Page 15 of A Gentleman to Avoid (Sherton Sisters 3)

For those who had been sitting around doing needlepoint, they were exactly the thing. But, as Mrs. Parks had agreed, strapping young men needed something to stick to their ribs.

It had taken every last ounce of willpower she possessed not to run from the room in tears. And he had known. That was the worst part, Vicky was sure. He had known she was embarrassed and had sympathized. Why couldn’t he be awful all the time? Why wouldn’t her heart listen to her head?

It wasn’t hard to avoid him, though, which was at least a slight relief. She was uncomfortably aware of his presence whenever he entered a room. So, it wasn’t much of a challenge to ensure she was never within his vicinity, except for trying to make sure it wasn’t noticeable to anyone else. There had been a terrible moment when Lord Bertram had stopped her to ask her something. Vicky had no idea what he had wanted. She was grateful for her years of experience of pretending to pay attention whenever her sisters were telling her something and was reasonably sure she had smiled or nodded in the right places prior to making good her escape before Ashford had reached them. She had started to think he was following her. But why would he bother to do so? And if he was doing so, why would he stay just a little bit away? Was he trying to drive her mad? If so, he was doing a remarkably good job of it.

And what was Lord Bertram doing at Crossley anyway? Vicky wondered if she ought to speak to the earl about the man. But what did she really know? Not much, if she were to be perfectly honest on the subject. It was just a bad feeling, which no man was going to accept as evidence of anything. Since his lordship was here, Vicky decided with a shrug, she could keep an eye on him and tell Crossley if she had anything substantive to share. She doubted strongly the man would be able to get up to anything nefarious out there in the countryside.

Finally, when she had determined that she had spent enough time socializing with her fellow guests, Vicky made good her escape. She was relieved when Georgia had finally stood to indicate that teatime was over. It was fortuitous that Vicky was standing very near the door in that opportune moment. Without a murmur or a backward glance, she fled.

It might be considered craven or cowardly, but Vicky couldn’t bear another moment of avoiding Ashford. She only hoped she would be over it by suppertime, as there was really no way to completely avoid a fellow guest at a house party.

Throwing herself onto her bed as soon as she reached her room, Vicky held her head and moaned.

“What has happened, my lady?” Her maid appeared alarmed.

“My apologies, Dolly, there is nothing truly wrong. I just allowed my tongue to get me in a bit of trouble this afternoon, and I am dreading the rest of the evening.”

The maid laughed with little sympathy, as only a long-time servant can do.

“Oh, my lady, I’m certain you’ll be recovered by supper, but surely it wasn’t so bad as all that.”

“Ugh! It was worse, actually, I’m sure. There isn’t a noise grotesque enough to demonstrate the state of my mind at the moment.”

There was a slight silence following Vicky’s statement before the maid rallied. “I have known you for years, my lady. I’m absolutely certain you couldn’t have said anything that should produce this state. Come now, tell me about it.”

“The recounting is sure to make me feel worse, I’m afraid.”

“Well then, tell me what you’re feeling. Are you angry or sad?”

“Neither really. It wasn’t that what I said was so very dreadful. It’s just that I’m embarrassed to my core that I allowed my tongue to run on for so very long.” She paused for a moment before adding, “And it was before Mr. Ashford Northcott.”

“Oh, I see,” the maid accepted. “Surely, it couldn’t have been so very long, my lady. It always feels much worse to the one speaking than it does to the one listening when you’re feeling embarrassed.”

“Perhaps, but it was absolutely dreadful, Dolly, I can assure you.”

“Do you really think Mr. Northcott is likely to recall it later?”

“I’m fairly certain,” she replied before wailing, “I don’t know. He probably doesn’t think of me in the least and won’t recall my words a second after I’ve said them. He’s too busy thinking about his many businesses and dreaming of my sister.” Vicky threw her arm over her eyes in an attempt to hide herself from her reality. It was a most uncomfortable state to be in. “I neither want him to recall it nor do I want him to forget it.”

The maid murmured in an indistinct way as though sympathizing but with nothing to say.

“Come, my lady. I will brush out your hair for you, and you’ll feel much better.”

Vicky wanted to object. This was far too large a problem to be solved in such a simple way, but the maid was probably right. She always was. Vicky had learned long ago to be guided by the older woman’s wisdom. With a sigh, she got up from her prone position and approached the stool in front of her dressing table.

“Thank you, Dolly,” she answered meekly as she took her seat.

The maid, of course, was right. Within moments, she was feeling much calmer and far more relaxed. The rhythmic strokes of the brush would have eventually put her right to sleep if Dolly hadn’t finally urged her into the bed for a short nap while the maid prepared her gown for the evening.

What felt like minutes later, but was surely at least an hour, Vicky was once again primped back into a vision of the perfect debutante. Examining her reflection critically, Vicky was relieved to see that everything was perfectly acceptable about her appearance. She knew she wasn’t quite the Diamond that her sister Rosabel was, but she would possibly turn heads. It wasn’t vain to acknowledge the truth, she assured herself, even as she frowned over the thoughts. But her frock was of the first stare of fashion, and her maid was skilled with her hairstyling.

“Excellent work, Dolly, as always, thank you so much. I love the artistry that you bring to my hair. I know that if I was left to my own devices, it would only be a plain plait every day.”

“Oh, get on with you, my lady, I know you’d manage just fine. I’ve seen you arrange your sisters’ hair from time to time.”

“It’s much easier doing it for someone else than for yourself, to be sure.”

“Well, there you have it.”

“But even when I did it for the little ones, it was usually just a plait,” Vicky concluded with a laugh as she pinched her cheeks to add some colour. With another frowning assessment of her appearance, Vicky finally nodded and left the room with another murmured acknowledgement to the servant.

For the briefest moment, Vicky had the sensation as though she were going into battle as she stepped out of her bedchamber. She was dressed in the debutante’s uniform of modestly fashionable attire and perfect social skills. The guest list had been laboured over to ensure that no ladies would feel left out or overly competitive, so she needn’t feel as though she were fighting anyone. So, she couldn’t quite put her finger on why she felt battle ready. Perhaps it was a battle with herself, to not make a cake of herself in front of Ashford Northcott on the one hand, while also managing to catch herself a suitable husband on the other.

Head held high and armed with all the knowledge she and Georgia had gleaned during the last couple weeks of the Season, Vicky descended to the salon where the guests were sure to be assembling before supper.

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