Springtime Pleasures (4 page)

Chapter 3

in which our heroine attends a ball

& our hero is enchanted by a pair of green eyes

Charlie’s first ball was an enormous success (she thought). Thanks to the friends’ combined efforts, her gown had undergone a beautifying transformation. The bodice now fitted beautifully, and a thin band of delicate, moss-green crochet lace accentuated the neckline and the sleeves. A ribbon of the same colour had been threaded around the high waistline and the hem had been decorated with swirling florals, embroidered in green silk. “You look as sweet and fresh as a snowdrop,” Emma-Lee had said with a satisfied smile at the final fitting.

Aunt Dolmore, by contrast, had been anything but satisfied when she had set eyes on Charlie coming down the stairs in the transformed dress. After having demanded an explanation how this transformation had come about, she had informed her niece that so much knowledge of plain sewing was vulgar and did not befit Charlie’s station in life.

Yet after this unhappy start, the evening had improved in heaps and bounds, as quite a number of the young gentlemen present at Mrs Featheringham’s ball had shown a decided interest in this new addition to the flowers of the London Season. One after the other the gentlemen had been led to Charlie by Mrs Featheringham, that esteemed London hostess who prided herself on the splendour of her balls and the useful connections she made for the advancement of her husband—and who thought she was doing Mrs Dolmore a favour. Therefore a veritable flock of eligible gentlemen had been duly introduced to Charlie and had been obliged to sweep her into round after round of musical gaiety.

Though Charlie was still undecided whether she approved of being called a flower, she thoroughly enjoyed the dancing. Oh, the dancing! It was so much more exciting,
thrilling
, than the dancing lessons in the hall of dear, old St. Cuthbert’s, with Mr Bernstone, their music-cum-dancing master, counting the rhythm aloud and trying to steer a horde of giggling girls through the steps of a country dance.

This
, this wonderful ball, was magical by contrast—from the candles blazing from the chandeliers, bedecked with crystals that glittered like icicles, to the sweet sounds of the small orchestra.

Imagine that! An orchestra playing the music for a ball! It was so much more…
refined
than Miss Riggs’s efforts on the piano during the dancing lessons at St. Cuthbert’s.

And best of all: to dance with a gentleman instead of a fellow student! Why, her insides had been all aflutter during the first few dances (even though she had told herself sternly that such silliness was the first step of becoming an utter henwit).

She had stood up with a respectable number of gentlemen, she thought; most of them fine, dashing fellows. London men looked so
different
from the men she had met before. Somehow, they shone like ever so many polished pennies. Nicely perfumed pennies at that, which had been a most unexpected discovery.

Cleanliness at St. Cuthbert’s smelled of soap and beeswax. Here in London, it smelled of flowers and sweetness and dark, exotic scents she couldn’t even name.

In a word, Charlie was bedazzled. She didn’t even mind that evening that Aunt Dolmore kept insisting on calling her “Charlotte” because in her opinion “Carlotta” sounded far too Italian and hence must be considered vulgar and coarse.

Indeed, she was so immersed in the wonders of London that the fact that most gentlemen seemed rather… well,
short
did not bother her in the least. After all, she was used to towering above the rest of the world, even if Aunt Dolmore—rather small and plump herself—considered height a great affliction.

Another round of dancing ended, and during the confusion following upon the bows and curtsies, Charlie’s partner disappeared. This was not the first time this had happened that evening, which she thought most puzzling—after all, Mr Bernstone had always insisted that the gentleman ought to lead his partner back to her dear mama or some kind of chaperone. But perhaps, Charlie reasoned, Mr Bernstone was a little behind the current fashion. Besides, she did not mind finding herself at the other end of the ballroom, far away from Aunt Dolmore. She could easily make her way back to her aunt, after all.

And in a moment she would, yet the dancing and all the excitement—giddy nitwit!—had rendered her decidedly breathless.

Spying a row of chairs at the wall, she walked towards them, and with a grateful sigh sank down onto one of them. As she now wriggled her toes, she became aware how much her feet hurt. The soles positively
burnt
.

Charlie scowled at the tips of the flimsy slippers that peeked out from under the hem of her dress. How aggravating that such light things were deemed suitable footwear for dancing the night through! Why, they were so flimsy that a brisk walk through the grounds of St. Cuthbert’s would probably shred them to pieces!

“What a beautiful dress you are wearing,” somebody said.

Charlie raised her head and only now became fully aware of the young woman who sat two seats down from her in a wicker chair and was studying the hem of Charlie’s dress with obvious admiration.

“The embroidery is exquisite.” She looked up, and Charlie caught sight of a pair of sparkling brown eyes under a mop of corkscrew curls. “You must tell me where you had it done!”

Charlie gave a surprised laugh. “Well, nowhere. I did it myself.”

The brown eyes rounded. “You don’t say! How extraordinary.”

“Oh dear.” Charlie clapped her hand over her mouth. “I shouldn’t have told you this, should I? My aunt tells me that too much knowledge of plain sewing is most indelicate in a young lady. Though why it should be
indelicate
I don’t know, do you? I daresay it is one of those curious things about London.” She nodded to herself. “Yes, most likely.” Then she focused her attention on the other girl again. “Do you find London curious?”

The brown eyes seemed flabbergasted. “I… I can’t say…”

“Ah well, you probably
are
from London, aren’t you? Then it would be different for you, of course. How exciting!” Charlie slipped onto the chair nearer to the girl. “Have you lived in London all your life, then? You probably have, and I envy you most dreadfully. It is such a
thrilling
place!” She slid onto the next chair so she finally sat side by side with her new acquaintance. “Absolutely smick-smack, if you ask me. I am Carlotta Stanton, by the way.”

“Lady Isabella Griffin,” the other girl said in somewhat faint tones. “How do you do, Miss Stanton?”

“Oh dear,” Charlie sighed. “I shouldn’t have said that either, should I? I should have called the hostess or somebody to introduce myself. How very vexing!”

At this Lady Isabella smiled, a genuine smile that lit up her pale face. “Pray don’t vex yourself. You are perfectly charming, and where in this… this…” She indicated the crowded room.

“Mêlée,” Charlie provided helpfully.

A surprised giggle. “Mêlée—I like that. Where in this mêlée would you have started to search for Mrs Featheringham?”

“Quite.” Charlie nodded in what she hoped was a wise fashion and tried to hide her relief. Navigating the social niceties of London had proven to be full of pitfalls. “Pray, would you care for some refreshments? I am rather famished myself, I have to say.”

Which, alas, seemed to have been the wrong thing to say, as a grimace flickered across her new friend’s face. “Thank you, no. I don’t partake of refreshments tonight.”

“You don’t?” Flabbergasted, Charlie stared at her, trying to think of a reason why somebody would want to abstain from food and drink. “Is it,” she asked in an undertone, leaning towards the girl, “is it for
religious
reasons?” She knew from experience that some Catholics were very strict in their customs. Rather like Puritans, only with incense.

Apparently that was yet again the wrong thing to say because Lady Isabella stared at her in the most flabbergasted way.

“Oh dear.” Charlie sighed. “I have put my foot in, haven’t I? My Aunt Dolmore tells me that I am very clumsy indeed when it comes to polite conversation, and unfortunately she appears to be right.”

Rosy colour shone on Lady Isabella’s cheeks. “Oh, please don’t overfret on my account. You see, it is my chair. I am… ah…” Her colour deepened. “I am
bound
to it. I can’t walk. Not properly, that is.”

“Oh.” Charlie felt her own cheeks heat. How stupid of her not to have seen that this was a wheeling chair! “But…” She cleared her throat. “But hasn’t it got wheels?”

“Of course it has.”

“So you
can
roll about in it?”

“Only if somebody pushes me.”

By now, both their faces must be scarlet with mortification. “Oh. How very vexing for you!” Charlie exclaimed. “But I could, you know, push you to the refreshments room, if you would like.”

Lady Isabella studied her hands, which she held clasped in her lap. “I thank you most sincerely, but I am afraid I must decline.”

Frowning, Charlie stared at her and tried to figure out what she had missed. She
must
have missed something, that much was clear. “I am afraid I don’t understand,” she said finally. Was the other girl weary of her company, perhaps?

Lady Isabella looked up and caught Charlie’s puzzled, slightly hurt gaze. She sighed. “The ladies’ withdrawing room is on the first floor.
Upstairs
.”

Understanding dawned. “And with your chair… you can’t…”

The girl shook her head. “I
hate
stairs!” she burst out. “I hate them most dreadfully!” Becoming aware of her violent outburst, she clapped her hand over her mouth. Her startled gaze flew up to Charlie’s. For a moment she stared at her, dismay written on her face, but then, suddenly, she giggled. She let her hand fall into her lap again. “I have never told anybody about this before.” Another giggle. “But it’s so… so…
refreshing
!” She beamed at Charlie and held out her hand. “
You
are refreshing.”

Charlie laid her hand in the girl’s cool palm and let her squeeze her fingers. She felt absurdly glad that even if she was a failure where polite conversation was concerned, she had nevertheless managed to make her new friend happy.

“You must accompany me on my drive one day. Please say you will!”

“Certainly,” Charlie readily agreed.

“Tomorrow? Or perhaps the day after? The day after will be better, won’t it? When tomorrow we will probably be most terribly fatigued from the ball.” A shadow crossed over Lady Isabella’s face and she dropped Charlie’s hand. “You must want to continue dancing. I am keeping you from finding a partner.”

“No, you’re not. You—”

“Oh, but I am. I know it. See, there’s Mr Daicles and Lord Archibald.” Lady Isabella’s voice dropped to a whisper as she discreetly pointed out two young gentlemen who were strolling towards them, punch glasses in hand. “Shall I introduce you? I am sure one of them would want to dance with you.”

“No, no, please do not trouble yourself,” Charlie whispered back. She had already danced with one of the gentleman, and while this had not been an unpleasant experience, she found she would rather remain where she was and continue chatting with her new friend.

Fortunately the two gentlemen didn’t show any inclination to dance and instead stopped almost in front of the two girls, sipping their punch and looking idly at the couples that went through the motions of a country dance.

“Beastly drink, this,” one of them muttered, none too quietly.

The two girls exchanged a glance.

“Indeed. Too much lemon, I say.” Though this didn’t keep him from taking another deep gulp from his glass.

“All-round beastly affair, this ball.” The first speaker shook his head, making his carefully combed curls bounce. “The Featheringham keeps pressing chits on a fellow in a most dreadful fashion. This year’s crop is shockingly disappointing if you ask me.”

Isabella’s fingers dug into Charlie’s arm. The girl’s face was suffused with indignation.
How dare they!
she mouthed noiselessly.

Charlie shrugged.
Louts!
she mouthed back.

“Lud,
yes
!” the other man now groaned with feeling. “Has she pressed that fat, spotty thing on you, too?”

“Gosh, yes. That one was almost as bad as the tall scarecrow with those ridiculous glasses. You know whom I mean? Most unbecoming chit.”

Charlie froze.

The other man nodded. “Most unbecoming. Didn’t dance with her, thank heaven! But saw poor Doddy doing the rounds with her. She positively
dwarfed
him. It’s unnatural, if you ask me.” He stared into his glass. “Shall we brave the crowd to get another round?”

They moved way, leaving a devastated silence in their wake.

With shaking fingers Charlie touched her spectacles. “Oh… oh dear. Aunt Dolmore said that height is a great affliction. It seems…” Valiantly, she tried to swallow the lump that kept forming in her throat. “It seems she was right.”

“Oh, my dear.” Lady Isabella’s hand curled around Charlie’s arm. “I am so very sorry. Clearly, these two are no gentlemen. A gentleman would never talk in such a coarse manner.”

“They didn’t see us.” Charlie sniffed. “I believe they thought themselves almost in private.” Another sniff. Her nose tingled so and her eyes burnt. She blinked. How she had been looking forward to London! To the parties and balls—back in the distant Scotland these things had all seemed so glamorous!

Glamorous, my foot!
Charlie thought, valiantly trying to keep the tears from falling.
I’m such a silly goose!

“Rubbish! Private at a ball? You can’t be private at a ball. They knew somebody would overhear them. They are rude louts and churls and… and…”

“Oafs.” Despite her mortification, Charlie gave a wet snicker. “Oh dear, and I thought my first ball was going so well. But as Miss Pinkerton always says, ‘Pride cometh before the fall.’” She sniffed. “Of course, she
also
says, ‘So learn how to roll to your feet.’ So...” She turned to Lady Isabella and felt her mouth curve in a mischievous smile. “Now after hearing this, you can’t possibly banish me from your side. It would be cruel. And heartless.”