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My heart lurched with longing. I wanted to love and be loved in much the same way, but as of yet, only one man had entered my heart, and he was not in this ballroom tonight. Nay, he was likely up in Northumberland in solitude, reading beside a warm fire. He was so similar to me in tastes and preferences, I could not imagine another in his place. It was not as though I could merely choose a man who would love and understand me, as mother believed. She was also under the impression that I could simply choose not to fall into a fit of nerves when placed in the center of attention or forced to dance before crowds of strangers.
If only it were so easy.
We passed the table of refreshments, and I pressed closer to my mother to avoid bumping my shoulder into a man retrieving a drink. He presented the dainty debutante beside him with a glass of lemonade and a startlingly handsome grin, and she giggled.
I refrained from scoffing. That young woman made all of us look ridiculous when she laughed over the sake of a grin. It was preposterous. What was so funny about lemonade and a dashing smile? Perhaps I was too practical for romance.
“A refreshing drink for a refreshing young woman,” the man said, his deep voice inciting another round of giggles. He was tall, his shoulders broad and his bearing relaxed but dignified. His brown hair framed a pair of greenish brown eyes that were fastened on the debutante before him, and I suppressed an irritated huff from the sheer insipidity before me.
Mama was unfinished in her campaign. “I want you to find a man who loves you as much as your father loves me.”
I nodded toward the romantic scene we were passing. “I can guarantee that none of these men would love me as Papa loves you.”
The man looked up and caught my eye, and I swiftly turned away, tugging Mama’s arm to move us quicker through the room. Had he heard what I said? I’d been speaking softly, the same as Mama, but the way he’d looked up and held my gaze had dropped a stone into the pit of my stomach. His eyebrows knit and eyes narrowed as though he’d heard my censorious thoughts.
Oh, dear. I needed to remain on the terrace for the remainder of the evening.
Mama released a long-suffering sigh that reached into my chest and filled me with remorse. She wished for a daughter who would enjoy social functions as much as she did, and I wished for nothing more than solitude and the comfort of dear friends. If I could change my innate desires to better fit the daughter she wanted me to be, I would. But as it stood, I could not. My heart raced and my fingers shook anxiously, and I needed to be removed from this overcrowded room immediately.
Mrs. Plumpley stepped into our path, her bright eyes fixed on my mother in a way that spoke volumes to the prime piece of gossip she wanted to share. One look at Mama proved how dearly she would prefer to remain indoors and hear it.
“Cynthia, have you heard?” Mrs. Plumpley asked.
I cleared my throat. “Why don’t you remain here, Mama. I just saw Miss Hutton step outside, and I can join her for a quick reprieve.”
Mama looked at me doubtfully and leaned in so Mrs. Plumpley would not overhear. “I do not want you to sneak away and read for the remainder of the evening, Lissy. You recall what happened last time you did so?”
The book I had brought for that very purpose weighed heavily in my reticule, digging the corded handle into my gloved wrist. That was exactly my goal, but I planned to be more discreet this time so I would not be discovered by a pair of ardent, newly engaged lovers.
It had been a blessing neither of them had wanted to be caught out or I could very well have landed myself in hot water.
Mama’s worried brow needed smoothing, however, so I delivered my most conciliatory smile. “I only intend to ask Miss Hutton to walk in the garden.”
“In view of the servants?”
“In view of everyone,” I said, indicating the open terrace full of people.
Mama held my gaze. “It is my duty to guard your reputation, Lissy. I am not trying to ruin your evening.”
“I must hurry, or I will be unable to find Miss Hutton in that crowd.”
Mama looked unsure, but Mrs. Plumpley stepped in to unknowingly aid me. “Truly, Cynthia, you will never believe what I heard this evening.”
Mama nodded. “Very well. But return quickly.”
“If I have not returned by the end of the set, it is because Mr. Peel has finally cornered me and begged a dance.”
She shook her head, but a small smile formed on her lips. “I suppose that would be better than not dancing at all.”
That was where we disagreed. I slipped away toward the open terrace doors, though I could feel Mama’s gaze hot on the back of my neck. I would need to find Miss Hutton swiftly and pray that she allow me to join her conversation.
The cool, evening air rushed over my warm cheeks, and immediately my lungs took it in. How many more Seasons would I yet be forced to endure before I found the match Mama dreamed for me? It had nearly been a year since I’d met Mr. Bradwell, and the likelihood of seeing him again was growing as slim as my chance of marrying a man possessed of six thousand a year.
My cousin Jane had suggested that I write a letter to Mr. Bradwell and post it to him with the book I had borrowed. It was a reasonable course of action, but the forwardness of penning a letter to an unmarried man had consistently stopped my quill before I could put ink to paper. When we’d parted ways, I had promised Mr. Bradwell I would return the book he’d lent me, and he had replied with a sparkling smile that he looked forward to it. That alone was the encouragement I’d received, the sole endorsement for believing a match possible—and it was thin.
What if Mr. Bradwell had not felt the same connection I had from our conversations? What if he was uninterested in pursuing a relationship with me, or, worse, had met and married a different woman in the nine months since I’d met him?
All were possible scenarios that blocked me from having the courage to write to him. And as a result, I was still in possession of the book he’d lent me.
