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“One I will perform and leave at that,” Anastasia replied calmly, despite the tightness in her chest.
Truthfully, Gabriel was interesting and alluring, sort of like a forbidden book young ladies were banned from reading that would tempt one to crack open the cover.
“Good,” she said, “Now, please sit and wait until the first dance starts. I have your card, and you have a few lords signed on already.”
Taking a seat, Anastasia looked around the room at the rich décor, the women parading around the room with fortunes glinting at their ears and necks, gorgeous dresses, and all of them without a care in the world.
“Pardon me, Miss,” said a hesitant voice. “I was wondering if you would mind some company?”
She looked up and found herself looking into the blue eyes of a slender, auburn-haired lady as petite Anastasia was. The plain peach gown she wore flattered her soft curves while the vestal white highlighted the red of her cheeks and rosy tint of her lips.
“Please,” Anastasia replied, “I don’t mind.”
The girl sat. “I am Victoria Thompson, Baron Tulluch’s daughter.”
“Anastasia Porter, the Baron and Baroness of Porter’s only child, but please call me Ana.”
Victoria smiled, “You are Margaret’s cousin, aren’t you? Whispers about you are going around the room and the town by the way. I mean, we have heard of imports from the country, but no one had heard of you before you came.”
Anastasia blinked. “People talk about me?”
“Oh, yes,” Victoria nodded, her curls bobbing. “When people, well, the ladies, learned that you were Margaret’s cousin, some of us thought you would be like her, spoiled, selfish, choosy, and so, so mean, but clearly you are not. I mean, you look like you would rather read a book than parade down Hyde Park…Dash it all, I’m talking too much, aren’t I?” she finished miserably. “It’s a terrible habit of mine, and it makes me awkward.”
My cousin is mean?
“You are right, I would prefer to be reading over everything else,” Anastasia replied. “You’re very astute.”
“I hope so,” Victoria picked at her skirt. “I want to help with Papa’s business one day, and I can only do so by judging a person’s character, you see. He’s a merchant.”
A merchant —the poor man of the ton.
“I suppose you know the denigration of merchants around the ton, do you not? I’m from the country, and I surmised that you didn’t fit in here either,” Anastasia replied.
“I do,” Victoria replied. “I still want to marry, but it is so disheartening at times. Truly, I’m more of a wall weed than a flower.”
“Surely it isn’t bad as all that?” Anastasia replied. “You seem perfectly charming.”
“Apparently not charming enough,” Victoria sighed heavily. “I’ve been here for two seasons, and I’ve gained a reputation, you may say it, for rejecting suitors who don’t meet my standards. I’m not looking for a prince or a monarch of a small isle; I just would like a decent man with honorable values. Hence the weed assertion.”
“Pardon me,” a male voice interrupted.
The stranger who was standing a few feet away, clad in a dark ball suit and burnished bronze waistcoat, bowed. He was tall, dark-haired, and broad-shouldered, his square face offset by the scholarly spectacles perched on his nose. “I am John Cameron, Lord Westworth. Your venerable aunt said I am your first dance.”
Anastasia felt embarrassed for Victoria; she felt pained knowing her new friend was lamenting having any attention, and she was getting a dance.
Victoria didn’t look upset; instead, she looked happy. “Go ahead, Ana; I’ll be fine. My chaperone is around here…somewhere.”
Relieved, Anastasia took the Lord’s hand and was swept to the dance floor.
“So, Miss Anastasia, please tell me about yourself.”
She smiled. “If you will return the favor, I will.”
It was quite strange to find herself fitting in. Two sets of dancing and light conversation passed pleasantly enough, yet Anastasia felt like an outsider looking in through a spyglass. The ladies looked so polished and sophisticated that she knew a country miss would never truly merge with them.
She headed for the refreshment table and reached to fill a champagne glass from the fountain, only the glass was smoothly taken from her and filled, and Gabriel handed the flute to her.
“Upon reflection of your comment,” he said, “I do believe my stable is lacking four white horses.”
