“Indeed,” William replied.
Helen stood, causing William to bound out of his chair. “The hour grows late,” she said, giving Lydia a pointed look that said it was time for her to say goodbye.
“Yes,” Lydia said, also rising. “I am glad you were there when we needed you.”
“As am I,” William replied, and when he smiled, that weak feeling came over Lydia once more. “As long as you are both safe, I am happy.”
As they walked to the door, William stopped. “The party Lord Buchanan will be hosting this weekend…”
“I will see you there,” Lydia blurted before she could stop herself. What was wrong with her? She composed herself once more and said, “I look forward to seeing you there if you will be in attendance.”
“‘To gaze at a flower for one breath,” William recited, “I would not miss the chance.’”
His words from the poem he had said he had written for her, the one she had not received, made her breath catch. Then he smiled, gave her a polite nod, and hurried out the door.
Upon closing the door, Helen placed an arm around Lydia’s shoulders. “Let’s get you to bed, lest love causes you to fall over”
“Love?” Lydia asked in shock. “How will I know if this is truly love?”
“Trust me,” the woman said with a light chuckle, “you will know when the time comes.”
Chapter Eleven
The décor in the home of Lord Henry Buchanan, Marquess of Parshalstown, was a gaudy affair, at least in Lydia’s opinion, with its gold-threaded tapestries that hung along the walls. Guilt etching on the ceiling and framing the paintings of Buchanans long gone only added to the garishness. Three chandeliers hung above the guests where one would have been more than enough to provide light, the crystals etched with gold flowers, of course. As a matter of fact, the Marquess had added gilt to so many items in the room, she was surprised not to find gold flakes in the icing on the cakes or in the middle of the tarts that lined the refreshment table.
Lydia had arrived only moments ago with Mrs. Ridge to chaperon, and Lord Buchanan’s daughter, Lady Matilda Buchanan, was making quite the spectacle of herself. The woman stood beside a tall vase of flowers, fanning herself as she complained to a large group of men gathered around her about how ‘scorchingly hot’ it was and how the heat made her thirst. More than half rushed off to get her a drink, and as each man returned, she whimpered about one thing or another, — “Much too sweet.” “A bit dry.” “Too bitter for my delicate palate.” — sending more men rushing off like a herd of cattle in search of another glass that would satisfy her. Lydia wondered how she could have been hot in the ivory gown she wore with its revealingly low neckline and skirts of such sheer muslin one could make out the form of her legs beneath it.
“Decency is all but gone,” Mrs. Ridge said as she and Lydia headed to a row of chairs. “Lady Matilda might as well remove her gloves and give the men a show!” Lydia tried to suppress a giggle, but the older woman sniffed in annoyance. “Why, when I was but a young woman, it was unheard of to even look at a man, even in conversation.”
“Is that so?” Lydia asked. She had never heard of such stringent rules.
“Oh, yes, my dear. We lived under very strict guidelines of society back then, not like the wild ways of women today.”
Lydia wanted to laugh. The woman was mad if she thought today’s standards allowed women any freedoms! If anything, they were just as suppressed now as they had been since the beginning of time. More than likely they would remain so until the end.
As the older woman prattled on, Lydia pretended to listen, though her mind was elsewhere. Tonight, the Duke would be arriving, and he would hand Mrs. Ridge her card. Truth be told, she was confused as to what to do about it. It was not that she did not want to dance with the man, for she did. They had made something of a connection that night when she and Helen had been accosted. However, she was still unsure of his motives. It was a horrible way to think of the man, for he had saved the life of herself and Helen, but with each Season came new rumors she overheard about herself, and the lack of cards that came her way dwindled each year. That last said enough in itself.
The problem with which she struggled was having the general confidence to be in the company of men. Helen had pointed out this fact before, and it was not until this very night that she finally accepted it to be true. Her life was not horrible, for she was thankful for the nice things she owned; however, when it came to socializing, she was greatly lacking.
Closing her eyes, she thought of her mother. She could just make out the woman’s beauty and strength, most she recognized because Helen reminded her often of it. According to the woman, Lydia had inherited it, as well. If that was true, then it was about time she used it.
A man’s voice came to her ear. “I would like to request a dance with Miss Fortescue,” he said.
“Lydia, my dear,” Mrs. Ridge said.
Finally! Lydia thought. He has arrived. Smiling, she replied “I accept!” only to open her eyes and find not William standing before her but rather Mr. Clancy Sparking with his rotund body and cheerful smile. Her heart sank even as she rose from her chair. She had agreed to dance with him; it was not his fault she had not seen first with whom she was agreeing. Plus, he was a nice man. Unfortunately, he was not the Duke.
“Keep your gloves on,” whispered Mrs. Ridge, and Lydia thought she would die from embarrassment.
Mr. Sparking scrunched his brow, and Lydia rushed to say, “Shall we dance, then?” She hoped he would not ask her about the woman’s strange order, for she doubted rather highly she could explain it to anyone.
“I wanted to tell you that William will be arriving momentarily,” Mr. Sparking said as he led her to the dance area. “He was caught up with some sort of business meeting and wanted me to inform you that he has not forgotten you.”
Lydia knew her cheeks had to be blazing, for she felt their heat. “It is kind of you to inform me,” she said.
Mr. Sparking nodded in response and they took their places in their prospective lines. Lydia had only danced a handful of times in the last three Seasons, and she could not help but be nervous. Despite the expectation that every lady dance at least once at every function, one or two were neglected, many much like Lydia herself. Therefore, it was as if every woman had her eyes on Lydia if their sneers were any judgment. Even Lady Matilda seemed to take time away from her flirting to stare at her.
Doing her best to ignore their gazes, Lydia focused on the new dance and began her paces. Her heart thudded so loudly, she swore everyone could hear it above the music, and everything told her to run before she embarrassed herself. However, it was not she who did the act that left her embarrassed; when the servants entered the room with trays of food, Mr. Sparking’s eyes grew as large as his stomach.
“I haven’t eaten real food in an hour,” he said, “and sweets just cannot fill me.” Then, much to her horror, he rushed past her, leaving her quite alone in the middle of the dance floor.
With her cheeks burning anew, she turned her back on the women who sat laughing behind their hands or fans and returned to Mrs. Ridge. What a dilemma! Could her first dance in years have gone any worse than it had this night?
***
An hour passed without another request to dance, and Lydia considered leaving. It felt as if every eye was focused on her and her humiliation, and she was surprised she had not run from the room after her episode with Mr. Sparking. However, she had persisted despite the stares and was relieved when William arrived, his dark curls falling over his brow once more. As he brushed the curls aside, Lydia wished to borrow the fan Lady Matilda had been using earlier.
As William walked through the crowded room, he stopped to speak to a few men, and Lydia hoped they would not detain him for long. Their eyes met, and his smile warmed her as he reached into his inside pocket and produced a card. He said something more to the men and then broke from the group.
“Good evening,” he sa
id with a bow as he approached Lydia and Mrs. Ridge. He handed his card to the older woman, who gave it to Lydia.
With eager hands, Lydia folded the corner with her answer and returned the card to him.
“Shall we?” he asked.
“Please,” she replied as she placed a hand on his proffered arm.
“My apologies for my tardiness,” he said as they made their way to the area set aside for dancing. “Business kept me later than I expected.”
“Your apology is accepted. Mr. Sparking relayed the message during our dance.”
William laughed. “Clancy danced?” he asked incredulously. “I thought he would have been too busy eating.”
Though Lydia giggled at his words, she said nothing about the young man’s abandonment of her. It would not change the fact that it had happened and would only add to the mortification she already felt.
As they arrived with the other dancers, she glanced at the people watching. As before, all eyes, both men and women this time, were upon her, and she felt panic rise in her.
“Ignore them,” William said before moving to his place in the line of men.
Lydia nodded and took her place across from him, wondering how he knew her discomfiture. Yet, she straightened her back. Any moment, the music would begin, and Lydia was determined to show everyone that she was no longer a wallflower. The Duke of Bennington found her beautiful, and she would dance with such grace that the words Helen had spoken would come true, and women would be driven to tears with their jealousy.
A violin began a melody, and Lydia dropped a curtsy with the other women dancers, and the men responded with a bow. It was as if the dreams of her mother were coming true! She would finally show the ton that she was as good as any of them, that she was worthy of their respect. No longer would she be cast aside, for she was their equal in every way.
However, when Lydia turned, her mind on William and not on her steps, she collided with a footman carrying a tray laden with glasses of wine. The man yelped, his burden teetering, and Lydia made an attempt to steady the tray. Unfortunately, she missed and brought the tray crashing down on her instead.
The music stopped with abruptness, and Lydia looked up at William from her perch on her bottom, horrified as every single set of eyes was upon her and the now purple and red-stained gown she wore.
William went to one knee and offered his hand, and Lydia thought her shame would be the end of her right there and then. She had made a fool of herself and embarrassed her family as well as the poor servant that would likely be reprimanded for her clumsiness.
“Are you all right?” William asked.
“Yes,” Lydia replied as he helped her to stand. The crowd stared at her, several of the women shaking their heads. Her chaperon must have missed the ordeal, for she was busy chatting with another woman who appeared to be of the same age and took little notice as Lydia hurried up to her, tears welling up in her eyes.
“Mrs. Ridge, I am ready to leave.”
“Oh, very well, my dear,” the woman said before her eyes went wide. “I do not remember you wearing such a colorful gown.”
Lydia turned to William, who had followed her across the silent room. “My stomach is upset,” Lydia said. “I must go.”
Sadness filled William’s eyes. “Are you sure?”
Lydia took another look around the room. The wine and shattered glasses had been cleared and the music was beginning once again. Perhaps she could try again on another night, but this night was best left abandoned.
“I am sure,” she replied.
William gave her a pained look, his smile now gone. The night was meant to be magical, yet it had turned into a disaster. What could one expect from a wallflower anyway?
Chapter Twelve
After the debacle at the party in the home of Lord Buchanan, William had expected Lydia to never want to see him again. He had done nothing wrong, of course, but the humiliation the poor woman must have felt had to have been expansive. Though no one had laughed outright, William did not miss the whispers and snickers behind gloved hands, and he had done what he could at the moment to quell such reactions with a single glare. However, society had its rules, many with which he agreed, yet he could not fathom the cruelness of so many members of the ton. One infraction, especially if committed by a woman, would see a woman treated like a dog with open sores. It could all be so unfair at times; he could not deny it. He wondered how many other women felt as Lydia did—ridiculed and shunned for simply having a bout of clumsiness. Did they ever recover?
He glanced at the large clock showing the time as ten minutes past two. Despite all that had happened—and his subsequent worries—he had sent her a card requesting an outing, and to his delight, as well as his surprise, she had accepted his invitation. He was due to meet her at her father’s home in just over an hour, and from there they would travel to St. James Park. That gave him some time to go over his ledgers. There was still an inordinate amount of work to do, and he would take any time he could to make some sort of attempt to get ahead.
However, the more he tried to concentrate on his work, the more difficult it became. Finally, he pushed away the ledger, a smile playing at the corner of his lips as he recalled their encounter in the alleyway. What a fool he had been believing the two women were engaging in some sort of impropriety! He had been so angry when he stepped around the corner only to find their lives in jeopardy. Yet, that anger did not compare to the rage he felt when he saw how terrified Lydia was. And Helen, as well, of course. Risking his life for her was not only out of some sort of obligation any gentleman had for protecting a lady in distress, but he was also driven by the need to protect someone for whom he cared.
The question was, how or why did he care for her? He was still unsure when it had all began, but he knew it existed, nonetheless. This was his first encounter with properly courting a woman, which had been the root of most of the gossip that had made its rounds concerning him. The lies of his supposed indiscretions had no boundaries; they ranged from the lowest of serving women to widowed ladies of the ton. And though he found the rumors to be frustrating in the fact that they were untruths, he found the childishness of it all the more infuriating. If only people would act like adults, fewer people would be hurt!
A throat clearing startled William from his thoughts. “Your Grace,” Hughes said in his dignified tone, “you have a visitor. Lord Egerton, Marquess of Easley.”
William shook his head and rose from his seat as Barnard pushed his way past the butler. Poor Hughes gave the man an indignant glare but covered it immediately when William waved him away. Hughes was a good man and had been a trusted member of his staff for years and therefore took any affront to his master as a personal affront to himself. Indeed, he was a good man.
Unlike the man who stood before William now. They had not spoken since William had thrown him from his house weeks before, and as Clancy had returned and begged forgiveness, he wondered if Barnard had returned to do the same.
“You seem cheerful,” Barnard said in his usual indirect manner of skirting a subject he found distasteful.
“I have many things for which I should be happy,” William replied. When Barnard did not say more, William asked, “Why are you here?”
Barnard laughed as he shook his head. “Right to the point,” he said. “It is a trait I have always admired in you.” William made no reply as Barnard glanced around the room and then looked back at William. “I have done some thinking about my actions several weeks ago.”
“Is that so?” William asked as he sat on the corner of his desk. He did not offer Barnard a seat out of principal.
“It is,” the Marquess said as he walked over to a chair. “May I?”
William sighed and nodded as he took the chair across from him. Barnard was simply being…well, Barnard.
“What had started as an innocent prank turned into…well, to be honest, it turned into a child’s game. I did not mean for it to get this far or to cause you or th
e wall-” He cleared his throat. “Miss Fortescue any harm.”
William studied the man for a moment. “Is that an apology?”
“It is,” Barnard replied. “To you and Miss Fortescue, I am sorry. Over the past few weeks, I have come to realize that my antics were not befitting of a gentleman. I do wish to remain your friend…if that is possible.”
William had known Barnard since they were children. They had grown into men together, and though Barnard did make mistakes and his actions were cruel, William found he still cared for the man. In his mind, if he expected society to treat people with more respect, he would have to set an example, and there was no better way than to show forgiveness.
“All is forgiven,” William said as he offered a hand to his friend, who accepted it with a grin. “As long as you promise to leave Miss Fortescue out of your pranks in the future.”
“Much appreciated,” Barnard said as he sat back into the seat. “And I solemnly swear that the woman will now be considered off-limits.”
William glanced at the clock once more. “I would offer you a drink in celebration of our re-found friendship,” he said as he stood. “However, I must leave soon, and I still must change my clothes before I go.”
“I understand. Perhaps we can have drinks soon.”
“Indeed,” William replied as he walked his friend to the door. “Tomorrow evening, what say you? We can have dinner, invite Clancy, as well.”
“Then have your cook prepare extra food,” Barnard said with a great laugh.
William readily joined in. “Well, does seven work for you?”
“I believe I can move my schedule around,” he replied with a wide grin. “I look forward to our conversation once again.”
“As do I,” replied William.
Once the man was gone, William went upstairs to ready himself for the afternoon outing. Now that peace was restored with his friend, he could now concentrate all his efforts on Lydia.
Waltz 0f The Wallflower (Delicate Hearts Book 1) Page 8
