AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Frowning, the viscountess stopped fanning herself.
“Ah, did you not know? Alas, my appointment followed yours. You, in your superior taste, had selected every bolt of the best silk. The finest satin.” Clara dropped her gaze to the woman’s busy gown. “The most exquisite lace. Every decent tulle flower. Every single bow and ribbon in the shop.”
Wide-eyed, her friends looked at each other before breaking into laughter. Lady Thorne glared.
“And the hours of labor! Madame Robillard had no time to work on my gown, not with her tremendous efforts creating all of those ruffles. Those flounces. Those pleats. Those flowers. Oh, let there be no doubt, Lady Thorne. Your generosity toward me is truly equal to your taste in gowns.”
Clara dipped her head, her eyes closed as if in deep respect.
When she looked up, Lady Thorne flicked her fan closed with a violent movement, then sailed out of the room with her nose in the air.
Once she and her gaggle departed, Clara noticed a shiny-faced woman staring at her from a nearby bench.
“Better to be a spinster than married to the viscount.” The lady spoke matter-of-factly, without apparent malice, either toward Clara or the viscountess.
Clara opened her mouth to answer, but the woman continued.
“Of course, perhaps the viscount and the viscountess are a matched pair. Two of a matching set. One might easily say that it would be better to be a bachelor than to be married to the viscountess. In fact…”
As the woman’s dizzying monologue progressed, Clara recognized her at last—Lord Disapproving’s wife, Lady Chatterbox!
With only an occasional nod when it didn’t interfere with the tidying of her hair, Clara listened to Lady Breyle go on, meanwhile noting her downtrodden air. Her eyes were shadowed, her face pinched, and she wore a canary-yellow gown that had an unfortunate sallowing effect.
“Are you looking forward to the ball?” Lady Breyle tacked the unrelated question on to the end of her list of observations.
“Yes. Almost as much as I look forward to it ending,” Clara admitted.
“And here I was thinking the very same thing. When I’m at home with the incessant screams or whines of the children, I cannot wait for an outing like a ball such as this. Then I’m here, and I cannot wait to be back at home with the screaming, whining children.”
Clara smiled kindly, though she didn’t know how amusing Lady Breyle intended her commentaries to be. “My brother is waiting. Shall we leave together?”
The woman shook her head. “No, thank you. I’ll stay here a bit longer. Anything to delay being ignored by Lord Breyle. I have explained to him many a time that I should like a refreshment, as my mouth can become rather dry. But he leaves me without a drink in hand, while all the other ladies’ husbands are solicitous, constantly fetching drinks and checking on them.”
“Enjoy your peace in here, Lady Breyle.”
The woman took in a large breath, and Clara departed in haste. Not coincidentally, when she found David, he stood with Lord Disapproving, who looked rather…impatient and disapproving.
After brief greetings, David seemed glad to join arms and continue on. Even as they presented themselves to the duke and duchess and were announced to the ball, Clara swam in gratitude, free from marriage to someone like Lord Breyle.
Knowing how disagreeable a ball was for David, Clara appreciated his efforts. He appeared at least neutral, and as soon as they reached the group that included her friend the Marchioness of Candleton—to whom she owed this invitation—she encouraged David to join some of his acquaintances across the room, which he did gratefully.
She’d promised him they’d leave before attendance peaked and the event became insufferable. Their arrival was early enough that the event was not yet a complete crush, but as it was, David traversed an already thick crowd.
She could only pray that James arrived before David was ready to leave.
Clara glanced over the room discreetly. Dancing had not yet begun, though the refreshment room next door sounded abuzz.
She hid a smile when she saw the young girls, many eighteen and younger, watch with hopeful looks as David’s tall figure sailed past. Judging by their barely veiled hunger, his aloofness fired them up all the more.
The musicians arrived in a corner of the immense ballroom, and fresh energy surged through the guests. Clara enjoyed dancing, but as ever, she was especially eager to listen to the musicians. The hostess hadn’t skimped; a full string quartet was assembling near the piano, in addition to two flute and two horn players.
Predictably, the ball opened with a quadrille. As her escort, David would dance with her first, but they opted out of this intricate and social first dance. Happy to observe, Clara swayed to the light but jaunty music.
Few danced this first quadrille, a dance style aimed at display. Spying Lady Thorne, Clara forced a cheerful smile. The viscountess danced well, despite the weight of her ornately adorned gown and many jewels, but she missed a beat to pause and shoot daggers at Clara.
As they had agreed, David collected her for the first mazurka. She glowed with happiness as they joined in the lively dance, spinning, leaping, and gliding. What her brother lacked in enthusiasm, he made up for in practiced athleticism, and they drew admiring looks from fellow dancers and spectators alike.
Halfway through, a sense of destiny filled Clara, a belief that all would end well.
