“Is he still standing there looking surprised?” Amelia asked, twirling one of her golden ringlets back into place with the tip of a slender gloved finger. Looking over her shoulder to see for herself would only confuse the man into thinking she was playing coy. “I am the daughter of a duke, Charity. I need not throw myself at every earl that comes along.”
“Thank goodness, or you would have no time for anything else.” Charity’s comment bore more than a tinge of jealousy.
Lady Amelia’s debut earlier this Season had drawn the attention of numerous suitors, and the cards still arrived at her London townhouse in droves. Each time she went out, whether to a ball or to the Park, she was inundated with tireless gentlemen. If she were a less patient woman, it would have become tedious. Gracious as she was, Amelia managed to turn them all down with poise. Lady Amelia’s father, The Duke of Ely, was a kind man who doted on his only daughter but paid as little mind to her suitors as Amelia herself; always saying there was plenty of time for such things. Her debut like most aspects of her upbringing was left to the professionals. What do I pay tutors for? He had said, when a younger Amelia had asked him a question on the French verbs. There had been many tutors. Amelia had learned the languages, the arts, the histories, music and needlepoint until she was, by Society’s standards, everything a young woman should be. She glanced across the hall to that same father, and found him deep in conversation with several white haired men, no doubt some of the older lords talking politics as they were wont to do. She flashed him a quick smile and he toasted her with his glass.
Father had even indulged her by hiring a composer to teach her the piano, after she proven herself adept and eager to learn. If any of these flapping popinjays were half the man her father was…she thought with irritation.
Lady Patience, the less forward of Lady Amelia’s friends, piped in, “Men are drawn to your beauty like moths to a flame.” Her voice had a sad quality to it.
“I’m sure you will find the perfect beau, Patience.” Amelia replied.
“Yes, well, you might at least toss them our way, when you have decided against them.” Charity said. She peeked wide eyed over her slivered fan which covered her bosom with tantalizing art. Amelia’s eyes were brought back to her friends and she smiled.
While Charity was blonde and buxom, Patience was diminutive, yet cursed with garish red hair. The wiry, unruly locks had the habit of escaping whatever style her maid attempted, leaving the girl looking a bit like a waif, frazzled and misplaced at an elegant ball like the one they were attending. Though her dress was a lovely celestial blue frock trimmed round the bottom with lace and a white gossamer Polonese long robe joined at the front with rows of satin beading.
Charity’s flaws were more obvious, apart from her wide mouth. She had a jarring laugh, and wore necklines so low they barely contained her ample bosom. The gown she was wearing extenuated this feature with many row of white scalloped lace and a rosy pink bodice clasped just underneath. It bordered on vulgar. Amelia intended to make the polite suggestion on their next shopping trip that Lady Charity perhaps should purchase an extra yard of fabric so she might have enough for an entire dress.
“Do not be foolish, Patience. You deserve someone wonderful. If we must be married, it should be to someone that… excites us,” Amelia said, rising up onto her toes and clasping her hands in front of her breast.
Her comment caused Patience to flush with embarrassment. It was easy to forget Patience was two years older than Amelia and a year older than Charity, for her naivety gave her a childlike demeanor.
“Not all of us are beautiful enough to hold out for someone handsome,” said Patience. When she blushed, her freckles blended with the rosiness of her cheeks. Her eyes alighted with hope, and she was pretty in a shy sort of way.
Charity nodded her agreement, but Amelia frowned and clasped Patience’s hands. “You are sweet and bright and caring. Any man would be lucky to have you for his wife. Do not settle because you feel you have no choice. The right man will come along. Just you wait and see.”
Tears swelled in Patience’s bright blue eyes. Amelia hoped she would not begin to cry; the girl was prone to hysterics and leaps of emotion. Charity was only a notch better, and if one girl began the other was certain to follow. Two crying girls was not the spectacle Amelia hoped to make at a ball. She clapped her hands together and twirled around, so her skirts fanned out around her feet.
“Come now; let us find some of those handsome men to dance with. It should not be hard for three young ladies like us.” Amelia glanced back. Patience was wiping at her eyes and fidgeting with her dress— no matter how many times Amelia scolded her for it, the girl could not quit the nervous and irritating gesture—which generally wrinkled her dress with two fist sized wads on either side of her waist. Meanwhile Charity was puffing out her chest like a seabird. One more deep breath and she was sure to burst her seams.
It would be up to Amelia, then. In a matter of minutes she had snagged two gentlemen and placed one with Charity and one with Patience on the promise that she herself would dance with them afterward. Though men waited around her, looking hopefully in her direction, none dared approach until she gave them a sign of interest. She had already earned a reputation of being discerning with whom she favored, and no man wanted the stigma of having been turned away. Amelia perused the ballroom at her leisure, silently wishing for something more than doters and flatterers after her father’s influence.
~.~
Samuel Beresford did not want to be here. He found balls a tremendous waste of time, the dancing and the flirting and, thinly veiled beneath it all, the bargaining. For that was what marriage boiled down to, a bargain. It was all about striking a deal where each person involved believed they had the advantage over the other. If it were not for his brother’s pleading, he would never been seen at a fancy affair like this. Dressed in his naval uniform, a blue coat with gold epaulets and trimmings and white waistcoat and breeches, he attracted more attention than he wished.
“Stop scowling, Samuel,” said Percival as he returned to his brother’s side from a brief sojourn with a group of lords. “You look positively dour.”
“Did you find the man?” Samuel inquired.
Percival sipped his wine and shook his head. “It is no matter. Let us concentrate on the women. We should be enjoying their company and you seem intent on scaring them all off with your sour expression.”
Unlike himself, Samuel’s older brother Percival loved the frivolity of these occasions. As the eldest son of an earl it was very nearly an obligation of his office to enjoy them, so Samuel could not begrudge his brother doing his duty.
“You think it my expression and not our looks that are to blame?” Samuel asked, only half in jest. To appease his brother he hid his scowl behind the rim of his wine glass.
The Beresford brothers were not of disagreeable appearance, but they lacked the boyish looks so favored at the moment. They did not look gentlemanly, the brothers were too large, their features too distinctly masculine, for the women to fawn and coo over. Additionally Samuel had been sent to the Royal Naval Academy at the age of twelve, a life that had led him to be solidly built, broad across the chest and shoulders. He felt a giant amongst the gentry.
“Smile a bit brother, and let us find out.” Percy elbowed Samuel in the side.
~.~
Continue reading about Lady Amelia Atherton and Commander Samuel Beresford in
The Duke’s Daughter ~ Lady Amelia Atherton
~.~
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The Deceptive Earl: Lady Charity Abernathy: A Regency Romance Novel Page 24
