Chapter Eighteen
Marriage shall prove no lottery to thee, when the hand of providence chuseth for thee.
Miss Allen did indeed nod in their direction, but it took her another minute to detach herself from the young men surrounding her, a process observed by the Ellsworth party with widely ranging emotions.
Mrs. Charles Ellsworth detected something triumphant in the girl’s carriage, and, having believed from the first that Miss Allen thought herself too good for the likes of Benjamin Ellsworth, it did not further endear her.
Austin Ellsworth, on the other hand, judged her a first-rater and could see straight off why his brother had liked her, but marriage was marriage and Maria already a gem in his opinion, so Ben had better keep off.
Maria thought, with sinking heart, that all her rosettes were for naught because Miss Allen looked positively seraphic in blue silk.
And Benjamin—
Benjamin’s feelings were a muddle. The first time, when he had stumbled upon Miss Allen calling at his very home—before he swooned like a lovesick damsel—there had not been time for more than horror and the panicked urge to hide that horror.
But now, his second time meeting her post-marriage, what perplexed him most was his… detachment.
Miss Allen was beautiful as she had ever been, yes, but now he was struck by her consciousness of it, a consciousness afforded by her money and rank.
Consider her dress, for example. Flawless, elegant, the richness of the silk and the hand of Oxford’s best dressmaker plain in every line, whereas his wife’s attire revealed some wear and repair, and he knew how she and his mother had labored over every new bit of trim upon it.
While a Miss Allen might disdain appearing in a twice-turned gown, Maria bloomed in hers.
Nor could he admire Miss Allen’s tout ensemble without counting its cost. Great guns—even if he had accepted a miserable appointment or two and saved for years to marry Miss Allen, would there ever have been enough to buy her things such as that blue silk every season, without the rest of the family having to go without?
There was more.
Fine feathers aside, what would it have been like, day by day, to be married to such as Miss Allen?
An incongruous chuckle threatened, and he pressed his lips together.
It might have been more peaceful, perhaps—outwardly.
He could not imagine quarreling with her as he had with Maria, loudly enough to disturb Chop and Co!
Could he ever have dared to rate and snarl at Miss Allen, whose expressions ranged only from neutral to haughty?
Doubtless her preferred weapons would have been the icy silence, the turned shoulder.
She would never have condescended to rap out retorts, and he could not in a hundred years imagine her “George-thissing” and “George-thatting” to nettle him, as Maria just had, repeating his own words back to him in that saucy manner.
Again the urge to laugh rose, and again he fought it down.
As his glorious former love approached, the gathering making way as if she were a ship launched upon her maiden voyage, he stole a glance at his spouse, an unexpected surge of pride flooding him.
Her chin was up; her color high, and whether Miss Allen would notice or not, Benjamin did not suppose Maria meant to be cowed by her.
And why should she? was his next surprising thought. She’s worth ten of Verity Allen.
Then he was making his bows again to his former love and asking for the honor of standing up with her, and she was shrugging and saying she believed her fourth dance was available—no, no, perhaps it was the fifth, and all Benjamin knew as he agreed to it was that it was all the same to him—fourth, fifth, or five-hundredth.
The realization elated him, giving him an easiness with the young lady he had not previously shown, but which both she and his wife remarked.
Not to be put off, Miss Allen’s swains recovered enough to trail after her, but as there was only one of her to go round, soon Maria’s and Miss Hancock’s remaining dances were claimed, and even Mrs. Charles Ellsworth had been applied to by some of the older gentlemen.
“Upon my word,” said Maria, as Benjamin led her to the set, “if I didn’t already have you, this would be the place to find a dozen husbands!”
“So it would,” he agreed. “If you like penniless, bibulous, and sometimes witless future clergyman, you could scarcely do better.”
“Pooh,” she replied, lips twitching. “Who says you and Austin drink too much?”
With a muttered, “Minx,” he placed her in the line, flanked by Miss Allen and Miss Hancock, and they waited for the music to begin.
Like all her family, Maria loved to dance, and she was glad she need not fear Miss Allen overshadowing her in this, at least. It pleased her moreover to discover her husband quite competent, even graceful, as a partner.
She certainly never had to whisk her foot away to prevent its being accidentally crushed, as she did for the corner turn with George.
Nor did Benjamin make flourishes, nose in the air, like Miss Allen’s partner Mr. Eddings.
Miss Allen and Mr. Eddings being a first couple as well, they progressed down the room along with the Ellsworths, giving Maria ample opportunity to observe her rival, that she might compare Miss Allen’s conduct with Mr. Eddings to her later manner with Benjamin.
Did Mr. Eddings represent Miss Allen’s first choice (if she could not have Benjamin)?
Her “next best thing”? If he did, she gave no sign.
The man was admittedly handsome and attentive, only taking his eyes off her when he turned with his corner or when everyone must go round the square in rights and lefts, but she remained serene.
Her color rose, but Maria supposed her own had as well, with the activity of the dance.
Does it mean she loves Benjamin, and not Mr. Eddings, or that she loves neither, or only that she does not wear her heart on her sleeve?
Of course, it was entirely possible that Mr. Eddings had not been of any especial importance to her but had merely got to her first. Maria would have to watch her with her other partners to tell.
And what about Benjamin? As far as Maria could observe, he never looked in Miss Allen’s direction unless the figures pointed him thus, and even then there was no telltale flush, no fumbling.
But he was a kind, well-meaning man, she knew already, and even if his heart ate at him, he would not want to humiliate his wife by openly yearning for another.
So was it, in fact, worse that he gave no more sign than Miss Allen?
Ah, it was all so confusing.
Her mother-in-law wove by, smiling and saying, “What fun! But I miss my husband, to flirt with.”
Which made Maria wonder. How exactly did one flirt with one’s husband?
Maria’s notion of flirting was giggles and coy glances and raps with one’s fan, but such stratagems couldn’t be less like Miss Allen, so they must not appeal to Benjamin.
She stole another glance at the former, who sailed through the crossing step like an ice floe in Arctic waters.
Maria had not seen her speak one word to her partner.
Very well, then. Flirting, but Miss-Allen style.
“What is it?” asked Benjamin, when they came together for the two-hand turn.
“What is what?”
“Are you going to sneeze? You look like you’re holding something in.”
“Nonsense. This is how I look.”
“—When you’re going to sneeze.”
“You’ve never seen me sneeze!” she huffed, though probably Miss Allen had never huffed in her life. Collecting herself, Maria donned again that lady’s remoteness, though with less of a pinch about the mouth this time.
After they had gone through the pattern once more in silence, he remarked, “You dance very well.”
Elation filled her, but grinning in glee was out of the question. She lifted a cool brow, intoning, “As do you.”
Something flickered across his face which might have been amusement or bemusement or both.
Another time through the figures.
“So what is your verdict on Miss Hancock, Maria? Will she do for your beloved Denver?”
Her “beloved Denver”? Maria bristled. If he meant to reproach her for calling George “George” again, she did not intend to have any of it this time, either!
“She’ll do perfectly,” she returned. “Because she seems honest and straightforward and kind, just as he is. Ever since he was a boy boarding at the rectory and taught by Mr. Terry, alongside my brother Gordon and Peter Dere, he has been a universal favorite.” This last she delivered with a silent so there!
which nevertheless managed to be expressed by the flash of her dark eyes.
Instead of firing up in turn, one corner of his mouth twisted, and he gave a low chuckle which made Maria’s thoughts tangle.
“Temper, temper,” he murmured.
Now modeling herself on Miss Allen was forgotten altogether. As was her resentment. Because the rumble of his voice, coupled with the touch of his gloved hands—one holding her own and the other just pressing the small of her back—sent an alarming, electric thrill through her.
She screwed her eyelids shut a moment (not recommended while dancing, as a general rule), and when she opened them again, they were wary, bewildered. “I—I believe you enjoy provoking me,” she managed.
“You may be right about that.”
But then the music drew out its last bars, and he reluctantly released her.
When she straightened from her curtsey, the buzz of voices around them swelled, and her brother-in-law Austin approached to claim her hand, but still she caught—or thought she caught—her husband say before he moved away, “I’m beginning to think it’s not the only thing I enjoy. ”
Maria would have given all she had to dance only with Benjamin the entire evening, but of course it could not be. Not that Austin was not a pleasant partner. She liked him very well, and though dancing with her husband left her unsettled, his brother proved easiness itself.