…and that hoyden, Lady Beatrix…”

He looked down at her in surprise.  “I beg your pardon?”

A knowing smile lit the woman’s eyes.  “You know Lady Beatrix, then?”

James shook his head.  “I was introduced to her this evening.  Her parents were friends of my parents.”

“Ah, then you haven’t heard of her exploits.  She is quite the minx, that girl is!”  The Duchess clucked, her head shaking with disapproval.

He hesitated, not wanting to encourage gossip, but driven by some unknown force to persuade the woman to tell him more about her.  Finally, he let a half smile curve his lips.  “Certainly most ladies have a moment or two where they hover on the edge of propriety.”

“Ah, a fair defense,” the duchess said with a coughing chuckle.  “However, Lady Beatrix is not most ladies.”

Indeed not.  Outwardly, he merely raised an eyebrow.

The Duchess, thus encouraged, began to prattle.  “Her latest escapade,” she confided, “was that she found a dead body.  Can you imagine?  Poking through the barrels in poor Mr. Richard’s stores.”

“I can imagine it must have been quite a terrible thing for a young woman to find,” he murmured politely.  “Indeed, for anyone.”

“But it’s even worse than that! She investigated.  She put herself in the middle of the policeman’s inquiry and would not give up until she’d ferreted out the criminal herself!”

Despite himself, James was intrigued.  A lady who finds dead bodies and conducts police investigations?  “Then the criminal was apprehended?” he asked.

“He was,” she said with a firm nod.  “But it has tainted Lady Beatrix to quite some degree.  This was her coming out season, you see.  And to be sure, what young man would want to take on such a headstrong gel?”

Meanwhile, Beatrix danced with Brian, her distraction becoming obvious.  Brian lightly squeezed her hand.  Her eyes turned reluctantly back to his in question.

“If you keep craning your neck like that, I fear it will stay permanently in that position,” he teased.  “Who is it that you are looking for?”

A slow blush crept up her neck and she shook her head.  “I’m not looking for anyone.  Just admiring the dancers.  Did you see Lady Julia has quite improved her step?  She must have benefited from that new teacher she told me about.”

Brian’s dark eyed gaze flickered momentarily over the attractive brunette who was dancing with Sir William Houston and shrugged.  “I must confess I hadn’t paid close attention to Lady Julia.”  His face lit with a wicked grin.  “Other than to avoid her missteps when dancing with her.”

An answering grin spread across Beatrix’s face.  “So, perhaps you can ask her to dance later and not be too worried about your feet?”

He sighed.  “I suppose I will have to.”  Brian tilted his head in James’s direction.  “So, what is your opinion of Lord Frayne?  He seemed quite enamored with you,” he said with a small smile.

“Me?  Why…would you say that?” she asked, her blue eyes astonished.  She smiled ruefully.  “I’m the ton’s hoyden, you know.  Can’t have their precious dukes consorting with the likes of me.”

Brian looked at her for a long moment before catching a glimpse of James’s red hair as he danced with the Duchess of Riveton.  Beatrix followed his gaze and groaned.  “He’s dancing with Lady Winifred.”  She sighed, her face falling.  “She’ll tell him every single sordid detail, and then he’ll politely dance with me once and cut me dead every time after that.”

The music swelled to a crescendo before slowly dying away.  Brian gripped Beatrix’s hand a little harder, causing her to look at him in question.  His dark eyes met hers as he said softly, “If he does that, Bea, he isn’t worthy of you.”

Her eyes warmed as she sank into a curtsey, finishing the dance.  “You always know the right thing to say, Lord Belden,” she whispered, taking his arm with a grateful smile.

The dancing continued for several hours, people gaily switching partners.  Dinner had been served, guests enjoying the vast repast of turkey, candied yams, bread pudding and other tasty savories.  The night still seemed young when the guests trickled back into the ballroom, intent on more dancing and enjoying entering into the new year with relish.  As the minutes grew closer to midnight, the courting and betrothed couples made their way out on the floor for a waltz so that they could be together as the clock chimed twelve.

Beatrix stood with Brian and Lord Nicholas Roberts, the Earl of Devonshire, talking and laughing, listening to Nicholas’ stories of his wicked exploits in Paris, blithely ignoring the soon coming Midnight Waltz.

“Really, Bea,” Nicholas said with a grin, “you shouldn’t listen to these stories.  You’ll be branded as a shocking hoyden, you know.”

Brian took a sip of his punch and said dryly, “Bea thrives on being a hoyden.  She is writing a novel to encourage other young ladies to imitate her example.”

Beatrix lightly slapped his arm as Nicholas chuckled.  “You two know perfectly well that I do not lead young ladies down such a dastardly path.”  She waved in the direction of her sister-in-law, currently dancing with Peter.  “Diana is perfectly lovely and yet she has been in the sphere of my influence since she was very small.”

“Mmmm…” Brian said, unconvinced, “perhaps she is immune from the continued exposure.”

“I notice that neither of you are bending to show favor to any of the simpering misses here tonight.”  Beatrix whipped open her fan and covered her face, only her sparkling eyes showing.  “La, sir, there are so many who would fall into a swoon over handsome, dark men like you.”

Nicholas shook his head, his smile widening.  “I refuse to play your game, Lady Beatrix.”

“As do I,” Brian agreed, his dark eyes twinkling.  “I have managed to stay out of the Managing Mamas’ way so far and intend to do so in the future.”

“And an heir, Lord Belden?  Do you intend to let Crabapple Manor fall to Martin’s progeny?”  Beatrix snapped her fan closed, a sweet smile on her face, her blue eyes dancing with mischief.

“An heir will arrive all in good time,” Brian said calmly, taking another sip of his punch.  “I’ll find a wife one day, produce my heir and fulfill my duty.”

“What about love?”  Beatrix asked.  “Surely you want to love your wife.”

Brian shrugged.  “Not all marriages are for love, Bea.”

"Ours all must be,” Beatrix insisted.  At Brian’s skeptical look, hers became more determined.  “They must.”  She gestured at their brother, dancing with Lady Grant.  “Mart loves Diana.”

Nicholas smiled gently at Beatrix.  “He’s a very fortunate man.”

“He is,” Brian agreed.  He looked at his sister’s mutinous eyes and sighed.  “Do not start this argument with me again, Bea.  I must marry well for the estate.  Love cannot be a factor.”  He shrugged.

Beatrix’s eyes snapped fire.  “I will not marry unless for love,” she hissed defiantly.

Nicholas cleared his throat, intending to say something to soothe the tension of the often-rehearsed argument when James walked up to their little group.

James bowed slowly, receiving bows and a curtsey in return.  The residual anger in Beatrix’s face was still fading, her cheeks still flushed becomingly, her eyes flashing.  His eyes narrowed as he looked at the two men, wondering to himself what had caused her anger.  Even as his mind turned over the problem in his head, he couldn’t help but revel in the beauty before him.  Lord, she’s magnificent!  He forced a smile across his face and said quietly, “Lady Beatrix, I’ve come to claim that dance you promised me.”

Beatrix’s eyes widened.  The Midnight Waltz?  She looked at the man in front of her, resplendent in his dark evening clothes, the gas lamps’ flickering light setting off the copper and golden highlights in his hair.  Her gaze finally returned to his eyes and she felt oddly reassured by the sympathy she saw in them.  She sank into a curtsey, before rising and taking his offered arm.  “A pleasure, your Grace,” she murmured.

Brian’s eyes narrowed as he watched his sister being led out to the dance floor.  A slight smile toyed on Nicholas’ lips.  “Dare we hope we may have found someone willing to tame Bea’s ways?”  he said softly.

The other man said nothing for a moment before he replied, “Perhaps.”

Beatrix could barely concentrate on the steps of the waltz, so aware was she of his hand gently pressing against her back, his other hand warm in hers, even through the gloves they both wore.  Normally, she chattered merrily with her partners, but in this moment, with this man, she felt at sea, unable to utter a sound.

James looked down at Beatrix, marveling again at the pull he felt toward her.  Over the evening, he’d heard the praises sung of many young ladies, listened to their idle chatter and had felt that the last few notes of each song had become his favorite part:  the part where he could bow and return the lady, taking a slight breath of relief before having to find another simpering miss to smile at and lead out on the floor.  The silence from Beatrix surrounded him like a comforting blanket, enveloping him and encouraging him to speak.

“I hope the gentlemen didn’t upset you,” he said softly.

Beatrix lifted her head in surprise, meeting his questioning gaze.  A wry smile curved her lips, as she shook her head.  “No, no more so than usual.  Brian…” She sighed.  “Brian has a very practical view of marriage.  He will marry for duty as he is the oldest and must marry very acceptably.”

James hesitated before responding, “You do not agree with him?”

The spark he’d seen before glinted in her eyes.  She shook her head firmly.  “No, your Grace, I do not.  I intend only to marry for love,” she said in determination.

“A noble pursuit,” he said with a smile.  “The man who wins such a prize as you will be very fortunate.”

Beatrix looked at him in surprise, searching his face for signs of the insincerity of the rote pleasantries most men paid her as they danced, but all she could see was a gleam of camaraderie and sympathetic understanding lighting his eyes.  Her spirits lifted immediately and her smile spread, growing more genuine.  “I thank you, your Grace,” she murmured.

The remainder of the dance seemed to fly by, his nearness making her lightheaded.  What is it about this man that makes me so…  Beatrix willfully clamped down on her overactive thoughts, sternly telling herself to enjoy the dance and not to think further on it.  Face it, Lady Beatrix.  You are a bluestocking, a hoyden and a troublesome girl.  He cannot favor you.

The orchestra gently changed the notes of their tune, the long familiar strains of Auld Lang Syne filling the air.  The words of the song became audible as many sang with the orchestra as they danced or waited with smiles on the sides of the room.

For auld acquaintance be forgot
And never brought to mind
For auld acquaintance be forgot
And days of auld lang syne!

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne!
We’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet
For auld lang syne

The words never failed to bring tears to Beatrix’ eyes, her heart swelling, remembering those who had gone on before.  She barely noticed when James slowed their dance and leaned forward, his green eyes intent and purposeful.

She looked up at him in surprise as he murmured softly, “Turn your head, Lady Beatrix.”

The soft, sensual tone of his words ensnared her so that she could do only what he asked.  She tilted her head, her blue eyes never leaving his emerald gaze.  As quick as lightning, he brushed his lips against her cheek.  Her eyes grew wide.

He flashed a devilish grin at her, raising his gaze above their heads, a mistletoe kissing ball hanging from the ceiling.  “Happy new year, my lady,” he said quietly, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

“H-happy new year, my lord.”  Her telltale blush spread up her cheeks.

As the last notes of the piece faded away, she sank into a curtsey as he bowed.  She took his arm, striving not to bring her hand to her cheek, the memory of the warmth of his lips against her skin still fresh in her mind.

He returned her to the company of Brian and Nicholas and bowed.  He met her gaze and murmured, “It was a pleasure, Lady Beatrix.”

James walked away, feeling the electricity singing between them as an almost tangible force, the feel of her satiny skin imprinted on his lips.  He took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and lifted the glass in Lady Beatrix’s direction.  “To noble pursuits,” he said softly.

THE END

Disclaimer:  All characters are property of Golden/Western/Random House Publishing and no money is being made from their use.  All other characters are of my own creation.

Please note (especially those who are unfamiliar with the titles and such...like I am.  *g*):  Normally, a titled personage (such as Jim's character in this story) would be referred to by the name of his geographical land holding.  So, for instance, Jim in this story is James Frayne (his name), Duke of Chessington.  Normally, he would be called Lord Chessington.  As I didn't want to be any more confusing than I already AM being, I am using the well-known surnames as their titles instead.  :)  How's that for Honey-speak?

Speaking of Honey...she and Dan are missing from this story.  Do not be alarmed.  They will be appearing in later ones.

I owe a great deal of help on my story (to get the bare minimal background and to sound sort of like I know what I'm talking about) from several Victorian age websites, weather sites and the book What Jane Austen ate and Charles Dickens Knew by Daniel Pool.

Auld Lang Syne is a famous poem by Lord Byron, set to music, often sung on New Year's Eve.  (As you all know.  :))

Weather records show that there was no sunlight from November of 1890 to January of 1891 due to some strange weather patterns.  Things that make you go hmmm...

The titles mentioned above do not necessarily exist and I made them all up.  Any inaccuracies as to manners, style or social rules of the time are all my fault.  :)

Some of the terminology is more specific to the times.  A bluestocking is a female that takes an "undue" interest in male pursuits, particularly educational ones.  A hoyden is a rather "fast" girl...one that flouts convention.

This is a GWP for Zap's Holiday Writing Project IV.

Thanks very much to Sue for her rapid edit of this piece.  You are much appreciated, my friend.

Background tiles and graphics are from Lil' Kitty Graphics.  The site, however, appears to no longer be active.  I'm crediting the maker of the graphics all the same, though!

Divider made by the incomparable Dana!

And note that Jim's kissing of Bea would have been very daring at that time.  And quite wicked.  ;)  Lord Frayne lets no grass grow under his feet in this universe.  *g*

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