Amelia was exceedingly diverted by reeling about the ballroom.  No longer disquieted by the flourish of veiled fervency that had occurred between herself and Mr. Archer, she luxuriated in the amusement.  Dancing had remained one of her most cherished diversions, and she was excessively pleased with the vigor in her step spurned on by Mr. Archer's new found ease.  Amelia was just rounding the final turn when she noted a precise ritardando was indicating the end of the song.  Smiling, she came to her final position and bowed in Mr. Archer's direction.  Amelia was please to note that he was equally as invigorated, and jocularly returned her salutation. 

Mr. Archer freely offered his hand and Amelia gratefully accepted it, as they walked off the dance floor.  Amelia steadied her expression to one of polite amusement and glanced in Mr. Archer's direction subtly.  Gone was the hint of any small merriment they may have shared.  Rather, his manner was one of blithe indifference.  It was in such contrast to moments ago, that Amelia felt a crimson bloom bud across the tops of her cheeks.  Had she imagined the connection?  And even if she had, it was pure folly to be nettled by a mercurial countenance, especially when it did not belong to her husband.

Considering the best option for a deferential and ladylike means of thanking him for the dance without betraying her current discomposure, Amelia let Mr. Archer quietly guide her towards her family.  Yet, just as he was about to conclude the interaction with a bow, the stentorian voice of the butler broke through the din to announce dinner.  Amelia silently chastised herself for not having kept better track of the hour, as she would now be forced to be accompanied to the table by Mr. Archer.  Though, not even the lusty chiming of the large long-case clock in the foyer could have pierced through the wonderful hubbub that had settled over the ball.  How undesirous a predicament, thought Amelia.  Though, even Mr. Archer must concede that the tight-lipped state of his now taciturn expression is not conducive to dining.

At the same moment, Thomas was all astonishment.  His heart was quaking in the aftermath of his shared experience.  Could Mrs. Dyer, Amelia, truly have felt it too?  he thought.  I have never felt more envious of Mr. Dyer at this moment and as Socrates predicted it shall be an ulcer on my soul.  Thomas then concluded in that very moment that he must distance himself from Mrs. Dyer for the rest of the evening, lest this viridescent nature become apparent to anyone else.  He used his well-trained military mind and placed a neutral expression upon his face.  The fleeting pained look in Amelia's eyes he had glimpsed nearly disintegrated his resolve, but he was determined to show no particular affection towards her in the presence of her family.

Amelia's sister Lottie had been observing this entire interaction, and as dinner was announced she glanced at her sister.  Amelia's cheeks were flushed, but her expression was aggrieved.  Lottie had been convinced of Mr. Acher's partiality towards her sister from the instant they had met, but could it be that her sister was also showing the signs of the same affliction?  Lottie was determined to find a private moment to speak to her sister.  They had always been the closest companions and bedfellows.  Lottie knew that if she inquired in the correct manor, her sister would reveal her inner most thoughts.  However, at this very moment, it was of the utmost import that Lottie prevent her Friday-faced sister from being set down by the idle chatter and bandy words.

"Sister, I am looking forward to dining on the delicacies you have described for this evening's victuals.  Shall we delay no further and head to the dining room?"

"Yes, certainly, sister.  I believe you shall not be disappointed," replied Amelia, recovering her composure.  "I am afraid civil dictates state I must trespass on your kindness a little longer, Mr. Archer," she continued in a more clipped manner.

A flash of ruefulness traveled through Thomas as he noted Amelia's cool demeanor.  Nevertheless, he extended his arm politely in her direction, and she took it.  Likewise, Lottie clasped the arm of her own escort, and follow suit in direction of the dining room.  The throng of ball attendees were all jockeying for spot at the tables.  Many of them were a trifle disguised, and probably thankful for the meal.  Though, in his experience, Thomas knew that most guests would only imbibe further as they indulged in the feast.  Reddened cheeks from dancing would soon he complimented by reddened noses.

Amelia politely assumed her seat next to Mr. Archer and indicated to the footman that she would like to her glass of wine filled.  She took a long sip, and let the claret quench her thirst.  Amelia glanced once more at Mr. Archer and noted he too was engrossed in his cup, though he was not drinking it.  Lud! This shall be a tedious meal, indeed, she thought.  Yet, Amelia did not feel so entirely destitute as one should when faced with a potentially unsavoury conditions when dining.  For one, an exquisite meal had been prepared. Not a single item had been left off the menu that she had envisioned.  Secondly, she would be seated close to her family as Mr. Archer had the foresight to bring her within an easy distance of them.  Should Mr. Archer's turn out to be wet-rag, she would find pleasure in their company.

As dinner was served, polite conversation flowed between Amelia's parents, her sister and Mr. Curtis, and herself.  Mr. Archer offered a few small interjections.  Mostly he ate and sipped his wine, shifting his weight uncomfortably whenever Amelia glanced in his direction.  Consequently, she began to ignore him in favour of the others at the table.    However, soon enough, even polite conversation became difficult in the babel created by all of the excited guests in the dining room.  Women were tittering, gentlemen were guffawing.  Above the din, Amelia could hear John's voice ringing out as he animatedly regaled his table with stories of previous hunting excursions.

"Tare an' hounds, what a season we shall have, eh Watson?" Amelia heard him exclaim as she witnessed John clap one of his old friends on the back.  In some ways, Amelia longed to be closer to her husband so that she may be rid of her withdrawn companion.  In other was, she was thankful that she did not have to compete for his attentions.  She settled instead to watch him enjoy himself from a distance.

As the meal continued, Amelia began to feel uncomfortable for more corporeal reasons.  She did not know whether it was the richness of the food, or if if the wine was causing her head to spin, but she began to feel very ill indeed.  Her stays felt tight around her waist and a leaden weight was present in her lower abdomen.  An unforseen wave of nausea overcame her and the practically dropped her fork on to the floor as she aimed to replace it on the table.

The heat of the room quickly became unbearable, and Amelia clasped her hand tightly around her fan and opened with a flick of her wrist.  Hoping for refreshment, she stroked the fan back and forth quickly.  However, the movement only caused another rush of warm air to brush against her face.   She cursed the room full of candles and warm bodies.  Amelia felt the blood rush from her face, she began to tug on the lower edge of her stays through the fabric of her gown.  Her hunger for air was so great, that she no longer wished to worry about her comportment.  However, ignoring the possible risk of scandal was too great, and she could not let John down.  So many competing notions were running through her mind making her head spin all the more.

"Amelia," inquired Mr. Moore, looking quite concerned, "Are you quite well?  You look at queer as Dick's hatband."

"Yes, dear.  You have become very pale, indeed," added Mrs. Moore.

"Thank you for your concern, mother and father.  Just beginning to feel a few small effects of the crush, I think.  I shall take it as a compliment.  A truly successful event!" Amelia quipped weakly as a wan smile spread across her face. 

"Are you sure, sister?  You really look quite unwell."

"No matter, Lottie.  I just need a moment in the cloak room."  Amelia abruptly rose, gripping the edge of the table to steady herself.  She felt positively wretched, but all she could think of was exiting the room to find the promise of cool air.

"I shall escort you," said Thomas, as he too rose from the table.  Yet, Amelia did not hear him.  She was already moving across the dining room, maneuvering herself quickly between the guests.  Thomas pursued her at a similar pace, hoping to provide support without creating a scene.  As he passed John's table he tapped him on the shoulder in an attempt to garner his attention towards his ailing wife.  However, John was far too occupied in his animated storytelling and he did not feel the gesture.

Amelia had nearly reached the entryway, and she watched the footman open the door.  She closed her eyes briefly, waiting for the refreshment of the cool air of the hall. Yet, it was not to be.  More warm bodies marched through the door, jostling Amelia, pressing past her and pushing out her last reserve of breath.  A second wave of nausea overcame her and the edges of her vision became cloudy.  The last thing Amelia heard was a throng of loud gasps as her vision went black and she collapsed into the waiting arms of Mr. Archer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~
Thank you so much to you, my very patient readers, for continuing along this journey with me.  This story will always remain my labour of love and I am taking my time when crafting it.  I hope this last update finds you well.

Special thanks also to Aviatrix427 - you have supported me from the start and this scandal is dedicated to you.  Lots of love to PoisedPen as well, who's inspirational comments over the last little while gave me the push I needed to write another chapter.

Xo,
Jane