Page 13 of A Brilliant Match
The only thing to truly mar her afternoon—besides Evo’s horrible, impudent display of embarrassingly bad manners—was the knowledge that Lady Milton had caught her alone with Mr. Shaw. The Miltons were one of the few families they knew in London, as they too hailed from Surrey. Lady Milton was a notorious gossip, and Dorothea was afraid news would spread all over town that she was developing atendrefor a gentleman whose station was beneath hers and that it would chase all offers away. This fear was somewhat mitigated by the fact that he had offered to stand up with Bernice at the next assembly. Perhaps that would redirect Lady Milton’s thoughts from associating Mr. Shaw’s name with hers.
It had been kind of him to do that. To offer to dance with Bernice when her sister humiliated her. Dorothea had no patience with Abigail. She never crossed a line into being overly flirtatious or lacking respectability, but she crossed every line when it came to unkindness. Mr. Shaw had stepped in nobly without even knowing Bernice.
And he was the only gentleman to bring them flowers. Or rather, bringherflowers, as the short note was addressed to her alone. She adored freesias. How in the world did he know that?
He had also noticed her headache, which she could not quite so appreciate. Mr. Shaw would have done better to remain silent when she was not in good looks. But then, one must give him credit, for he showed her every consideration apart from that ill-chosen comment. He rescued her when she could not think of a single thing to say regarding her mother’s absence or why she was receiving gentlemen callers alone. He saved her from Lady Milton’s censure with that comment. For that reason, she must like him a very little bit.
Dorothea left the remnants of the tea, trusting the servants to clear it, and wearily climbed the stairs to her room. There were fortunately no invitations for that night, and she would be able to retire without needing to perform for society—for if there had been invitations, she certainly would have gone. Her maid helped her to undress and prepare for bed at an unseasonably early hour. Indeed, it had barely turned dark and it was still early in the spring. She could not bear any more movement or sound and needed to be in bed.
Surely, Mr. Shaw entertained no hopes in her regard, she worried as she closed her eyes. Simply because Lady Berkley had introduced them, he need not pay her any special attention. But there he was, calling on her the very next day and carrying an elegant arrangement of flowers symbolizing just about every finer emotion except love. And then to request to take her driving a day later. What would everyone whisper when they saw her sitting next to him in Hyde Park? Why, they would assume he had begun courting her.
Her thoughts were muddled, and she tried to think of Lord Hastings to elevate them. True, conversation with him was stilted, buthewas wholly eligible. After all, a wife need not spend any time conversing with her husband except for the few evenings he tried to spend at home. And that was something she fully intended to discourage. She must think of his finer points. He was titled. He had all of his hair and teeth, and he was known to live comfortably. That was all she needed to make her decision.
Her thoughts, however, were most contrary. They refused to stick to Lord Hastings and drifted back to Mr. Shaw. He really did not think to court her, did he? If she’d felt well enough, she would laugh at such a notion.
No, no. He could not think it. Besides, he said he was not hanging out for a rich wife. Perhaps he merely wished to be her friend. The notion of having him for a friend was a pleasant one. How nice it would be to have a gentleman friend who expected nothing in the way of marriage. Unbidden, the memory of his blue eyes appraising her flooded her mind, and along with it those sparks she had experienced. Sparks which leapt and whirled inside of her. Was that what it was like to…to have atendre? To love?
She nipped the wayward thought in the bud. Absolutely not. He was the last thing she was looking for in a match, and she was not one to grow weak in the knees from one glowing look. Besides, he had said he was not looking for a wealthy wife. His objective was simply to play the gallant, she concluded. Or perhaps he thought her consequence might attract others who would be a suitable candidate for himself.
Still, she could not entirely shake the feeling, despite all, that she might be misreading his intentions. It would be too bad when she was attempting to think well of him to have him overreach and strive to court her in earnest. It would force her to put him in his place, and she could not like to do that to a man who seemed, if nothing else, to have a great deal of kindness for what one might find in a gentleman.
The next morning, Dorothea awoke and felt better than she had in the days since they’d quit Poole Manor. She looked at the clock, finding the hour was already advanced at two o’clock. She generally took her breakfast well before noon and must have needed the rest.
Stepping out of the bed, she stretched her arms high and lifted on her toes. A smile came to her face. It was wonderful to feel well again, and she was thankful her headache had only lasted the night. Perhaps they had rushed things by going out to a ball the very day they arrived. Perhaps the season did not require the frantic pace she’d thought to successfully secure a husband.
A knock came on the door to her room, and her maid entered. “I’ve come to help you dress, if you should like it, my lady.”
Margery knew Dorothea well enough to sense what she would like to wear and pulled out the very day dress Dorothea would have chosen if she were riding in Hyde Park with Lord Hastings or a man of his ilk. But she supposed she need not wear something so fine for Mr. Shaw.
“I shall wear the brown cotton,” she instructed and sat to have her hair dressed.
Margery showed her surprise only by the lift of her eyebrows and paused in her path toward the wardrobe to answer the door when someone knocked. It was another maid bringing chocolate and toast for Dorothea. She’d missed her dinner last night, and her stomach growled at the sight.
“Thank you,” she told the maid. “Iamhungry.”
She alternated her sips of chocolate with her toast that was buttered to perfection, giving into the sensation that all was well in the world as Margery tugged at her hair and pulled it up.
There was another knock on the door.
“Come in.” Dorothea glanced at herself in the reflection, pleased to see that her eyes were much clearer than they had been the day before. Mr. Shaw would have no occasion to call her haggard. She sniffed.
Sophia entered, and as soon as she saw Dorothea up, she came over and planted a kiss on her cheek.
“I came to see you last night when you did not come down for dinner, but you were so sound asleep I did not wish to wake you. It is good to see you up and eating something. Are you feeling much improved?”
“Very much,” Dorothea said, greeting her sister with a smile. “Did Mother give Evo a severe scolding for leaving Mr. Sands behind after our guests left yesterday?”
“Oh, you know Mama,” Sophia said, which meant she had not, proving that if Dorothea didn’t curb his wayward tendencies, who would? His bouts of mischief had only started to get worse in the year since Father had died. She had not yet had the chance to give him the promised talking-to, but she could not put it off.
“Mr. Sands did arrive at an early hour this morning, and I apologized to him for Evo’s stunt, then sent him to Mr. Reams for his compensation.”
“Well done, Sophia,” Dorothea replied with a look of admiration. “You are in a fair way to being ready for the role of mistress of your own house.”
Sophia’s scowl made Dorothea laugh, when even yesterday she would have begged to know what was behind it. But her heart was too light for worries today.
It was unlike her to feel anything akin to happiness. The only emotion she usually felt was a vague sense of anxiety. But here at last they were in London for the season. True, her first ball had not been a resounding success. There had been other ladies more beautiful and wealthier than she, who had stood out among the crowd. She wished she had met the Miss Stanley who apparently had all of London at her feet. It could only be the daughter of the Mr. Stanley of her father’s letters. Miss Stanley—clearly a diamond of the first water—seemed to lead theton, though she had no title.
Dorothea wished she could be compared to a diamond of the first water and have her pick as easily as any of them.
