by Ella Edon
He couldn’t imagine any of the other young ladies at this gathering ever doing such a thing. They would have simply hurried out of the way and let someone else take care of the problem.
Thomas wanted very much to know Grace Miller better. He climbed back up to the driver's box, intending to sit up there and watch and listen to all of the ladies, whenever they came out for a breath of fresh air. Yet, he knew that, far more than any other, he would be looking for a sunshine-yellow dress to come out of the Inn and walk back to his carriage.
Chapter Thirteen
The Ladies At The Ball Reveal Their True Nature
Grace felt a little better just knowing that Adam Wheeler was here. She'd been glad to help him when his new carriage horse had played up and had known right away what the trouble was. Her father had taught her well, back when he himself had been a skilled driver and excellent horseman.
It was too bad that Adam could not attend the ball, too. After all, these assembly balls were open to anyone who could pay the price of a ticket. Sometimes, even the daughters of servants would be outfitted with a neatly patched dress and a pair of borrowed gloves to make an appearance, hoping to meet some respectable young farmer or tradesman. Surely, a polite and handsome coachman could –
"Grace! Come here now!" hissed Aunt Betsey. "She's there. Go to her!"
Grace looked up to see Mrs. Robbins walking out of the doorway with her daughter, Merope, close behind. Almost stumbling from the push Aunt Betsey gave her, Grace hurried over to the door.
"Miss Miller," said Mrs. Robbins, looking her up and down. "You look – quite nice." Somehow the woman managed a tight smile. "Give me your ticket."
Quickly, Grace dug into her the drawstring bag hanging from her wrist, finding the ticket and handing it over. Very deliberately, Mrs. Robbins walked to a little table near the door, picked up a pen, signed the back of the ticket, and returned it to Grace.
"There you are, dear," said Mrs. Robbins. "I'm pleased to vouch for Betsey Vane's niece. Now, Merope will be pleased to go inside with you. Do enjoy your evening."
Grace curtsied to her, noticing for the first time that Mrs. Robbins seemed to be wearing a beautiful new velvet cloak of deep purple. She turned to Aunt Betsey and Uncle Leonard one last time. "Go, go!" urged Aunt Betsey. "We will meet you here when it's over."
Uncle Leonard nodded and then urged her towards the door. "Go, now! Make us all proud!"
That was nearly enough to make Grace feel on the edge of panic again. Just then, Merope walked over and took Grace by the arm. Merope was a tall, slender blonde, who was a little gangly-looking, but she had more than enough confidence to make up for any slight defects in appearance.
"No need to worry," Merope assured her, patting Grace's hand. "It's like going hunting. And we all do enjoy the hunt, don't we?"
With a deep breath, Grace followed Merope Robbins through the crowded foyer and into the candlelit, music-filled ballroom.
Of course, most of the time it was not a ballroom, but a dining hall and meeting room, and occasionally, a card and gaming parlor. Tonight, it was the home of the Birdwell Assembly Ball.
To Grace, it seemed that the room dripped with candles. The hearth had been left cold on this mild spring evening, but the wide mirror up above it gleamed and glimmered in the light of the many, many flickering flames.
The room was crowded with men and women wearing their best, some standing together and taking it in and others walking about and talking and laughing. And several couples – Grace counted seven, at the moment – were on the open space of the ballroom floor and dancing to the music of the small orchestra at the far end.
It was very lively and gay and fun, and at first glance, everyone seemed to be very happy and enjoying themselves. Right away, Grace could sense the tension, the competition, going on among the young single women here – and even among their mothers, who watched them closely from the chairs placed along the walls.
Every woman here knew that this was no frivolous entertainment. It was a marriage contest and they all took it very seriously. The quality of their lives from this night forward could depend on whom they met at this ball and how that meeting eventually proceeded.
Merope led Grace to a small open space near the mantel. "This will be a fine place to watch and wait," said Merope, in her slow and casual way of speaking. "My mother has made sure that I've been introduced to all the gentlemen here, so I can introduce you to any of them."
"Thank you," Grace whispered. "It's beautiful in here. I've seen the private balls at Northcliff, of course, but only from – from the outside in, you could say. I've never seen one from the inside out!"
Merope laughed, as though she were half bored with the sight of the ball. "Just look around, Grace, and see if there’s anyone you like. It's really no different from any other sort of shopping at any other sort of market. If you find what you're looking for . . . simply make an offer for it." She took out her fan and snapped it open, gazing around the lively room.
Grace didn’t have a fan, but at the moment, she still felt too nervous to use one. It was strange how she had readily tackled a panicked carriage horse just moments before, but now was left completely unnerved by a gathering of dancing strangers.
She began to hear bits of conversation as people walked by. The supreme topic was definitely the absence of Earl Worthington from the first Assembly Ball to be held in Birdwell for several years.
"Is it true the earl is not coming here tonight?"
"But his carriage is right out front! He must be here somewhere."
"No, no. Simon Clarke said he wasn’t attending."
"Perhaps the earl is just arriving late? That must be it!"
"How could he miss this? Lady Worthington, his mother, arranged it all herself!"
"Oh, I cannot believe he would not come. What a snub that would be!"
And on and on. Yet Grace also noticed that even though there was great disappointment over the earl's lack of attendance – especially as the evening wore on – that disappointment did not in any way slow down the business of the young unmarried women who were there.
Merope leaned down to casually whisper another comment to Grace. "You may think it doesn’t matter that the earl isn’t here. But my mother warned me that it does, indeed, matter very much."
Grace frowned a little and turned to her. "If he isn’t here, how can it matter? If these women are hoping he might eventually choose them for a wife, then surely, this ball is of little importance if he cares so little for it. They cannot hope to impress him if he isn’t even here."
Her new friend laughed a little. "Oh, Grace, how much you have to learn, and how fortunate you are to have myself and my mother to teach you!"
Grace stepped back a little as the dancers brushed close by her. "So – are you saying he might hear tales of how the ball unfolded?" She shrugged. "I suppose that would be normal. I’m sure his mother will want to know. Lady Worthington did ask that a series of subscription balls be held – "
But Merope only laughed again. "It will be far more than simply 'tales' that will reach the earl. You may be very sure that both he and his mother will receive thorough reports of every detail – including the appearance and deportment of all the young unmarried women in attendance here tonight."
Standing a little straighter, and folding her hands very quietly, Grace glanced around the room again. "Every detail," she murmured.
"Oh, quite. That’s why everyone is behaving here exactly as if the earl were present." Merope smiled and almost giggled behind her fan. "I should not be surprised, Grace, if some of the married women here tonight are secretly watching on behalf of the earl and have been instructed to return a full and highly detailed report to him . . . and to his mother."
Grace caught her breath. "I had not – I hadn’t considered such a thing," she whispered, instantly wondering who it could be that would be spying for the earl and his mother.
Just then, a man came up to Merope and invited h
er to dance. He bowed to both her and Grace, and they both curtsied in return. Then Merope was gone to the dance floor. Grace hadn’t caught the man's name, but was beginning to realize that it didn’t much matter.
She told herself that she shouldn’t worry that someone might be talking about her, or any of the women here, to the earl. He had a duty to find a wife and the women here – none more than herself – had a duty to find a husband.
It was a duty not only to herself, but for the good of her family. It was simply something she must do, as dispassionately as possible and with no hope of marrying for love. That was the reality of her situation and Grace knew very well that many women were in far worse straits.
So, as she watched the lovely little songbirds in the prettily colored dresses whirl across the floor with their partners, Grace became more determined than ever to do her duty. No matter what Thomas Worthington might look like, he was the earl and had a fortune— so great that it hardly needed counting.
Grace knew she must do her best to catch him. If she failed in that endeavor, well, perhaps he had a friend or two . . . and she wouldn’t hesitate to set her cap for one of them, if she must.
With most of the partygoers now inside, the music floated out through the open windows of the dining-room-turned-ballroom and out to the street where a fine carriage and a line of smaller carts and gigs settled in to wait for those enjoying themselves inside.
Thomas made himself as comfortable as he could up on the driver's box of the landau. Starling and Raven had settled in to wait and seemed content enough as they watched the other horses traveling past them up and down the street.
Their driver, however, was observing not the horses, but the women – the unmarried women – who took turns stepping out of the increasingly warm and stuffy ballroom to stand for a few minutes on the wooden walkway and enjoy the cool evening breeze.
He sat quietly on the box with his coachman's hat pulled well down to shield his face, watching the young women who came outside to stand and chat together. Thomas saw that his mother's observation was again proven right.
People see what they expect to see.
Most of the ladies did take the opportunity to walk over to the beautiful landau and fine matched pair, now that the crowd was largely inside and they had a better view, and Thomas answered the questions for them.
“What are their names?” One woman asked. It was the fifth time Thomas had answered this question.
"They're called Raven and Starling," he murmured.
“They look quite expensive,” she said. “What kind of horse are they?”
"Norfolk Trotters. Yes, quite pricey indeed," Thomas assured her, gritting his teeth.
“And is this really the earl’s carriage?” she asked.
"Yes, ladies, it is indeed the earl's own carriage."
"Ooh! Where is he? Did he go inside and we missed seeing him?"
Thomas laughed, as he had the last three times he’d been asked this. "No, no. He's not attending tonight. Perhaps the next time."
“Oh. That’s a right shame,” she muttered, clearly disappointed, then turning away.
A few moments later, two other women approached the carriage.
“Can we have a closer look?” one said.
“Certainly,” Thomas replied, watching as they both ran their fingers over the smooth finish of the landau, as they admired the shining black pair that stood in front of it.
"It is all very fine. But we will be back when the earl attends!" one of the girls said.
"Indeed," said her friend, leaning close to her. "The carriage does us little good without the purse to back it up!" With a firm nod, they both went back inside, too.
The other drivers simply glanced at him and saw that he was new, but then, so was the landau and the pair. It was clear to them that he was Earl Worthington's coachman and they were not about to go interrogating one of the earl's men. They simply went on and took care of their own business, no doubt assuming that they would find out soon enough what was going on and who the new driver was.
As Thomas had expected, the other drivers and the servants, and even the guests at the ball were quite happy to allow others to worry about situations that were not their immediate problem. As long as all seemed normal and those in charge were accepting of it, everyone else fell into line and accepted it, too.
Maybe this would not be as difficult as Simon seemed to think it would be.
Thomas was getting better all the time with his Cockney accent. He knew it was actually very poor, but these country folks hardly seemed to notice. When the next group of three women stepped out for a breath of fresh air and came over to the landau to admire it, Thomas touched his hat and spoke to them from his seat up on the box.
"Evening, ladies. It is the earl's carriage, in use tonight by Mr. Clarke and his wife. Do ye like it?"
"Oh, I certainly do!" said the first one, with the reddish hair. "I've never seen such a fine rig."
"And these horses!" said her blonde companion. "Perfectly matched. I cannot imagine that anyone, but the earl could – I mean, could be the owner of such a lovely carriage and pair."
"Oh, quite right, quite right, ladies," said Thomas. "Cost him quite a few quid, too. I couldn't even tell you how much."
"Ooh!" the women exclaimed together. "Do tell us how much!"
After a brief shock – for none of them would ever have dared to say such a thing to the earl's face – Thomas just laughed. "No. When I say I cannot tell you, I mean that I cannot! For I don't know. Stacks and mounds, plenty of pounds, is all I can say to ye."
Both of these pretty young women looked disappointed. "I'd love to know what he paid for this," said the blonde.
"Even a rich man can be stingy. If he really bought this, then he probably isn’t. But I suppose it could have been a gift."
"Or merely inherited. We really should find out," the blonde declared, and the redhead agreed. Then they turned together and walked back inside to the ballroom.
Once they were gone, Thomas sat back and breathed deep of the cool evening air. He would have to remember those two, for – pretty as they appeared, with their fair smooth skin and shining hair and slender figures – they were exactly what he did not want to find.
As he sat waiting up on the box – thinking of all the hard truthful words he had heard tonight from lovely young women who didn’t know who he was – Thomas wondered how many of them might have had the courage to catch hold of a fractious carriage horse and prevent a bad accident, especially while dressed for a ball in fragile kid gloves and little cloth slippers.
Thomas couldn’t see any of them doing any such a thing . . . not a one of them, save Miss Grace Miller.
Chapter Fourteen
The Kitty Kickaway And Two Suspicious Servants
"The Kitty Kickaway is next!" whispered Merope to Grace.
The two of them still stood near the mantel, watching the dancers and all of the men. "Now, I’m certain that you will get an invitation to this one," said Merope. "It’s very good for those new to dancing – quite simple, and quite easy for a partner to lead you through. My mother asked especially that several such tunes be played tonight. Are you ready?"
Grace could only nod. Glancing over the collection of standing men and seated ladies all around the room, she reminded herself that this was what she was here for.
"I suppose I am ready!" Grace answered, feeling a little giddy and excited. At the moment, she couldn’t decide which would be worse: receiving an offer to dance, or not receiving one.
But she did receive one, from a man introduced to her by Merope— a man whose name she immediately forgot. The important thing was that she did manage to step through the Kitty Kickaway with only minor errors as far as which way to turn or when to stand and when to move. Yet, she was beginning to enjoy herself just a little, and when a second man also asked her to dance, she felt a little more confident this time.
Yes, it was enjoyable moving through the dances an
d listening to the pleasant music. There was certainly more than a trace of excitement at being allowed to touch hands with a few polite and agreeable men throughout each dance, as well as making eye contact with them and exchanging a few polite words.
Outside of the coachman she had met in the village – and had seen again this evening out in front of the Inn – it was certainly the most intimate contact she had had with any man. Grace was beginning to understand why so many young women took such delight in dancing. There really was more to it than just coldly shopping for a husband the way one might shop for a cut of mutton or a new pair of boots.
On returning to their spot beside the mantel, Grace and Merope compared notes. "Did you enjoy yourself, Grace? I saw that you danced not only the Kitty Kickaway, but also the Sprigs of Laurel! You’re making me proud."