Page 7 of A Brilliant Match
“The next dance is about to begin. Shall we take our places?”
She nodded and allowed him to lead her to where the couples assembled, her mind still wary but her heart not immune. More than one set of female eyes were turned his way.
One’s first ball should have a more auspicious start. She had a respectable fortune, was associated with the peerage, and had a pleasing face—at least she believed it to be so, although she couldn’t hold a candle to Sophia…and both Joanna and Tilly were looking to turn out quite fair.
Dorothea did not ask for much. She merely required a match due to one of her station. Mr. Shaw could not set his hopes so high, and she was glad he owned as much, for she should not like to have to snub such a nice man as he.
The dance was another cotillion with different figures, and the simple pleasure of dancing overcame her, already causing her to forget her good intentions to keep a proper distance. She had never danced with anyone who’d brought her more pleasure, for he danced with a flourish she thought quite in keeping with his modish appearance. The firm grip of his hand whenever the steps brought them together, coupled as it was with his attractive smile and agreeable scent, alerted her to the particular danger he posed. She could not let down her guard lest he slip past her defenses and fool her into declaring him eligible.
And yet, these resolutions flew away when he danced the steps with such grace. It was not only his skill in dancing. He was also an excessively handsome man—a perilous combination for one possessing so engaging a disposition. There was only the way his hair sprang from his head as though it wished to run in two directions…
Forgetting herself, Dorothea laughed at the image she had conjured, and Mr. Shaw, pivoting around her at that point, glanced at her, startled, before an answering smile played about his lips.
“Do tell me what it is you have found to amuse you.”
She did not think herself prone to the blush, but how could she answer him? Tell him she was laughing at his hair? No, that was impossible, but her usually agile mind betrayed her, and she could not come up with a thing. When his steady regard persisted, she merely bit her lip and shook her head.
“I beg you will not press me. I assure you it was a silly thought of no consequence.”
“Far be it from me to press a lady,” he replied promptly before the steps of the dance led him away again. But his penetrating, speculative gaze, combined with the hint of humor around his mouth left her feeling guilty. It was not fair to poke fun at handsome, impoverished men.
Truly, he would make any lady of a lower station a fine husband. She should keep her eyes out for one such lady and introduce the pair of them. It was the least she could do, for a gentleman as agreeable as he merited a degree of consideration. Perhaps she could even find him a wealthy wife. Nowthatwould be a kind thing to do. Despite his noble intentions not to marry for wealth, his life would be made a great deal easier by his wife’s portion if such were large enough.
Their dance ended at last, and although she could not feel completely satisfied with the fact that her very first partner in London society was a man of no consequence, she could appreciate his way of bowing over her hand. And she might admire the frank appraisal that caused a few unexpected sparks to ignite in her belly. Those, she quickly snuffed out.
After Mr. Shaw had brought her back to her mother’s side, Dorothea found her luck improved. Her sister had not sat the first set out after all, and her mother was sitting beside Lady Sefton. Fortunately, the august patroness of Almack’s did not seem to require scintillating conversation, for Lady Poole could offer no such thing. She did inform her daughter that Lady Sefton would provide them with vouchers for Almack’s. Dorothea tried not to let her relief show as she thanked the patroness.
Lady Sefton watched Mr. Shaw’s retreat before bringing her gaze back to Dorothea. “Who is he?”
“It is Mr. Shaw, my lady. I know very little else about him, except—”
She had been about to say that he had no fortune but thought it would be ill-bred of her to say so, besides being unkind. “—except that he is a fine dancer.”
Lady Sefton made a noise in her throat before saying, “I’ve been expressing my condolences to your mother over the loss of your father. Lord Poole was appreciated by many in thetonand graced nearly every social event.”
“Thank you, my lady,” Dorothea said.’Twas unfortunate his own family should have seen so little of him.
“And I was telling your mother I’ve a mind to introduce you to some of the more eligible men of the season. You will be wishing to make an advantageous match, if I am not mistaken,” she added.
Lady Sefton wasnotmistaken, and Dorothea hid her eagerness when one of the gentlemen in question came in response to Lady Sefton’s summons. She turned to receive the bow of Lord Peregrine, whom Lady Sefton explained was a baron.
“A pleasure,” Dorothea said as she curtsied, bringing her gaze to his in anticipation.
His smile lacked the warmth that Mr. Shaw’s held, but she supposed that was only normal. After all, he was likely courted and hounded by eligible females all across Society, poor man. He would not receive such treatment from her.
However, she must not be behind in showing him how well she might suit as baroness were she to stand a chance at gaining the role. Of course, a barony was not the highest in the peerage, but it was a peer. And if Lady Sefton knew him, then he must certainly have the right connections. As long as he was solvent, she would not mind it.
His eyes flicked from the dance floor back to her. “May I have the honor of leading you out in the next set?”
“With pleasure,” she replied, realizing too late she had just used the word “pleasure” the last time she opened her lips. She must gather her wits about her if she did not want Lord Peregrine to think she had no conversation. To be deemed uninteresting was the kiss of death in London society, she’d heard.
“I will come back to claim your hand as soon as this set finishes then,” he said. His frosty smile was back, along with another bow.
Dorothea watched him walk off, nonplussed. She had quite thought he would stay and make conversation with her while this set finished. It was not as though he could dance with someone else since the current set had already begun. And it would give them a chance to know each other better. It would behoove her to be wittier than her first interaction had made her out to be. She knew she could do better than that.
Her mother and Lady Sefton resumed their conversation, so Dorothea was left to watch the dancers. Mr. Shaw was now dancing with Sophia as he had promised. That her sister was smiling at something he’d said showed that Sophia had opened up to him more than she generally did. It was unusual, for charming men usually came up empty-handed when they tried to ply said charm on Sophia.
Concern pinched Dorothea’s brows. She certainly hoped her sister would not develop atendre—and an ill-chosen one, at that—so early in her career. Her sister could look higher than Mr. Shaw. As the daughter of an earl, Sophia must marry well, for all she had declared she wished for a love match. She had no talent for surviving a life of poverty. Such a gentle creature as she must be pampered. In truth, if anyone in the Rowlandson family was capable of surviving poverty, it would be Dorothea herself. Who ran the entire household in an efficient manner, sometimes putting on an old dress to go among the servants and oversee that the tasks were done properly? It was she.
