19. Chapter 19- Lily #2
Now, he kept popping out of the crowd and asking her to dance. It was difficult to spot him coming due to his diminutive stature and the press of people. Lily had been cornered into dancing with him twice now, and up close, his skin reminded her of a plucked chicken—tacky and malleable.
Lily slipped into the exterior hall and exhaled a gust of relief.
She was determined to dally on her way to the ladies’s retiring room.
Though the many windows of the hallway weren’t open, it was still cooler, as if the air hadn’t already been breathed by a dozen different people before she had her turn with it.
Besides that, it was the first place she’d felt free to walk all evening without having to apologize for bumping someone.
“Pssst.”
Lily stopped and looked about her, frowning. She was alone in the hallway, except for a pair of ladies further down. Their heads were bent toward each other, and a faint giggle trailed back as they turned the corner.
“Psst.”
Lily retraced her steps and glanced in the open doorway she’d passed. It was a dimly lit, mostly empty room, save for a few tables and crates full of wood shavings. This appeared to be the staging area for the servants—the room where the extra glassware and champagne were stored.
Just as she frowned and went to move back from the doorway, the tablecloth of the nearest table lifted, revealing Margaret underneath.
She beckoned with a gloved hand. “Lily, over here. Hurry so no one sees you.”
Lily gave a cursory glance behind her and, finding no one, stepped into the room and ducked beneath the table. She’d expected to find Margaret in tears, perhaps—why else would she be hiding beneath a table in an empty room at a ball?
But Margaret wasn’t crying, and she wasn’t alone.
Sylvia Barrows waved and smiled, her newly violet hair bouncing with the motion.
Rachel Warrington nodded regally and said, “Good evening.”
“Why on earth are you ladies hiding under here?” Lily asked, eyes wide. “Has something happened?”
“It’s pretty clear why I’m hiding,” Sylvia said, stroking one of her lavender curls.
A couple of weeks ago, Sylvia had accidentally dyed her hair purple. She’d apparently been trying to turn the auburn strands brown and the process had taken a wrong turn down a strange path.
Lily turned to her sister. “And you?”
“I’m confused.” Margaret wrinkled her nose as if she regretted admitting as much.
“Rachel?” Lily prompted, eyebrows raised.
“I never wanted a Season to begin with. I think I’ve put up a valiant effort at pretending to participate, but if I could stay beneath this very table and miss the rest of the thing, I would.” She lifted her chin in a belligerent fashion, as if Lily might argue with her.
“Fair enough,” Lily said.
Though Rachel Warrington was nearly as pretty as her elder sister, Dahlia, there was little chance she’d be married anytime soon.
Perhaps a less clever lady might have been flattered and wooed into the domestic endeavor despite herself, but Rachel was sharp as a carpet tack and quite determined to remain unattached.
“Why were you skulking in the hallway?” Rachel asked.
“I bet I know.” Margaret turned to Rachel. “Lord Rigsby finally got the courage to approach her this evening.”
“What’s the matter with that?” Sylvia asked.
“Now, instead of staring at her from across the room, he stares at her from three feet away. It’s much more disconcerting up close.”
Rachel tilted her head. “Have you tried speaking to him about the cannibalistic tribes of New Guinea? That’s what worked for me. Specifically my theories on what such peoples use for sausage casings.”
Lily blinked. “The topic hasn’t come up.”
Nor would it, as even thinking about such things made her queasy.
“Beatrice is going to be absolutely livid if she finds out we were hiding without her,” Sylvia said, lifting the edge of the tablecloth again.
Rachel slapped at her hand. “Stop that. I only invited you into my tablecloth sanctum under dire threat of secrecy.”
She rubbed her hand, frowning. “I haven’t told anybody.”
“A technicality, nothing more. You keep opening the door and letting more people in.” Rachel turned to Lily, “No offense meant, but this is a sanctuary for those who need it. I’m not sure you truly do.”
“No offense taken.”
Rachel turned to Margaret and continued, “And with her here, who knows how long it will take for the hordes of gentlemen to descend upon us.”
“I hardly think there are hordes,” Lily said faintly.
Rachel scoffed. “Of course there are. To hear Margaret tell it, your parlor is fuller than my sister’s. Which is truly saying something.”
“It’s not as if I encourage them,” she said a bit defensively. “They just show up.”
“So I’ve heard. Your situation is actually far worse than that of my sister.
Dahlia at least encourages some of them to suit her own purpose.
You’ve been left with all the aimless gentlemen who require no encouragement whatsoever.
” Rachel nodded as if she’d considered her own words and found them especially sound.
“So who amongst them do you prefer?” Sylvia asked, her eyes bright.
Lily didn’t want to admit that though many of the gentlemen were kind and witty, she felt little for any of them. The men were much like the flowers they brought—nice to look at, but if she got too close, they made her eyes water.
“It’s still fairly early…” Lily finally began.
“The Season’s nearing the end,” Sylvia said, gesturing at her hair. “Why do you think I stooped to this act of desperation?”
“Do you truly not fancy any of them?” Margaret asked, tilting her head. “I thought you were just being coy when I asked you before.”
“Water, water, everywhere, nor any drop to drink,” Rachel quipped.
Lily pursed her lips. She couldn’t help but agree with Rachel’s assessment.
As of late, the only gentleman in her parlor she was interested in was Bradford, and she still wasn’t certain as to his true motives.
If he were only there to question her, why on earth wasn’t he tired of it yet?
She’d answered every question he’d asked and then some.
A little voice whispered that surely he was there for reasons past friendship. Lily shoved the voice back until she heard it no longer. It was too confusing to entertain such an idea, not when her feelings on the matter were tangled at best.
And if she did take the time to extricate what she truly wanted, if she put words to it, that would only open the door for the deepest of disappointments.
“It’s no wonder,” Rachel remarked. “If you don’t know how to discourage the gentlemen you don’t want, all the good ones will be put off by the likes of Lord Rigsby.”
Lily frowned. It was true. She didn’t know how to dissuade any gentleman from visiting—politely or otherwise. Bradford had been the only one successful at sending any of them away.
“I suppose you’re right,” she finally admitted.
“Then you’re in the best company.” Sylvia patted her hand, smiling. “For I am excellent at driving suitors away unintentionally, and there’s no one better at driving them away on purpose than Rachel.”
Lily felt the need to apologize to the young lady, though she hardly knew why. “I am open to suggestions.”
They all looked at Rachel, who straightened her shoulders as if she felt great responsibility on the topic.
“Very well. You’re simply too pretty to employ the more subtle tactics that Sylvia uses—not listening well, not asking questions, yawning when they speak, stepping on their toes when they ask you to dance. ”
“It’s not as if I do it on purpose,” Sylvia muttered, tucking a purple curl behind her ear.
“Perhaps you should take up reading the encyclopedia or scientific journals. That’s where most of my best material comes from.”
“That will take too much time.” Margaret shook her head. “Can’t you just give her some topics you know are successful?”
“It’s a pity to give away my best material, but very well. Surgical techniques are always good. Or the fact that most people empty their bowels in the process of becoming a cadaver?—”
“No,” Lily said sharply. “No cadavers. No…bowels. Nothing of the sort.”
“If she can barely say the word in the tablecloth sanctum, she’ll never be able to utter it in the parlor,” Margaret said.
“If you’re unwilling to say bowels, I suppose that rules out cannibalism, too.” Rachel tapped her chin as if deep in thought. She finally said, “Have you tried looking them in the eyes and telling them to go away?”
Lily frowned. “Maybe I’ll just use the more subtle tactics, instead.”
Three fair heads swung toward Sylvia.
Sylvia thought a moment and cocked her head. “Are you open to dying your hair?”