Page 29 of An Amiable Foe
Marianne was surprised that she even knew her name. She wanted to say something interesting in this first encounter outside of church, but Miss Belford’s reaction had made such a thing impossible. It was hopeless even to muster a smile.
“Very well, I thank you.”
She looked ahead into the rapidly filling ballroom, now conscious that she had made a gross error in judgment in having chosen to wear one of her mother’s dresses. It must be out of style, or the wrong color—or something. Or perhaps it was only that the fit was not what was ideal. She still didn’t know exactly what she had done wrong. Could she leave? Even as she wondered it, the crowd herded her from behind toward the ballroom with the others. Besides, how would she get home?
As she stepped beyond the receiving line, Miss Belford looked toward the entrance, completely ignoring Marianne as the sound of Mr. Osborne and his friends filled the hall.
“They’ve come,” she whispered to her mother.
Marianne clutched Mrs. Vernon by the elbow. “I am not suitable, am I?” she asked softly.
“Never mind that, my dear.” Mrs. Vernon patted her hand. “I should have seen to your wardrobe much earlier, but I did not wish to encroach upon Miss Fife’s role. She has done you a disservice by letting you leave like this.”
“Miss Fife only saw me wearing my cloak,” Marianne mumbled in a perfect state of misery. “However, I cannot say her help would have made much of a difference. She seems to know even less than I do about what clothing is appropriate for various social occasions—if such a thing is possible.”
Robert was on the other end of the ballroom, and he started toward them as soon as he saw her. His mother cast a satisfied gaze over the apple of her eye.
“If ever you and Robert should make a match of it—and I must tell you that my husband and I would be in complete support—we shall see to all things pertaining to your wardrobe.”
Never before had Mrs. Vernon made such a direct allusion to her hopes that Marianne might join their family by making a match with their son, but she did not have time to examine that bit of information, as Robert had arrived in front of her.
“Very nice, Marianne. The color becomes you. However, it might be too large.” He cocked his head to the side and studied her. “Yes, I am sure it is. And what is that thing in your hair? You’d best remove it.”
“You need not tell me that now.” Marianne’s shame partially morphed into anger. “When Miss Belford started snickering, I gathered I was not quite up to snuff.”
“Never mind her. I shall dance with you for the first dance, and no one will notice your dress. If a girl is claimed for the first dance, she must be considered interesting.”
The blood drained from Marianne’s face. “Robert,” she whispered urgently. “I thought I would be fine with dancing, since I learned the steps when I was younger. But I’ve never done such a thing in public, and now that I’m here I am sure I don’t know them well enough.”
“Don’t be a goose.” Robert turned to Mrs. Vernon. “Mother, tell her. Dancing is easy.” His application had the reverse effect.
“Perhaps you ought not to attempt it,” Mrs. Vernon murmured.
“Nonsense.” Robert fell silent, frowning, as Mr. Osborne and his friends walked toward them.
Mr. Osborne was first in line, and he bowed formally before her as though they had not yet seen each other that day. “Miss Edgewood, I hope you will do me the pleasure of dancing with me.”
“I’ve claimed the first dance,” Robert interjected, his surly tone matching his scowl. Marianne glanced at him, comparing his address to Mr. Osborne’s. Although she had never before noticed it, Robert did not show to advantage.
Mr. Osborne barely glanced at Robert before saying, “Very well. I will come find you for a later one.”
She looked at his three friends, two of whom were facing the floor where couples had begun to congregate, and Mr. Raife studying his nails. She was afraid to voice how unsure she was about her appearance—and about her dancing abilities—so she simply nodded and mustered a smile.
“I will. Thank you for asking me.”
When he left, Robert grumbled something to his mother that Marianne could not hear, and she could only be grateful that Mr. Osborne had invited her to dance at all. Her appearance must not be so very disastrous then.
Shortly afterwards, the music began, and Robert brought her to the floor for a country set. To her immense relief, she discovered she was able to remember the steps and therefore danced better than she had initially feared. In those early years after her parents were gone, Mrs. Malford had suggested that the servants teach her some basic steps so she’d have something to take her mind off her grief. Sarah and Annabel knew the country dances, and they had Charlie serve as her partner.
It ended up being her saving grace for what was required of her at a ball. As Robert led her off the floor following the dance, Marianne exhaled from the exertion, pleased to have acquitted herself well. She could not have borne it had she made even more of a stir than the one her appearance caused. Robert bowed to her and said she’d done well, just as he knew she would, before telling her he must find his next partner. Marianne stayed on the sidelines, as invisible as she could make herself, wondering at what point Mr. Osborne would come to claim his dance.
The next hour began what was the most uncomfortable experience of Marianne’s short life. There were whispers and stares, muffled laughter, and there were arch comments from young ladies and men alike as they passed her by. Somehow, in her misery, she was always conscious of where Mr. Osborne stood in the room, and his face seemed to grow more severe every time she looked at him. He must be dissatisfied with her appearance, or worse, ashamed of it.
A couple moved from her side to join the next set, and she found herself exposed on the sidelines. Mr. Wilmot spotted her and came to take a place at her side, turning to watch the crowd with her.
“I see you’ve found a ballgown. In silk.”
Goaded, Marianne flashed her eyes at him. “Now we both know that one cannot wear a sackcloth over one’s head and avoid utter disgrace as long as it’s silk. Everyone is laughing at me.”
