Page 4 of Wynter's Bite

Her first country ball was a disaster. Bethany started the contradance with her left foot, rather than the right. To make matters even worse, she stepped on Squire Willoughby’s toes. He politely continued their dance, but from his flared nostrils and lack of invitation to dance with her again later, Bethany knew she’d made a cake of herself.

Then, after she was introduced to Lord Peabody, the man actually fell asleep when she was telling him about the songs she played on the harpsichord. A dull topic to be certain, but her mother insisted that she only speak of her feminine talents, not of her literary tastes, her love for her horse, or anything that made her resemble a human being with thoughts and opinions of her own.

She didn’t fare any better when she was partnered with Lord Darkwood. Something about the man made her so nervous that she stammered every time she tried to engage him in conversation. His eyes were so black and cold, his hair dark as the devil’s. While they danced, he barely looked at her as she twisted herself inside out to catch his interest.

Even worse was that after their humiliating dance, Bethany’s mother took it upon herself to introduce them as if they had not just danced together. Bethany’s face burned like a hot coal as she heard a few titters behind fans and Lord Darkwood stiffly uttered a curt greeting, not quite giving her the cut direct, but making it clear that he had no desire to further his acquaintance with her.

Dejected, Bethany fled to a far corner of the ballroom as soon as she was able. A small cluster of young women stood to her right. One of them, a tall brunette, met her gaze and smiled. Bethany shyly smiled back. Perhaps this group hadn’t witnessed her gaffes.

The brunette immediately dashed those hopes. “Is this your first time attending a ball?”

“Was it that obvious?” Bethany replied, waiting for the mocking laughter, or for the girls to turn their noses up and walk away,

They did neither. Instead, the group surrounded her, the brunette even giving her a comforting pat on the shoulder. “We’ve all had our own horrid introductions to these affairs. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Lady Rebecca Chatterton, the blonde is Lady Mary Ellingsworth, and this raven-haired beauty is Miss Deborah Peabody.”

“I’m Miss Bethany Mead.” She curtsied, pleased that at last someone was showing her kindness.

“Your father is the Baron of Wickshire, yes?” Rebecca inquired.

Bethany nodded.

Rebecca cocked her head to the side. “Last I knew, the baron was leasing his estate to Mr. Bunting.”

Bethany blushed at the reminder. Until this year, they had never stayed at their family seat, for it was much more affordable to lease the property and remain in London year-round while her father sat in Parliament and hosted political gatherings. But now that the Governor of Rochester was retiring, her father had set his eyes on a new goal. “Yes, well, Father thought it was past time we came home and took in the country air.”

“And find a husband for you?” Rebecca prodded with a wry smile.

The heat crept back to her cheeks as she nodded. “Yes, but I’m afraid I did not make a good accounting of myself.”

To her further embarrassment, Rebecca glanced back at her friends and nodded in agreement. “Perhaps I can help you.”

Gratitude flooded Bethany’s heart. “I would very much appreciate anything you can do to mitigate my predicament.”

Rebecca leaned closer and subtly pointed her fan. “Do you see that gentleman with the dark red hair?”

Bethany’s mouth went dry as she once more looked upon the striking visage of Viscount de Wynter. She’d been covertly snatching glimpses of him all evening. Something about him elicited a primal stirring in her belly. “Yes, I see him,” she whispered.

“Persuade him to dance with you,” Rebecca instructed. “Or even better, have him escort you out to one of the balconies.”

Bethany frowned. “But my mother said I was to avoid him at all costs.” Were these girls making sport of her?

Rebecca laughed behind the lace edges of her fan. “Although she is partly correct in that you should never let him catch you alone, there is benefit in having a rogue such as de Wynter pay you some attention. If the other gentlemen see that he is interested in you, they will then wonder what garnered such interest and will hasten to make your acquaintance.”

Like a magnet, de Wynter pulled Bethany’s attention back to his striking visage. A tendril of doubt curled in her belly. Why in heavens would he show her any interest? She was a green girl, hopeless with social banter, a clumsy dancer, and worst of all, a little too plump. Slim, willowy figures were all the rage. But though Bethany listened to her mother and ate as little as possible, her breasts, hips, and waistline did not oblige her by decreasing in the slightest. Mother had tried corsets to see if they could diminish her curves, but all they did was make her resemble an overstuffed sausage.

Bethany hid a dejected sigh behind her fan. It was hopeless.

Yet she had to try. If she didn’t do something to raise her esteem among her peers, she was doomed to remain a wallflower forever.

How would she carry this off? She and Lord de Wynter hadn’t been introduced, so she couldn’t approach him and strike up a conversation. And introduced or not, she certainly couldn’t ask him to dance.

As she slowly drew closer, unable to stop stealing glances at him— she’d never seen hair in such a dark shade of red— a tentative idea blossomed in her mind. He could still deign to ignore her, but if he did, he would look the cad, not her.

Bethany prayed he would at least look at her, maybe even smile, and not just because of her goal to gain attention from suitors.

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