Page 27 of The Viscount's Pearl
Lady Lilley was all smiles. “Vouchers!” she said at breakfast to Frances. “Vouchers to Almack’s!”
Frances did not reply, only buttered more toast.
“You will need to look more pleasant thanthat,” snapped Lady Lilley. “Smile, Frances, and try to look pleased.”
“I will smile when I have to,” said Frances. “At the ball, and not before.”
Lady Lilley left the room in a huff, but the lack of enthusiasm from her daughter did not stop her from booking an appointment with the modiste and the milliner, for last minute adjustments and additions to Frances’ wardrobe. In so doing, she made enquiries and discovered to her satisfaction that the Duke of Buckingham did not yet appear to have chosen a bride, although it seemed that his attention was slowly being directed towards Miss Elizabeth Belmont.
“As she is a friend of yours, make sure to spend some time with her,” instructed Lady Lilley. “Especially when the Duke of Buckingham is in attendance.”
“You want me to steal his attention away from one of my only friends?” asked Frances.
“Not at all,” said Lady Lilley, colouring. “But there is no harm in being attentive. He has not made her any promise, therefore he is still entirely free to pay his compliments to any other young lady.”
Frances shook her head. “I would never step between Elizabeth and the current most eligible man of theton. It would be a despicable thing to do.”
Lady Lilley sighed. “Really, Frances, you seem determined to be a failure. Anyone would think you did not want to marry.”
“I don’t, as you well know,” said Frances.
She meant it, although she was aware of what a struggle she would have to face in making her parents accept her wishes. She had hoped that one more dismal season would make her case for her, but it seemed unlikely. How many more years would she have to wait before she might have the future she hoped for, where she could be mistress of her own fate?
Chapter 8
A House Party
Almack’s opened for the season in March and was its usual staid self, full of people feeling superior for having secured a voucher, with little else to recommend them. The dull food and drink on offer was vastly inferior to private balls, where the hosts would at least lay on a decent repast for a young man about town.
“Welcome, Mr Mowatt. You will recall Miss Hervey,” said the Master of Ceremonies as soon as he spotted Laurence. “I am sure she would be pleased to offer you a place on her dance card.”
Miss Hervey was a newly minted debutante, still wide-eyed at being allowed to stay up past her bedtime and at entering the hallowed halls of Almack’s. Laurence whirled her round the floor, taking a weary pleasure in seeing her excitement. Almack’s no longer held such charms for him, nor did most of the socialevents he regularly attended. They were all so very similar. The same decorations, the same faces, the same dances. He hoped this young woman would get married off quickly enough to avoid his own growing boredom.
Miss Hervey was followed by various other young women, all eagerly pushed forwards by their mamas, who saw in him only his current respectability and the lure of a future title. They passed through his arms, one after another, in dances both lively and stately, none of them able to converse in anything but the most stilted polite platitudes, until he began to long for the silent comfort of his drawing room.
“Mr Mowatt, what a pleasure to see you here.” Lady Hind, married for ten endlessly dull years to Lord Hind, had never plucked up the courage for an affair, but she regularly spoke with Laurence at gatherings where she could timidly flirt with him before returning to her lonely bed to recall in great detail every titillating moment passed between them.
Laurence took away Lady Hind’s glass of champagne and bowed over her naked hand, placing a delicate kiss on the inside of her wrist. “The pleasure is yet to come, I’m sure.”
Lady Hind’s colour rose and she glanced about her for watching eyes. “My champagne, Mr Mowatt, if you please.”
Laurence took a small sip from it, then turned the glass as he handed it back, so that, at her next sip, she would press her lips where his had been. “Would that my lips might taste something sweeter.”
Lady Hind’s hand trembled as she received the glass back, but tonight she was feeling brave. “My dance card is sadly missing a partner for the next dance.”
“I hope it is the waltz?” Laurence asked.
Her colour rose even higher at the idea of dancing such an intimate dance, only recently allowed at Almack’s and onlybetween couples where there could be no hint of impropriety. “I could not possibly… the Master of Ceremonies would never…”
Laurence took her dance card from her and shook his head. “Alas, it is only the quadrille,” he said. “Still, it is a way for couples to be…playfultogether, is it not? Exchanging partners so frequently.”
Lady Hind stared at him in scandalised desire.
“Come,” said Laurence, adding his name to the card and leading her to the dance floor, depositing her champagne along the way into the hands of a footman. He enjoyed teasing Lady Hind, knowing full well she would never actually consent to anything more than dancing, but these ways of talking, the constant banter, the suggestiveness, were for some reason, beginning to feel repetitive. He had always been accomplished at this kind of flirtation, finding just the right words to whisper if they were intimate, or to speak out loud if there were hidden meanings to be hinted at but which could plausibly be denied should outrage be forthcoming. But of late these games of words seemed lacklustre, even when they led to other pleasures, which was certainly not going to be the case with Lady Hind. He shook his head. Perhaps he was just tired, since neither debutantes nor mature women were of much interest of late. An early night soon would be wise, though he was engaged for the next six nights at least at various balls and parties.
With Lady Hind left to slow her breathing after their dance together, Laurence deftly avoided a forlorn looking young woman and her pushy mama and headed towards a quieter part of the room.
“Mr Mowatt.”
