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“That is the custom, is it not? If I refuse one gentleman I must refuse them all.”
“But you did not refuse me,” he said blandly. “I did not ask you to dance, Miss Whittleton. I merely asked if I might ask you. You said no, so I shall not ask. But you have not refused to dance with me.”
She smiled, but said, “That is sophistry, Mr Fletcher.”
“Perhaps, but it is the most officious and pestilential custom, I have always thought. Why should a lady not choose her partners, just as a man does?”
“Because men always do the choosing,” she said, without heat. “It is the way of the world.”
“And here is a chance to redress the balance just a trifle,” he said gently. “I have not asked you to dance, Miss Whittleton, and you have not refused, so you are free to accept any other gentleman who asks you.”
It was kindly done, but she shook her head sadly.
“Then may we not say that this is merely an informal evening, so the usual rules do not apply?”
She smiled, but again shook her head.
“Then there is but one way out of this dilemma,” he said, smiling. “You must gird your loins and pretend for the duration of two dances that you do not dislike me. Then you will be free of me. Whydoyou dislike me so much, by the by?”
His effrontery took her breath away, but she would not be bounced into any further incivility. She had herself well in hand now. “I do not dislikeyou, sir, only certain types of behaviour common to young men. There is a frivolity and flirtatiousness about them that I cannot like. Some women may enjoy such treatment, but I do not.”
“How then should I treat you?” he said. “I ask in all seriousness, for I would not for the world offend you.”
His expression was entirely guileless. She could not be impervious to such apparently genuine words, but she reminded herself that this was precisely how such men weaselled their way into the hearts of gullible women, with softness and seeming sincerity. If one approach failed, they would move smoothly to another and another, finding the weakest point in every woman’s armour. But she could see through his feeble stratagems, and she was determined not to allow him past her defences, no matter how charming he might be.
An answer must be given, however, and since he was pretending to be honest, perhaps he deserved an honest reply. “Mr Fletcher, when a man flirts with a woman, he may persuade himself that he is gratifying her vanity, but in general he is only gratifying his own. He hopes that by expressing admiration for her, she will in return admire him. Perhaps for some women such a method is successful, but a sensible woman has no wish for empty compliments. Her admiration is excited, not by attention towards herself, but by a gentleman’s attention towards others. A true gentleman behaves with kindness to everyone, without thought for his own reward.”
“This is harsh indeed!” he cried. “Must a man then not express the slightest admiration for a woman, lest he be thought to harbour some underhand motive? May he not tell her she looks beautiful, if indeed she is? If he likes her, may he not have the pleasure of her company, but must restrict himself to those who do not interest him?”
She smiled, but said, “I would not impose such severe restrictions, sir, but you understand me, I think.”
“I do, and now it leaves me in a quandary, for I hear the musicians striking up and I have not the least idea what to do. If I ask you to dance, I risk an accusation of gratifying my own vanity. Yet if I do not, I leave you perhaps unable to dance at all, and that does not seem right. How are we to solve this conundrum, Miss Whittleton?”
There was only one solution. Little as she wanted to dance with him, once done she would be free to accept partners more to her taste. “I believe we should dance, Mr Fletcher.”
He offered his arm and they followed the general movement of the crowd towards the music. The Iversons’ house, like most in London, had no ballroom, but a long, thin room overlooking the inner courtyard served the purpose. Eloise and Mr Fletcher took their places, and the dance began.
The set was long and they were not near the top, so there was no avoiding some conversation. Repenting of her earlier intemperate response to him, she was determined to be an agreeable partner. Even though she disliked the type of man he was, she should not treat him differently on that account. There was no excuse for bad manners.
Before she could think of a suitable opening, he said politely, “Have you always lived in Bath, Miss Whittleton?”
“No, I have spent most of my life in Westmorland. My mother, sister and I moved to Bath three years ago. My mother died a year later.”
“Is your father dead, also?” he said, obviously puzzled.
“I have no idea,” she said, before his delicately raised eyebrow suggested this was too brusque an answer. “My father is a wanderer, sir. He went travelling thirteen years ago and has not been heard from since.”
“Heavens! That must have been very distressing for you and your mother. However did you manage?”
“My uncle — my father’s brother — took care of us, and ensured my brothers were educated. We are very grateful to him.”
The dance reached them at that point, and they were swept up in the figures. To her relief, he was a good dancer. She would go so far as to say that he was amongst the best she had ever seen. He was graceful and light on his feet, and his movements were energetic. There was nothing worse, in her opinion, than a man who dragged his feet and slithered about, instead of stepping briskly. He looked well, too, for he had an excellent figure and dressed with better taste than many, with a nod to London style but without ostentation. She could not be unaware that he drew many eyes, and it seemed that he, too, was aware of it, for there was a little strut in his manner of dancing that suggested that he knew himself to be noticed.
When there was a brief respite in the movements, he said at once, “I have been reflecting upon your situation when your father went away, Miss Whittleton. You must have been very young, and your brothers too. I can only imagine the effects upon you all, for I have been so fortunate as to have my father always at home. Even though our paths have diverged somewhat, yet he has always been a fount of good advice and my unswerving supporter in all I do. I should hate to have grown up without his guiding hand. You were lucky enough to have your mother, but your brothers would have felt the absence of your father keenly.”
The dance took them again, but when the next interlude came, Eloise said, “Your supposition would be a reasonable one, except for the fact that my brothers are twins, and therefore found sufficient solace in each other. It was my mother, my sister and I who were the most affected.”
“And now I see the complete family,” he said, with a broad smile. “Two boys and two girls. Are you the eldest of them?”
