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“Indeed?” Mr. Mandeville said. “Well, I hope you are not one of those young ladies. I should hate to imagine you with a broken heart. Ah, I see Viscount Stanley beckoning to us. Shall we join him? I promise not to keep you on your feet for too long.”
She took a deep breath. “Very well.”
Her first ball of the Season had gotten off to a pleasant start after all.
* * *
Late the following morning when Rebecca finally descended the stairs in her new slipper and using her cane, she discovered, much to her surprise, that the front parlor was overflowing with flower arrangements, all but one addressed to her.
“I daresay Aylesham saw the amount of blossoming attention your suitors provided and decided his duchess needed flowers, too, so I would not feel neglected,” Susan said. She pointed to an exceedingly large bouquet of red roses sitting in a place of pride.
“I daresay Aylesham knows that admiring gentlemen send flowers to ladies in such situations and intended to send them to you all along.”
“You may be right,” Susan said. “He didn’t precisely play the romantic when we became acquainted, if you will recall. Perhaps he is still repenting his former lack of courtship.”
Rebecca laughed and then gazed about the parlor: roses, daisies, lilies, and more combined their colors together in a glorious vision to behold. She wandered from bouquet to bouquet, bending at each to breathe in its unique fragrance and glance at the accompanying card to discern who each admirer might be.
One, a lovely potted violet in full bloom, was from Lady Walmsley, expressing her hopes that Rebecca’s experience at Almack’s had been all she’d hoped it would be.
“Lady Walmsley is everything you said she was and more,” Rebecca said as she bent to inhale the flower’s fragrance.
Susan was still busy admiring the roses from Aylesham. “I knew you would adore Aunt Margaret as I do.”
There was a lovely bouquet from Lord and Lady Bledsoe and even one from the Duke and Duchess of Atherton, expressing their delight at meeting her last evening. Rebecca took the time to enjoy one bouquet before moving on to the next and then the next. “It seems all of these other bouquets are from young gentlemen to whom I was introduced last night,” she said as she read each card. “I cannot have made such an impression on so many of them.”
Susan didn’t reply.
“You know it is true, Susan. I am flattered, certainly, and the gentlemen were all extremely patient with my inability to dance, but to have received all of these”—she gestured at the bouquets—“I simply cannot believe they are as smitten as they claim. Here.” She plucked a card from the nearest bouquet. “‘My small token of esteem pales in comparison to such a beautiful flower as yourself. Yours, Reginald Selkirk.’” She snatched another card. “‘My deepest regards, Baron Lawton—’”
“You can forget about that so-calledgentleman,” Susan said. “He is much too old for you, but more to the point, he has an unsavory reputation. I’m surprised he was given a voucher to Almack’s in the first place.”
Rebecca set that card aside and picked up another. “It is clear their interest in me has to do with my connections and little to do with me as a person.”
“That is the way of London Society,” Susan said. “Marriage is meant to be a business, you know. Forgive me for speaking bluntly, but I suspect many of these gentlemen are hedging their bets.”
“They must have the misconception that since Aylesham is as rich as Croesus and is my loving brother-in-law, he must be providing a generous dowry for my marriage contract.”
“I don’t doubt he would do just that, Rebecca, if we didn’t fear it would offend Papa’s honor to suggest such a thing. As to the young gentlemen involved, I will admit I find it rather diverting to see them plying you with their best behavior. If I were you, I’d enjoy myself, not that you should lead any of them down a merry path, but you should see it for what it is and simply drink in this attention that living in Lower Alderwood hasn’t offered.”
Rebecca picked up another card—this one from a lovely bouquet of lilies. “‘I hope you will not think me too bold if I were to invite you for a ride in my phaeton later this afternoon.’ Hmm.”
“And what bold gentleman sent that particular invitation?” Susan asked.
“Hugh Mandeville,” Rebecca replied. She tapped her chin with the card thoughtfully.
“He was the one who invited you for a stroll early in the evening, wasn’t he?” Susan said. “I seem to recall he was rather fine-looking and seemed very attentive to you.”
“Yes,” Rebecca said. He had also sat and conversed with her later in the evening, saying it wasn’t precisely a “second dance,” which would have been too forward and not allowed by the patronesses; it was “merely a chat.” And he was decidedly handsome, with his engaging smile and dark-brown eyes.
“It sounds as though we’d better stop admiring your flowers and take you to the breakfast room. I daresay Mr. Mandeville seems the type to arrive on the doorstep at the very moment gentlemen callers can be properly received.”
“I believe you’re right,” Rebecca said. “Besides, I’m famished. I could barely eat a bite yesterday.”
“I noticed,” Susan said.
It was a good thing they left precisely then because Rebecca had barely finished breaking her fast when a footman arrived at the breakfast room, bearing a calling card. “A Mr. Mandeville is here, asking if Miss Jennings is receiving callers,” he said.
Rebecca and Susan gave each other knowing glances.
