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Chapter1
London, 1817
There was nothing in the world less enjoyable than a ball. Well, perhaps almost as awful was an intimate tea with Mama’s friends, their shrill voices relaying more gossip than the whole of the ton could be depended upon to accurately produce. I surveyed the lively gathering in the Hutton’s London townhouse and followed my mother toward a pair of empty chairs beside one of her friends. Apparently I was being punished for my dislike of dancing, for I now had to endure two of my least favorite things: listening to gossip at a ball.
Mama lowered herself beside Mrs. Ormiston, and I remained standing, searching for a way out of this stuffy, overheated ballroom. My skin prickled with unease, and my heart ticked up in speed. So many people gathered in such a small space—so many strangers and haughty, discerning eyes—was enough to send me into one of my quiet fits. I swallowed my discomfort and shook the feeling, straightening the fingers of my gloves to give me something to focus on.
I needed to calm my racing heart, for I would not be escaping this room quite yet. The Season was nearing its end, and I had yet to make a match. Mama was unlikely to agree to leave the ball before I had danced twice, which put us at an impasse. For I did not intend on standing up with any of these gentlemen tonight. I would simply have to wait out the evening until it drew to a blessed close.
Mr. Peel caught my gaze over the top of Mama’s quivering feather, and I quickly dropped into the seat beside her. I retracted both of my previous statements; unwanted suitors, that was most deplorable of all. For suitors always led to dancing.
“And you say he is here this evening?” Mama leaned against me so she might look out over the gathering for the man she was surely gossiping about with Mrs. Ormiston.
Mrs. Ormiston nodded vigorously. “It is said he has six thousand a year.”
“Goodness.” Mama was breathless.
I craned my neck to peer in the direction Mr. Peel had been standing, hoping to find him inquiring with someone else for a dance, but I could not locate the man from my current position. Drat. If he was making his way toward me, I only had a minute to make myself scarce.
It was not that I deplored Mr. Peel himself. He was a kind enough man. But he smelled extremely strong, and he was not my Mr. Bradwell.
Not that Mr. Bradwell was mine to claim, exactly. But he was the handsome creature who had wiggled his way into my heart last summer. My family had suffered a carriage accident and took refuge in his hunting box, and I had yet to determine how I might find him in polite society to resume our acquaintanceship. Thus far, I had tolerated an entire Season hoping to see him again, but to no avail. The man was not fond of social functions.
Our chance encounter last summer had produced a tendre that I had not yet been able to fully snuff out—and might never have the opportunity to grow.
I lifted my reticule and allowed it to rest on my lap, giving my wrist a respite from the heaviness.
“I wish you would not bring that to every ball, Felicity,” Mama whispered, her eyes darting to my small, beaded bag.
And be caught without a book? Absurd.
“He is also said to be on the hunt for a wife,” Mrs. Ormiston continued.
Mama waved her fan in front of her face and resumed her search of the room. “A man looking for a bride, now that is refreshing.”
“Indeed.” Mrs. Ormiston leaned forward and eyed me behind her looking glass, squinting one wrinkled eye while the other was enlarged. “Shall I find the man and provide an introduction?”
I shrank back, my stomach fluttering unpleasantly. “No. I thank you, Mrs. Ormiston, but I have no interest in six thousand a year.”
“Of course not,” Mama tittered, shaking her head ruefully. “Unless it was six thousand books?”
“Well, yes, that does sound rather enticing.”
Mrs. Ormiston looked at me shrewdly. “His six thousand could purchase you as many books and more, I wager.”
Thatwas an attractive prospect, indeed. I gave the women a patient smile. I needed to move soon, or Mr. Peel would request a dance. And I could not dance. “Mama, this heat is unbearable, and I am feeling rather faint. Can I interest you in a walk on the terrace?”
Mama hesitated. She shared a look with Mrs. Ormiston before letting out a soft sigh. “Very well. Perhaps we will find a willing partner on our way across the room.”
Given the heat, that was a risk I was willing to take. Besides, the only man who consistently sought me out for dances was last seen on the opposite side of the room.
We rose, and Mama took my arm, pulling me close as we navigated through the crowd. “I only want you to find a husband, Lissy. I am not asking you to marry the first man who smiles at you.”
“That is fortuitous. I would certainly be Mrs. Peel already if that was the parameter from which we chose my husband.”
Mama was not amused. She was not fond of Mr. Peel, either, for the man always emitted a ghastly cloud of garlic wherever he went. Truly, did he bathe in it?
“But if you are unwilling to meet any men, you will never find someone to love you. I only want you to be as happily cared for and adored as I am, Lissy.”
