Page 35 of A Spring Dance

His tone was so gentle and his smile so sympathetic, that she could not in that moment dislike him as she wished. If only he were not so agreeable! If only he would flirt outrageously or display his arrogance so she could despise him as he deserved.

And yet…

In her mind, a small voice whispered that she had chastised him and he had willingly accepted the task of proving himself to be a true gentleman. Had he not done exactly as she had wished? Had he not set aside all his flirtatious behaviour, and solely to win her good opinion? His performance was flawless, and she was not so unjust as to deny it. He had danced all night with every neglected young lady at the Iversons, and he had shown her only kindness since. This very drive was for her benefit, to allow her to enjoy the freedom of the park, and lift her spirits a little, and in that it was successful.

But the part of her that still wished to dislike Will Fletcher had a different perspective. It is all too easy, this darker voice said. Dancing, expressing sympathy, tooling his curricle about the park — any man might do as much, and with little inconvenience to himself. His manners were beyond reproach, but his resolve had not truly been tested. However impressive the outwardly gentlemanlike appearance, he might be unchanged within, and how was anyone to know the truth?

So her thoughts flew as the curricle circuited Hyde Park, and she had still not resolved the question to her satisfaction when she was returned to Marford House.

13: Morning Calls

Will returned to Grosvenor Square in a mellow frame of mind. He was winning the game, he felt, for there was no doubt that Miss Whittleton had softened towards him. As soon as he could persuade her to acknowledge him as a gentleman, he would be able to safely ignore her, as he preferred. Irritating woman!

Keeble was in a quiver of excitement. “There are two ladies here, sir,” he said, eyes shining, as he took Will’s hat and gloves.“Ladies.”

“Ladies… as in Lady Something?” Will said, highly amused by the butler’s drama.

“Yes, sir. Lady Holmeswood and Lady Yardley.”

“Do we know them, Keeble? Friends of yours, are they?”

“Very droll, sir. I did just catch the name of Lord Albury. I believe they may be relations.”

Now, that was interesting! Lord Albury himself might not be much help to them, but two ladies —Ladies, he reminded himself. Yes, that could be helpful.

Will made some minute adjustments to his cravat and then went up to the drawing room, where tinkling laughter and the soft chink of teacups could be heard.

“Ah, Will, there you are!” Stepmother twittered. “Do come and meet our guests. Lady Holmeswood, Lady Yardley, this is our eldest son, just returned from driving dear Lady Carrbridge’s cousin in Hyde Park. Will, Lady Holmeswood and Lady Yardley are Lord Albury’s sisters. They were at Drury Lane last night too, just fancy that!”

Since half of London had been there, seemingly, that was not altogether surprising. Will executed his finest bow, as polished by Monsieur Bouchard, who was an unconvincing Frenchman but an excellent dancing master.

The ladies smiled, looked him up and down appraisingly, then smiled even more. “We were just telling Mrs Fletcher, Miss Fletcher and Miss Angela,” Lady Yardley said, “how entertained we were by the young men in the pit trying to attract your sisters’ attention. We enquired who you were, and discovered that you were the very family of whom Albury spoke.”

She had the same well-modulated voice as her brother, although in looks she was very different — softly plump, with a mass of black hair in fashionable curls and full, red lips. A pleasing armful for her husband. Her sister was different again, painfully thin, with pale hair, pale cheeks, protuberant pale blue eyes. A washed-out woman who said nothing, merely nodding as her sister spoke. A strange pair.

They left soon after, and Stepmother fell upon Will, almost dancing with glee. “You will never guess who was here! Lady Frederica Kelshaw! What do you think of that? And she brought an invitation from her sister-in-law, the Countess of Pinner.”

“To a ball!” Angie cried. “We are to go to a ball… aproperone, at last.” She spun on the spot in excitement, her skirts swirling around her.

Lady Frederica Kelshaw was a neighbour in Hertfordshire who had ignored the Fletchers with great determination until they held a ball, when the pleas of her daughters overcame her scruples. In town, she had returned to her earlier strategy of ignoring them. It was hard to comprehend why she might suddenly become friendly enough to proffer an invitation to a ball.

“That is… interesting,” Will said thoughtfully. “Were the Miss Kelshaws with Lady Frederica?”

“Yes, and I thought they looked very ill, Miss Kelshaw in particular. Her hair was done in the oddest manner. But what has that to say to anything? Is this not the very best news in the world? Lady Pinner’s ball… she is acountess, Will. Lady Frederica’s brother is an earl. This issucha compliment to Rosie, you may be sure. Everyone wants her now, you see.”

“I do not quite see why there is excitement over Lady Frederica, the sister of an earl, rather than Lord Albury’s sisters, the daughters of an earl,” Will said.

“Oh, they were vastly civil, but there was no invitation. We must call on them first, and then we must wait for an invitation.”

“I liked them,” Angie said. “They were not at all starchy. We could invite them to dinner.”

“Good heavens, Angie, have you learned nothing!” Stepmother cried. “The first invitation must come from the superior in rank, as with the first call. Then we may return it. Which reminds me, Will. We are to attempt to call upon Lady Carrbridge again tomorrow. Should you care to come with us? You are so cosy with Miss Whittleton that your presence might gain us entry where we have been refused before.”

Cosy with Miss Whittleton?Was that what they thought? How foolish to suppose he would ever look in that direction! If he had wanted a termagant for a wife, they were to be had with less trouble in Sagborough, and he had no particular wish to call at Marford House. The refusal was on the tip of his tongue, but then he bethought himself of the triumph if his presence should indeed be enough to admit them.

“I have no objection to calling at Marford House, Stepmother, if you set the hour,” he said, with what he hoped was languid lack of interest.

“Excellent,” she said. “Oh, great heavens, the doorbell again! So many callers. Rosie, sit up straight, dear. Pinch a little colour into your cheeks, like a good girl.”

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