Waltz 0f The Wallflower (Delicate Hearts Book 1)

by Catherine Mayfair

  Lydia could do nothing but stare at the man. He had referred to her as a donkey and now he went further with his mockery by inviting her to the very place where beasts were used for entertainment? How dare he!

  Thinking of Helen’s words of bravery, Lydia decided that she would defend herself against this man once and for all. No longer would she be willing to take his insults!

  “Your Grace,” she said with as much disdain as she could muster, “though I find your invitation kind…”

  However, she was unable to complete her rejection. Her father, more than likely sensing her intentions, spoke over her. “Lydia would be honored to accompany you to the circus,” he said, narrowing his eyes at Lydia as if daring her to speak against him. “She and Mrs. Ridge can meet you there at, say, two in the afternoon?”

  Lydia had to bite her tongue to keep herself from not only gasping at the audacity of her father, but also to keep herself from shouting at him. Had he no idea what he was asking her to do? In whose company he was forcing her to spend? Of course he did not. His only goal was to see her spending time with a man, no matter which rogue made such a request.

  “Well, now that we have decided that,” her father said as he stood once more, “let us return to my office so we can continue our discussion of business.”

  Lydia did gasp this time. “You are doing business with this man?” she asked, not keeping the accusation from her tone, and she was surprised to see the Duke wince at her words.

  Her father laughed. “Now, Lydia, you know matters of business are for gentlemen. Why do you not work on some of your needlework?”

  Then, to her astonishment, when her father turned to leave, the Duke mouthed two words to her. Two words that kept her awake the entire night.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Chapter Seven

  The crowd milling about outside the Amphitheater was the largest Lydia had ever seen. Men and women from all walks of life were there to attend the circus, a place that transcended class, in that anyone with coin to purchase the entrance fee was allowed to enter, even if the attendees were once again separated by class once inside. Philip Astley had no compunction from whose hand money was taken as long as every hand paid the fee.

  Lydia glanced around with nervousness. Unaccustomed to being in large crowds, she kept a tight hand on her reticule and her eyes on anyone who happened to bump into her, which happened quite often in such a dense group. She and Mrs. Ridge had arrived ten minutes before, and still there was no sign of the Duke, which did little to ease her disquiet.

  “I think we should leave,” Lydia stated, hoping the older woman would not argue. “The Duke must be preoccupied with other matters. I doubt he will even show.”

  Mrs. Ridge smiled. “Yes, it will be a great show.”

  Lydia sighed. The old woman’s hearing was worsening by the day, but Lydia did not have the heart to correct the woman, as did her father, who was reluctant at releasing her from her services. She had come highly recommended by a friend of her father’s, a man who swore that the woman had singlehandedly found his daughter a husband within the first week of service. Plus, her hearing was not the only problem with her inability to hear well; the noise that surrounded them made distinguishing sounds all the more difficult.

  A group of young boys, perhaps no older than twelve, walked past, their cheeks stained with soot and their clothes in desperate need of mending. They walked with confidence despite the fact they were surrounded by many men and woman well above their station.

  When the tallest of them stopped to stand in front of Lydia and Mrs. Ridge, his companions did the same. “Now, that there is a beautiful lady, gents,” he said and then tipped his cap at Lydia.

  A few onlookers glanced her way, and though her cheeks burned with embarrassment, she would have thanked the boy for his polite comment if he had not followed up with “How ‘bout a kiss?” before puckering up his lips at her.

  Lydia gasped in horror as the boys broke out into a bout of laughter before running off.

  “The vile language of the youth!” Mrs. Ridge said. “If I were but ten years younger, I would have blackened both his eyes and beat his nose to pudding.” Lydia had never seen the woman so riled before and went to tell her as much, but then the crowd parted and the Duke appeared, and the words floated away without utterance.

  “Miss Fortescue!” he called out, deepening Lydia’s embarrassment even further. He walked up to them unaware that he had brought unwanted attention to her. “I am so pleased you are here.”

  Lydia gave him a cold nod. “Did you think I would not come?”

  “To be honest, I wondered if I had upset you again.”

  Mrs. Ridge smiled. “It is nice to see you again,” she replied as if the Duke had spoken to her directly.

  Closing her eyes, Lydia forced calmness. Then she opened her eyes once more to find the Duke smiling at her in such a way that made her knees grow weak. Yet, she gathered her courage. She would not allow this man’s charms to make her a milksop! A wallflower she might be, one well on her way to spinsterhood, but she had her good character despite that fact.

  “I see you to appease my father and nothing more,” she said haughtily. “Do not think I am here of my own free will, for I would rather….”

  “Converse in the company of pirates,” the Duke finished for her with a sigh. “I know. Thank you for this single chance to make amends.” He glanced around. “The show will begin soon. Shall we?”

  Though it was the last thing Lydia wanted to do, she nodded. As the crowd around them began to move forward, it forced the trio to move with the flow of people that made their way inside without giving her the slightest chance to change her mind.

  ***

  Lydia had never seen such a magnificent and grand stage. If one were to line men side by side, it would have held fifty men in diameter. The backdrop was a large mural depicting a landscape of rolling green hills with cottages scattered throughout. The walls were covered in canvas, giving it a tent-like feel, but it also seemed to keep the noise of the audience muted, unlike the manner in which voices echoed off the walls at the Royal Theater.

  Lydia sat in the balcony, the Duke on one side of her and Mrs. Ridge on the other. They had acquired seats in the first row, which gave them an unobstructed view of the stage. Mrs. Ridge was enamored with it all as she leaned over the railing, her smile as wide as that of any child.

  “Miss Fortescue,” the Duke said. She pretended to not hear him as she looked over the vast sea of people below them as if they were the most interesting thing she had ever seen. “I realize you hate me.”

  She sighed and turned to him. “I do not hate you. I just do not like you.”

  “Your letter conveyed as much,” he said with a light snort. “For my card last year, I want to apologize. I now realize my mistake.”

  He sounded sorrowful, but Lydia wondered if his words was truly heartfelt. No, she thought, they cannot be. No man could write the horrible things he did and simply be ‘sorrowful’.

  “However,” he continued, “I want you to know that the words I wrote to you came from the heart.”

  “You are unbelievable!” Lydia said, astounded at the audacity of the man. “To tell a woman she looks like a donkey? That is from your heart?”

  The Duke dropped his jaw. “A donkey?” he asked in clear shock. “I said no such thing!”

  Lydia had caught her cousin in a lie once, and that boy had acted much the same by giving a look of shock while inside he was only displeased that he had been caught in his falsehood. “I see your lie for what it is, Your Grace,” she said his title as if it were a curse. “Be a man and admit your wrongdoings. Admit that you are truly a cruel-hearted man.” She glanced at Mrs. Ridge—who sat swaying back and forth though there was no music—glad that the old woman could not hear their conversation. “Your words broke my heart.”

  Though she had sworn she would never give this dastardly man the benefit of seeing her cry, she could do not
hing to stop the tears that leaked from her eyes. She produced a handkerchief and wiped away the offending wetness and turned her attention to the stage, where a man began to speak, much to her relief.

  The Duke, however, did not allow her a moment of reprieve, for he leaned over and said, “I swear on my life that my words were these: ‘You are a flower that rests upon a hill, your beauty calling to all those around it. To witness your comeliness for one breath makes me the richest man in all of England.’” He sighed. “I know they are not the words of a great poet, but they did come from my heart.”

  Lydia felt her chest constrict and her breath difficult to catch. She wanted nothing more than to believe the man, to think his words true. Daring herself, she glanced into his eyes and could find no trace of a lie. Yet, he had fooled her on more than one occasion with his words, like when he sent Lord Egerton to her home. She was no great interpreter of that which lay behind the eyes of others, so it was much too easy for him to trick her into believing what he said.

  “The show is starting,” she said before turning away, hoping he would not see the new tears that fell.

  ***

  The show proved to be better than she had expected. At the moment, a group of singers sang beside the stage as a man stood atop two horses, one foot on the back of each and his hands planted on his hips. Lydia gasped as the two horses split, the legs of the performer stretching until they were straight out on either side. Then, when she thought he could not make it more exciting, he produced a sword that he waved around him without any thought for the fact that his feet were level with his hips! Just as she worried the man would fall off the horses, they turned a perfect half-circle and came back together again, the rider now safe.

  “It is amazing!” Lydia exclaimed, clapping her hands together and adding her applause to the thunder of the other spectators. “Have you ever seen such a thing?”

  “I have not,” the Duke replied, his voice loud in order to be heard above the roar of the crowd. “The man is brave and the animals well-trained.”

  Lydia nodded as another man entered the stage—she learned it was called ‘The Circle’—a torch topped with fire in his hand. The man bowed and then, much to her surprise, placed the burning torch between his teeth. He will burn himself! she thought frantically as the flames flickered near the man’s ear. It was no wonder he kept his head bald! He then lifted a hand and the rider who had just finished his spectacular act rode by and hoisted him up onto the saddle.

  Four more men came out into The Circle, bowing once as four horses charged at them. Lydia covered her mouth, fearing for their safety, but at the last minute—and to the delight of the audience—the men flipped backwards and landed perfectly into the saddles of the horses even as the animals continued to move!

  As Lydia continued to watch in amazement, she could not help but feel eyes resting on her. Hazarding a glance to the side, she was surprised when her eyes locked with those of the Duke.

  “Your Grace?” she asked but he had not been looking at her but rather past her. She turned to find Mrs. Ridge had fallen asleep in her seat, her chin touching her chest and her arms crossed. When Lydia turned back to the Duke, she pulled back when she saw his face near hers.

  “I will do anything to prove I never wrote those horrible things,” he said as the crowd around them erupted into applause once more. “Give me a task, any task. Send me to the farthest ends of the Earth or to the deepest depths of the ocean.” When he reached out and touched her gloved hand, she wondered if her body was devoid of any bones. “Whatever you do, do not ignore me, for my heart cannot take it.”

  She was at a loss for words. Was he speaking lies once again? Yet, what would he gain by saying such things? If he had meant to hurt her before, why would he speak words now that made her want to swoon?

  The people around them began standing; the show had ended, and Lydia had missed the grand finale, if there was one.

  Mrs. Ridge was standing beside her as if she had been awake for the entirety of the show. “A most wonderful display,” she said. “However, we should be leaving before it gets dark and the murderers are let loose on the streets.”

  Rising, Lydia looked at the duke. Could it be true that he did not write those words on the card she had received? Had his words somehow been lost and replaced by those of another? She was uncertain, and feeling more frustrated than before, she could not wait to seek Helen’s advice, for she herself did not have any on which to glean the truth.

  Chapter Eight

  I am uncertain as to what to do,” William lamented as he paced the floor in his parlor. Clancy and Barnard listened; or Clancy seemed to be listening. “Save some biscuits for the rest of us,” William snapped, immediately feeling bad for losing his temper. The biscuits were there and there had been no announcement of rations.

  Clancy nodded and brushed the crumbs from his coat onto the floor. “Sorry.”

  William studied the man for a moment and then asked, “You seem to know a bit about women.” He could scarcely keep himself from laughing. “Tell me, what must I do to capture her heart? For it seems nothing I am doing is seeing success.”

  The man sighed and shot a glance at Barnard. “I think you should tell him the truth.”

  Barnard swore, and William glared at his friend. “What is this? What does he mean?”

  “Well,” Barnard replied with a light chuckle, “last week when you asked what I thought about her reaction to the card you sent? How she said it was mean-spirited?”

  “Yes?” William’s jaw began to tighten. “You told me that she was lying or perhaps going mad. Then you told me she wanted me to invite her to the circus.”

  Barnard licked his lips. “You see, the truth is…” He paused to take a sip from his glass.

  William narrowed his eyes at the man. “Out with it!”

  “Oh, very well, then. The truth is I exchanged your card for another.”

  “You did what?” William asked, his voice rising. “Tell me you are doing your usual weaving of tales. This cannot be true.”

  “I’m afraid it is,” Barnard said. “Consider it a way of paying you back for stealing Alice Pendleton from me.”

  William shook his head in disbelief. “Alice?” he said. “The governess? How did I steal her from you?”

  Barnard crossed his arms over his chest. “I had asked her to join me at the museum, but she declined. It seems you had spoken to her first.”

  “Your head is full of pudding!” William said, trying not to scream but failing miserably. “The woman is ten years older than me, by God! And heartbroken after the loss of her husband during the war. That was not a romantic gesture on my part; I did it as a favor for her aunt.” He shook his head as he tried to calm his agitation. “And you have blamed me for this after all this time?”

  “Yes!” Barnard replied, his tone equal to that of William’s. “Since that day, she has ignored me.” He lowered his voice significantly. “Yet, I hear you two are still close. Very close.”

  William could hear an accusation in his friend’s voice that set his temper to a boil, and for the first time, he thought of striking the man. “You do realize what you have done, do you not?” The man said nothing. “You have hurt Miss Fortescue, allowing her to fret for over a year all because of unwarranted jealousy.” William turned to Clancy. “And you! You said nothing of this to me. Both of you saw how hurt I was. Did you do anything else?” When neither man replied, he shouted, “Tell me!”

  “Well, there was when I called on her.”

  “Yes? And what did you say?”

  “It was all in good fun,” Barnard continued as if he were speaking of a quiet stroll through St. James Park. “I gave her your message just as you asked, though, of course, she did not know that the card was not the one you had sent.” He chuckled. “Let us just say that I encouraged the woman to reply in kind.” He threw his hands in the air. “Oh, do not set up your bristles. It was done in jest. Everyone loves a good joke or two.”r />
  “You make me ill,” William said between clenched teeth, a feeling of betrayal falling on him. “This is no joke; it is sick. Do you realize what you are? A sick man. A very sick man, indeed!”

  Barnard took a step forward, his pale cheeks now red. “Do not act all innocent, Your Grace,” he said, his voice threatening. “It is known throughout the ton what you and Mrs. Pendleton have done. You have taken advantage of her ten times over!”

  William grabbed the man by the shirt. “Leave my house now! You are no friend of mine.”

  Barnard wrenched himself from William’s grip. “Are you mad?”

  “Do not return until you have apologized to both myself and Miss Fortescue!”

  “You are angry with me?” Barnard asked, clearly shocked. “For teasing a wallflower?” The laugh that followed held a layer of disbelief. However, when he spoke again, any bit of mirth had gone. “You will become the laughingstock of London; you do realize this, do you not? Come, Clancy, let us leave this madman to stew in his own juices.”

  The large man stood and stopped in front of William. “I’m sorry, my friend,” he said in a quiet tone. When William only stared at him, Clancy simply sighed and followed Barnard out the door.

  Once the two men had gone, William let out a string of curses as he threw his glass across the room. It was all fine and well for them to play a joke on him, but he felt nothing but pain for the anguish all this fiasco must have caused Miss Fortescue. The poor woman had lived a year believing he had written such horrid things about her. It was no wonder she had been cold or that she had written in kind to him.

  Groaning, he stumbled over to the liquor cart and poured himself another port. He needed to fix this horrendous situation, and quickly. He downed the port in one gulp and slammed the now empty glass on the cart.

  “Hughes!” he called out to his butler.

  Within moments, the man was standing at the door. “Your Grace?”

  “Have my horse prepared. I must leave at once.”