Page 16 of The Wallflower Manifesto
Next time, perhapsshewould cause a stir, even if it was only in the thrill of her own heartbeat.
And perhaps she’d sneak off with her journal, if only because she now had the freedom to do so.
In the end, Lady Bentley had decided against attending the very first ball of the Season, which had occurred some days prior, following the Queen’s Drawing Room last week. She had reasoned that she had returned to London in order to indulge in pure enjoyment, not to play politics or rub shoulders with royalty in such a carefully monitored environment.
“I should think we’ll avoid Almack’s as well, for the most part,” she had said with a flippant shrug to an awestruck Millie, the likes of whom had never been invited to affairs of such stature. “Though if you’ve never been, it’ll be worth one visit, I suppose, but it’s terribly stuffy. Excellent lemonade, however. That’s a perk.”
Tonight’s affair was held at Lord and Lady Wharton’s private mansion in Marylebone, and was sufficiently fashionable without offending Lady Bentley’s distaste for stuffiness. The house was impressively wide and surrounded on all sides by trees and flowers in an impressively lush garden.
Based on what Millie knew of roses, this home would be something truly spectacular in a month or two, when the flowers began to explode into full bloom. The overpowering sweetness ofscent would probably be unbearable to anyone who did not wish to live directly inside a rose bush.
In a brief flash of sentimentality, she thought of how enthusiastic her mother would be to see this place and tour the gardens. Was she really missing her mother’s company?
She shook the thought from her head as they passed through the foyer and into the heart of the event, Lady Bentley’s posture assuming a regality as her name was announced and people turned to behold her triumphant return to Society.
Millie trailed a few steps behind, deeply curious about observing the reactions to her patroness’s presence and her fashion choices as they descended into the melee. The men were certainly appreciative, which flew in the face of everything Millie had been taught as a girl. The dowager countess was well into her fourth decade, and yet men half her age eyed her with interest and turned their heads to follow her path through the crowd.
These were not the upstart beaux from the opera, either. These men were monied and in high stature. They did not need a wealthy widow to improve their lot, which could only mean one thing: their interest was genuine.
The women either watched in admiration and amusement or with the type of venom that could only be inspired by a woman’s helpless reliance on the fleeting attentions of men in the room.
Millie reflected once again at how grateful she was to be earning a wage in her own right. Even if this opportunity hadn’t blessed her in an unexpected twist of fortune, her father would never have allowed her to be at the mercy of an unworthy man’s whims.
Which, of course, is why Claire had eloped instead of asking for his blessing. Though that, too, had worked out in an uncanny show of luck in the end.
No one had ever been as unworthy as Freddy Hightower.
The dance floor was occupied with thepolonaiseas they entered, with brightly dressed couples on grand procession across the shiny, freshly waxed wooden floors. Those who were not occupied with observing the entry of new guests were either gathered around the dancers or making use of the beverage table, which had a fine assortment of sweet cooled drinks to refresh guests.
The room amplified the merry chime of the music, and the coordinated steps of the dancers clapped pleasingly through the air, mingling with laughter and conversation.
“Ah, aren’t they bonny?” Lady Bentley said with a delighted clap of her gloved hands. “I must find a partner for the next dance! I haven’t danced in such a very long time.”
“Lady Bentley!” came the hostess’s voice as she darted through the crowd to greet them. “How pleased I am that you decided to attend! We have missed you in London.”
This time, the introduction process was not nearly so painful. Millie felt rather important, actually. She noted the appreciative glint in Lady Wharton’s eye as she was introduced.
“Ah, I see,” the lady said, giving Millie a gracious smile. “I will ensure all of my future invitations arrive directly in Miss Yardley’s capable hands. After all, I wish to ensure that you continue to accept them!”
Millie found herself blushing at the recognition, a warmth spreading in her heart at the idea that she, of all people, held some semblance of importance.
It didn’t take long for Lady Bentley to secure a dance partner. Several, in fact. And Millie was happy to let her go, enjoying her happiness vicariously at getting exactly what she had hoped for tonight.
Though she knew it was not a requirement, she did find herself seeking the solace of the walls for a time, if only to watch and enjoy the many moving parts of the ball.
Not much had changed, she found, for the debutantes. There were sullen and plain misses relegated to the sidelines and the punch bowl, sparkling beauties with their dance cards completely reserved before the end of the first quadrille, fussing mamas, impatient papas, and at least two girls on the verge of tears at any given moment.
“Hannah, you mustn’t be so hard on yourself,” came the sound of a very familiar voice. “It is only your first ball. These things take time.”
“I want to leave,” was the reply, in a voice unmistakably tinged with tears.
Millie’s head turned just as Dot Cain fell into her line of vision, following after one of the red-eyed young women that the night had taken its toll on.
“Dot!” Millie called, giving a little wave.
The debutante with Dot looked at her incredulously as she approached, while Dot broke into a wide grin.
“Millie!” she called back as Millie closed the distance between them. “Didn’t I tell you I might see you this Season? Oh, you look beautiful! Allow me to introduce you to my ward, Miss Lazarus.”
