Angeline found herself seated, without any maneuvering at all on her part, between Mr. Lynd and the Earl of Heyward, and suddenly the evening air no longer felt uncomfortably cool. In fact, it felt decidedly warm and charged with energy all down her right side, which was, coincidentally, the side upon which the earl sat. She made no attempt to converse exclusively with him, though, or he with her. Conversation was general, and it was vigorous and covered a whole host of topics that included politics, both domestic and foreign, music, art, and gossip. It had none of the insipidity of conversation in the country. Angeline was exhilarated by it. How wonderful good conversation was, and how much there was to learn from it, far more than one ever learned in the schoolroom—a fact that seemed to be a contradiction in terms.

“I do believe,” she said, “that I have learned more in the month since I came to London than I did in all the years I spent with my governesses.”

“Book learning often does seem to be a useless waste of youth,” Mr. Lynd said. “But it gives us the basic knowledge and tools with which to deal with life once we have left it behind.”

“If we do leave it behind,” Ferdinand said. “We can learn a great deal from our daily lives and from our interaction with the minds and opinions of others, but there is no surer way of expanding our knowledge and experience than by reading.”

Ferdinand, Angeline remembered, had done rather well both in school and at Oxford. She tended to forget that and assume that he was only a very handsome but rather shallow rakehell. How dreadful to do one’s own brother an injustice. She stared curiously at him. She really did not know him well at all, did she? They were brother and sister and yet they had lived so much of their lives apart. How sad it was.

“School often seems dull and irrelevant to life,” Lord Heyward said. “But what we learn there gives us the grounding for a richer appreciation of life when we grow up. You are quite right about that, Augustine. How could we appreciate a poem or a play, for example, if we had not learned what to look for as we read? We could hope to be entertained, I suppose, but our minds, our understanding, our souls would remain untouched.”

“Oh,” Angeline said, “then all those tedious, tedious lessons in which Miss Pratt dissected a poem or play line by line and explained the meaning and significance of every word help me to appreciate poetry and drama now, do they? And is pure enjoyment to be despised?”

“Oh, bravo, Lady Angeline,” Lady Overmyer said. “Why read a poem or watch a play if one is not entertained by it? What do you have to say to that, Edward?”

“It sounds to me,” he said, “as though those lessons of yours were merely tedious, Lady Angeline, and were in grave danger of killing your interest in literature for all time. But there is a way of teaching that informs and guides and leads and encourages and excites the pupil at the same time. I was fortunate enough to know a few such teachers.”

“I had such a governess when I was a girl,” Cousin Rosalie said. “But she was a rarity. I have realized that since.”

“Learning was painful enough when I was a girl,” Cousin Belinda said, fanning her face. “Must we now talk about it?”

There was general laughter, and the conversation swept on to something else.

Their supper was brought to the box soon after, and they feasted upon a variety of sumptuous foods, including the wafer-thin slices of ham for which Vauxhall Gardens was famous, as well as the strawberries with clotted cream.

“Why does food always taste so much more appetizing out of doors?” Angeline asked.

The question led to a lively discussion.

“All I know,” Mrs. Lynd said to end it, “is that you are quite right, Lady Angeline, and it must be the reason why most of our eating is done indoors. We would all weigh a ton in no time at all otherwise.”

Everyone laughed. Everyone appeared to be having a wonderful time. Angeline looked happily about her and glanced at Lord Heyward. He was smiling at his sister. This, she thought, was the happiest night of her life.

And then the orchestra, which had been playing quietly all evening, struck up a more lively tune to signal the beginning of the dancing.

They played a waltz tune, and Angeline gazed wistfully on as Tresham led Cousin Belinda onto the floor, and Cousin Leonard followed with Lady Heyward, Mr. Lynd with Rosalie, and Ferdinand with Lady Overmyer. Angeline had been granted permission to waltz at Almack’s within the past week and could now officially dance it anywhere. And it was the most divine dance ever invented. Dancing it in the outdoors would surely be simply … heavenly.

“Well, Edward,” Mrs. Lynd said, “it would be too lowering for you to waltz with your sister. You must dance with Lady Angeline instead, then, and I shall twist Christopher’s arm and he will waltz with me. A certain amount of exercise is good when one is out of doors, I have heard. It fills the lungs with good, clean air and counteracts the effects of stale air breathed in when one sits in a box doing nothing. And it aids the digestion.”

She winked at her brother as Lord Overmyer got to his feet.

“I was about to ask you anyway, Alma,” he said. “You are looking very fine this evening.”

“Why, thank you,” she said as he led her away. “Flattery will win you a dancing partner any evening of the week.”

Lord Heyward was also on his feet, and for one moment Angeline was assailed by an almost irresistible longing. But only for a moment.

“Oh,” she said, “you look like a drowning man who has been up for air twice and is about to descend for the third and final time. I shall save your life. I do not wish to waltz.”

He sat down again.

“I do know the steps,” he assured her.

“I know all the keys on a pianoforte and every note on a sheet of music,” she told him. “But somewhere between my eyes and my head at the one extreme and my fingers on the other, the message gets lost. Or scrambled anyway. I was the despair of my governesses. It seems I can never ever be a proper lady if I am not an accomplished musician.”

“You are kind,” he said.

“And you can never be a proper gentleman,” she said, “because when you dance your legs turn to wood.”

“It is that noticeable?” he asked. “But it must be. You feigned a sprained ankle rather than have to continue dancing with me at your come-out ball.”

“I turned my ankle,” she said, “to save you from the embarrassment of having to dance on. But you danced with other partners afterward, and so my sacrifice was in vain. Can there be anything more romantic than the waltz, do you suppose? Unless it is a waltz beneath the stars and colored lamps?”

Cousin Leonard and the Countess of Heyward were gazing into each other’s eyes as they danced. They were probably quite unaware of anyone else around them—or even of the stars and lamps.

A waltzing couple must always maintain a proper distance from each other even though their hands must touch throughout and indeed the gentleman must keep one hand on the lady’s waist and she must keep one hand on his shoulder. Those hands must never move after being properly placed, even by as much as half an inch.

Angeline could hear the rules listed in the severe voice of Miss Pratt, who had taught her the waltz even though she very strongly disapproved of it.

There was not even a sliver of air between Tresham and Lady Eagan as they waltzed. And not only his hand was resting on her waist. His whole arm was. Her hand was not on his shoulder at all, but against the back of his neck. There were only a few slivers of air between their faces.

Angeline sighed inwardly and fanned her face. And she wondered if Tresham had accepted his invitation only because Cousin Belinda was to be here. Was it possible that he had seen her since Rosalie’s wedding?

“Romantic?” Lord Heyward said in answer to her question. “It is just a dance.”

She looked at him sidelong.

“Do you not believe in romance, Lord Heyward?” she asked.

He hesitated.

“I believe in love,” he said, “and commitment and affection and fidelity and … comfort. I believe in happy marital relationships. I know a few, though not as many as I could wish. But romance? It sounds altogether too giddy to me, the sort of thing that leads people into falling in love, whatever that means, and acting without considered judgment and often ensuring an unhappy life for themselves trapped in a lifelong connection that quickly reveals romance and falling in love to be just a sad illusion. I have known a few of those connections.”

Oh, dear.

Angeline fanned her face again.

“Perhaps,” she said, “it is possible to be happy and in love, Lord Heyward. Perhaps romance can lead to love and affection and commitment and … What else did you list? Ah, yes, and to comfort. In a rare case. Do you not think?”

“I have no evidence of that,” he said. “But I suppose it is human nature to wish that you were right. To hope that you are right. It is perhaps wiser always to try to think and speak and act with good sense and judgment.”

“But wishes, hopes, and dreams are what give us the will and the courage to go on,” she said. “I would not want to go on without dreams.”

He was looking directly at her, she found when she turned her head toward him, having just witnessed Tresham for the merest moment denying even those few slivers of air space between his face and Belinda’s.