Always in April

VI.

Fear of Sebastian's infidelity tormented Cecelia. There was nothing sweet in the bitterness of her jealousy this time. She was afraid, she was humiliated, she was doubting, she was certain, then doubting again. She dared say nothing of it to Sebastian; he might admit it. If he did not, she might not believe him.

They went to her parents' ball. The Hatheringtons gave a ball every spring to which a great many important people came. Cecelia had an idea that she might be required to nurse Sebastian, to introduce him to people, to instruct him on what to say. It would be rather a bother and prevent her from talking to her usual friends. Yet she was somehow disappointed when, as soon as they were announced, Sebastian made a very correct bow to a man with important sidechops and began to address him in fluent French. Cecelia stood by a wall sullenly drinking champagne while Sebastian wandered the room talking for a very socially correct number of minutes with a very socially correct number of people. He saw Major Godfrey and the Astleys in the crowd and bowed to them and they fell into conversation. Cecelia felt a hum of anxiety; Miss Astley was no threat, not with a man like Major Godfrey, but— was that a smile from Sebastian? Did he mean it?

She drained her champagne and circumnavigated the ballroom to reach them. The musicians were tuning their instruments and soon it would be time for the first dance. Cecelia was to open the ball, her mother had said. It would be proper to open it with Sebastian, to show the world who her husband was. But when she reached the Astleys, Miss Astley smiled cruelly and said, "Do excuse us, Lady Cecelia, we will have to talk later. The dance is about to begin," and sauntered off on Sebastian's arm.

Major Godfrey caught Cecelia's gaze. "She is not afraid to put herself forward, that one."

"She asked him?"

"Oh, no," Major Godfrey said. "She is not that gauche. But there was not a heartbeat between his asking and her accepting. May I put myself forward? I understand you are to open the ball?"

His manner seemed nothing more than friendly, but after their last conversation, Cecelia did not trust him. She shook her head. "I have my own partner."

She did not, but she found Edmund by the champagne table. Edmund was too lazy to dance, so she knew he would not have a partner. Cecelia grabbed his arm. "You're dancing with me."

"I hate dancing," he protested.

"I need to open the ball. Put up with it."

"You couldn't find a partner?" He laughed. "Very well then, let me be your chevalier."

As they lined up to start the dance, he observed, "Price is dancing with that yellow-haired flit."

"I see."

A few minutes later, Edmund added, "He dances rather well."

"I see."

"Everyone must think it pathetic that your husband dances with another woman and you dance with your brother."

Cecelia took advantage of the steps of the dance to turn away and not reply. When they were brought together again, she took pleasure in stepping on his foot.

"That was your fault," she said.

"You've gotten heavier," he retorted. "No wonder Price would rather dance with her."

Cecelia could not suppress darting an angry, anxious glance in Sebastian's direction. Edmund did not miss it.

"You look jealous," he said. "I don't blame you. Must be miserable, to have one's husband more interested in other women than— ouch!" —Cecelia had stepped on his foot again— "No, I mean it, dear sister, I feel for you. I am full of compassion. Yours is a very pitiable position. I think the entire ballroom must pity you."