Page 10 of Sinful Persuasion of a Lady in the Making
“Oh, poor thing,” Jenny said.
“And then there’s Lady Marybeth Fitzroy, there. She’s worn that same gown to the opening of the last four seasons. Word has it that her and her husband are not quite as wealthy as they proclaim, although they will not ever admit to their misfortune.”
“Heavens, it must be horrid to pretend something you are not,” Jenny said, the irony not entirely lost on her.
“So you see, Dear Jenny,” Alison said, “there are plenty of people here who, at one time or another, have been the topic of conversation. For the moment, that happens to be you, but it won’t last forever and when it finally passes, you can wear this time as some sort of badge of honor.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Jenny said.
As she lapsed into silence, she spotted someone walking down the length of the ballroom and in their direction. The man seemed as untaken with his surroundings as Jenny was, although he was led by an older lady who walked briskly and with purpose.
It seemed to Jenny that this gentleman was the most handsome in the room, and not least because he was not playing the games the other gentlemen seemed to play. His hair, the color of dirty sand, was unkempt at best, although Jenny thought he had at least tried to comb it. It stuck up at awkward angles, unused to being tamed, and it was limp over his forehead.
His blue eyes sparkled in the candlelight, like sapphires shining out from murky water, and his jaw was both clean shaven and chiseled. As he stopped to greet people, his freckles bounced across his face. He looked almost rough in a jacket that had clearly been thrown on without thought and an expression that told of his distaste of his immediate company.
And Jenny felt herself drawn to him.
“Who is that?” she asked.
“Ah, that is Viscount of Hartwood and his sister, Lady Diana Nicholes. Five-and-thirty and still unwed, and apparently she makes her displeasure of that fact known to anyone who will listen. I suspect she would marry anyone, given the chance, love or no love.”
“How sad,” Jenny said.
“Hm,” Alison said, “perhaps. But her brother does not aid her reputation with his ungentlemanly behavior.”
Before Jenny could ask any more, the song changed. She looked quickly down at her dance card, panic rushing through her, hoping to ensure she was free still. She breathed a sigh of relief.
“There’s no need to look quite so relieved,” Alison said, seeing Jenny’s expression and chuckling. “Come, let’s sit for this next dance. I have become rather unused to being on my feet for so long.”
Once they had taken a seat at a small round table near the entrance, Alison turned to Jenny and gazed curiously at her.
“What is it?” Jenny asked.
“You do not enjoy dancing?”
“Whatever gives you that idea?” Jenny asked.
“The fact that you were just relieved to not have a name for the next dance, and the expression of pure liberation when your last one ended.”
“It was not liberation from the dancing that pleased me,” Jenny admitted. “But liberation from the clutches of that awful man.”
“Gentleman,” Alison corrected. “Be careful. People are peculiar about titles around here.”
“But he wasn’t much of a gentleman,” Jenny said, looking down at her hands. “He was a brute, if anything. I thought thesewell-bredmen were supposed to be kinder and follow some sort of moral code.”
“Oh, dear,” Alison said, taking Jenny’s hand. “What happened?”
“Nothing, really,” Jenny admitted. “But his manner was… proprietary, shall we say? I felt more possessed and confined than I ever did as a servant, and it seemed thisgentlemanfelt he could say whatever he wished with no comeuppance. I suppose he can, can’t he? I have no way of defending myself against it.”
“What did he say?” Alison asked, her voice soft with concern.
“He made some crude remarks about my upbringing. That whatever gentleman I end up with will be lucky because no doubt my adventuress of a mother will have taught me a trick or two. That sort of thing.”
“I’m dreadfully sorry you had to listen to that,” Alison said. “But I promise you, they are not all like that. Not by a long measure. Don’t let one rascal put you off all the rest.”
“I will try my best,” Jenny said.
The ball, by now, was in full swing. The string quartet played jaunty tune after jaunty tune, although from the list on Jenny’s dance card, she knew there were a few slow waltzes later in the evening—and she had a few names next to those in particular.
The mood of the room was happy, too. Every face in Jenny’s eye line held a smile, the occasional head thrown back in laughter. She could still sense the murmur of gossip around her, but Jenny suspected this would never end. It seemed Alison was right. The people there thrived on gossip of one form or another, and if it wasn’t about Jenny, then it would be about someone else.
The music died down and Jenny closed her eyes, her chest heavy with dread. She knew what was coming next, but hearing the announcement made it even worse.
“Oh,” Alison said, perking up. “Don’t you have a dance arranged for this one?”
“I do,” Jenny said, nodding reluctantly, just as the gentleman in question approached her, already looking her up and down like she was a piece of meat.
