Is She Really Going Out with Him?

Chapter 35

Google searches:

Do-it-yourself Regency hairstyles

What kind of underwear did Jane Austen wear?

Video tutorial, Regency dances

The day of the ball arrives, and I am not feeling as negatively about it as I might. Noah has agreed to come as my date, which Crispin is thrilled about. Bath Living is sending a photographer, and he thinks “the hot widower” will look great in the photos. Poor Noah, so objectified.

It’s been a week since I submitted the article. The editor, Fiona, sent a gushing reply saying how much she loved it and suggested only a few light edits. It was published in the Times supplement this morning and I have been watching my phone, willing it to ring. He must have read it by now. But though I have received hundreds of messages from other people, there is nothing from Will.

Lottie

Wow! You look incredible. This article is EVERYTHING. Has he called??

Loretta

Announcing your rock era in the Times. Wonderful.

Jonathan

I am so proud of you, darling.

Crispin

Yes, Anna. THIS. This is what I wanted from you. I knew you could do it.

Dan

Getting lots of messages about your article. Happy for you, A. (Though not sure nuclear fallout is best analogy for divorce. Radioactive land cannot be reinhabited for hundreds of years.)

Unknown Number

Welcome to the “in love” club. Membership perks—a full heart and a happy soul. Sylvie.

How does Sylvie even have my number? By the afternoon, I decide to mute my notifications because it is too much. I don’t need friends from school whom I haven’t heard from in years messaging to say they’re sorry to hear about my divorce or happy to hear I’ve “found love” again. I suppose this is what you get for oversharing in a national newspaper. I just need to put the whole thing out of my head or I won’t be able to get through today.

Michael has invited Noah and me to get ready for the ball at his flat. He’s ordered our costumes and insisted on choosing my gown, claiming, “You’ll just pick the first one you see otherwise,” which is true. At his flat, Jane is already in full costume, her hair set in perfect ringlets and a ribbon band. Her manner is so sweet, her voice so demure, it feels as though she has stepped out of the pages of Mansfield Park . Though she lives two hours away from Bath, I can see from their body language neither of them will mind traveling.

“You really expect me to wear that?” Noah groans as Michael holds up a pair of breeches and riding boots.

“You will look marvelous,” Michael tells him. “Just don’t eat anything while you’re wearing them, we can’t risk stains. Anna, are you ready to see what I’ve got for you?”

“Go on then,” I say, and Michael opens his wardrobe and pulls out the most exquisite Empire-line, russet silk gown, with neat puff sleeves. It is embroidered all around the hem with an intricate floral design. “Michael, no, that’s too much!”

“It’s an exact replica of a dress from the era,” Michael says, clapping his hands in glee as though he’s pulled off a masterstroke. It requires all three of them to help get me into the gown without ripping anything. Then Jane insists on redoing my poor attempt at a hairstyle, repinning it in a complex arrangement of plaits and curls. When I finally dare look in the mirror, I have to admit, I look sensational. Maybe all my feminist misgivings about the Regency period and the oppression of women could be allayed by looking this fabulous.

“Wow,” says Noah, who looks equally dashing in his outfit.

“When it comes to costumes, it’s always worth going that extra mile,” Michael says. “Now we must make haste, our carriage awaits!”

“You didn’t really hire us a carriage, did you?” I ask, and he shakes his head.

“A carriage of the Uber variety. We shall close our eyes and pretend it’s a horse-drawn town coach.”

The guildhall is already teeming when we arrive. Walking into the imposing building, with its high ceilings and ornate chandeliers, feels like stepping into a costume drama. I want to take a photo, but no one has their phone; Michael insisted we leave them behind.

“There are no phones in the eighteen tens. No chewing gum either, thank you, Noah.”

Michael holds out a gloved hand. Noah frowns and then spits it out. Apart from wanting to send Jess and Ethan a selfie, I’m glad to be without my phone tonight; I want to try to enjoy the evening without any distractions.

Inside, the ballroom is thrumming with people. As we walk in, we hand our invitations to the herald, a barrel-shaped man in a dark tailcoat, who announces our names as we enter the main room.

“Master Noah Philips and Miss Anna Appleby,” he calls in a booming voice. The formality of it is enchanting. A string quartet plays to one side as the dance master calls for the cotillion. Michael and Jane hurry to take their places, while Noah and I hang back.

“Do you want to dance?” Noah asks, tugging at his collar.

“Maybe not quite yet,” I tell him as we find our table at the side of the room. “Shall we get a drink first?”

As we watch the others form into lines, dancing and twirling in their sets as the string quartet plays, I can’t stop my mind from wandering back to Will. He had his Eiffel Tower date last night. Jonathan told me he went with a woman called Céline, someone he met online and wrote about in last week’s column. Is that why he hasn’t called? Maybe he is still with her and hasn’t even gotten around to reading our article.

“Are you okay?” Noah asks, and I blink a few times, realizing I was somewhere else.

“Sorry, yes, just taking it all in,” I say, mustering a smile.

“I think you’re very brave,” he says quietly, eyes shifting to the floor. “Writing what you did.”

“Thanks, Noah,” I say with a smile. “Brave or foolish.”

“No, just brave,” he says firmly. Then he reaches for my hand. “Come on, we should get into the spirit of things.”

When they announce the next dance, Noah leads me onto the dance floor.

“Thank you for coming with me, I know it’s not your thing,” I say, forcing my focus back to the person I am here with.

“Thank you for getting me to leave the house,” says Noah with a wry smile.

As we dance, I glance over at Michael and Jane. She is the most accomplished dancer in the room, showing everyone else the steps, and Michael is gazing at her with undisguised wonder. Then when I look back to my dance partner, he is not where he’s supposed to be. He’s stepped back out of the line, and someone is tapping him on the shoulder. A long arm, in a black suit, dark hair leaning in to say something in his ear. A man dressed in black tie, asking to cut in.

Will. Will is here .

What? How? Why is he here? I blink, unable to believe what I’m seeing. Noah bows, steps back, and Will takes his place in the dance. He looks at me, green eyes shining with delight, his mouth a broad smile. I am frozen to the spot, and it is only when my neighbor nudges me that I step forward to meet him in the dance.

“What are you doing here?” I murmur, surprised I can speak at all because my heart is in my throat. “And what are you wearing?”

“There were no Regency costumes to be found between here and the Eurostar,” he says, beaming down at me as we both step forward to join the other dancers in a turn. “Appleby, can I just say, you look phenomenal.” He spins me around but doesn’t know the dance, and now the rest of the set are moving and we’re tripping people up. A man with a gray mustache mutters, “Keep up, keep up.” I take Will’s arm, turning us around and guiding him to the right place.

“You came all the way here, today?” I ask, still unable to compute his presence.

“I got the first train I could—” But now we’re being forced to change partners, and we lose each other in the line. Will is swept away by an older woman in a long purple gown. As she takes his arm, she glares at Will’s outfit in disapproval. Will’s eyes stay on me, and I feel panic as he disappears across the room, lost to me already.

He politely disentangles himself from the woman in purple and tries to dance back to me, but now he’s messing up the whole set, so I step out of the line, offering my apologies to the other dancers, before taking his arm and pulling him away, across the room, and slipping out onto the balcony.

“Did you mean what you wrote?” he asks, reaching for my hand, stroking his fingers across my palm. Looking up at him, I don’t know how it’s possible, but Will looks even more handsome in black tie. He’s dazzling.

“Yes, every word,” I tell him. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“Why didn’t you call me?” he asks.

“I was so mean to you when I last saw you, I thought it needed more than a phone call. Why didn’t you call this morning when you read the article?”

“I thought it needed more than a phone call,” he says, grinning. “So, Anna Appleby, you don’t hate me, you love me.”

“I love you,” I say, grinning back, but then I shake my head. “But it’s impossible—”

“It’s not, because I love you too.” He gazes down at me, his cheeks creased into smile lines, his green eyes swirling with adoration.

“You look really good in black tie,” I tell him, breaking eye contact to fully absorb his whole outfit. “Really, really good.”

“I know I do,” he says with a cocksure grin. “And you look incredible in whatever this is.” He tugs gently on one of my curls.

As he leans down to kiss me, I shake my head, suddenly feeling as though we’re missing a step. “Wait, how is this going to work? You live in Paris. I live here.”

“We’ll work it out,” he says.

“We’ll work it out?”

“We’ll work it out,” he says with a shrug. “There’s a direct flight from Bristol to Paris, you can be at my apartment in three hours. I’m excellent on the phone, I don’t know if you know that.” I pretend to glower at him. “Can I kiss you now?”

“Please do,” I say, putting my hands around his broad back, but as he leans down, I remember the other reason this wasn’t going to work. “Wait, what about children? You want them, I don’t want more.”

“Anna. I’ve been traveling for seven hours. I bought a tux at King’s Cross station. I haven’t thought beyond getting here and making sure you know that I’m in love with you. Whatever the future has in store, I know I want you in mine. As for the rest, well, as the saying goes, que será, será .”

I bite my lip, looking up at him. “Okay. So, are you going to kiss me, Havers, or what?”

“Not if you kiss me first,” he says, standing tall, teasing me because he knows I can’t reach his lips unless he bends down.

There’s a bench on the balcony, so I hitch up my gown, climb up onto it, and then throw myself off the bench and into his arms. He catches me, laughing, and now our faces are level, and I kiss him with everything I’ve got. Behind us there’s a flurry of applause and we turn to see Michael, Jane, and Noah all cheering us on, but then the master of ceremonies, a man in his seventies with bushy muttonchops, pushes himself forward.

“Sir, I am sorry, but you can’t attend the ball unless you’re wearing the appropriate attire,” he says.

“He’s here to make a grand declaration of love,” Michael says, squaring up to the man. “I can assure you, Austen would have approved.”

“I’m afraid I can’t make exceptions, it’s not fair on the other guests.” We all look back and forth between each other, reluctant to break up the party so soon.

“I’ll go, it’s fine. I’ll just meet you afterward,” says Will, squeezing my hand.

“No,” says Noah loudly, and everyone turns to look at him. “Will, meet me in the toilets.” Will looks confused. “So we can swap outfits.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I say, touched by Noah’s offer.

“He’s come all the way from Paris, he can’t leave so soon.”

“Oh, Noah, that’s so sweet of you,” I say, running forward to hug him.

“What are neighbors for?” he says with a shrug, his cheeks glowing pink.

So Noah and Will disappear to swap clothes. When they return, we all laugh because Noah’s breeches look like lederhosen on Will, and Will’s tux is far too long on Noah.

“Good enough for an eightsome reel?” Will asks the master of ceremonies, and the man gives a sharp nod of grudging approval.

“I’ll wait for you all in the bar downstairs,” says Noah, pulling his book on rare bird species out of his satchel.

So, Will and I get to dance, a proper old-fashioned reel. I haven’t learned this one yet, so neither of us know what we are doing. But as the music starts and we gaze at each other across the dance floor, I’m confident we’ll work out what we’re supposed to do.