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Finally gathering courage, she re-entered the ballroom and inserted herself into a small cluster of people, hoping to find distraction from her maudlin thoughts within the idle conversation. Yet, try as she might, she couldn’t focus on whatever the devil the man next to her was saying. Something about purchasing a new horse at Tattersall’s.
“Beg pardon? A horse?” Priscilla squinted to determine the color of his eyes behind his blue mask. Dull, lifeless brown. The color of dirt.
“Yes. I can’t decide on the chestnut or the gray. Although I suppose I should go with the chestnut in case I wish to have a spare for the matched set I use for my curricle.”
Lord, could he be more boring? “That sounds wise.” She smiled prettily, hoping her words sounded sincere. Her mother always advised her a smile would come across in her voice. As lackluster as he was, she didn’t want him to leave her alone. He’d been one of the few gentlemen who had bothered to speak with her during the evening.
Once again, her attention turned to Timothy who spoke with a petite redhead across the room. Was that his sister? He did say he was courting Lady Honoria, and she had red hair. Pain twisted in her chest. A brunette joined them, and when Timothy led her to the dance floor, the pain eased—somewhat.
“I do love to dance,” she said, hoping the imbecile next to her would catch her meaning. If she could get closer and hear whatever conversation Timothy shared with his partner, she might be able to determine her identity.
“Can’t abide it myself,” the man answered. “What’s the point of moving about aimlessly? I prefer things with purpose and direction.”
Of course he did. Like buying horses.
“But if you would like to . . .” His tone practically begged her to say no.
She wasn’t that unselfish. “Oh, yes. I’d love to.”
His mouth drooped a little as he held out his hand. “Very well.”
Not caring her partner was unenthusiastic, she slid her hand into his and followed him to the dance floor. She would have enough enthusiasm for both of them.
As the set began, they took their place in line with the other dancers, positioning themselves next to Timothy and his partner. Although they exchanged no words Priscilla could hear, upon closer inspection, she was convinced Timothy partnered with Lady Miranda, Lord Montgomery’s sister.
Tingles of energy shot through her each time she touched Timothy’s hand during the steps of the country dance. At one point, she could have sworn he gave it a little squeeze, and her gaze shot to his, finding a tiny smile ghosting his lips.
Such a tease!
On the other hand, her own partner’s dislike for the pastime was evident with each fumbling pass and stilted bow. More than once, he even trod upon her foot. When she yelped aloud, she swore Timothy chuckled.
It would have been more advisable to not have forced the matter and allowed her partner to wander off to find another victim . . . lady with whom he could converse about horses.
All the excitement she’d felt at the beginning of the evening shriveled to nothingness. For the first time in her life, she no longer wished to dance. She wilted with relief when the set ended and her partner wandered off to bore someone else about horses. Her only thought—to return to the safety and seclusion of her room.
Once she located her father in the card room, she implored him to send for their carriage. “Please take me home, Papa. I’ve had enough festivities for the evening.”
Concern shone in his eyes, and she loved him for it. He didn’t question, merely instructed a footman to have his carriage brought around.
During the ride home, she remained silent, Timothy’s handsome face dancing in her mind. Then, without warning, Lady Honoria would intrude, laughing gaily as Timothy complimented her beauty and gracefully maneuvered her around the dance floor.
Ugh!
Had she gone too far asking for his help? What did she hope to accomplish? Did she expect him to fall on his knees before her, begging her to consider him as a suitor?
He had no desire to marry her. Lady Honoria, well, that was another matter. One that Priscilla was loathe to contemplate.
As she expected, she doused her pillow with tears that night, sobbing herself to sleep. Was she doomed to a lonely, unexciting life in the country with the likes of Mr. Netherborne?
Spinsterhood almost seemed preferable.
Almost.
* * *
Timothy gavea nervous tug to his cravat as he waited in the drawing room for Lady Honoria’s arrival. The precise purpose of his call was to enlist her aid in assisting Miss Pratt and developing a stratagem. A sour taste filled his mouth at the negative connotation of the word, but in order to convince a well-heeled gentleman to consider Miss Pratt as a desirable marriage prospect, the use of devious methods might be necessary.
Certainly nothing as straightforward as being seen about town with her would be sufficient. He didn’t delude himself that he held that much sway with theton, and Lady Honoria had suffered her own troubles with the gossips, a fact he refused to use to secure her assistance.
