Chapter Three
Frances went to the refreshment table and filled a plate with all the gorgeous treats her mother would never allow her to eat in a ballroom surrounded by the best of the ton.
Not that she could have more than a bite at home either.
She’d lost all her baby fat and was average in size, but her mother was slimmer in the waist, with a more ample bosom, which became an issue when Mrs. Plimpton decided Frances could make do with her mother’s old dresses rather than new ones.
Frances didn’t really mind, as many of the old dresses were beautiful, sometimes more elegant than the new ones Daisy received, but they were also a constant reminder of how she fell short when compared to the beauty of her mother’s youth.
“The blue one was divine.”
Frances looked up from her plate and recognized the girl with curly brown hair who’d come with the Earl of Lark.
“A bit messy when you bite into it, so be careful, but entirely worth the trouble. I’m Rebecca Turner,” she whispered the last part, as one wasn’t supposed to introduce oneself.
She liked the girl immediately.
“Frances Plimpton.” She smiled and arranged her hair to make sure it still covered her mark. Then she remembered the heaping plate of sweets she was holding. “These aren’t for me,” she quickly pointed out. “But I’ll be sure to add a blue one for my mother.”
“Sampson balls always have the best desserts,” the woman next to Rebecca added. In contrast to her companion’s darker features and silver dress, this woman had hair so blond it looked white, especially against her stark black dress.
“This is my cousin, Elizabeth, the Dowager Countess of Lotham,” Rebecca introduced, while the woman in question smiled warmly.
Frances went to offer her condolences, but Rebecca spoke up before she could.
“Is this your first season as well? I find everything so exciting, but I couldn’t say which of my chaperones is most eager to leave.”
“It’s my sister’s first.” Frances looked over and saw Daisy dancing with yet another gentleman. “And my fifth, actually,” she admitted, realizing how pathetic it sounded. “But the balls are always enchanting.”
Miss Turner then asked how this ball compared to others, with absolutely no judgment over Frances’ failed seasons.
Which, in her defense, hadn’t all been her fault.
From dealing with the fallout from Iris’ scandal, to spending months with Mary every time she gave birth… the cards were stacked against her.
“I must admit, we came over specifically to compliment you on the flower in your hair,” Miss Turner told her after they discussed the most notable balls Frances and Lady Lotham had attended. “We couldn’t decide if it was violets or bluebells, but up close, I suspect it is neither.”
“Oh.” Frances brought her hand to her temple, having completely forgotten the personal touch she’d added to brighten her evening. “It’s chicory.”
“I haven’t seen them out yet,” Lady Lotham commented. “Where did you acquire it?”
“I grow them myself,” Frances admitted, wondering if she should pretend it was through the intermediary of a gardener. “I would be happy to send some to you, if you wish. Perhaps a plant you can put in your own garden once the weather improves.”
“That would be most generous,” Miss Turner exclaimed. “What else do you grow?”
Nathaniel finally found Elizabeth and Rebecca by the refreshments.
He made his way over with purpose, lest anyone else assume he wanted to converse, but he quickly saw they weren’t alone.
He nearly retreated to the terrace to avoid any further discussions of his eligibility, but the ladies were deeply engaged in a conversation about dirt, of all things, and neither seemed bored, or the least bit interested in his approach.
“Isn’t yarrow the one that looks like lace?” Rebecca inquired.
“It was in the tea your father would make us for fevers,” Lizzie agreed before turning her focus back onto their new friend.
“You don’t even need to drink it, soaking in water infused with it can help. I usually keep some by my window, because it’s very useful, but it’s also so pretty.”
He didn’t recognize the woman, but her entire being came alive as she elaborated on those many uses. There was something mesmerizing about the way her face lit up with her smile.
“We should have some at home. I’ll speak to—Nathaniel!”
As he’d been spotted, he took a step closer, but at the same time, their new friend turned, either to see him or perhaps to escape, and nearly collided into him.
Rather, she would have – and spilled the content of her dessert plate onto his white shirt in the process – but he managed to steady her with one hand and catch her plate with the other.
“The desserts are the one saving grace to these events,” he commented on her heaping pile of sweets to lighten the mood, but the second he looked up and caught her eye, he couldn’t help but notice they were the precise shade of her dress; a clear, icy blue.
Her mouth opened in shock, accentuating full lips as her breath hitched.
Then she brought her hand to her temple, as if to shield her face from him, terror in her eyes.
Lizzie took charge. “Miss Plimpton, may I introduce you to my brother, the Earl of Lark.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Plimpton.” Nathaniel released her with a tip of his head, as she regained her composure.
“The pleasure is mine.” She swallowed nervously, but her smile was warm.
“Miss Plimpton was just telling us that she grew the beautiful flowers in her hair.” Rebecca pointed to the blue petals peeking out of her strawberry blond locks, causing the girl to blush.
“Is that so?” he asked, mostly feigning interest, but he felt terrible for being the reason her smile faltered.
She nodded. “I’m quite fond of flowers.” She gave an apologetic smile before Lizzie cut in.
“But how do you insulate against the cold?”
“We have a tiny greenhouse. Our cook’s husband was a groundskeeper for a large estate in his youth, so she had him make it for me. For us. I can spend hours in there, even in the middle of December.”
Nathaniel watched her as she spoke. He didn’t even think she was aware of the smile that spread as she did, especially considering the blush that colored her cheeks after that confession.
Miss Plimpton beamed, then answered another series of questions from Lizzie and Rebecca.
She smiled, shy but warm, whenever their eyes met, but for the most part, she focused on the girls and the flowers they discussed.
Perhaps he should have been offended by that, but it was refreshing to not have to field questions about his intentions to marry. Or lack thereof.
“I must return to my mother, but it was a pleasure meeting you all,” Miss Plimpton said after a few more minutes.
“The pleasure was ours,” Rebecca assured her, and Nathaniel was surprised that he agreed.
He dipped his head as Miss Plimpton curtseyed to the three of them before dashing across the dance floor and out of sight.
Frances made her way back to her mother, still reeling from her encounter with the earl.
He’d looked at her with such intensity for a brief moment, that she’d been certain her mark was on full display, or that he had a temper and was about to reproach her for fumbling, but he’d been kind.
And his sisters not only complimented her flower, but also seemed genuinely interested in her gardening.
She hoped their attendance wasn’t an anomaly, as conversations like that, as nerve-wracking as it had been, might make another suitor-less season enjoyable.
She glanced through the window to the gardens, though she couldn’t really see anything in this light, and imagined all the beautiful colors it must contain.
She was about to continue to Mama, but she saw Mr. Brooks.
Then distinctly heard him say “Daisy”. Which could be a comment on the garden, but she lingered long enough to hear him mention her as well.
“The youngest is pleasing to look at, but that older sister couldn’t even tempt my stable hand. Pitiful.” His companion laughed. “She’s on the shelf by now, isn’t she? Didn’t see her on the dance floor once.”
“She has a headache,” Mr. Brooks said quickly.
“That’s what they say if they don’t want to lose face when no one can be bothered to ask them.” There was a slight pause. “Unless you did? Ask her?”
“She looked sad, and her sister was otherwise engaged.”
“So you thought you would play the gallant knight to the homely sister to impress the handsome damsel? She was sad because every man worth anything knew to steer clear of that embarrassment.”
“Miss Daisy Plimpton is—”
“Beneath you, Brooks. And not worth entertaining that awkward sister for. If there was a title at stake, or a fortune…perhaps, but I would never stoop that low for a mere miss of absolutely no repute. The whole family is sorely lacking station and class, not to mention buried in gambling debts. A pleasing smile could make up for one, maybe, but definitely not all three. Come, let’s find some real entertainment. ”
Frances hurried to hide when she heard the gentlemen approaching, but short of standing behind a plant and hoping they didn’t look in her direction, there wasn’t anywhere to go.
Mr. Brooks’ entire face went white when he spotted her.
He had the decency to look remorseful over the conversation, whether or not she’d heard, but his companion, who was tall, blond, and exactly Daisy’s type, smiled like he owned the place and actually winked at her.
It was possible he didn’t recognize her, but as he quickly found a servant and helped himself both to a glass of champagne and a grab at her derrière, it became evident that he didn’t care if or what she’d heard, especially since there was absolutely nothing she, nor the servant girl, could do about him.
By the time Frances handed the plate of desserts to her mother, she could think of nothing but Mr. Brooks’ vile companion and his hurtful words.
Watching the evening through Rebecca’s eyes had almost made it bearable, though Nathaniel staunchly rejected most of the suitors they discussed on the ride home.
“Perhaps you don’t truly know these men,” Lizzie argued when he turned down her pick.
“No, the issue is that I know them too well. They are rakes and scoundrels, and their intentions are not honorable. They asked you to dance because they know I would know better than to allow it to go any further.”
“I have heard reformed rakes make the best husbands,” his sister shared, mostly to get a rise out of him. “If you ever deigned to—”
“I would be the worst husband. I could never hate a woman enough to subject her to that.”
“Your bark is worse than your bite.”
“What about Viscount St. John?” Nathaniel made an obvious attempt to steer the conversation away from him and back onto Rebecca. “I saw you dancing together. Two sets, if I am not mistaken.” It was the most one could dance with the same partner before your intentions were called into question.
“When?” Lizzie demanded.
“You were avoiding Lady Markham,” Rebecca filled her in. “I believe he asked me to escape some very fierce matriarchs.”
“Now he is a Rake with a capital R. And a scoundrel. I wouldn’t dance with or turn my back to him.”
“He is a viscount now, Lizzie. I’m sure he has matured,” Nathaniel argued. They had all grown up together, but Lizzie and Thomas had brought out the worst in each other when they were children.
“He had no interest in me from a suitor’s perspective. And he much prefers the country, so I doubt we’ll be seeing him at any more balls. At least not in the city.”
“Well, if we do, I think very highly of St. John.”
“I don’t,” Lizzie grumbled as the carriage stopped in front of Wiltshire Manor. Nathaniel wished them goodnight, then continued to Sutton House.
As soon as he was alone, he brought his forehead to his hand and tried to breathe out all the grief and anger he’d tried to hide all evening, all the memories that haunted him with a vengeance after being buried for so long.
With his head down, he noticed a spot of blue icing.
It seemed he hadn’t been as swift as he’d believed in catching Miss Plimpton’s plate.
He sighed and shook his head. Of course, he would stain his shirt and walk around like that for hours without knowing.
He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the absurdity of it all.
It did not bode well for the rest of the season, that having desserts spilled on him was the most enjoyable interaction he’d had.
Well, perhaps not the initial incident, where he’d scared the poor girl, but Miss Plimpton’s was the sole conversation, outside of family, that he hadn’t felt the urge to flee from.
“My lord?” The footman’s tone implied it was not his first attempt to rouse him.
Nathaniel looked at the large, empty houses on either side of the square, and deeply regretted turning down the offer to stay at Wiltshire Manor. He had absolutely no interest in going inside to be alone with his memories, especially not tonight.
“Thank you, Clark, but I think I’ll be heading out again. Covent Garden. No need to wait up.”
“As you wish, my lord.”
Clark shut the carriage door and alerted the driver to the new destination. It was a terrible idea, but tonight had reinforced Nathaniel’s need to deter all marriage-minded mothers, and how better than to add to his miserable reputation?