Chapter One #4
For the first time, she questioned her choice of the cerise silk for her dress.
Even Mme Beaufort had protested when she had chosen it, saying it was too bold for a young woman of modesty and virtue, but she had insisted and was now finding herself the focus of the kind of attention she had not wanted to attract.
Her confusion increased when Sir Percy sneered at Grace Blythe and said, “Poor old Walter. He does look bored. I don’t blame him or envy him one bit, even if his intended comes with a decent dowry.
Life with such a prim wife will be terribly dull.
At least she’s not likely to protest when he keeps a string of mistresses on the side.
” He gave Gwendolyn a sly look that she could not really understand.
“He certainly admires your vivacity and boldness.”
Gwendolyn couldn’t smile as she usually would have at Sir Percy’s outrageous comments.
Her first response was a rush of humiliation.
Was her partiality for Major Enderby so obvious, and was she being mocked by all of society?
But her second thought brought a glimmer of hope.
Sir Percy was an astute observer of the members of the haut ton, and if he thought that Major Enderby admired her, then perhaps she could entice him to turn his admiration to love.
But even as the thought crossed her mind, a wave of guilt swamped her.
She had few female friends apart from Mariana, more often finding herself the object of spiteful jealousy from rivals for the attention of the most eligible gentlemen and had, as a result, spent the last few years cultivating an air of disdain for other young society ladies.
When Bonnie had blurted out in Mme Beaufort’s salon that Grace was betrothed to Walter Enderby, Gwendolyn had been consumed by the green-eyed monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on.
But the camaraderie that had sprung up amongst the girls who had formed the informal Seven Perfect Days Club had given her a sense of belonging, of acceptance she had seldom known.
She didn’t want to jeopardize the tenuous friendships she had so recently formed.
Besides, the short time the girls had been together had been enough for Gwendolyn to discover much to admire in Grace and she wanted her to find love and happiness.
Although perhaps not with Major Enderby.
Gwendolyn continued to watch Grace, concerned that the older girl’s smile did not reach her eyes, Grace might be sweet-natured and complacent, but she was not so naive not to notice how little attention Major Enderby paid her in comparison to his focus on other ladies at the ball.
Absence, Gwendolyn mused, does not always make the heart grow fonder.
She found herself staring at the major again.
She had never known such a handsome man or one with such innate dignity and strength.
Would he really, as Sir Percy hinted, marry a genteel and gracious woman to meet the expectations of society and then keep a mistress for his pleasure?
Is that what all men did? Gwendolyn had only a vague idea of how society marriages worked.
She knew that her father seldom spent time at home and did not often accompany his wife to society events.
Did he have a mistress? The thought was shocking.
She had never thought of her father or mother as passionate and interested in indulging in physical acts of affection and intimacy. The idea left her slightly nauseated.
Gwendolyn huffed out a sigh of relief when the music came to an end.
Never before had a dance been more confusing or lasted so long.
She began to move rapidly off the dance floor, but Sir Percy lingered by her side, pressing closer to her than was necessary.
She could smell the sickly scent of lilac mingled with body sweat, and he trailed his thumb over her wrist. She tried to hide a shudder.
“You and I are much alike, Miss Burroughs. We both flick our fingers at society’s prudish conventions and could find many ways to enjoy ourselves together.” His voice was low and almost sinister.
Gwendolyn’s nausea increased but she curtsied prettily, ironically grateful to see Lord Montgomery approaching her.
She had not given him another thought since he had claimed his dance with her, and she didn’t know whether he had found other young ladies with whom to dance during the evening.
Neither did she care. But his appearance caused Sir Percy to whistle under his breath before he bowed and walked away, leaving her with her thoughts in turmoil.
Roland Montgomery bowed. “Miss Burroughs, I believe this is our dance.”
“Oh, is it so late already?” She scowled.
“It is indeed almost supper time.” The baron’s voice was smooth but an underlying sharpness conveyed criticism of her that she couldn’t quite understand. After all, he hardly knew her.
For the first time in her life, Gwendolyn wished she did not need to dance just because gentlemen had written their names on her card, but protocol would not let her escape the crush in the ballroom and seek the silence and solitude of the garden where she could think clearly.
She drew on her carefully cultivated flirtatiousness to aid her as the musicians played the opening bars of Largo’s Fairy Dance, a dance which was usually one of her favorites.
But tonight her feet felt heavy and her bad mood was not helped by her supercilious dancing partner.
Gwendolyn closed her eyes, blocking out her view of Lord Montgomery, and let the music wash over her. She swayed gently in time to the music and let her memory lead her through the well-known steps.
Roland Montgomery guided her through the first movement suavely. She was surprised to find he was an excellent dancer, and partnered her with consideration and sensitivity but she was too preoccupied to pay him much attention or notice the cynical curve of his lip.
*
After a few minutes of silence, the baron said, “We must have some conversation, Miss Burroughs. After all, as Lady Burroughs pointed out, the time a lady spends dancing with a gentleman provides an ideal opportunity to convince him of her eligibility as a wife.”
Gwendolyn cast him a withering glare. “If I were interested in convincing a gentleman to consider my eligibility as a wife, he would be in no doubt.” The subtle emphasis she gave to the word gentleman conveyed her antipathy to him.
No matter what title he had inherited, she did not approve of him or consider him worthy of such an appellation.
“If I were interested in attracting a lady to be my wife, she would be an attentive woman who was aware of my likes and dislikes and who engaged in intelligent conversation,” he countered smoothly.
His eyes narrowed as she scowled at him. “That is a typical attitude of men, who require women to be nothing more than sycophants to their vanity, and so we learn to behave like dogs trained to walk on their hind legs in a circus.”
He was grudgingly impressed by her spiritedness and her intelligence, and couldn’t hold back a smile at the image her words evoked, but her response indicated that she had misunderstood him.
She tossed her head impatiently and huffed.
“There is no need to mock me. Most gentlemen are content to tell me how pretty my curls are and how my smile makes me look like an angel. They do not care about my opinion on the trade embargo with the United States of America and only one has ever asked whether I have read Lord Byron’s poem about Childe Harold.
” There was a hard and bitter edge to her words and Montgomery studied her more closely for a few silent moments.
He had expected Gwendolyn Burroughs to be as shallow as so many pretty young ladies he had met over the years at Society events, which was one of the reasons he avoided society as much as possible. “And what did you say to this unusual gentleman about Byron’s poem?”
Her eyes widened as she looked directly at Roland Montgomery for the first time since they began to dance.
“Sharing my views will provide you with further fuel to mock my taste and opinion therefore, in the interests of peace, it would probably be best if we continue in silence for the rest of the time we are required to be together.”
Roland’s mouth quirked. He was enjoying this dance more than he had expected to.
With every word she spoke, Gwendolyn Burroughs was intriguing him and he found he wanted to goad her into revealing more of herself.
“You have a very low opinion of me, Miss Burroughs,” he remarked after a few silent moments.
*
The iciness in her glare should have cooled the overheated room. “On the contrary, sir, I have no opinion of you whatsoever. I reserve judgment until I am better acquainted with a person rather than forming an opinion before I meet someone.”
“Touché!” he acknowledged, ignoring the insult of her relegating him to a mere sir.
Gwendolyn was not appeased. His response added to her uneasiness. Her stomach had tied itself into a tight knot and her head pounded. She did not know what to make of Lord Roland Montgomery and decided her best defense was haughty silence.
Rather than look at him, she gazed through the crowded room and as if she were iron filings, she was drawn to the magnetism of Major Enderby as he led Grace Blythe to where her mother was seated.
Gwendolyn watched him bow stiffly and stride through the crowd, greeting several pretty ladies who stepped into his path so that he had to talk to them.
He paused to talk to Lady Wetherspoon and her second daughter who was enjoying her first Season. The débutante laughed at something the major said and coyly handed her dance card to him.
A tiny shard of hope slid into Gwendolyn’s heart.
She could still find a way to lure her hero and convince him that she was more suited to be his wife than Grace was.
But even as the thought shivered through her mind, it was countered by indignation.
Grace deserved a more attentive husband, a man who would appreciate the affectionateness of her nature and the kindness of her heart.
She should be loved, not treated in the cold, callous way gentlemen of society treated their wives as necessary encumbrances while they sought pleasure in the arms of mistresses and paramours.
Gwendolyn had once thoughtlessly expressed her views to her mother who had been suitably shocked, first because young ladies should know nothing of the behavior of men when they were not with their wives, but mostly because Gwendolyn yearned to experience love.
Love, Lady Burroughs had informed her, was something vulgar, a sentiment best suited to peasants romping in the fields, not the sublime experience presented in fairy tales and novels and certainly not necessary in the pragmatic arrangements between ladies and gentlemen of the aristocracy.
“My aunt was right,” Lord Montgomery said, forcing Gwendolyn’s attention back to him.
She blushed. Making her interest in one particular gentleman, especially in the man whose attention she longed for, so obvious was not genteel and would not give a good impression of her to anyone.
She prevaricated. “I met Miss Blythe recently, and find much in her to admire. I was wondering why she had not been seen much in society before now.”
Roland’s mouth quirked. “You are wondering how a lady who has not been much in London society has attracted such an eligible man as her future husband, while you, the nonpareil of the ton, failed to attract his interest at all.”
Gwendolyn’s eyes flashed. “You are insolent and insufferable, sir.”
“Perhaps, but I have found that speaking honestly is far more tolerable than showering the usual empty compliments on young ladies who already know that they are pretty but do not understand that true beauty comes from treating all those they encounter with kindness.”
Gwendolyn scoffed. “You think me rude and superficial, but you, sir, have shown little kindness.” Her words stopped abruptly when she remembered that the baron had asked Mariana to dance when most others ignored and ostracized her.
Her voice was much meeker when she said, “At least, you are not kind to me. Thank you for dancing with my cousin.”