Page 12 of The Gentlewoman Author

Chapter Six

Mary pushed a feather-shaped hair comb deeper into her hair with a shaking hand. She steadied it by seizing her locket, but her breath came short. Were her stays too tight? They weren’t, but the parts of herself that she tried to hide were warm and glowy and fluttery, like the juvenile jitter she’d experienced at her first balls. More than anticipation, hope blossomed. The possibility of meeting someone. The chance of falling in love. Though blood rushed through her with as much persistent life and feeling—nay, more—as it had in her adolescence, her expectations were all for Louisa. Wrinkles embellished the corners of her eyes, and she could swear, just the day before a new line appeared from nowhere at the edge of her mouth. The one person who would tell her she looked more beautiful than ever had been gone for so long that the sound of his voice and the warmth of his hands were as accessible as the morning’s mist.

She examined Louisa, whose appearance mattered. She wore a new-made silk and brocade gown in blush. Pearls lay against flawless skin. Pomaded and powdered hair curled to magnificent, but not unseemly, heights. She was ready.

“You are beautiful, Louisa. I wish your mother were here.” She took her hand and spun her around. Louisa obliged but did so in the drooping attitude of the extremely bored. “You don’t like your dress?”

She brightened. “Oh! I love it. Thank you for taking me to the dressmaker.” Before the mirror, she twirled with a real smile. The child changed like the wind.

In the carriage, smashed between Louisa and Agnes, Mary tamped the sparks in her belly by recalling that her purpose in visiting Bath was to witness Louisa’s falling in love. At Mary’s advanced age, one could hope for nothing more.

What were these defeated thoughts? She’d never wanted another husband. It must be nostalgia for the trees that canopied her courtship, the cobbled streets she walked when she first slid her arm through Lord Allen’s, drawing her back to her younger, more buoyant self.

It was Louisa’s turn. For Mary, it might be the very inspiration she needed for her next novel. A novel that would never be read by another soul. Decency prohibited ladies from engaging in authorship, and she experienced unseemly pleasure in the accolades she received. Here in Bath, her obscurity as a widowed aunt sheltered her, assured her that no one would guess what she’d done. She dismounted from the carriage, thoroughly sobered, and entered the assembly hall with equanimity.

“Louisa.” Mary squeezed her arm which was tucked into her own. “Is this not breathtaking? I am so glad we’ve come. You’ve been out of spirits, but dancing will put you to rights.”

“Mm.”

Mary watched as Louisa’s attention flitted from one person to the next, absorbing the room, the crowd, the décor, even the refreshments. As she did so, her face fell by degrees, dimming until her lower lip quivered. She required a partner. Of course, the girl was overwhelmed with the glitter that lay before her. She did not know she gleamed brighter than everyone else in the room. At moments such as these, it was natural for one to miss her mother. Mary hesitated to mention it, not wishing to further upset her or spoil the evening.

“Aunt, when will the country dances begin?” The girl’s voice cracked, but she cleared it and gave a faltering smile.

Mary listened to the music. A minuet, of course. She tapped her foot to the rhythm, losing herself in the past.

“Aunt Mary? I asked when the country dances will begin.” Louisa bounced in the impatient way a young child might when being ignored.

“Perhaps only one or two more.”

“We came too early. I knew it.” Though Louisa spoke to herself, Mary fought the urge to reprimand her.

The rules of the Bath Assembly, as posted in the Pump Room, required women who wished to perform the minuets to wear a full-trimmed sack with lappets and large hoops, as at St. James Court. Not wishing to bother with the costume, Louisa dressed in country dance attire, for which no hoops were allowed.

Mary turned to Agnes and whispered, “To whom can you introduce us? We must secure Louisa a partner for the first country dance.”

Just then, Mary’s eyes caught on a gentleman entering the assembly. Beginning with fine legs, broad shoulders, and a trim figure, he completed his flawlessness with a splendid visage, a prepossessing face that appeared both open and kind. Mary Allen’s heart swelled at the sight of him. If perfection were a man, it was he.

“Who is he?” Mary nudged Agnes and directed her notice toward the door where the man in question stood in conversation with another gentleman, both dressed in full-trimmed suits of clothes.

“Ah. You have landed on the most eligible man in the room, excluding those in the peerage. That is Mr. Daniel Fletcher, and if we trust rumor, he is in search of a wife.”

Mary perused him more thoroughly. Brown hair en queue tied with a ribbon, unassuming. Quality breeches, well-tailored jacket, good taste. The ruffle around his neck and the buckle on his shoes befitted the occasion of a ball but were not ostentatious. He appeared thirty-three or thirty-four. Louisa might take issue with his age, but he was old enough to have his finances in order, which took precedent over a preference for a younger man.

“We must gain an introduction to Mr. Fletcher.” Mary tugged Agnes’s sleeve, a gesture sure to irritate her friend into action.

Agnes slapped Mary’s hand away. “Consider it done. But I will first introduce her to the other young men. She will be even more desirable in the arms of another.”

With Louisa in tow, Agnes disappeared into the crowd, leaving Mary to follow behind. Agnes flew from one group to the next, introducing Louisa and Mary as she went. Before the first country dance began, Louisa had a half-dozen partners. Mary sighed in gratitude for Agnes’s efficiency.

The minuets over, Louisa took her place on the dance floor.

“He is rather green, but better than no one.” Agnes referred to Louisa’s partner.

In compliance with the rules, Mary and Agnes sat on the second bench, allowing the gentlemen access to the younger ladies. Behind a wall of skirts, Mary caught glimpses of her niece, whose partner turned the wrong way and bumped into the person next to him. He would benefit from a few more rounds with a dancing master.

“Wait here.” The crowd swallowed Agnes, who reemerged moments later with Mr. Fletcher at her side. Mary’s heart erupted at the sight of him. She turned away, reprimanding herself for the ridiculous reaction. Then, with her most ladylike smile, she rotated toward him.

“Mrs. Allen, allow me to introduce Mr. Fletcher,” Agnes said.