by Sally Orr
Eighteen
Lady Sarah slipped her arm under Meta’s. “I invited twenty-two of the Season’s brightest diamonds to the ball tonight. Are you pleased?”
“I think so.” Meta patted her friend’s hand and glanced around the ballroom. All of the chandeliers were lit, so the room appeared bathed in light that sparkled off the tall pier looking glasses standing between each of the twelve darkened windows. On the parquet ballroom floor, only three full sets of guests danced the quadrille. As a result, the dancer’s noticeable footsteps drew unnecessary attention due to their awkward echo in such a grand room. Of course, the night was early yet, and many revelers liked to arrive fashionably late. If they failed to come, she feared George’s attendance might be the reason.
Meta’s friends had planned this ball to make amends for the publication of their field guide. Their strategy was to shower their attentions upon George, and in doing so, prove to all of London his desirability and respectability. Meta doubted the success of this endeavor, because the Season had ended several months ago, so society in London had grown thin. Perhaps the ball would be a failure, because no one remained in town to accept Lady Sarah’s invitation? Her jaw clinched. “Oh, I hope more people arrive soon.”
“Don’t fret,” Lady Sarah said. The diamonds set in silver hanging around her neck reflected the brilliant candlelight in random flashes of light. “All of the young ladies will be interested in dancing with your Mr. Drexel, I’m sure.”
“He’s not mine, you know. And whether or not the Season’s diamonds will have the courage to stand up in his company is yet to be determined.” The thought of George snubbed by the ladies, and the cut observed in such a large company as this one, terrified her. Her palms dampened. A cut direct from anyone might lead to even further damage to his reputation. If that event came to pass, she’d never be able to forgive herself.
“I ended up inviting over three hundred people tonight, so don’t be so dashed down. There are enough ladies here that are on our side already, so with their help, it will not appear like society is giving him the cut. On the contrary, if we all do our part, he will be remarked upon as a popular gallant once again.”
Meta smiled at her friend. “I hope you’re right.” All she could do now was wait to see if the scandal of the field guide kept people away or if the invitation for a ball at Stainthorpe House proved irresistible.
“I’m confident our little plan will work. It must.” Lady Sarah stood on her toes to survey the room. “I do not see Mr. Drexel yet. Have you seen him?”
“No, not yet. I must confess I’m a little worried on that score.” She addressed Lady Sarah. “What if he changes his mind and fails to come?”
Lady Sarah took Meta’s gloved hand and patted it in return. “I must confess that, unlike our other guests, he did not receive a mere paper invitation, but I myself paid a call and invited him personally.”
Meta felt the blood drain from her face.
“No, no, please do not distress yourself,” Lady Sarah said. “I didn’t discuss the ball and our scheme to lessen the scandal of the book. First, I apologized on behalf of the Learned Ladies, and he seemed to take it well. I cannot remember his exact response; however, I do remember it was short, but polite. I then gave him my personal invitation to the ball, because I mentioned his efforts on the tunnel to my father. His lordship is truly interested in Mr. Brunel and the tunnel—in his own way.” She stopped and smiled. “Although, my mention of a single, young gentleman in need of my help piqued his interest the most. His first questions about Mr. Drexel were naturally the suitability of the gentleman as a potential suitor. Remember that race he sponsored last year?”
Both women giggled. “Of course,” Meta said. “I remember several of us were hiding behind the curtains when your father stepped onto that balcony and challenged London’s bachelors to a race. I don’t think any event as remarkable as that one will ever be heard in a London square again.”
“That was the most ridiculous speech ever made.” Lady Sarah nodded. “I don’t feel guilty about not falling in love with any of the five winners—not in the least. Really, I don’t. However”—she sighed—“it was a shocking waste of funds. Serves him right. Did I ever tell you about that little man who competed in the ‘Loyalty to the King and Crown’ challenge? What a character he was.”
“Is that the gentleman that kissed a sovereign after each step of his journey?”
Lady Sarah stifled an outburst. “Yes, and after he kissed the sovereign, he vowed, ‘Your wish is my command, my liege.’”
They both laughed loud enough that their indiscretion needed to be masked by holding their gloved hands over their mouths.
Then Lady Sarah let out a blissful sigh. “Although, there were so many gentlemen with wonderful tales who competed in the ‘Service to a Lady’ challenge. Their stories forever changed my negative opinion about gentlemen into a positive one.”
Meta laughed. “Yes, dear, but didn’t most of those tales end up with the winner marrying the lady they performed the service for? Marriage with some other lady, not you. Surely you did not expect your father to bestow a prize on a bachelor who was no longer eligible?”
“Of course not. But it did warm my heart and give me hope, where previously I had none. Hope that one day, I too will find a remarkable gentleman for my husband. Speak of the…” She turned to Meta and winked. “Oh no, here comes Father. Please forgive him; he is rather grumpy at the moment. This is the first ball held in the history of Stainthorpe House in which I have chosen the guests, and none of them are those museum pieces he usually invites.”
“Do you mean your father has finally given up his matchmaking?”
“I wouldn’t go that far.” Lady Sarah grinned. “More like a lull in the battle. He has been complaining about the uncivilized rabble here tonight. So you’d do me a great service if you would listen to his grievances and let him speak his mind. Now please excuse me.” Lady Sarah adjusted her gold headband. “There is Mr. Symthes over by the fireplace. I doubt he would ever perform a romantic Service to a Lady, but he is very dashing. Don’t you agree? Perhaps if I stand near, he’ll ask me for a waltz.” She laughed. “Fingers crossed.”
“Best of luck.” Meta glanced at Mr. Symthes. Indeed, he was handsome, but his coloring was too light for her taste. She favored dark gentlemen, like George.
This hasty pronouncement set her aback. She had always admired her husband’s reddish blond hair. Especially when the golden strands took on a multicolored hue when the sunlight was just right. When had she begun to greatly admire gentlemen with dark hair?
Lady Sarah managed the timing of her elegant withdrawal from Meta’s side without raising her father’s suspicion of being avoided.
The earl ambled her way with a slight limp. His expression spoke of something on his mind. “Ah, delighted to see you, Mrs. Russell. Delighted, indeed.” His richly embroidered and embellished square coat and satin breeches belonged in the previous century.
“Good evening, your lordship,” Meta bowed. “Thank you for the invitation tonight. It appears your daughter’s ball has the makings of a great success.”
“A success, you say! Have you looked about you, ma’am?” He randomly waved his hand. “In my day, there was sympathy between dress and manners, but look how society has fallen. Now all decorum is lost in actual rudeness. You must have noticed the mingle-mangle dancing the waltz? Never have I seen a more course and vulgar romp. Everybody spinning like tops and jumping like squirrels.”
Meta hid her smile behind her gloved hand. “Well, sir, the minuet is out of fashion.”
The earl sighed and wiped his brow with an overlarge lace handkerchief. “Ah, the minuet is a refined and dignified exercise, demanding a manly carriage and a firm step. The only dance a fellow need learn. I still remember m’ sister practicing with her dance master. A tablecloth tied to her back, so she could learn proper deportment with a train. Ah, happy days, happy days indeed.” He glared at the d
ancers in the middle of a set. “But these smirking quadrillers, nothing more than stuffed dandies whose sex may be readily mistaken.” He lowered his voice. “Or shall I say, whose sex is of no consequence. None of these romping privies could ever make a suitable husband for my daughter, mark my words.”
“What sort of gentleman do you have in mind to court your daughter?”
A smile broke across his heavily lined face. “I can see the fellow now. A bold, manly carriage, dignified mien, weapon on his belt, and a tricorne hat.”
“Despite the differences in clothes and lack of weapon, I believe many of the gentlemen here tonight fit that description.”
“Humph. If you say so.”
Without meaning to, she pictured George as the earl’s perfect suitor. He certainly possessed a bold and manly carriage. Next she imagined him in a uniform, a weapon at his side. Her mouth dried. When had the man she once described as an upside-down pile of coal transformed into an imaginary leader of a great army?
“Tell me, ma’am, is this guest I’m not allowed to speak about here yet?”
Meta surveyed the room but failed to find George. “Not yet, your lordship.”
“I understand this fellow messes about under the river. Heard all about this Frenchman, Brunel, at m’ club. Astonishing thing, tunneling. After all, the Thames is an open privy—do beg pardon. Don’t see how any fellow can get within twenty feet, much less want to tunnel under the thing. I mean men are men, certainly not moles. Don’t you agree?”
“I think you will find this Mr. Drexel is a remarkable gentleman. He’s an engineer, you know. One of the new breed of gentlemen building what will become a more successful Britain. Bridges are his main area of interest, but the tunnel is a great opportunity for him to obtain influential connections. Gentlemen with the skill to persuade Parliament or local governments to issue public works contracts.”
He blew a puff of air. “Men filling the countryside with bridges looking like piles of iron sticks or belching steam engines. It’s just not right, not the thing for a gentleman to mess about with, I say. No, it’s the land, mother England, that makes all Englishmen who we are.”
“You may change your mind after a conversation with Mr. Drexel. But please, your lordship, try to not mention him in any capacity other than as one of your guests.”
“Yes, yes, you sound like m’ daughter.” With that observation and a bow, he took his leave.
Meta turned to watch the couples on the dance floor. Within the last twenty minutes, the ball had undergone a transformation. Earlier, the ball lingered in that awkward time when not enough people mingled with strangers. Instead, they kept in small groups of their previous acquaintances. Now, however, the boisterous noise of music and conversation shouted between revelers, over a hundred dancing in front of her, indicated the ball should be a success.
Meta’s spirits lifted, and she tapped her foot along with the lively music.
Devised with the good intentions of the Learned Ladies Society, this soiree’s popularity should make amends to Mr. Drexel over the scandal created by the ladies’ field guide. Some little part of Meta found irony in the thought that a man who once penned his own field guide now found himself on the receiving end of the experience. Still, his angry words had left her with sleepless nights and a lack of appetite.
Tonight this would all change. Tonight it would continue to go well or collapse into disaster. If tonight went well, she’d right the wrong she had inadvertently caused, and most important of all, their relationship might be restored to the affection they achieved after their shared afternoon of passion. But if the guests cut George and the ball failed… Her palms dampened and her stomach turned into a lead ball. Refusing to consider any other outcome, she decided to keep busy so as not to dwell on the possible consequences.
Meta headed over to speak with Sybella, standing by the refreshments. As she passed a large gilt looking glass, she checked her dress. Tonight she wore her best silk gown, the expensive one she normally was too frightened to wear for fear of ruining it. The sky blue silk shimmered under an almost transparent white overdress, while small rosettes in straw-colored silk trailed along the bottom of the bodice and hem.
Sybella noticed her approach and waved her closer. “Did you see that? Clara is dancing with that James Codlington again. I understand he doesn’t have a feather to fly with now.”
“James?”
Her friend wore a guilty blush. “Yes, of course, you are acquainted with him. Do you believe there might be expectations in that quarter?”
Meta observed the two dancing. Much to her surprise, they appeared to share confidences. James laughed at Clara’s occasional whispered witticisms.
Lily stood by the punch bowl, watching her former suitor.
Meta could read Lily’s expression like a book. Her sister stewed, yet made no move to join the couple. Minutes later, she spied Lily sitting with some friends. It was clear Lily found a safe harbor in her friends’ company, yet Meta couldn’t help but notice that her sister’s gaze rarely left James since their arrival. Lily had created this estrangement, so she was responsible for her own future. Meta had no regrets on that score. She truly wished James happiness in whomever he chose for his future wife.
A whiff of lavender announced the arrival of Grizel. Tonight her black curls had been tamed into a tall coiffure accented with a striped green peasant feather, while a Scottish plaid sash on one shoulder accented her striking emerald gown. “Oh, look, Mr. Drexel has arrived.”
The three women spun to find George standing in the doorway the moment his name was called. Tonight he appeared very proper in appropriate black attire and very dashing due to his broad shoulders and confident movements. The very amused twinkle in his darks eyes bespoke of an earlier libation.
Meta held her breath. Would a member of society give him the cut direct in front of everyone?
The room hushed for several seconds and the dancers stilled, causing the orchestra to stop playing.
George remained unmoving and merely lifted a sardonic brow.
Meta noticed some of the dowagers whisper and point in his direction.
Lady Sarah, in a gesture that Meta would remember forever, immediately strode over to join him wearing her brightest smile. After a bow and curtsy in return, she led him down the stairs, gave a nod for the orchestra to begin, and provided introductions to her father and two other friends.
Meta vowed to love her friend as long as she lived. She took a deep breath, relaxed a little, and continued to watch him. While he obviously failed to look in her direction or catch her eye, everyone seemed to greet him without reservation. Her heart soared. She turned to resume conversation with her friends, but underneath her layers of silk skirts, she danced a little jig.
Then something amazing happened. Her sister must have derived inspiration from Lady Sarah’s forthright move to engage George in conversation, because Lily suddenly stood, strode forward with determination, and joined the party in conversation around James. After what appeared to be a few seconds of awkwardness, the entire group shared a laugh and exchanged smiles.
The dancers were then called for the next set, and once again, the boisterous noise returned to the ballroom.
Meta almost sang with joy when she noticed James and Lily take their position on the floor for the next Scottish reel. Her greatest hopes of the ball’s success had now come true.
If the ladies or their mothers had lingering reservations about George, they were removed soon after he engaged in a long conversation with the earl. When finished, any apparent reservation felt by the ladies present appeared to have flown, since many of them gathered around him, silently seeking an invitation to dance.
Meta watched him carefully as he offered his arm to a stunning blonde. As they began to dance, she noticed the other ladies on the floor seemed unable to stop staring at him. Relieved by his popularity, she couldn’t help but wonder if he might claim her hand for a dance. Three dances later, as she and
Lady Sarah stood to the side discussing the successful ball, she noticed George head in their direction. She swallowed loudly, causing Lady Sarah to pat her hand in comfort. Had George forgiven her, enough to ask her for a dance?
George stood tall before them. Politely and with much gallantry, he asked to partner Lady Sarah in the next waltz.
Her friend agreed, and he bowed in return.
During the entire exchange, he neither glanced at her nor caught her eye. He kept to his word, and soon led Lady Sarah onto the floor when the next set was called.
Two dances later, as she stood against the wall talking with Clara, she caught his gaze. The fierce storm in his dark eyes unsettled her.
A smile briefly flickered across his lips before it turned into a scowl, which then vanished and transformed into exaggerated, feigned gaiety. He strode up to them and bowed. Oozing politeness and deference, he requested the next set from Clara, once again leaving her standing without a partner.
Clara giggled, a blush staining her cheeks. “Oh, I would be so honored, sir.”
“I’d be delighted.” He bowed again. “I have been in the company of too many widows all evening. It will be a refreshing change to partner a handsome, young lady.”
Clara furtively glanced at Meta before they headed in the direction of James and Lily, who waited on the ballroom floor for their second dance.
Meta’s cheeks heated. If earlier she possessed some amount of courage, that fortitude had now decidedly fled. Maybe later, before the end of the ball, she might recover from his snub and approach him for a casual, polite greeting only. As she headed toward another friend of hers, she heard several people mention her name in a low whisper. One individual said her name followed by the word “tainted.” Could George’s cuts have become obvious to everyone in the room, and as a result, the guests considered her to be the one socially tainted? Or did she imagine it because of her overset nerves? She shrugged off this ominous feeling and headed toward James to join him for their previously arranged waltz.