Like a Flower in Bloom (18 page)

Miss Templeton’s mouth dropped open, and then she snapped it shut as her cheeks grew pink. “Miss Withersby! I . . . I . . .”

F
or the first time since I’d met her, Miss Templeton had nothing to say.

Mr. Stansbury was looking at her with great disappointment. “I’m shocked, Miss Templeton, and I would advise you that scandals are nothing to play at. They are never as amusing as expected to those who are scandalized in the process.”

Now her eyes were watering, and she was blinking quite rapidly. “I assure you, Mr. Stansbury, that upon further reflection, I think myself quite incapable of doing anything of which you’d disapprove. And so is Miss Withersby.”

He gave me a speculative look. “I accept your word on your own behalf, but I would have to ask Miss Withersby for hers. What say you, Miss Withersby? Are you incapable of scandal?”

“I suppose it would depend on what sort of scandal it might be. So . . . what sort of scandal would it be?”

Miss Templeton gasped.

“Because if you are speaking of the type in which the great minds of botany air their grievances between the pages of our societies’ journals, then I must tell you that I have, from time to time, been tempted.”

“But would you?” A corner of his mouth was lifting.

“I think so. On the whole I would hope so. Some things are worth speaking up for, are they not?”

“Well said. Indeed they are.”

I returned from the field club meeting much dissatisfied. Miss Templeton seemed a bit put out, and I could not work out why. She had at first seemed so glad to see me. She had pulled me away from the others to speak to me, but when I left, she hardly acknowledged my leaving. I didn’t know what to think of it.

I remembered that she had cautioned the less I said to Mr. Trimble, the better, but I did not know who else to ask about the matter and so I simply put it to him plainly.

He took his time in replying. “So . . . you think she’s angry with you?”

“I do think so. But I don’t know why.”

“Is it something you said?”

I thought about our conversation and could hardly credit it. “No . . . no. I can’t think so.”

“Of what did you speak?”

“Of field club excursions and Mrs. Leighton. And then I mentioned to Mr. Stansbury that perhaps he could help Miss Templeton with a scandal she’s planning, and—”

“Wait. Right there. What was it you said about scandals?”

“Well, it was a . . .” How had that happened exactly? “Mr. Stansbury made some comment about having done some things that were better not mentioned, though he hadn’t done anything scandalous lately, so I offered that since he apparently has intimate knowledge of scandals, he might offer some advice to Miss Templeton, who has been planning one.”

“I think I understand where things went wrong.” There was
a curious gleam in his eyes, and he was clenching his jaw quite tightly.

“Truly? I don’t. I still don’t. I was making conversation. I was asking questions, just as you said I should, and—”

“The thing about scandals, Miss Withersby, is that they’re scandalous to speak of, which is why polite people don’t.” He was enunciating the words quite clearly.

“Ever?”

“Never.”

I thought about that for a long moment. “But if scandals should not be spoken of, then no one would know something scandalous had taken place.” There was something about this that didn’t make any sense. “Someone, somewhere, must be speaking of scandals or there wouldn’t be any.”

“Perhaps I should say that you may speak of scandals, but not with the general public.”

“I wasn’t with the general public. I was with Miss Templeton and Mr. Stansbury.”

“You may speak of scandals, but not in mixed company.”

“So . . . if I had been with Miss Templeton, and another woman had come to sit with us, or perhaps if Mrs. Leighton had stayed with us, I might have asked her about helping Miss Templeton with her scandal?”

“At this point in your conversational progress, I think it best not to speak of scandals at all. In any form. In any company.”

“I was only trying to help.”

“I suspect that you only succeeded in embarrassing your friend.”

“Oh. Oh! But I hadn’t meant to. What should I do? Should I tell Mr. Stansbury his help isn’t needed?”

“I rather think you should apologize to Miss Templeton for airing news of her hoped-for scandal and leave off speaking of it to Mr. Stansbury ever again.”

“I do feel badly. I didn’t mean to humiliate her.”

“She’s spent quite a bit of time with you of late, so I’m sure she understands.”

I hoped she did. I was rather worried now that she might not. That etiquette book she had lent to me must have a section on scandals. Although if it did, I had managed to miss it.

Turning toward the hall, I determined to atone for my error. As I did, Mr. Trimble spoke. “I wonder . . . what was that scandal Miss Templeton is trying to perpetuate?”

“It’s—” I stopped myself from speaking. “You are very sly, Mr. Trimble. You’re trying to test me, aren’t you? Please be assured that I have learned my lesson. You are mixed company, and I shall not make the same mistake twice.”

“It’s not that. It’s just that I was curious what a girl like Miss Templeton might—”

“My lips are, as they say, sealed.”

“You couldn’t just—?”

I shook my head and ascended to my room, where I soon discovered, to my great disappointment while paging through the etiquette book, that there was no section on scandals.

The next evening, I decided to wait for the Admiral in the front hall. The number of petticoats I was expected to wear made sitting more of a chore than a pleasure, and in any case, Miss Templeton was always decrying my wrinkled skirts. Mr. Trimble soon joined me. He regarded me for a moment, taking in my dress with one long glance. “Isn’t it a dance you’re attending this evening?”

“It is. At the Leweses.”

“You might, perhaps then, wish to wear a costume more accommodating than that.”

The gown, a wine-colored brocade, was a late delivery from the dressmaker and the last of those I had ordered. I liked it for the most part, except for the sleeves, which were quite tight from my elbows to my wrists. They closed with at least two dozen buttons, which had taken me almost half an hour to fasten. I didn’t know how fashionable people ever had time to get anything done. “If I change, I risk committing the mortal sin of being seen in public wearing the same thing twice—a vice, says Miss Templeton, that only the truly gauche would commit.”

“I can guarantee that
she
won’t be dancing in cashmere.” He leaned against the doorframe as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Pardon my asking, but do you know how to dance?”

“I know several country dances. I find them quite stimulating. My mother used to make us pause now and then in our work and perform them. She said vigorous movement was good for the soul.”

“Do you know the polka, then?”

I pulled up my skirts and began performing the steps that I knew, turning this way and that, kicking my feet. “I know this one, though I don’t know what it’s called.”

His smile had a strained look at the edges.

I jumped and whirled down the hall.

As I passed, he put a hand to my arm. “Yes, well, although the polka is rather vigorous, polite society doesn’t hold with the idea of leaping about
quite
so strenuously. They’re more inclined to genteel dances like the varsovienne and the waltz.”

“I don’t know either of those.”

“And I don’t much believe you’ve left yourself the time to learn. Really, did the Admiral not warn you that you’d been invited to a dance?”

“Of course he said it was a dance, but I didn’t understand it to mean that anyone would expect
me
to dance.”

“That’s what is generally done at dances, Miss Withersby. One . . . dances.”

“I suppose I shall just sit them out, then. You don’t suppose the dancing will last long, do you?”

“If you sit them out, you’ll be sitting all night.”

“All night?” In all of these petticoats? I heard myself sigh. “I suppose it won’t be so bad if I can sit near the refreshments table. Last time I was at the Leweses, for a concert, they served a truly delicious punch.”

“Sitting out will never do. I’ll teach you what I can before the Admiral arrives.” He extended a hand. “Here. Let me show you.”

I put my hand into his.

“I’ll teach you an older dance first, to a song they’re sure to play. The most important thing, of course, will be to watch everyone else and simply do as they do.”

I nodded.

He bowed and then began to hum.

I bowed.

“No, no, no. I bow. You curtsey.”

“But you said to do as everyone else did. It’s quite unfair for you to berate me for simply following your instructions.”

“I did not—” He took a deep breath. When he spoke again it was in a softer tone. “I did not berate you. So . . . I bow.” He bowed. “And you . . . ?”

I curtseyed. “I really don’t see why I have to curtsey if I’ve already curtseyed to half the room upon entering. It strikes me as highly redundant.”

“What you call redundant, the rest of society calls a dance step.”

He started humming once more, taking me by the hand, and made as if he intended to take a tour of the hall, but that seemed a strange sort of dance, so I was slow in following.

“Miss Withersby, I think it best if you just hold yourself loosely and allow yourself to be led about.”

I bent my knees and my elbows and tried to make them go wobbly.

“I said, hold yourself loosely, not go about like someone’s granny.”

“This is very confusing. First you tell me to relax, and then you tell me to stiffen up.”

“You’re to dance. Not talk, not object, but dance.”

“I would like to, but you keep interrupting me. Please be so kind as to continue.”

I think he may have gnashed his teeth, but he did take up my hand once more and pulled me forward toward the front door. “Now, a series of chassés is needed, and once we reach the end of the hall, we turn.”

“What have sachets to do with dancing?”

“A chassé. A . . .” He released my hand and took another sliding sort of step.

“You mean you want me to slide across the floor? Then you ought to have said so. The Admiral will be here any moment and I’d like to learn as much as I can.”

He looked at me for a long moment. “Perhaps we should concentrate on the waltz then. There’s really nothing to it.” Again he extended his hand. But this time when I put mine into it, he pulled me quite close.

“I . . . I wonder, Mr. Trimble, is this really necessary?” I was so close to him that I was speaking into his throat. His cravat had come loose, and that wonderfully spicy scent was wafting up from beneath his collar.

“The waltz is all the rage, Miss Withersby, and I’m quite sure you will be asked to dance at least one.” He tightened his grip on me and put his other hand to the back of my waist. It was then that I understood what he meant about cashmere being unsuitable for dancing. Of a sudden, my face felt flushed and my bosom constricted.

“The waltz is a three-count dance.”

“Could you hurry, please? I am beginning to feel quite overcome with heat.”

“I start out stepping forward with my right foot, so you must step back with your left.”