Chapter Seventeen #2
Her cream China crape, which she had worn for evening in one fashion or another for the past three years, was utterly transformed by its new trim at sleeve, neck, and hem.
The pale-Claret ribbon complemented her coloring, Mrs. Ellsworth saying approvingly, “Ah, the complexion of the young! You have no need for rouge with cheeks like those.” Her hair, moreover, was tonight embellished with a ribbon wound throughout and another, larger rosette, pinned in her chignon.
“If Benjamin had not been struck by a coup de foudre before, he certainly will be now,” Mrs. Ellsworth pronounced. “Let us go down and show him.”
Bending, Maria took one last look at her face in the mirror, promising herself that she would prevail over Miss Allen in her husband’s heart if it took the next ten years. Then, with a toss of her chin, she led the way from the room.
Her boldness lasted until she entered the parlor and saw her husband, magnificent in black knitted-silk breeches and snowy waistcoat, his coat the blue-black one which matched his hair.
His brother Austin beside him might have been rolled up in the carpet and tucked behind the library case for all the notice Maria took of him, but it was Austin who spoke first: “Well, well, well! You mentioned a new baron in the family, Ben, but you said nothing about a princess.” He made her a mocking bow.
“Your highness, if I might beg a dance?”
“Hm? Oh—yes, of course, Austin. Thank you.”
“And you too, Maman,” he cried, taking her hand to twirl her about. Mrs. Ellsworth laughed and slapped at him, and Maria was grateful for the distraction because she thought Benjamin ought to say something, and it vexed her that he didn’t.
When he did speak at last, he made matters worse by saying with offensive glibness (to Maria’s mind), “Upon my word. So I didn’t just imagine it, that you and Maman were working on those toys and fripperies all round the clock? I shiver to think how many miles of ribbon were required.”
Eyes narrowing, she retorted, “Yes, here is the result, and I’m pleased that your brother likes it.
But never fear that I shall squander our limited means.
” No, indeed! She had already collected two of his discarded Jackson’s Oxford Journals, and she intended to see what they could do for her as soon as Mrs. Ellsworth left again for Winchester.
“Ahem. Shall we?” asked Austin.
The Town Hall being near Pembroke Street, and the week having been dry, Maria dispensed with both list shoes and pattens but was careful where she stepped as she held her husband’s arm.
Light poured from the arched windows, and Maria felt her annoyance fade as eagerness took its place.
They joined the throng climbing the stairs to the first floor, the landing place of which held chairs for the musicians, while at the far side stood tables for the dinner.
The building being nearly sixty years old by the time Maria saw it, the oak wainscoting had darkened, but she didn’t notice, not with candles glowing in every sconce and chandelier, their light reflected in the display of silver plate and the gilt frames lining the walls.
As Maria gazed up at Kneller’s full-length portrait of Queen Anne, her husband’s gaze was fixed on her.
It was not that he had not thought her attractive before.
He always had, and he had been rather alarmed to realize the moments in his day he most looked forward to were the ones where he slid his arms beneath her warm weight and she murmured against his chest, or when he just touched her with his lips and wished he might linger.
Why had he said that stupid thing about the roses on her dress, instead of telling her she took his breath away?
Idiot.
And what did it mean that he, who thought himself in love with an entirely different young lady just a few short months ago, now spent his time calculating how long it would be before he had an excuse to kiss his wife again?
And what did it mean that, he wondered how he might get his mother to extend her visit, because, once she was gone, he would have to return to his separate bedroom and leave off the sham gestures of affection.
Sham on his wife’s part, anyway. Though the one time his kiss had landed on her neck, she had turned back with wide, stricken eyes which made him think she was at least not wholly indifferent to him.
Those eyes turned to him now, and, afraid his confusion was written in black and white on his face, he blurted, “I hope you’ve saved a dance for your other half.”
She looked relieved. “I don’t know what you mean by ‘saved.’ The only partners I have so far are your brother and George Denver, and George didn’t even ask me himself—Miss Hancock asked on his behalf!”
However pleased Benjamin was to claim both the first dance and the supper dance, her use of Denver’s Christian name irked him, and he returned in a priggish tone he instantly regretted, “Mrs. Ellsworth, it would be more seemly if you referred to other gentlemen by their surnames, now that you are married, whether they be old family friends or not.”
Though she had not time to reply, he felt her arm stiffen, and the universe assisted her in punishing him because the next instant the objectionable family friend appeared at the top of the stairs.
At once, Maria waved her closed fan and bounced on her toes.
“Why, George! Miss Hancock! Isn’t this delightful? ”
Then it was Benjamin’s turn to stiffen as the gangling young curate and his intended made haste to join them, this so-called George’s countenance lighting (Miss Hancock’s did as well, but Benjamin hadn’t an eye to spare her).
“I’m so very glad to see you again, George, Miss Hancock,” Maria replied warmly to their greetings.
“And allow me to introduce you, George, to my husband and his family, whom Miss Hancock has already met. Mr. Benjamin Ellsworth, Mrs. Charles Ellsworth, and Mr. Austin Ellsworth. This is Mr. George Denver, a dear, dear old family friend. We Barstows—though I am no longer a Barstow—have known George these ten years! However, I daresay it would be more seemly to refer to you by your surname now, George, old family friend or not.”
“Oh no!” he laughed, straightening from his bow.
“Does that mean I must no longer call you Maria? Another potential pitfall for me, I’m afraid, as if I needed more of those in a ballroom.
I will do my best, however, Mrs. Ellsworth.
” He repeated her name several more times for practice before grinning again.
“Say, though, whatever your name is—Rebecca here tells me you gave your word you would stand up with me.”
“And so I shall, Geo—Mr. Denver, rather. (Dear me! You are not the only one who will find new names a pitfall!) My lord and master has claimed the first dance, of course,” (with a titter and a playful rap of the fan on her husband’s arm) “so perhaps the second or third, if all the other girls haven’t thrown themselves at you already? ”
“You mean, if Rebecca hasn’t enlisted other victims?”
The two of them rallied each other another minute, Maria thoroughly enjoying her husband’s discomfiture, but then the universe deemed that turnabout was fair play, for Miss Hancock said, “You and Mrs. Ellsworth had better settle on the third dance, George, because I promised Verity your second. Ah, and look where she comes.”