As the eldest, she’d been confident of her steady rationality. Of course, she was known to have a temper from time to time, but only when it was really called for. Any sensible person had a temper when it was called for. In any case, she’d put a deal of effort into reining it in and controlling it, as any mature person would do, and only unleashing it when it was really necessary. As all rational people do.
But now, all sense and rationality were gone. They’d gone up in a puff of smoke. She’d taken one look at the Earl of Rustmont and nearly fallen over.
Lady Westmoreland had brought him to her, and as that lady chattered on, Felicity stared at this wonder of a gentleman.
What a man. He was tall and handsome, with chiseled cheekbones, hooded eyes, and a very determined chin. Whatreally struck her, though, was that he had a certain aloofness she had not encountered before. He seemed to ever so slightly raise a brow, as if he found a condescending amusement with all the world. There was something alluring about it all. It felt as if to gain his approval would be a real accomplishment, as perhaps not everybody did.
Even her father must have noticed something singular about the earl’s presence. He did not say any of the outrageous things he liked to say to amuse himself and discomfit a listener. Of course, that might have been because he had his back turned and was taken up with making faces at Lady Marchfield.
Lord Rustmont had put down his name for her first. After he’d taken his leave, there had been other gentlemen who came after to put their names down. All the while, she fairly toe-tapped, waiting for Lord Rustmont to collect her.
She could not help but to be disappointed that the earl had not taken the dance before supper as that would have extended their time together. But then, she was already engaged before he approached her. There was every chance that if she’d not been engaged, he would have taken her into supper. She would keep that firmly in mind.
As it was, a certain Mr. Stratton would take her into supper. She did not like to condemn a gentleman on short acquaintance, but she could not help but notice that he had not held up very well against her father’s teasing. Mrs. Right had already explained that sort of thing would be due to unfortunate and prickly youthfulness. She hoped she would not find him callow, as that would be tedious. But there was no time to worry about that. The Earl of Rustmont, the glorious earl, had come to collect her.
He bowed elegantly. “Lady Felicity,” he said, holding out his arm.
“Earl,” she said, working to sound very casual and not as if she were calf-eyed over him. Though, she really was calf-eyed over him. She laid her hand lightly on his arm and hoped it did not do anything stupid, like tremble.
He led her to the ballroom floor near the top. Of course, a gentleman of his stature would be near the top.
The Duchess of Gordon would open the ball, accompanied by the Earl of Bladensfeld. She did not know the other couples comprising the top set of the room, but they all seemed middle-aged, or nearly so, and she presumed them highly placed.
A sudden and strong scent of roses enveloped Felicity as a lady and her partner joined them in the second set. She and Lord Rustmont were the first couple, their backs to the musicians, this lady and her partner took the opposite side as the third couple.
Felicity scrunched up her nose, as strong smells always made her sneeze. Flowers and vinegar in particular affected her. Why had the woman seemed to have bathed in her perfume? It was terrible.
“Do you enjoy your first foray into Town, Lady Felicity?” the earl asked.
“Yes, good,” Felicity said, as that was all she could manage while fighting off a sneeze.
The earl glanced at her quizzically. “Are you quite well?”
Felicity nodded vigorously. And probably turned twelve shades of red. She had no choice but to scrunch and unscrunch her nose in an effort to stop the incessant itch. She began to wonder if she might quietly sneeze. But no, it was impossible. Her handkerchief was in her reticule, which was just now in her aunt’s possession.
Lady Westmoreland announced the changes to be danced, the Grand Rond very predictably coming first.
Finally, the itch in her nose began to pass. Felicity began to regain her composure and reminded herself that she was a very creditable dancer, which would certainly overshadow any nose scrunching she’d done. Their dancing master, poor Monsieur Villeaux, had been rather harried by her father. However, Mrs. Right had soothed him each night with copious amounts of ale and brandy. That, the housekeeper had told Felicity and her sisters, was the only reason he’d lasted a year—he’d been either drinking or recovering from drink with no time to pack his things. Once he sobered up, he was out of the house like a shot.
For all that, Monsieur Villeaux had known what he was about and all the sisters, except possibly Grace, were very good dancers. Though in fairness, of all of them Grace had the most natural ear for music and tempo, and she was very good when she was not tripping over her feet.
The orchestra struck up and the Grand Rond began. As Felicity passed by where the Lady of the Roses had stood as part of the third couple, she was again assaulted by the lady’s strong scent.
The stench of rosewater slipped up her nose and tickled it like the fur of a caterpillar. Felicity held her breath to keep it out. Then she gasped for air when she could hold it no longer.
They moved through the figures and changes, Felicity doing everything in her power to dance elegantly, all the while holding her breath each time she came near the Lady of the Roses.
And then, it was no use. A series of violent sneezes racked her and her nose began to run. It could not be stopped, it was like an out of control carriage careening downhill. Her nose had been assaulted and was fighting back with vigor to eject the offensive odor. Liquid poured out at an alarming rate and she could not sniff it back in and make it begone.
The earl, as well as the other couples, seemed genuinely alarmed. The earl handed her his handkerchief, which she took gratefully.
There was nothing for it—she would have to blow her nose on the ballroom floor of Almack’s.
It was awful. It was also a relief. Her sneezes had been building for a half-hour and had finally been released into the world.
The dance came to a conclusion and the other couples of her set scurried in all directions like mice in a barn when the local stray cat paid a visit.
Felicity was nearly frozen in place. She did not know what to say. She glanced down at the crumpled handkerchief and mumbled, “Did you want this back?”
