Elizabeth seemed disappointed. “I suppose I had hoped that if you were in half-mourning, we could go to a ball once in a while, but I would not wish to impose upon you,” she said.
“You do like dancing,” said Mary contemplatively. “I suppose I could get one or two gray ballgowns, so that we can go to balls without me bringing down the lively atmosphere with my widow’s black, but I refuse to buy an entire wardrobe. Black will do very well for most situations.”
This immediately brought the smile back to Elizabeth’s face. “Thank you, Mary,” she said.
A week later, Mary and Elizabeth attended their first ball in London that year. Mary wore her new gray ballgown, though it was rather simplistic as far as ballgowns went.
Chapter 10
Mary and Elizabeth walked into the ballroom in Lady Castleton’s home in late March. Though the day had been warm for the season, the air outside was cooling off quickly, making the warmth of the ballroom comfortable instead of stifling.
As they often did, Mary and her sister separated once they were completely in the ballroom. Technically, Mary was Elizabeth’s chaperone, but she trusted Elizabeth to behave properly, so there was no need to hold her back and keep her chained to Mary’s side.
Mary looked around for acquaintances or friends to talk to. She did not expect to be asked to dance, so she ignored the gentlemen in the room other than to verify if they were Mr. Worsley. She spotted Mrs. Carlton and was on her way over to speak to her when she was accosted by a gentleman she barely knew by the name of Mr. Stone.
“Mrs. Allen,” he said, “It is a delight to see you here this evening. I had not expected to see you at any ball this year.”
Mary was confused. She barely knew this man’s name and could remember nothing about him. Why on Earth would he be so delighted to see her? “Good evening, Mr. Stone,” she said as she gave a little curtsey.
“Since you are here,” he said, “I was wondering if I might have the pleasure of your company for a dance this evening.”
Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. She could not help it, though she berated herself for letting the expression show on her face. She had met Mr. Stone early in her last season in London, but he had never been one of the men who asked her to dance. His behavior was out of character, and it confused her.
Fortunately, she did not need to understand his motivations in order to give a quick reply. “I had not intended to dance this evening,” she said. “I am only here to give my sister a chance to enjoy a ball while she is in London.”
Instead of being irritated at her refusal, Mr. Stone smiled. “You are an excellent caretaker of your sister. Hopefully, I will be more fortunate at a later time. Until then,” he bowed and walked away from her. She half expected him to head towards Elizabeth, but he did not. Instead, he moved towards another group of young ladies who were chatting animatedly together.
“I’ve heard Mr. Stone is rather hard up for money,” an easily recognizable voice said from just behind Mary.
The explanation for Mr. Stone’s odd behavior made immediate sense, but Mary was more interested in the owner of the voice. She turned, and she could feel her mouth split into a grin. “Mr. Worsley,” she said. “I did not know you would be here this evening.”
“I did not know, myself, until yesterday,” he said, “but a little bird informed me that you would be here, and I could not pass up the opportunity to see you dance and perhaps to dance with you.”
Mary’s face fell. “I…I just told Mr. Stone that I would not be dancing this evening. It would be quite rude of me to change my mind so suddenly. Even if I were willing to make an exception for you, I would then have to dance with anyone else who asked for the rest of the evening. I am not quite ready to be thatsociable.” She waved vaguely at her gray dress that indicated her status as half-mourning.
With concern in his eyes, Mr. Worsley asked, “You must have loved Mr. Allen a great deal to honor his memory so stringently, so much that you would not even dance a few dances after six months.”
Mary did not wish to discuss her feelings about her late husband. In some ways, she was still confused about it all, and she was not certain she could express herself well on the subject. Besides, it felt decidedly wrong to discuss her husband with Mr. Worsley in particular, though she did not understand why. “It is complicated,” she said, hoping he would drop the subject.
“How can it be complicated?” asked Mr. Worsley. “You either loved him or you didn’t. There is no shame if you didn’t, you know. There are many marriages that are quite successful but are not based on love. My parents are one such example.”
“Love is such a difficult word,” said Mary repressively.
He still would not take a hint, however. “It is the most straightforward thing in the world,” he said.
She finally became irritated and lashed out. “Oh? And how many times have you been in love?”
For a moment, Mr. Worsley began ticking off his fingers and murmuring to himself as if he was counting the ladies he had been in love with. Mary could feel her irritation growing by leaps and bounds, but before it could do more than simply make itself known to her, he stopped. He looked up from his hands and looked straight into Mary’s eyes.
Mary had learned to avoid Mr. Worsley’s direct gaze, because it tended to make her forget what she was thinking or what she was trying to say. This time, she failed to avoid it, and she was hit by a feeling far beyond what she had experiencedbefore, as if the world had stopped spinning and then suddenly flipped upside down.
It lasted only for a moment, less than a second, but when the world righted itself, Mary noticed that Mr. Worsley’s expression had changed from that of humor to deadly seriousness with an incredible intensity, and she could feel that his expression was mirrored in her own face. Though she did not wish to consciously admit it, she knew the look in his eyes, for she had seen a weak facsimile of it in her husband’s eyes, especially in his last few months of life.
“I retract my previous statement,” he said, his usually velvety voice was a little huskier than before. He cleared his voice before continuing. “You were correct. Love is not the simple thing I thought it.”
He made no explanation for his change of opinion. For a time, the two of them stood side by side, watching as the first dance was forming. Mary was relieved to be released from his gaze. The feeling of connection that had so suddenly formed between them was something Mary did not wish to acknowledge and refused to name. It was far easier to watch the dancers than to confront Mr. Worsley.
When the dance was almost half over, Mary was finally beginning to breathe a bit more easily. Of course, that was when Mr. Worsley turned to her and said, “Perhaps, you could grant me the last dance of the evening. That way, you would not be obliged to dance any additional dances afterward.”
