“No one of consequence.” Madeline sighed. “And now Mother has changed her tune about Dalton Ashby. I think I accidentally talked her into considering him.”
“Uh oh,” said Clara, wide-eyed. “That means she’s getting desperate. You two are in for it.”
“You don’t need to tell me. She nudged me about him repeatedly, until I relented and went to talk to him again. Now I’ve promised him a dance later.”
“Are you that set against him?” Grace asked.
“No, I like him well enough. He’s a kind man, with impeccable manners. But I simply feel nothing for him. If I must marry a notch or two below my station, can’t it be to someone I have some true feelings for?”
“One can only hope,” Grace replied, glad she had finally met someone that she felt something for. She’d been jittery all night, waiting for her chance to dance with Mr. Gladstone again.
“I think I’ve finally lost my patience with Mother tonight. Her remarks are grating,” Madeline said.
Grace could see they were more than grating. Though her sister tried to hide it, she was obviously hurt. “Don’t think too much on it. I don’t think she meant it the way it came out. We all know how close you and Father were. Tears aren’t always a measure of grief. I just think you haven’t let yourself grieve fully. And you should. Believe me, I should know.”
Madeline remained stoic, but Grace noticed how her jaw was clenched in her effort to stem the tide of emotions.
“There she is!” interrupted Clara. She pointed across the ballroom.
Madeline quickly thrust Clara’s hand back to her side. “Have you no manners, Clara?”
“I’m sorry. But Grace, look!” she whispered. The blonde girl in the ruby red dress over by the punch bowl. That’s Felicia. The girl I told you about.”
“The one who was courted by Garrett Gladstone?” Grace scanned the room and found the girl. She found her easily—her shiny blonde hair swept up and arranged in a neat twist, with a few long curls trailing down by her ears. Her figure was far more enticing than Grace’s, and her dress was a confection of brilliant red silk trimmed in white lace and dainty white satin bows. She drew admiring glances from all the men nearby.
How can I measure up to a girl like that?
“Her dress is stunning,” Clara breathed, echoing Grace’s own thoughts. “It must have cost a fortune.”
“Isn’t that Felicia Browning?” Madeline asked. “Mother said Mr. Gladstone is only an attorney—how did he captivate the attention of a Browning? Her mother is almost as powerful as Alice Dwight in society circles, and their family has more holdings, as well.”
“I heard there was a stir over it,” Clara whispered. “Felicia likes getting her own way, and would not be deterred in her ardor toward Mr. Gladstone. She nearly caused a scene in public once, so her parents relented and allowed them to become engaged. She’s quite spoiled.”
“He’s engaged?”
“No,” Clara added quickly, “they broke it off ages ago.”
“Good,” Madeline said in a clipped manner. “I’d have a difficult time holding my tongue if I found out a man deliberately led my sister on, when he’s courting another.” She smiled at Grace. “If things work out with him, Mother’s nagging could end sooner than we hoped…for you, at least.”
Grace clasped her hands together to keep from fidgeting. How much longer until he returns to claim his dance? The wait was simply unbearable.
Chapter Seven
As Garrett swept Lucinda Lowell across the dance floor, he tried to smile and pretend to enjoy himself, but he wished he could be anywhere else.
That’s not true. You want to be at Grace’s side.
He caught glimpses of her every time he passed her side of the ballroom. She’d just left the floor after dancing with a man he knew to be coarse, and a heavy imbiber. Before that, she danced with a man fifteen years her senior, who must have been the most unattractive man in the room. He wasn’t sure which was harder—seeing her dance with a handsome, rich dandy, or seeing her with men who were clearly unfit to dance with a woman as fine as Grace.
It galled him to think that most of the people in the room would consider her two last dance partners to be far better matches for Grace than he would. His thoughts got the best of him, and Lucinda gasped as he stepped on her toes for the third time. “I’m terribly sorry,” he apologized again.
“No harm done.” She smiled, but the smile was wearing thinner.
Why on earth did Aunt Alice coerce me into dancing? She knows I hate it. He would dance when necessary, but he preferred engaging in stimulating conversation, where he knew he could hold his own. Yet she’d wheedled him, playing on his sympathies for the unattached females, because the inclement weather had resulted in a few missing male invitees, and therefore an uneven number of men and women.
He passed Grace again, but this time instead of smiling at him, she was deep in conversation with her mother and sister. Was he fooling himself that she seemed to care for him? She’ll just break your heart in the end, Garrett. These Brahmin girls may toy with men like you, but they’ll never marry you. Just look at what happened with Felicia. She tossed you aside like garbage, then turned around and told you that you could “always be friends.”
And they were friends...of a sort. Felicia had occasionally implied that she might want more—meaning that she wanted to sneak around, behind her mother’s back—but Garrett wasn’t that kind of man. He’d seen her attend social events when her family stayed in New York, on the arm of various wealthy men. He wasn’t interested in being anyone’s secret affair.
How do you know Grace won’t do the same thing?
He didn’t. But he just couldn’t imagine Grace being that way. He’d asked around, when he first met her four years earlier. She was known for being generous and kind, and having a soft heart.
But she’s a Brahmin girl, with a Brahmin mother. Grace’s choices may not be her own.
“Ow!” Lucinda cried as his shoe caught the edge of hers.
“I’m so sorry.” He felt his face heating.
“That’s alright.” But her expression told him it wasn’t quite alright.
I didn’t step on Grace’s foot a single time. Dancing with her felt natural, as if it took no effort at all. He hadn’t even needed to think about the steps…he was just lost in her eyes, and somehow his feet followed.
Fortunately Lucinda was much more milder-mannered than her friends, Eliza and Viola, who had regarded him with cold stares when Lucinda accepted his invitation to dance. He wouldn’t ask them to dance, no matter how much Aunt Alice wheedled.
When the dance ended, Lucinda thanked him and made a hasty retreat—probably worried that he’d ask her for another dance. But he didn’t want to dance with Lucinda or anyone else…except Grace Barstow.
He was tired of playing games. He didn’t care if other men thought it was rude to monopolize Grace. He’d waited four years. He wasn’t going to wait another moment.
The truth was, no one had ever made him feel the way Grace did. Maybe he was fooling himself—he’d spent a mere half-hour with the girl. But he hadn’t stopped thinking about her in the four years since he’d first met her, and he didn’t believe he’d ever stop thinking about her, unless he took a chance and saw it through. He might be risking his heart, but Grace was worth it.
Wasn’t she?
Chapter Eight
Madeline watched the dancers stepping and twirling across the dance floor, and soaked in the music…and lack of nagging. It wouldn’t be long before their mother discovered them congregating on the far side of the dance floor, and ordered them to disperse and socialize.
“Oh, you’re here!” a voice piped up behind them.
The girls turned and found themselves face to face with the prim Eliza Canton, flanked by her two best friends, Viola Winthrop and Lucinda Lowell.
“Why wouldn’t we be here?” Madeline asked, assuming a pleasant mask.
Madeline loathe
d Eliza and her cohorts. They all came out the same year, and in rehearsals for the event, the three girls had been miserable wretches to her, for no reason whatsoever. They wielded the most power of the girls their age, and they enjoyed lording that power over others. Especially Eliza.
“Oh, it’s just that with all you’ve been through, and now your terrible situation…” Eliza bit her lip, obviously trying to stifle a grin.
“What ‘situation’ is that?” Grace asked.
Madeline sensed what was coming, and gripped Grace’s wrist at her side. “Don’t,” Madeline whispered, hoping they could end the conversation and escape with their dignity intact.
But it was too late.
“Why, your financial ruin, of course!” Eliza placed a hand over her heart. “I was just sick with concern when I heard about it.”
“I’m sure you were,” Clara muttered.
Madeline froze in horror, unable to utter a word.
“Thank you for your concern, Eliza,” Grace cut in. “It’s very kind of you.”
“Now, I don’t want you to worry. I heard that you’re losing your home on Beacon Street, but I wouldn’t dream of letting you live on the streets, like some kind of common strumpet…would I, Viola?”
The insinuation was so vile and insulting that one could not even address it without feeling vulgar.
Viola shook her head in response to Eliza’s rhetorical question, her lips pressed together to hide her mirth.
Eliza continued her verbal assault. “The Barstows are far too important in society…or…at least you were…to let that happen. So you be sure to tell your mother that if she can’t find a flat to rent, I can speak with my mother and see if you can live over our carriage house.”
At this, a titter escaped Lucinda’s lips.
“Now, it may be a little smelly from the horses below, but I’m sure you can adjust. We could put you in the house, but truly, that won’t do—we have some very important guests from time to time, and we certainly couldn’t put them in the carriage house, could we?”
Beside her, Madeline could sense Clara was about to explode, but the humiliation made her own head spin, and she was in no condition to intervene.
Much to Madeline’s relief, Grace took charge. “Enjoy your evening, Eliza.” Grace gave the three vile girls a curt nod, then took her sisters by the elbows and led them away.
“I will,” Eliza called after them. “I hope you all do, too. I know gowns are expensive, so this might be your last ball.” Her voice dripped with false sympathy, and her cohorts burst into rude laughter as they walked away.
“Everyone heard. They’re looking at us!” hissed Madeline.
“I’m sure that’s not true,” Grace soothed.
But there were unmistakable whispers and stares in their direction as they made their way through the crowded edges of the ballroom. Eliza’s display hadn’t been that loud, which could only mean the unthinkable.
The rumors had already spread.
Clara vibrated with anger. “That stupid Eliza. She’s so vulgar! I would never have been so cruel.” Tears sparkled in Clara’s eyes.
“Don’t let them see you cry,” Grace whispered. “We’re Barstows. The behavior of others doesn’t affect us. Let them gossip. We will hold our heads up high.”
“What’s the matter?” Miriam appeared before them. “Clara looks distressed.”
Clara blinked away the tears and morphed her lips into a strained, pleasant expression. “I’m fine, Mother.”
“She’s not fine,” Madeline muttered. “Nothing will ever be fine again. They know.”
“Oh, Madeline, stop with your paranoia…” Miriam sighed.
“She’s not paranoid this time,” Grace whispered. “She’s right. Everyone knows. Look around you.”
Their mother’s eyes flitted about the room. Though most people were still engaged in lively conversation or dancing, there were, sprinkled throughout the room, several people who were staring in their direction, speaking in hushed voices. Worry passed over her face, before she fixed her expression into a stony look of impassivity.
Miriam lowered her voice. “Then we have work to do, girls. Madeline, you need to find Mr. Ashby and get him to dance with you now. Charm him with everything you have, Madeline. Then try to get him alone and break the news on your own, in your own way. We have no choice. They’ll all know by evening’s end, and we have to get ahead of this disaster and somehow make it work to our advantage. Grace, you’ll do the same thing with Mr. Gladstone. Since he’s more of a man of potential than of actual high standing, it shouldn’t be too difficult to assuage his concerns. But Mr. Ashby is another thing.”
“Dalton Ashby has been in love with Madeline forever,” whispered Clara. “I can’t imagine financial difficulties would sway him now, when years of cold looks from you and Father never did. Besides, he has resources of his own. He doesn’t need more money, does he?”
“He’s nouveau riche, my dear. They have plenty of money, and making more every day, so their goal is always a higher place in society. You can’t achieve that by marrying a woman from a disgraced family.”
“We’re hardly disgraced, Mother. Embarrassed, perhaps, but not disgraced. We still have our connections…”
“You underestimate the cruelty of our kind,” Madeline snapped, her voice wavering. “They are much like ravening wolves, prowling through the night in search of the weakest animal to make their next prey.”
“I can’t let myself believe they’d be so cruel,” Grace whispered, her lower lip trembling.
“Was Eliza’s joke not cruel?” Madeline snapped, turning to Grace, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. “Do you not see that this is only the beginning?”
Grace had no response. Madeline knew her sister always wanted to believe the best of others, but as they watched the rumor visibly spreading, with one person leaning in to another, Grace would soon have to face reality. The news was infesting the ballroom, making its way slowly through the crowd like gangrene through an injured limb. There was no stopping it.
“We’ve no time to waste,” Miriam hissed. “Do as you’re told. And Clara, you watch your sisters. If you see anyone making a move to interrupt their conversations and possibly spread the news to either man, you must intervene somehow, and keep the offender occupied.”
The girls parted ways, each off to find their intended target.
After a brief search, Madeline found Dalton, taking a glass of wine from a servant’s tray.
“We meet again, Mr. Ashby.” Madeline said, assuming a pleasant expression. She hoped her eyes weren’t red-rimmed. She had barely held back the tears.
“It seems we do.” He took a sip, avoiding her gaze and looking out over the partnered couples on the dance floor.
She could scarcely take a breath, feeling as if her corset had been pulled too tight. “I…I would like to tell you about something. It’s not very pleasant, but…you’ll learn soon enough…”
Mrs. Ashby, his mother, passed by, flicking a stern glance in their direction before melting into the crowd.
“I’ve…uh…been meaning to tell you something as well.” He took an inappropriately large gulp from his glass, then blew out a breath. “I’ve been thinking, and I realized how unfair I’ve been to you.”
“Unfair?” Her knees went weak. He knows!
“Yes. I’ve been taking advantage of your kindness, monopolizing your time, when we both know your mother doesn’t approve.”
“Oh, but she—”
He held up a hand. “It’s alright. You don’t have to be kind on my account. I apologize for taking up so much of your time, and depriving you of a more suitable match. I think it was is I took a step back and let other men have their fair shot.” Then his face softened, and he met her gaze for one brief moment. “I cannot express how very sorry I am.”
Her stomach roiled. He was rejecting her! She, Madeline Barstow, daughter of one of the most elite Brahmin families, was being rejected by Dalt
on Ashby, the son of a “new money” mill owner!
Madeline forced her smile wider. “How kind of you, Dalton, to take Mother’s opinions into account. I was just telling Mother what a kind and decent man you are.” She swallowed against the bile that rose in her throat, and gathered her pride, tilting her chin a little higher. “And of course, I’ll always consider you a dear friend, even after I’m married.”
“Married?” His brow furrowed. “I didn’t realize you were already engaged.”
She saw the blow it was to him, and some small-minded part of her took joy in that. “No, I’m not engaged. Not yet. But I think I’m tired of Mother saying ‘no’ to every suitor I encounter. It may be time for me to make a choice on my own.”
“You don’t say?” He paled, looking down at his drink.
The muscles in his jaw tensed, and Madeline knew she’d hit her mark. He’d be sorry, alright—sorry for losing his chance with the woman he had pursued for two years.
“Yes, indeed. I thank you so much for being so…forthright. It has made everything so much easier. Good evening, Mr. Ashby.”
“Good evening, Miss Barstow.”
She turned and walked away, drawing on every ounce of self-control to keep herself upright, head high, and walking at an even pace…rather than fleeing, as every fiber in her being wanted to do.
***
Grace made her way through the ballroom, searching the crowd desperately for Garrett. She spotted him on the dance floor, and reluctantly returned to her mother’s side to wait for another chance.
“He’s dancing.”
“Hopefully your sister is having better luck.”
Grace followed her mother’s gaze to where Madeline was speaking to Dalton in the corner. Clara hovered nearby, watching the room while she pretended to drink a cup of punch. A moment later, Madeline had returned, with Clara following close behind.
“He already knows,” Madeline announced, her tone flat and her gaze downcast. “I knew the moment he opened his mouth. He couldn’t even meet my eyes.”
The Brahmin Ball (A Sweet Historical Romance Novella) (Brahmin Brides Book 1) Page 4