Page 53 of Lady for a Season
And the waltz was over. Edward wanted to tell the musicians to play it again, to prolong the moment, but instead there was asmattering of applause from the dancers and the chatter of the crowd.
“Can I take you for an ice?” Edward asked.
Her lips parted in a ready smile at the idea, but the Duchess had appeared at their side, trailing a young woman behind her who was showing off a spectacular cleavage and hair so full of feathers she looked like a plump partridge.
“You will remember Miss Lindley, Edward, perhaps you would care to take her for an ice, the room is stifling.”
He had no choice but to bow, take the proffered hand and walk away with the woman, disappointment heavy in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to look back at Maggie, but that would be impolite to the young woman he was escorting, so he did not, hoping to return to Maggie later. But the Duchess played a more active role in managing the evening than he would have liked. She steered him towards certain dance partners, endlessly introduced him to young women to escort somewhere for something, if not ices then a drink, or something to eat as the evening wore on.
It was past two in the morning when they finally tumbled into their carriage and, exhausted, made it back to their bedrooms with barely a word passing between any of them.
Maggie sat on the edge of her bed and carefully removed her dancing shoes. Her feet ached. She understood now why Celine had bought so many pairs. Delicate as they were, she could not imagine them holding up for many more balls. She thought the evening had gone well, she could not see any faults Edward might have made, and she hoped she had made none herself. Mostly she had felt nervous, except for when she and Edward had been able to dance together. She smiled at the thought of it, hoped that going forward there would be at least one dance at every ball that she would enjoy. Jane had sat up for her, and, sleepy-eyed, she helped Maggie undress.
“Was it very elegant?” she asked.
“It was,” said Maggie. “But I am so tired.”
The dress off and her nightgown on, Jane dismissed, Maggie fell into a deep sleep.
She woke to bright sunlight streaming through the windows and the sight of Celine opening the curtains.
“Is it very late?”
“Half past ten. Her Grace is already at breakfast. How was the ball?”
“I think it went well. Is Her Grace pleased?”
Celine laid out a dress. “She has not said anything.”
Maggie hurried to wash and dress, then made her way downstairs. The Duchess stood up as Maggie entered the morning room and swept past her without a word, leaving Maggie standing uncertain and alone except for Joseph.
“Shall I order more tea?” he asked.
She nodded and sat down at the table, where cake, rolls, bread for toast and dishes of butter and preserves were laid out, even though it was already eleven, evidently the household staff made allowances for late nights at balls. There were also six bouquets of flowers, neatly arranged in vases, which appeared odd all clustered together as the floral arrangements in the house were usually larger, placed elsewhere and these were each very different in style between them. There were some letters nearby on a silver tray and two small parcels wrapped in brown paper, each fastened with a strip of white lace tied in a bow. Maggie took a piece of cake and ate some of it, still only half awake and wondering at the Duchess’ evident annoyance. She rethought the events of last night. Had either she or Edward behaved incorrectly? Had there been whispers? A gloom settled over her. They had failed in some way, failed at the very first hurdle.
“Is His Grace not yet up?” she asked, as Joseph returned with a pot of fresh tea.
“He is up,” said Joseph, “He will join you shortly, I am sure.”
He placed the tea close to her and then gestured towards the flowers and parcels. “Your deliveries.”
“Mine? What do you mean?”
Joseph seemed to be trying to hide a smile. “The flowers are all addressed to you, Miss Seton,” he said. “As are the parcels from Brown’s.”
“Who has sent me flowers?”
“I believe some of the gentlemen with whom you danced last night.”
Maggie gaped at him. “That can’t be.”
Joseph picked up one of the vases and brought it closer to her. Amongst the flowers was a small white envelope, which he offered to her. She opened it, still uncertain, and read it aloud. “To Miss Seton, with compliments, Lord Frampton.” She stared up at Joseph, amazed. “Are they all…?”
“They are all addressed to you.” He handed each card over, and she read each message with increasing astonishment.
“And the parcels from Brown’s,” Joseph reminded her, when she had finished.
“Brown’s?”
