Chapter 19 #2
“Very well. I shall merely drift in his general direction and see whether the tide brings him back.” She squeezed Maria’s hand. “Stay put. Smile at no one you dislike.”
“I shall try.”
As Charity slipped into the moving pattern of guests, another figure stepped into Maria’s line of sight. Prudence, efficient as ever, with Alethea on her arm.
“Tell me everything,” Prudence said under her breath, eyes already taking stock. “Breathing? Shoulders down? Do you need water or rescue?”
“I need none of those,” Maria said, pleased to find it true. “Charity is determined to prove I am not invisible.”
“She is correct,” Alethea said softly. “You are not.”
“He is watching you, you know,” Prudence’s gaze flicked to the far side of the room.
“Everyone keeps saying so,” Maria muttered. “I would prefer to have proof.”
“Turn your head a fraction to the left,” Prudence directed, wicked with care. “No, the other left. There. Now wait two counts.”
Maria obeyed, and on the second count, Stephen appeared in the space between two groups, as if the crowd had decided to reveal him. He was speaking to a grey-haired gentleman and listening with real attention, but the line of his mouth changed when his eyes found her.
Prudence smiled, satisfied. “Proof.”
“He looks like he has remembered something important.”
Maria’s stomach did an odd turn. “Perhaps I will not flee,” she said.
“Please do not,” Prudence replied. “It is hard to dance when one’s duchess has vanished.”
“Prudence,” Maria said, amused and faintly horrified.
Charity reappeared then.
“Ah, all my favorite people have gathered. This is just what I needed,” she grinned. “Did you notice how lovely her dress is tonight, ladies?”
“Please, I would rather not talk about that…” Maria flushed.
“Stand still a moment.” Charity adjusted a curl with two fingers. “Better. You can be seen without having to wave.”
“I’d rather not be seen at all,” Maria muttered.
“That option isn’t available,” Prudence said. “Take the easy wins.”
“When you walked in, I noticed the room got quieter,” Prudence said, giggling.
“That was simply the music changing,” Maria said.
“It wasn’t,” Alethea replied, certain.
“If you start apologizing for breathing,” Charity leaned in. “I’ll step on your hem to distract you.”
“Please don’t,” Maria said, half laughing.
“We are only trying to raise your spirits, young lady,” Charity said, mock-severe. “You should be allowed to shine.”
“I’m still learning,” Maria said quietly. “How to stand here and not feel… wrong.”
Prudence’s face softened. “I don’t blame you. It wasn’t a thing at the nunnery.”
Charity nodded. “We were taught to be neat and useful. Not seen.”
“And not asked what we wanted,” Alethea added.
Maria let out a breath. “Exactly. So when people look at me now, I’m not sure what I’m meant to do with it.”
“Nothing,” Prudence said. “You don’t have to perform. Just be here.”
“Pick one easy thing,” Charity said. “Like… breathe and remember you like the violins.”
“I do like the violins,” Maria admitted, a small smile starting.
“And if you forget, we’re right here,” Alethea touched her elbow.
Maria glanced at their hands, then up. “Thank you. Truly.”
“You’ll get better at this. Everyone else has been practicing their whole lives. You’re starting now, that’s all.”
“Will I ever feel natural?” Maria asked.
“Yes,” Prudence said. “In time. You will.”
Stephen told himself to stop looking.
It did not work.
Across the room, his wife stood in pale blue and small stitched stars, and every time he glanced away, something in him turned his head back again.
He had ordered the gown because the shade suited her skin and because the seamstress had sworn the cut would not bully her frame.
He had expected “very nice.” He had not expected this: the way the light found her and stayed, the way the neckline made her look composed rather than displayed, the way she stood like herself and a little more.
Stop it, he told himself, and found his eyes there again.
She was not alone, and her friends hovered around her.
He waited until they drifted off, and only Lady Charity was left.
It was not as though he found her friends to be a bother, not the least. But rather it would be easier to approach his own wife if she were surrounded by one friend rather than three.
Go to her, he thought.
He excused himself from a conversation that had turned into a monologue, nodded to two matrons, and crossed the floor by the sensible route rather than the shortest. When he reached Maria and Charity, he bowed to both.
They greeted him back, but Stephen could not bring himself to meet Maria’s gaze.
“Are you…” He cleared his throat, “Have you made many acquaintances this evening?”
Maria paused.
“I have seen my friends,” she said quietly. “I have spoken with Lady Dalrymple and two others whose names I did not lose immediately.”
“Excellent,” Stephen said, eyes now fascinated by the top edge of her glove. “It is… it is useful to continue. One must be seen. Make a mark as a duchess.”
Charity glanced between them, confusion knitting her brow.
“I shall fetch lemon ice,” she announced to no one in particular, and vanished into the crowd.
Maria watched Charity go and then looked back at Stephen, waiting. When he did not meet her gaze, she spoke again.
“Making a mark is hard,” she said.
“Yes,” he said. “Yes. Still, speak to more people.”
“To say what?” Her voice was mild, not defensive. “I can say ‘good evening’ and ‘how do you do’ and ‘what a lovely floor.’ I run out quickly.”
“Ask after their mothers,” Stephen suggested, still fixing his attention one inch to the left of her shoulder. “Or their sons. Or their gardeners. Gardeners are safe.”
“Gardeners,” Maria repeated, and would have smiled if she were not trying to catch his eyes. “I will attempt it.”
He nodded, too brisk.
“Very good.”
He could feel her waiting, and he could feel himself failing.
He should look at her. It was a small thing, free of charge. He could not seem to do it. Something in him misread her dress as danger. He had not meant to. He had thought it would make the evening easier. He had not thought that beauty might make him stupid.
“I do not mean to scold,” he said, “But it would be… beneficial… if you are spoken of well.”
“By gardeners,” she said, and this time her mouth did smile.
He wanted to say, By anyone who has the sense to notice you are trying. He said, “Yes,” instead.
Charity reappeared with two small plates, presenting one to Maria. “Your Grace, may I tempt you?”
“Another time,” Stephen said.
“It melts now,” Charity blinked.
“I am…” Stephen groped for a word. “I should make a circuit. You are well?”
Maria’s lashes dipped, lifted. “I am… managing.”
That word landed; he felt it in his chest like a hand put there to steady him. It should have been permission to lift his head. Instead, he nodded again, formal to the point of foolishness. “Very good. I shall return.”
He stepped back. Maria’s expression did not change, but Charity’s confusion hardened into something protective.
“Your Grace,” Charity said sweetly, and waited just long enough to make the title a question.
Stephen heard the question. He also heard the answer he could not yet say: You look… No. Not here. Not in a room that would burn it for fuel. He bowed the correct inch and escaped into the nearer crowd.
He made it three paces before his better sense caught up and tapped his shoulder. Idiot. You could have met her eyes for the price of looking. You could have said, “The dress is perfect.” You could have said, “You are.”
He stopped beside a pillar and looked back. Maria had accepted the spoon from Charity and was listening to something her friend said. She laughed, small, quick. The knot of worry in his stomach loosened and then tightened again.
Go back, he told himself.
Not yet, the other, more cowardly part of him answered. You will only make it worse if you cannot look at her like a man whose wife looks like that.
He did not move.