I will never laugh in his presence again, she decided.
The footman returned with the vase, and she took a moment to arrange the ragged bouquet of flowers before putting it on the table in front of the window. It brightened the room, and she told herself that it was impossible to stay angry with such charming things as daisies in the room. But it wasn’t impossible to feel tired. And frustrated and . . . sad.
Morning visits would start soon and new gentlemen would present themselves to her and she would feel nothing for them. And then she would send Lucy to learn of their circumstances. And she would discover that a match with them would never work. Mostly because they wanted her money. But also because she was in love with someone else. There was the rub, painful and raw and wholly acknowledged.
Just as she believed that Timothy would never find the woman he described on his list, Maryann feared she would never find a man to drive Timothy out of her heart. He has ruined me for any other man. Then she took a breath, held it, straightened her spine, and let it out. Enough pity. She had survived the decline and death of her mother, she had managed two months in a town where no one saw her as anything more than a bag of money, and she would survive the fact that Timothy Mayfield did not love her.
She threw the note in the fire, not because she wasn’t glad to receive the apology or because she doubted the sincerity. She burned this one because she could not read the words again. They hurt too much.
Maryann was surprised, and not entirely pleased, to be seated next to Timothy at dinner three days later. She did not feel ready to see him. Thirty-five other guests should have made the chance of being seated beside any man her own age nearly impossible. She caught Deborah’s eyes across the table as she found her chair, and her sister winked. Maryann narrowed her eyes and cocked her head to the side, which was as much displeasure she dared display in company. Deborah just smiled as Maryann sat in the chair held out by the footman.
It did not seem to matter that Maryann had told Deborah that Timothy had offended her again, hence the second bouquet, or the continued reminders that she had no interest in Timothy nor did Timothy have any interest in her. Because Maryann would not tell Deborah the reason for the apology daisies, Deborah was determined to see them as a sign of Timothy’s affection and had apparently convinced the hostess to seat them beside one another. What luck.
Maryann let the footman push her chair under the table and made small talk with the older man on her left for a few minutes until his attention was captured by the woman on his other side who could have used at least two more inches on the neckline of her dress. Really, had she no self-respect at all?
“So, you are left to me,” Timothy said quietly as she looked ahead and filled her spoon with soup.
She took the bite before she answered but did not look at him. “It seems so, yes.”
“Am I to suppose you do not accept the apology I sent with the flowers? It was sincere, Maryann, I assure you. I did not mean to hurt your feelings. I fell into teasing the way I would tease a male friend, but it was not right. I am grateful Deborah was able to arrange an opportunity to explain myself.”
Fantastic. Timothy had gone to Deborah for help, and Deborah had clearly interpreted his request as something different from apologizing for his idiocy. Very well, they would put it behind them—but she would be heard, even if she had to speak quietly enough to not be overhead by anyone else.
“I have been embarrassed by my laugh all of my life, Timothy, and I tried for years to change it, but it seems, like my plump cheeks and short fingers, it cannot be changed. I have come to believe that the people who care for me do not mind it. I have never, however, had anyone compare it to the braying of a donkey.” Saying it out loud caused her cheeks to catch fire all over again.
“I am so sorry,” he whispered. “Truly.”
She nodded and took another bite. She had already vowed never to laugh in his presence again and wanted to be done with this conversation.
Silence fell heavy between them, and Timothy was caught into conversation with the woman on his other side. Equal numbers usually ensured everyone had a partner to talk to, but it was not a perfect system and Maryann wondered who else on this circular table was being left out of conversation.
The soup course was removed after what seemed to be far too long, and the fish was served. She’d managed half of her plate before Timothy returned his attention to her.
“How have you been the last few days, Timothy?” She kept her tone cheerier than she felt in hopes he would follow her lead.
“I have been well, save for regret over having acted like an imbecile to someone whom I care for.”
Someone whom I care for. She could not let those words go to her head. “We are finished with that topic,” she said. “What have you done? Any walks in the parks with a belle of the season? Trips to Tattersalls with the other bucks?”
He obliged her and talked about riding with his cousin Harry through Hyde Park and attending a card party where he spent through his five pounds before even the first hour had passed.
“I can see how men get themselves in distress through cards,” he said. “Had I deeper pockets, it would be easy to chase my limit with five more pounds, and then another five in hopes of winning back the lot. I shall always credit my thin pockets for my having avoided such a fate. Harry goes to the gambling hells nearly every night. I don’t know how he still has a coat on his back.”
Maryann had heard a bit about his cousin Harry, who was extreme in many ways. She’d only met him once, at a card party where he’d already had too much to drink and made embarrassing overtures toward a married woman who did not welcome his attention. She would choose Timothy over his cousin any day of the week, not that it mattered, as she would not choose him and he would certainly not choose her.
“My brother taught me to play loo with pennies,” she said to keep the conversation going. “I could not believe how much money he made from me over the course of two days. When my father learned of it, he made James return every cent plus a shilling so he would not take advantage of my youth again.”
Timothy laughed, and she smiled at the slow return of their easy friendship. She wanted this, she reminded herself. Even with the difficulty of being so close to Timothy, she preferred his friendship to his absence.
“What do you think of my ensemble tonight?” he asked, leaning against the back of his chair so she could see the emerald-colored waistcoat he wore with his charcoal coat and black breeches. “I have been trying to be more . . . creative with my dress since your counsel.”
“The tones work well together, but when wearing different-colored coat and pants, it is best to have a multicolored waistcoat to blend them.”
Timothy’s face fell. “Oh, I had thought I had done well.”
“You did do well,” she said, patting his forearm as though he were a small boy on the brink of a pout. “Next time, wear your black breeches so your coat and pants are the same color; two solids makes for a striking look. I saw that you wore the combination I recommended to Almack’s on Wednesday.” She felt it brave of her to bring that night back into conversation.
“I received seven compliments,” Timothy said in awe. “I could not believe it.” He let his face fall along with his shoulders in an exaggerated expression of disappointment. “I had so wanted to prove your recommendation wrong.”
She’d have laughed if she hadn’t forbidden herself to do so in his company. Instead, she smiled widely. “I shall not let it go to my head, I promise.”
She glanced toward their feet beneath the table. “Might I share one more observation about your dress?”
“I am not sure my ego can handle it.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly while placing his hands on his knees as though bracing himself. Then he nodded. “All right, I am ready.”
“Why do you wear those boots when they are too s
mall?”
He lost his stiff posture and looked at her in surprise, the widening of his eyes making the blue of them seem even bluer. “How can you tell they are too small?”
“You take careful steps, and by the end of an evening, you wince slightly even when standing. You only own one pair of black ones.” She regretted saying as much when color flushed his face. “I am sorry; I have embarrassed you.” Would he think she was taking retribution?
Timothy shook his head. “No apology necessary. I am just disappointed to know it is so obvious.”
“Probably not to anyone else.” She hurried to cover the comments with other, less embarrassing, ones. “You must be completely miserable at the end of a night.”
“I am,” he admitted. “But they are such nice boots. I, uh, have little funds to spend on such things. I got a very good price on these.”
“A cobbler could stretch them for not very dear a price.”
“The bootmaker said that to stretch them would distort the shape.”
“Perhaps a bit,” Maryann said with a nod. “And I can see how a craftsman would find that beyond consideration, but I do not believe anyone else would notice. My father often gives his shoes to my brother, whose feet are a full size and a half larger than my father’s. He’s had many pair stretched by the local cobbler in Dunster. You should try it and spare your feet. Fashion is not worth that dear a price.”
“I shall look into it,” he said, but she could tell he was still embarrassed as he finished his fish.
“Now I give you equal opportunity to give me some advice.” She put her hands in her lap demurely. “What is something I can improve upon?” She could only hope he would not bring up her laugh again.
He looked at her, eyebrows pulled together so that two lines ran vertically between them. “I have no advice for you, Maryann.”
“Of course, you do,” she said. “For instance, I was not sure I liked this color when I got the dress back from the seamstress earlier in the week.” The green was not quite the same shade as Timothy’s emerald waistcoat, but darker than she was used to. Deborah insisted that since Maryann was of “advanced years” for a debutante the richer hue was acceptable.
“It brings out the green in your eyes,” Timothy said after a few seconds.
She was not prepared for a compliment, and it filled her up like wine to an empty glass. “There is green in my eyes?”
Timothy nodded, smiling at the surprise she had apparently not hidden very well. “Toward the center, there are little sparks of green that are enhanced tonight because of the dress. You should wear this color more often.”
The compliment burrowed in too deeply for her to pluck it out before it became a part of her. She had green in her eyes. Timothy was the first to have ever told her. “Thank you.”
He shrugged shyly. “You’re welcome.”
Their plates were empty but not yet removed. At this rate, the meal would last another hour and a half at least.
“But,” he said, turning to her, “I do not think that light yellow does you many favors. You have that one frock that you wear for morning visits—the one with lace at the collar.” He waggled his fingers at his neck.
“I know the one,” she said, feeling a bit defensive but determined not to show it. She liked that dress, though perhaps more for fit than color.
“The lace is very good quality, you should retain it, but the dress itself draws out your coloring somehow,” Timothy said. “I do not know how to explain it, but I saw you wear it once and determined I did not like it. I think you look better in darker colors. Although that pink dress with the flowers at the hem is very nice on you.”
“This is very helpful,” she said, surprised he knew her dresses so well. She refused to follow where that feeling wanted to lead her.
“Well, we are friends,” he said with a shrug. “Friends help friends.”
“Yes, they do.”
They lapsed into another silence as they waited for the next course. Why was it taking so long? She sensed Timothy was thinking the same thing as his knee began to bounce beneath the table.
“Do not bounce your knee,” she said, though she smiled because this sort of boyish quirk was so endearing.
“It keeps me from giving in to my nerves that are telling me to jump up and run around this table fifteen times.”
She smiled at the image. “It shakes the table.”
“It does not.”
“Look at your neighbor’s glass.”
The wine in question was shivering within the glass. He stopped his bouncing and the wine stopped moving too.
“Drat, you’re right. Again.”
She grinned. “It has been known to happen.”
Timothy looked at the footmen standing at the sides of the room, their hands behind their backs despite the fact that every guest was finished. He leaned toward Maryann and spoke quietly. “The hosts are going to regret this when they realize how much more wine everyone will be drinking if there is no food.”
Maryann looked around and smiled in acknowledgment of the detail. Then she reached for her own glass and took a swallow. He grinned and did the same, draining his glass and then lifting it slightly so a footman would refill it for him. Maybe if enough guests refilled their wine, the course schedule would improve. Maryann filed that away for when she was in charge of a dinner party on her own.
A full glass of wine later, the plates were removed and the entrée—pork tenderloin—was set before them.
“Have you walked with any young ladies recently?” she asked, keeping her voice casual. She was feeling fuzzy from all the wine. “You seem to like the more active entertainments—dancing, walking.”
“Ah, you know me so well, Maryann,” he said. He dabbed at his mouth with his serviette before returning it to his lap. “I do prefer to be moving. I am very poor at sitting still for an extended period of time.”
“What about church?” she asked.
He chuckled. “I confess this to you only because we are such good friends.” He leaned in conspiratorially, and she tried not to inhale the heady scent of his aftershave. “When I finish services, I walk in the opposite direction of my rooms, and when I know I am away from anyone who might recognize me, I run as fast as I can for as long as I can in order to make up for all that sitting.”
She imagined him running at full speed in his Sunday suit, arms pumping at his sides, and chuckled under her breath. “Where on earth do you find a place to run without being recognized?”
“I walk east from the church a few blocks,” he said, a sparkle in his eye. “And pull my hat down low, just in case. I feel for the people who think I am mad, but, well, without the remedy I could not attend church at all so I believe it is a worthwhile trade. What do you think of it?”
“I think you are mad.”
He laughed, and she wished she could join him.
They finished their pork, and once again the plates were not cleared. The wine in Maryann’s glass began to shiver, and she moved her hand from her lap to Timothy’s leg, pressing down to stop the nervous movement. His whole body stilled and he turned sharply to look at her in surprise. She quickly withdrew her hand.
“I only meant to stop the shaking,” she said, nodding toward her wine glass, now still.
He blinked and looked forward again. She looked forward too, not knowing what to make of his reaction. “I am sorry,” she said when the silence between them continued. She caught Deborah looking between them, a slight air of confusion about her. Maryann shook her head slightly, wishing she could yell “Stop looking at us!” No one else had noticed, had they?
After the plates were cleared, Maryann said quietly, “I am sorry.” The silence was becoming excruciating. “I didn’t mean to make you . . . uncomfortable.”
“I know.”
The pudding course was place
d before them.
Timothy cleared his throat as he picked up his spoon. “You must promise never do to that again.”
“I promise.” Was it that extreme a thing for her to have done? She felt wholly chagrined.
“To any man, ever.”
“All right, I will never put my hand on a man’s knee again.” She paused before giving in to the need to defend herself. “But I was only trying to be helpful.”
His expression was as serious as she had ever seen it. “We shan’t talk about it again, then.” He turned back to his pudding, took a bite, and then glanced at her, though his smile seemed a bit forced. “If you’re not going to eat yours, I’ll take it. It’s very good.”
Maryann narrowed her eyes at him. “You can’t have my pudding.”
“If I finish first, I might.” He began eating quicker, and she hurried to match the pace. It was childish and bad manners to do such a thing at a formal dinner. But not as bad as her putting a hand on his knee? Men were so confusing.
Maryann did not see Timothy for a nearly a week. When she saw him at the Thompsons’ garden party, she remembered his reaction to her hand on his knee and swallowed her embarrassment. Upon reflection, she’d realized how out of line she’d been. She hadn’t meant it to be intimate, of course, but to apologize further would make everything worse.
So, she’d focused on other things and followed through on the introduction to Susanna Grimmley, whom she’d met at Lady Dominque’s welcome tea earlier that week. Timothy was kind and charming to Miss Grimmley and asked her to take a turn with him around the lake. A pond, really, but Maryann supposed it was the closest thing to a lake one would find in the city. He was friendly and relaxed and Maryann felt comfortable putting the dinner party incident behind them.
Deborah had not been feeling well, and since Lucas was not the sort of man to attend social events without his wife dragging him there, Maryann had come alone, meeting up with the Callifours, who were happy to absorb her into their group. Maryann spent the next two hours moving in and out of conversations beside the elder Miss Callifour. After a few months in London, Maryann knew which women to be on her guard with and which she could be relaxed with, who to trust and who not to. Maryann’s connection to Deborah and Lady Dominque had put her in solid placement within the ton, though her inheritance certainly helped.
Daisies and Devotion Page 9
