Page 8 of A Brilliant Match
Crowds of lavishly dressed people milled in front of her, blocking her view of the dance being performed in the center and bringing her back to her objective. Not that she had any intention of living in poverty. No, she had known her objective since she had been old enough to assess her worth and situation. She was destined for greater things.
The world came back into focus as the music and dancing ended. Dorothea stood on her toes, peering around the room to see where Lord Peregrine was, eager to begin her dance with him. As it was after eleven o’clock, there was now a throng, and she barely made out Mr. Shaw leading her sister toward them. He must not find her without a partner when he arrived. That would be too lamentable and perhaps even give him the wrong idea. As it stood, he must know himself to be fortunate to have danced with her and not think that the shoe was on the other foot.
She bit her lip and began tapping her foot underneath her gown. If Lord Peregrine did not come to find her now, Mr. Shaw would have the audacity to thinkherfortunate to have been partnered with him.
Mr. Shaw drew near, wrapped up in conversation with Sophia, when Dorothea felt a touch on her arm. Lord Peregrine murmured something about this being his dance and led her over to the sidelines as the music was beginning. They slipped into place just in time and were deprived of the chance for conversation as the music signaled an energetic Scottish reel.
Although she enjoyed the dance itself—it had always been a favorite of hers—Lord Peregrine did not show best in the reel. He stepped on her toes twice and went in the wrong direction three times. She could not help but compare him to plain Mr. Shaw and own that in this, at least, Mr. Shaw must be declared the better man.
Deprived of her usual pleasure in dancing, Dorothea began to wish for some conversation other than the continual monologue that ran in her head. It was not mere dancing that made a man, and perhaps he might be a skilled conversationalist. At last, before her feet were thoroughly bruised, they stopped for the break between sets, and Lord Peregrine held out his arm.
“We must have something to drink,” he proposed and without waiting for her answer, led her over to the refreshment table at a near gallop.
She had a chance to observe him while they waited for their turn to be given a drink. His fair skin had turned red at the exertion from the dance, and she sympathized with him. He must not think she would hold it against him, though. When she allowed herself to dwell on his appearance, she thought he could be handsome, despite the very pronounced widow’s peak and a nose on the longish side.
“I owe you an apology,” Lord Peregrine said. “Had I realized it would be the Scottish reel, I would have sat that dance out. I do not show to advantage in reels.”
“It is of no consequence,” she replied, hiding her disappointment over his lack of skill. The table cleared of people, and she waited while he stepped forward to retrieve two glasses. At least he could own he did not excel in the art of dancing. Honesty certainly had value in a potential suitor.
“Are you in London every season?” she asked him when he handed her a lemonade and took a glass of champagne for himself. Did he enjoy society or did he prefer his estate? As his wife, that would determine where she would be spending most of her time. These were the questions she had decided in advance she would ask in order to know which gentleman might suit her best.
“I have done so for the last three seasons,” he replied, then drank his champagne in one go and set the glass on the tray of a passing servant. “I am following the parliamentary sessions, but besides that, there is nothing of interest happening anywhere else. All the families who organize country parties wait until summer is in full swing before they send invitations.”
“That is very true,” she replied, although she had nothing to compare it to. She had never had a season, and the only summer party she’d gone to was when she was still in the schoolroom. Not for the first time did she realize that her life as the daughter of a peer was unusually sheltered. And not for the first time did she wish her father had cared enough to make more of an effort to bring them into society.
She waited, watching the people circulating the floor as she sipped her lemonade. Her eyes drifted over to Sophia, who had been asked to dance immediately after Mr. Shaw had released her and whose eyes were now glued to the gentleman’s waistcoat as he spoke to her, despite him appearing to be a very agreeable partner. Sophia’s brief spell of openness was over, causing Dorothea to worry again over her sister’s feelings for Mr. Shaw. It must not be allowed that she take a fancy to the man simply because he could make her smile. Dorothea would have to put more gentlemen in Sophia’s path.
Lord Peregrine stared around the room as she did, not contributing to the conversation. Surely he could not find her so uninteresting. She tried again.
“Where is your estate located?”
Oh heavens. Shewasuninteresting. That was exactly what she had asked Mr. Shaw.
“It is near to Cambridge.” Lord Peregrine took a step forward, his eyes on the couples congregating on the sidelines. “Shall we ready ourselves for the next dance?”
“If you wish it,” she said with hesitation, remembering his aversion to the quicker-paced dances. “Or if you prefer to sit this dance out, I do not mind.”
“By no means. I should not like to deprive you,” he replied in tones of distraction.
Dorothea was thirsty, so she drank the rest of her lemonade and held out the glass to her partner, but his eyes were still fixed on the couples near the dance floor. A servant collected her glass instead, and Dorothea followed Lord Peregrine’s gaze to the gathering couples. It suddenly dawned on her that his unaccountably obtuse behavior must mean that his heart already belonged to another lady—although Dorothea could not divine which one it might be. She set her hand on his arm, and he moved forward automatically.
Her heart dipped with disappointment at the realization that Lord Peregrine would not find her interesting no matter how much effort she put into it. Then she drew herself up. If his heart was lost to another, there was no point in considering him as a potential suitor any longer. She would treat him kindly and wish him the best in his suit.
But she would be less than human if she did not hope that her whole evening—indeed, that her entire season—was not doomed to repeat the cycle of ineligible charming men and eligible distracted ones.
Chapter4
The following morning, Dorothea woke up with a headache that gave her no relief, even when she took medicinal powder and sipped coffee, which Miss Cross had told her was more effective in counteracting headaches than tea. She was not sure it was so, and she could barely stand the bitter stuff, but she needed to try everything she could to prepare for the eventual visits that would follow attending a ball.
Oh, and the flowers! The flowers that arrived at a young lady’s house the morning following a ball were legendary. The only doubt that assailed her was the fact that, although she did end up having better luck for the remaining dances the night before—she scarcely sat one out and counted among her partners more than one titled gentleman—she had not seemed to make a connection on a deeper level with any of them that could lead her to believe they would call. Regrettably, neither did she find one as attractive and engaging as the unsuitable Mr. Shaw. Fortunately, the season had only begun.
She was still in the breakfast room when Sophia entered. Her sister liked to stay abed as long as she could, but Dorothea had warned her that she must be up and about early so they might read the notes on the flowers and welcome the morning callers, although those would not begin until early afternoon. As it was already noon, they had no time to waste.
“Dorry, you look a fright. Is it one of your headaches again?” Sophia asked in her soft voice as she turned to take a plate and fill it with the offerings from the sideboard. Her words could not have pierced Dorothea’s confidence any more if she had attempted to wound on purpose.
The door clattered open and Joanna entered, followed by their youngest sister, Matilda, whose pale appearance showed the unwisdom of being up so soon after her illness.
“Tilly, what are you doing out of bed?” Dorothea asked. “Joanna, you should not encourage it.”
