He winced. “Yes, a lot of people would have preferred roses, I think.”
“I prefer wildflowers.”
He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “I’m glad. That’s a very nice dress, Miss Atwater. You suit the colour.”
Abigail hadn’t got as far as accepting compliments. Instead of saying something witty – no doubt she’d think of something clever later – she mumbled incoherently and smoothed down the front of her dress.
“In fact, I was wondering…” Lord Alexander began.
He was not able to finish. Aunt Florence appeared from nowhere, a glass of lemonade in each hand, and directed a strange, flat gaze at the man.
“Lord Alexander, how do you do,” she said, voice oddly disjointed. “Thank you for keeping my Abigail company. I’m sure you know how worrying it is, being a chaperone for a lovely girl like her in a busy ballroom.”
Abigail wasn’t entirely sure what all that meant, but Lord Alexander coloured and looked away.
“Of course,” he said tightly. “Excuse me, ladies. Enjoy the night.”
And with that, he melted away, leaving Abigail with a faint feeling of disappointment that she could not quite interpret.
“Stop it,” Aunt Florence said shortly, pushing a glass of lemonade into her niece’s hand.
Abigail blinked down at the lemonade. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Stop mooning over him. Didn’t I say that his lordship was no good?”
“That’s unkind.”
“It’s realistic. I like him well enough, but not when I have you to worry about.”
Abigail cleared her throat. “Would… would being seen with Lord Alexander damage my reputation?”
Aunt Florence sighed. “Not exactly. But he’s known to be a bit of a flirt. He’s handsome, charming, and rich, and at his heart, I don’t believe he’s a bad man. That’s a dangerous combination. If I take you out into Society only for you to lose your heart and head to a known rake, I might as well have just left you with your mother and sister.”
Abigail bit her lip. “I’m sorry, Aunt. I should have listened. I didn’t know how to get away from him without being rude.”
“You can’t be rude, of course. His mother is our host, and his brother is the Duke of Dunleigh. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you away from him. Ah, another gentleman is coming over for an introduction, I think. Two, in fact. The older is not looking to marry, as far as I know, but the other is highly eligible. Just to let you know, dearest.”
Abigail began choking on her lemonade just in time for the two men to approach. Their names were Mr. Mutton and Lord Donovan, the former clearly well known to Lady Florence.
Mr. Mutton was a man of middle-years, with a cheerful face and a way of never quite looking Abigail full in the face. He requested a dance, and this time Abigail remembered to let him sign his own name. He did so, then fell into deep conversation with Aunt Florence, leaving Abigail free to speak to the second man.
“You seem a little overwhelmed, Miss Atwater,” Lord Donovan said, smiling wryly. “If you don’t mind me saying so.”
She sighed. “I don’t mind. Itisvery crowded.”
“Your name seems familiar – is this your first Season?”
She had to laugh at that. “First Season? Heavens, no. This is my third.”
Abigail immediately winced at that. She shouldn’t have been so open about her third Season. The first question gentlemen would wonder – according to her mother, at least – was why on earth she hadn’t gotten married in her first few Seasons.
Lord Donovan, however, did not seem shocked or put off. He only laughed, shaking his head.
“Three Seasons? You’re a braver person than I. Or perhaps you’re the sort of lady who relishes balls and gatherings?”
“I wish I were. I’m not, I’m afraid.”
He nodded. “Neither am I. Some gentlemen – Lord Alexander Willenshire, for example – see balls such as these as their own personal playground. I can’t say that I agree with that sentiment.”
