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CHAPTER EIGHT

April 16, 1814

LORD AND LADY PAGET’S BALL IN HONOR OF THEIR DAUGHTER CECILIA’S INTRODUCTION TO SOCIETY

PAGET HOUSE, SOHO SQUARE

Bea dressed for the Paget ball with a knot in her stomach. She hadn’t slept the night before, worrying over the fact that she had somehow become a bone of contention between Regina and her former fiancé, Lord Peregrine.

Even thinking of how enraged Regina must be made her feel pale and faint.

Before moving to London, she would have described herself as independent and courageous. She had been looking forward to finding a perfect man to marry.

Now she was praying for the end of the Season, or even better, a broken leg that would give her a decent reason to go home early. Yet only a little girl, a coward, would run home to daddy. He would be so disappointed.

In contrast to Bea’s state of mind, Lady Alcon was in a better mood than she’d been for weeks. Invitations had poured into the house that morning, and when her chaperone wasn’t cooing over them, she was applauding Lady Regina’s benevolence.

Her usual irritability resurfaced when Bea made her way down the stairs. “What are you wearing? What are you wearing?”

Bea raised her chin. “A new gown.” It hadn’t been made by a London modiste, but she felt confident in it. Confidence mattered when a woman was walking onto a battlefield.

Lady Alcon’s lip curled in disgust. “Salmon-colored satin?” she asked shrilly. “Are those bullion tassels?” She came over and plucked at them. “Hanging in streamers on one side? I’ve never seen anything like it. This is not a masquerade ball, you know. That bodice is low, given the over-abundance of your … abundance.”

The fashion was to be slender as a reed and wear flowing, light gowns that billowed in the wind. Bea’s body was soft and pillowy. In fact, her body filled in the shape that ladies’ dresses made in a breeze.

“I like this gown,” Bea stated. It wasn’t salmon-colored. The petticoat was rose and the bodice silver, edged with a superb border of blonde lace. It had been made by a French émigré, and in Bea’s opinion, the wide lace border at the hem and the tassels would make it one of the most fashionable garments on the ballroom floor.

“How are your sleeves drawn in?” Lady Alcon inquired, coming closer.

“With embossed silver ornaments,” Bea said, pointing them out. “It gives them a graceful puff.”

“Humph,” her chaperone grumbled, stepping back. “I will say that the lace is well accented by that diamond necklace and ear-rings.”

“Lord Argyle asked for my first waltz,” Bea told her, hoping to lead Lady Alcon toward happier thoughts.

“We’ll be lucky if any other gentleman approaches you, given all that silver cord swaying at your side,” she bit, but her sour tone didn’t have the same ferocity behind it as it would have a week ago.

Bea thought that Lady Alcon was growing cautiously optimistic that Bea would be able to wrangle a husband by the end of the Season.

“No eating tonight,” her chaperone ordered, temper roaring back. She was firmly of the opinion that lack of will was directly linked to weight. Sadly, the curves Bea had rather liked back in Cheshire were interpreted as the sign of an out-of-control appetite in London.

“I won’t,” Bea promised.

As soon as they entered Paget House, Lord Argyle bounced up to them and swept Bea into a waltz before she had a chance to locate Regina. That made her nervous: dancing was how Regina had first discovered her. Since that time, Regina had managed to bump into or kick Bea several times on the dance floor.

Once Regina had even tried to trip her up, though she apologized so prettily for wrapping her foot around Bea’s ankle that Bea ended up looking like a lumbering cow, getting in the way of a graceful sprite.

They waltzed to one end of the ballroom and back without seeing Regina, so Bea relaxed enough to chat with Lord Argyle about the timepieces he loved so much. When the dance ended, she ought to have returned to her chaperone, but instead she remained with Lord Argyle. He was so comfortingly bulky that she felt sheltered and safe, and his enthusiasm for timepieces was adorable.

“We should make a timepiece that’s as big as St. Paul’s Cathedral, revolving on a great spire,” he told her. “That way everyone in London would know what time of day it was at all times.”

“Why?” Bea asked.

“Why? What do you mean why? If you know what time it is, you don’t waste it!”

“I like wasting time,” Bea said, grinning at him. “One could say that we’re wasting time at this very moment.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head, even though he was smiling too. “Time with you would never be wasted, Miss Valentine. In fact, if you would be kind enough to give me the supper dance, we might join my mother and father, who are here tonight.”