Nine Ladies Dancing (Belles of Christmas Book 4)

by Deborah M. Hathaway

  “Mr. Matthew Pratt,” Mr. Warren said. “You remember our youngest, Miss Josephine.”

  “Yes, indeed,” Matthew responded. He bowed to the girl, and she responded with a graceful curtsy, her dark ringlets bouncing happily at her temples.

  Miss Josephine and her older sister, Miss Warren, exchanged identical smiles. Meg cringed. The Warrens’ wealth was no secret, nor was the desire of the daughters to wed wealthy and attractive gentlemen. They would never settle for anyone who couldn’t support or approve of their affluent living—like Matthew—but that never stopped them from flirting with gentlemen who caught their fancy for the evening.

  “We have been looking forward to this party for quite some time,” Mrs. Pratt said, the only one of them who seemed to be speaking the truth. “We haven’t enjoyed a night of games for many months.”

  Mrs. Warren shook her head, her emerald earrings swinging back and forth. “Oh, neither have we. Although, I must say, this party almost did not occur.”

  She paused heavily, baiting them for a story.

  Meg did not care to discover what Mrs. Warren wished to boast of now, but Mrs. Pratt kindly indulged.

  “Why ever not?”

  Mrs. Warren exchanged proud glances with her husband. “Only a few days ago, we received an invitation to attend a dinner party by Miss June Rosewall herself.”

  Meg stifled a yawn, looking about the room and longing to visit with the other guests, if only to escape the tiresome gossip. She’d heard of June Rosewall, of course, the elderly, never-married woman who kept only to herself and her close friends. Miss Rosewall had no family, as far as Meg was aware, though she’d heard rumors of an estranged nephew in Cornwall. The woman was rather bad-tempered, but she was wealthy and regal, so many families wished to be honored with an invitation to become more acquainted with her.

  As Mrs. Warren continued on about how Miss Rosewall promised another invitation, Meg glanced to Miss Josephine, who still stared unabashedly at Matthew.

  Meg hadn’t spent a great deal of time around Miss Josephine, as the girl had only been introduced into Society this last Season at sixteen, but what Meg had observed was that Miss Josephine was even more of a flirt than her older sister.

  “Mr. Pratt,” the girl said interrupting her mother, who merely turned doting eyes on her daughter, “I understand you’ve not been to Casterly Hall in over a year. Might I take you on a tour of our drawing room?”

  Matthew gave her a humored look, but Miss Josephine raised her dainty eyebrows in a question. “Oh,” he said, sobering at once. “Yes, I would enjoy that.”

  He must have thought her offer to tour around a single room—though spacious as it was—was a joke. Meg had thought so as well.

  The two of them moved away from the others to walk about the room as Miss Warren, Louisa, and Meg stared after them. Frustration festered within Meg. She didn’t like the idea of someone flirting with Matthew purely for pleasure. Of course, she didn’t like the idea of someone flirting with him for any reason at all, especially Miss Josephine. If she had convinced her parents to let her out in Society before her sister was married, what else was she capable of doing?

  As Meg tried to keep her attention from wavering to the two of them, the final guests arrived and the games began. A number of couples moved to the card tables, starting games of whist, hazard, and loo, as a few of the guests remained by the hearth, wishing to speak instead of play.

  The rest of the party made their way to the far side of the room where green-cushioned chairs were arranged in a large circle. The guests sat down alternately between lady and gentleman. Matthew took a seat next to Meg, her heart as warm as the wassail they’d shared the night before. Louisa moved to sit beside her brother, but Miss Josephine slipped in at the last moment.

  “Oh, you don’t mind if I sit here, do you, Miss Pratt? After all, you are able to see your brother for as long as you wish while at home. We, however, see so very little of him.” Her eyes sparkled as she glanced to Matthew.

  Matthew sent an apologetic look to Louisa, who walked to an empty seat across the circle next to Mr. Richards, a young gentleman with a deep dimple in his chin. Meg knew it was difficult for Louisa to be parted from her twin while he was at university, even more so than it was for Meg. Miss Josephine, of course, didn’t know such a thing, nor would she care if she did.

  Meg fought the desire to stand up and pull the chair right out from under the girl. Instead, she caught Louisa’s attention and motioned to her own seat.

  “Do you wish to sit here?” she mouthed.

  Louisa shook her head with a wave of her hand. Before Meg could insist, Miss Warren clapped her hands, her gloves causing a soft thud as she caught the attention of the others. “Shall we begin with a game of short answers?”

  The group agreed, and she set about explaining the rules to ensure they were all in accord. “Only a one-syllable word may be responded to each question, and no answers or questions may be repeated. Those who falter shall be removed from the game until another round ensues or a different game begins. Agreed?” The group nodded before she turned to Mr. Richards who sat at her right and Louisa’s left. “Now, Mr. Richards, I shall begin. Do tell me, do you enjoy reading?”

  Mr. Richards appeared to think a great deal before he responded with, “No.” Then he looked around the room for nods of appreciation for his clever response.

  When he said nothing further, Miss Warren nodded. “Now you must ask Miss Pratt a question, sir.”

  “Ah, of course.” He turned to Louisa. “Pray, Miss Pratt, what is your favorite color?”

  “Green.”

  “Ah, excellent, I thought I’d capture you there for certain.”

  Louisa politely smiled before exchanging glances with Meg. They’d often joked about Mr. Richards’s simplicity. He was a good sort of man, though, respectful and courteous, so they tried not to speak too critically of him.

  The game continued until the gentleman at Meg’s left, Mr. Barton, turned his eyes on Meg. His wife had obviously coerced him into playing, as he sat leaning far back in his chair with his arms folded and a grim stretch to his lips. “What county boasts the most spectacular coastline?”

  Meg thought for a moment. She knew Cornwall was her first choice. She’d spent a summer there as a child with the Pratts, and she and the twins had spent hours searching for seashells in the sand and playing in the sea water. But with only a one-syllable word allowed, it would have to be, “Kent.”

  A murmur of assent trailed around her before she turned to Matthew. “Don’t make this too hard on me,” he said softly.

  She smiled up at him. “What animal were you dressed as for the masquerade in London?”

  His jaw twitched, and he stared at her with feigned annoyance. Her innocent smile continued, though joy ignited in her heart. If he spoke truthfully, a badger, then he’d lose the game. But if he answered with one syllable…

  Finally, in a flat tone, he said, “Mole.”

  She gleefully laughed, though the others in the circle exchanged confused glances, unaware of their little joke. “As I suspected all along. A mole with a stained underbelly.”

  He stifled a laugh before turning to Miss Josephine. “May I ask how you prefer your tea, miss?”

  Miss Josephine tapped her forefinger against her chin before sticking it straight up in the air. “Hot!” she exclaimed before laughing at her own excitement.

  “Excellent,” Matthew responded. “A very clever response, indeed.”

  Clever? Meg’s smile faded. The answer was not so very clever. Meg was certain she could conjure multiple responses to such a question. Nothing that she could come up with now, of course, but that hardly mattered.

  Miss Josephine faced the gentleman next to her with the question, “What is the season in which we are experiencing now?” which resulted in the man’s expulsion after he replied with “Winter.”

  Soon, Miss Warren redirected the questions to go the opposite way, and in a ma
tter of moments, Miss Josephine’s turn came again. She faced Matthew directly with a flirtatious smile. “Are you ready, sir?”

  “Yes,” he replied. Then he turned away, clapping his hands on his thighs with a happy grin. “Well, that was no doubt the easiest question I’ve answered playing this game.”

  The group laughed, Miss Josephine the loudest. Meg’s toes curled in her slippers.

  “No, Mr. Pratt,” Miss Josephine said, “that was not my question, you tease! No, here is my real question. What color do you prefer your steeds to be?”

  Matthew responded with a genuine smile. Of course he would smile. The question was about a horse. “Black,” he responded.

  He looked to Meg, but Miss Josephine continued. “Oh, excellent choice, sir. I do love black horses the very best.”

  “Do you ride?” he asked.

  “As often as I can. There is no greater pleasure, nor no greater animal.”

  Meg shifted in her seat. Either Miss Josephine was an exceptional liar, or she really did enjoy horses as equally as Matthew.

  The girl continued, tipping her head so her ringlets bobbed in the air like small, curled ribbons. “I’m sure you agree with me. I am well aware of your love for the animal.”

  “How do you know such a thing?”

  “Everyone knows such a thing, Matthew,” Louisa piped up across the circle. “We all know you prefer the animal to anyone else, humans included.”

  The group laughed, and Matthew and his sister exchanged smiles. Miss Warren cleared her throat. “Mr. Pratt, I believe it is your turn to ask a question.”

  “Of course.”

  The game continued. Matthew seemed in a far more jovial mood, making teasing comments and laughing as the group did. But was this because of the game or because Miss Josephine was far more entertaining than Meg? That girl was quickly being added to Meg’s acquaintance list.

  Mr. Richards was the next to be removed after he’d responded to his favorite pastime as “reading.” Miss Warren followed soon after, much to her chagrin, after she’d replied, “No,” to a question.

  “I’m quite certain that answer has not been given yet,” she said, her nose pointed to the ceiling, shoulders as straight as the back of her chair.

  “I’m sorry, my dear sister, but it most assuredly has by Mr. Richards,” Miss Josephine said with a giggle.

  Miss Warren moved away from the group with a flutter of skirts, muttering, “I’m happy to be finished with this game. I hardly enjoy it.”

  Miss Josephine giggled at her sister’s unceremonious departure.

  As the players were whittled down, the questions became more difficult, and the answers even more so.

  Excepting, of course, any question Miss Josephine asked Matthew, all of which were related to horses. She was clearly attempting to draw Matthew’s good favor, but much to Meg’s aversion, it appeared to be working. Matthew continued to strike up conversations with the girl about what breed of horse she rode and when she took up riding.

  Meg could hardly stand listening to the two of them speak. Nor, did it seem, could Louisa. When asked by Mr. Billings how she felt that evening, she replied, “Very well.” Then immediately stood from her seat with a blank expression. “Oh, dear. It appears I have lost.”

  Miss Josephine nodded goodbye to Louisa, who promptly left the circle without a glance in the girl’s direction.

  When Mr. Billings was expelled from the game next, Meg was left alone with Matthew and Miss Josephine. She rolled her shoulders to dispel the tension rising in her muscles, tension caused by the girl’s next question spoken in her high-pitched voice.

  “Pray, Mr. Pratt, what is a pretty young woman to do to be noticed by a handsome gentleman?”

  Matthew hardly seemed aware of her brazen question, responding simply with, “Breathe.”

  He laughed at his own joke before facing Meg. She forced a smile, though her heart felt as empty as the seats now surrounding them. Miss Josephine was pursuing Matthew that evening for only a bit of fun, and Matthew didn’t seem to mind the attention at all.

  “Where might you find the River Thames?” he asked.

  Meg would have replied swiftly with Town, but she held her tongue. Did she truly wish to be around Miss Josephine any longer, fawning over the love of her life?

  “London,” she said with a sigh, hoping to feign losing better than Louisa had.

  “Oh, Miss Baker,” Miss Josephine cried out, “you have been bested at last! And with such a simple question. My first answer would have been Town, you know.”

  “I had not even thought of such a response,” Meg said, rising from her seat and ignoring Matthew’s suspicious expression. “Well done, Miss Josephine.”

  She walked away, and the girl’s words drifted towards her. “Now, Mr. Pratt, it is down to the both of us, the wittiest in the room.”

  Meg found Louisa near the table of food. She walked up to her, retrieving a small plate and eying the pastries as Matthew responded to yet another question about a horse.

  “I take it you answered incorrectly on purpose, as well?” Louisa asked Meg in a soft tone, taking a rather large bite of a mince pie.

  “How did you know?” Meg asked with a scoff, placing one piece of cheesecake on her plate before making it two. She needed that extra sweetness to improve her mood tonight.

  “She is certainly doing her best to draw attention to herself, isn’t she?” Louisa asked. “I thought her sister was bad, but Miss Warren is a saint compared to Miss Josephine.”

  The girl responded to another of Matthew’s questions, and he threw back his head with laughter. An ache trailed down Meg’s chest, as if the cheesecake she’d just swallowed had turned to stone.

  “I do wonder if Matthew can see through her behavior,” Meg said with half-hope, half-fear.

  “I’m sure he can. I only…” Louisa’s eyes flitted over Meg’s shoulder, and a false smile appeared on her lips. “Miss Warren, there you are.”

  Meg turned around as Miss Warren approached them. “I trust you find the food to your liking, ladies.”

  “Indeed,” Louisa said. “As delicious as always.”

  Meg pretended to chew her bite of cheesecake so she wouldn’t have to speak.

  Louisa continued. “It was good of your parents to not cancel the party this evening, despite the prestigious invitation they received.”

  Miss Warren idly spun her golden ring round her fifth and smallest finger. “Yes, but I cannot understand their logic, putting the people of Haxby, of all places, above a woman like Miss Rosewall. Then again, my parents are not known for their sense, are they?”

  Meg’s lips fell at her words. How could Miss Warren speak of her parents in such a way? What Meg wouldn’t give for parents like the Warrens. Doting, attentive, present—everything that her parents weren’t. She’d never had anyone constant in her life like that, apart from the Pratts.

  She glanced toward him, forcing herself to keep a level head, though Matthew’s smile grew as he spoke with the girl.

  “They seem to be quite taken with their game, do they not?” Miss Warren said, also watching her sister with a focused stare. “Or, perhaps, taken with each other.”

  She sent a knowing look to Louisa before walking away without another word.

  Matthew could not be taken with Miss Josephine. She was too young. Too wealthy. Too sure of herself. Too…not Meg.

  She glanced to Louisa, who had turned a slightly ashen color. “Are you well?”

  Louisa looked up from her plate. “Hmm? Oh, indeed. I…I’m merely feeling a little full.”

  She left her plate on the table then crossed the room with a hand pressed to her stomach. Meg looked after her, wondering at her behavior, before facing Matthew once again.

  After a quarter of an hour, the game was won by Miss Josephine, who was not shy to boast her accomplishment to the rest of the party.

  The evening progressed with more games and food, but Meg’s spirits steadily declined as she t
ried and failed to ignore Matthew’s laughter at Miss Josephine’s comments. She’d never seen him laugh so much with anyone but herself, and the knowledge was crushing.

  Finally, as the end of the night neared, the large party gathered in the front hall, circling together as they anxiously awaited the midnight hour. Meg forced herself to cheer along with the others as twelve o’clock arrived, and Mr. Warren ran to open the front door, ushering in the new year.

  Next, he moved through the house, the large party following behind him as they headed to one of the back doors where they would symbolically let the old year pass through. Meg typically enjoyed the tradition, but as she brought up the rear of the group alone, she longed for the evening to end.

  A draft rushed past her, and she shivered, folding her arms. Was she chilled because of cold corridor? Or was it because Matthew still laughed with Miss Josephine at the front of the line? Either way, she would use the excuse to return to the drawing room for her wrap. A little space from that shrill laughter would do her much good.

  Silently, she turned around. What a terrible night this was. Matthew unable to keep away from the Warrens, Louisa remaining silent the rest of the evening. Her friends’ behavior and Meg’s forlorn spirits had made for a very depressing New Year’s Eve, indeed.

  When she reached the drawing room, the warmth of the large fire instantly soothed her, and she was tempted to linger in the room. But when she caught sight of the green chairs they sat upon for their game, memories of Miss Josephine’s high-pitched tone grated on the last of her nerves.

  She retrieved her shawl and Louisa’s—knowing her friend would be near frozen if Meg was slightly chilled—grumbling as she did so.

  “Oh, I love horses, Mr. Pratt,” she murmured in a high falsetto voice, imitating Miss Josephine as she threw her shawl round her shoulders. “They are so perfect and beautiful. Just like I am. Do you not love my hair and my perfect posture and my dress and—”

  “They are rather nice.”

  Meg gasped, whirling around to find Matthew leaning against the doorframe with folded arms, an amused smile playing on his lips.