Harvest Night at the Ball

Chapter 1

ANOTHER HARVEST, ANOTHER ball.

Caroline Brooks had lost count of the number of these events she had attended.

It was one of the few occasions when children were present for at least part of the evening, and the social standing of guests blended into relative insignificance for a time.

A night of joy, frivolity, celebration, relief .

. . It wasn’t much compared to some of the grander celebrations across England, but she had always been fond of what Shefford Park could boast with its celebrations.

Lord and Lady Shefford were wonderful hosts and took great pride in opening their doors to any and all neighbors for the evening.

Caro highly doubted that anyone had ever complained about their harvest ball. Or sent their regrets. It was a crowded, massive occasion, and everyone loved it.

Mostly.

Caro loved it.

Mostly.

The only thing she didn’t love, and it truly was just one thing, was the commentary she faced at it.

She was one and twenty years of age now, and while that was not enough for anyone to be labeled a spinster, it just so happened that nearly every woman of her immediate acquaintance of the same age was married.

Many of the girls a year or two younger than her were married.

And those three years younger were hoping to be married.

None of this would matter a jot if it were not brought up, to her face, at every social occasion.

Every. Single. Occasion.

If it wasn’t her birthing hips, it was her gentle demeanor or her way with children. Some part of her was always brought up with pity or sympathy, the implication being that those parts of her were going to waste in her unmarried state.

As though she had somehow managed to commit some egregious sin by not managing a marriage and children all on her own.

If the truth were told . . . if it were known . . .

Well, they would still pity her, but there would be no sympathy. They’d all call her a coward and blame her stupidity that had been camouflaged as timidity—or possibly insecurity—and write her off for good.

Never mind that very few of them would have done what they claimed the best course of action for her.

No, it was not seemly for a young woman to be bold and vulnerable at the same time.

She ought to be one or the other, and even then, only with complete moderation and only at the most opportune times.

But shame and cowardice and regret had been the only feelings Caro had managed for herself in the last three years, at least where her own heart was concerned.

All anyone else knew was that she had grown quiet and sad, which they attributed to the departure of her childhood friend and confidant, Silas Darby.

If they only knew just how true that was.

“Caro!” her sister Daisy squealed almost indignantly. “Make haste! Penelope swears she saw Sebastian Darby in the village this morning, and that he will be at the ball tonight!”

Caro’s eyelids fluttered as she caught her own eyes in the mirror. Examining her hair, which she had done herself due to their only maid being diverted to serve her three sisters, she decided it was good enough for the appearance she must make.

Especially if her sister intended to catch the eye of Silas’s older brother.

It was as unlikely as it was inconvenient, but Daisy would not be dissuaded from her efforts.

Bas was a quiet sort, more inclined to brood than to woo, but he was a good man.

Caro knew him better than Daisy, having been over at the Darby home as much as, if not more than, she had been at her own.

Daisy, on the other hand, had been content to play with her dolls and the daughters of other local families.

There was no possibility of Bas wanting Daisy as his wife, even if there had been less than ten years between them. He would want a steady wife, with a serene countenance and soft beauty to smooth the jagged edges of his being.

Honestly, Caro suspected that if he chose any of the Brooks sisters, it would be their gentle Susannah.

Less than a year younger than Caro, and everything sweet and soft, if a little shy.

Bas would have to tread carefully, but she would be his for the taking.

That might be enough motivation to get Caro through the evening. Even if she went and endured all of the discomfort and inconvenience that lay ahead at a harvest ball for the sake of her softest and favorite sister.

It would be worth it.

Susannah was not bold, nor brave, nor confident. She had never had the freedom of Caro or the willfulness of Daisy or the ease of Lydia. She needed someone to further her cause, or else she could very likely end up a spinster in the care of their parents.

There was nothing wrong with that if it was what Susannah wished.

But Susannah would make the sweetest, kindest, most understanding mother known to man, and Caro had seen the longing in her sister’s face whenever there was a baby in the vicinity.

Susannah wanted the life of a wife and mother. She was simply too afraid to speak her wishes aloud.

Caro could endure a great deal to see her sister happy, especially since her own happiness was elusive at present.

With a firm nod, Caro pushed back from her toilette and moved to the door. She could hear Daisy’s frantic pacing out in the corridor, as though Caro were intentionally delaying their departure.

She opened her door and kept her expression serene, intent on pulling a reaction from her youngest sister. She moved to the stairs without comment, knowing her soft tread would be missed at least for a few steps.

“Hah! Caro! You cannot escape me!” Daisy rushed to her side with almost stomping steps, clutching her arm like an overeager child. “I intend to dance with Bas Darby and with Harris Cowper and with Lord Ellison and with Percy St. James and . . .”

Caro let Daisy ramble on about nearly every eligible man of their acquaintance who might be present that evening, wisely holding her tongue until her sister took a breath.

She had intended to make a statement during that breath when Lydia did so for her at the bottom of the stairs.

“Are you trying to make yourself a social pariah, Daisy? Or is it your wish to be labeled a desperate child?” Lydia asked the question with such a calm demeanor, such a natural tone, that it took Daisy a moment of uncertainty before the words truly sank in.

“Mother!” Daisy cried with all the indignity of twelve youngest sisters.

Lydia and Caro shared teasing smiles, while Susannah, already standing in the entry with her cloak on, merely looked on fondly.

Their mother, huffing already as she hurried toward them from the parlor, only rolled her eyes.

“Do be quiet, Daisy. You will dance when asked and not make a spectacle of yourself. It is enough to cope with the questions I am asked about Caro not being wed to Silas Darby; I cannot also be the mother of a determined flirt on her first Season out in Society. I have only so much patience.”

Caro winced at the neatly placed barb, turning her face away so her mother would not see it.

She meant well, of that Caro was certain.

She was not a vindictive woman, nor was she determined to see every daughter suitably matched within a certain time frame.

She wanted what her daughters wanted, within reason, and to keep the family name in good standing.

She had never once told Caro she was at fault for Silas leaving, or for the rumors about them, and she had continued her visits to Mrs. Darby as regularly as she had before his departure.

Nothing had changed from her actions, and no one ought to have opinions on the subject.

It did not keep her deaf to what was being said, but she would ask no questions either.

That did not, however, mean that the wise and capable Georgette Brooks was going to endure her youngest taking a forward approach to her entrance into local Society.

“Where is your father?” her mother asked as she nodded at the maid for her short cape. “He promised not to make us late. How in the world shall we ever face Lord and Lady Shefford if we arrive outside of the polite window . . .?”

Caro smirked and affixed her own cloak, knowing her father despised balls as though they had been designed by the devil himself.

“I am sure he will do no such thing, Mama,” Susannah murmured in her musical tones.

Honestly, she was too perfect to be their sister.

Lydia might be the beauty of the four of them, but Susannah was the angel everyone seemed to avoid.

Perhaps she was too good, perhaps she was intimidating, perhaps she was too softspoken to talk with, but the distance they gave her only made the personage of Susannah Brooks more unattainable.

Of course, Susannah was nothing of the sort. She was only a gentle soul who would perfectly suit a patient and intentional touch.

Precisely the sort of attention that Bas Darby would excel at.

But Caro would keep that knowledge to herself until she planted the requisite seeds for the preferred blossoms.

“Why are we gathered in our own foyer as though waiting for someone to greet us?” their father boomed jovially as he approached them from wherever he had been. “Be off with us, my daughters, and quick with us!”

Lydia rolled her eyes in dramatic fashion and fussed with her cloak before taking Daisy’s arm and following their father out to the coach, forgoing any sense of formal progression.

Hating when any of them defied propriety, even among themselves, their mother sighed and shook her head before following.

Caro smiled at Susannah and held out her hand, which her sister took almost shyly. “Are you excited for the evening, Susannah?”

Susannah shrugged as they walked toward the coach in the wake of their family.

“Of course. The Sheffords host delightful balls, and the harvest is always something to celebrate. The music will be wonderful, and we are almost certain to have some skilled dancers among the guests. That is always wonderful to watch.”

Caro did not miss that her sister had used the word “wonderful” twice in quick succession. A sign of nerves, perhaps?

It was not necessarily like Susannah to be nervous or to have anxieties before an event, but then, she was shy enough for such things.

“You could dance, you know,” Caro suggested softly, squeezing her sister’s hand.

Susannah smiled just a little, something sad in it.

“If anyone asks. Samuel Darby might ask me, but only because his mother makes him. He is very nice about it, and he is a good enough man not to seem bothered by my nature, but I know there is no real enjoyment in it for him. Word gets around that I am not much for company, even if I dance competently.”

“You dance with grace and beauty, as well as skill,” Caro insisted firmly as they reached the coach. “You just rarely get the opportunity.”

“I cannot do much about that,” Susannah murmured. She paused as she placed her foot upon the step into the coach. “I cannot dance if no one will ask.”

Caro gave her a sympathetic smile. “I know. If I did not think you would despise every moment, I would suggest taking you to London to meet a greater variety of gentlemen who might not be so put off by quiet angels.”

Susannah gave her a flat look that was almost certainly learned from Lydia. “I am no angel.”

“Close enough.” Caro nudged her head toward the coach, and Susannah followed the gesture with a slight huff, rather like their mother.

No, Susannah might not be an angel, but she was the best of the Brooks sisters, and focusing on her that evening might keep Caro from dwelling on Silas and what she had lost due to her silence.