Page 9 of One Perfect Dance
She insisted on supervising as Regina changed to receive afternoon visits. From the quantity of bouquets, they could expect the drawing room to be crowded, and she was determined Regina would be perfectly turned out.
The gown she chose was one of Regina’s favorites. Mama might be silly in some ways, but she had wonderful taste. It was pale, of course, in a tone of pink the modiste calledfairy blushes. Mama insisted that pastel colors were the only appropriate option for a girl of seventeen. But the cerise embroidery on every edge, the ribbons that trimmed the sleeves and the matching sash added the color that Regina craved.
Certainly, when Mama finally pronounced her ready and they went downstairs, Papa pronounced her the loveliest young lady in London. Mr. Paddimore was there, too, with a huge bunch of purple irises and golden narcissus.
As the clock chimed three, the first gentlemen callers arrived, and after that, the door knocker banged every few minutes to announce another visitor. By the time five o’clock signaled the end of her calling hours, Regina had accepted a ride in his curricle the following day with Viscount Waterman, a walk before visiting hours the day after with the Honorable George Palmer, afternoon tea later in the week at Fourniers with the Markham sisters and a party of other young people, and an excursion to watch a balloon ascension. She had also promised dances to more than a dozen gentlemen at three different engagements.
Papa and Mr. Paddimore, who had withdrawn to Papa’s study at the first knock, came through to the drawing room to vicariously enjoy Regina’s triumph, as Mama once again dissected every action, conversation, and especially invitation. “Our little girl is going to make a magnificent marriage, Lord Kingsley. You wait and see.”
Papa patted Regina’s hand. “No hurry, Lady Kingsley. The princess has plenty of time to look around and make up her mind. If not this year, next year, right, Gideon?”
Mr. Paddimore, with a cautious glance at Mama, murmured diplomatically, “Miss Kingsley is sure to be a huge success.”
Over the next few weeks, Regina became accustomed to going asleep after midnight, and sometimes so late the under-maids were already cleaning grates and setting fires. She learned to sleep late in the morning, and to catch a brief rest after visiting hours if she was not otherwise engaged.
It was good she had a memory for faces and names, for every outing introduced her to new acquaintances, and she soon gathered a bevy of regular admirers. Mama was over the moon, but Regina did not believe any of the gentlemen were serious in their pursuit. Somehow, admiring Miss Kingsley had become the fashion.
Making friends with the other ladies proved to be more difficult. Here, her looks and her wealth apparently counted against her. The other reigning beauties treated her like an interloper, and less-favored ladies kept her at the same cautious distance they applied to the beauties.
That changed one day when she overheard a particularly obnoxious beauty, a Miss Wharton. She and her two bosom friends were in the ladies’ retiring room one evening, attempting to cow another girl. Regina was behind the screen when they entered, three of them clearly on the heels of the one they wanted to harass.
“Please, leave me alone.”
Regina didn’t know the voice, but she did recognize Miss Fairchild’s falsely sweet coo in the answer. “Oh, girls, Miss Millgirl wants us to leave her alone.”
Regina had not met Miss Milton, but she recognized the name, even skewed to be an insult. The pretty girl’s mother came from a middle-class family whose considerable fortune was founded on mill ownership. Mrs. Milton had won one of the marital prizes of twenty years ago, the second son of a wealthy viscount, and some in Society had not forgiven the trespass.
Miss Wharton hissed. “Go home and we shall leave you alone. You stink of the shop, and we do not plan to put up with you. These are our ballrooms, our suitors. Just because your mother was lucky enough to trap a gentleman doesn’t mean we are going to let you do so.”
The horrid cow.
“Is this because I danced with Lord Spenhurst?” asked Miss Milton, shrewdly. Lord Spenhurst was heir to a marquis and was showing considerable interest in Miss Milton.
Miss Plumfield screeched, “You will not do so again.” The sound of fabric ripping brought Regina hurrying out from behind the privacy screen.
All three of them were tearing at Miss Milton’s clothing and hair, while she batted at them, begging them to leave her alone.
Regina caught Miss Plumfield’s raised hand. “I cannot abide bullies,” she announced.
“This is none of your business, Miss Kingsley,” Miss Wharton insisted. “If you interfere, you’ll get the same treatment.”
“Yes,” Miss Fairchild agreed. “Get out of here while you still can.”
“What has happened to the maid?” Regina wondered aloud.
A smug twitch of Miss Wharton’s lips gave her the answer.
“You bribed her to leave, did you not? You did not want a witness. Unfortunate for you that I was already here. Come, Miss Milton. Let us go and find our hostess. I am sure she will be interested to know how her guests behave when not under the eyes of their chaperones.”
Miss Wharton swung her hand to slap Regina’s face. Regina blocked the blow with one forearm and clenched both fists. “I would not do that if I were you.” Regina’s mother would have stopped her excursions with the village children much earlier had she known they had taught her to swim, to climb trees, and—most relevant in this situation—to fight.
Slapping would have been regarded by her tutors as a girlie thing to do. If Miss Wharton tried it again, Regina would let her, Regina decided. A red mark on her cheek would be her defense after she punched Miss Wharton in the belly.
Some of this calculation must have shown in her eyes, for Miss Wharton did not repeat the attempt.
“Who do you suppose will be believed if you tell tales on us?” Miss Fairchild demanded. “We are the diamonds of this year’s debutantes. Everyone says so.”
Did she really believe that?
