Suzanne Robinson (8 page)

Having suspected that he might try to retaliate for her little trick, Mattie had kept an eye out for him. She was ashamed of herself for reverting to her old bad habits, but it had been so gratifying to watch his face as he sat down. With Tennant around, it was going to be even harder to remember to be genteel. If he tried to pay her back with some meanness of his
own, she wasn’t sure she could restrain herself. So far he’d danced only a couple of times and seemed intent on conversing the whole night. Which was fortunate, because Mattie wasn’t having a good time and having to spar with Cheyne Tennant/Lord Geoffrey would really foul her mood.

It seemed that every partner she’d had tonight was a bad egg. First there had been that condescending young earl who seemed to think all Americans lived in log cabins and fought Indians daily.

“Damn fool,” Mattie said to herself as she took off a slipper and rubbed her toes. She groaned as her corset bit into her ribs. She’d had to wear it because her dress was cut exactly to the proportions she assumed when encased in the uncomfortable contraption.

She was wearing one of the gowns she and Mama had ordered in Paris. It had an underdress of pale rose silk and an overdress of spangled net. Mama had wanted the spangles to be diamonds, but Mattie had balked at such a display of bad taste. The spangles were rhinestones. Mattie realized she was sitting on the train, got up and shoved it to the side. The darned dress required fourteen yards of silk.

Mattie kicked off her other slipper and sighed with relief. Soon she would have to go back to the ball. The dance card on her wrist was full for the rest of the evening. What a misery. She’d already put up with a young man who couldn’t follow the rhythm of a tune if someone held a gun on him. Then there had been that fellow who was sensitive to roses. A spray of pink buds nestled in her upswept hair. Her
partner had sneezed on her with every beat of the polka they were dancing, and they ended up stumbling off the dance floor while he wheezed and tried to draw a complete breath. As the attacks continued with the ferocity of a runaway train Mattie had felt like she was in one of those new Kinetoscope moving pictures in which a man sneezes the same sneeze over and over again. The poor man had finally thrown up his hands to ward off her concerned attentions. Everyone had stared at them.

Mattie turned as pink as the roses in her hair at the memory. People had stared at her and whispered when her feet got stomped and she yelped, then they stared at her during the sneezing spectacle. People were probably thinking she was a lunatic or, worse, gauche and unrefined. She’d failed yet again to be the charming young lady Papa had wanted her to be. If she continued in this manner she’d never attract the admiration of a duke’s heir.

Papa had worked so hard to get her here—to give her his dream. There had been times when she cried to see him so weary from ranch work that he could barely stand. Later, when they went east with his small savings, Papa had found himself a profitable business selling coke to the steel mills. That had been Papa’s big risk, and success had come only with more long hours of work. But Marcus Bright had been clever. By the time Mattie turned fourteen, they were rich. No more living on nothing but potatoes so there’d be more savings for the business. No more
going barefoot in summer like they did in Texas. Papa had succeeded beyond imagination.

But what Mattie remembered about becoming rich was what it meant to her father. The day he got that first big contract with the steel company, Papa had come home with his arms full of packages and tears in his eyes. He’d thrown the packages on the settee, produced a small box from his pocket and held it out to Mama.

“Here, Elsa Jane. It’s what I promised you when we got married. I kept my promise, honey. Just like I always said I would.”

In that box had been Mama’s first diamond ring. Papa gave everyone in the family presents—Mattie’s older brother Jimmy, her younger sister Pearl, and Mattie, of course. He even bought presents to send to his relatives in Ohio even though they never visited. That was Papa, always thrilled to buy things for folks and never buying anything for himself.

“Mattie!”

She jumped, startled at the sound of her name.

Narcissa hurried into the hall and sank down beside her.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“I had to rest my feet.”

“I know. I saw you with that clumsy man. Everyone saw you. That’s what I’ve come to tell you.”

Mattie put her hands on her hips. “Don’t you think I know the whole ballroom was staring at me, Narcissa Potter?”

“No, no. I’ve been hearing talk.” Narcissa scooted closer and looked around the room as if fearing the statues were listening. “I was sipping a cup of punch and overheard that silly Lancelot Gordon talking to Cheyne Tennant. Mr. Tennant had just asked Lady Hortense Nash to favor him with a dance.”

Mattie frowned and said, “I’m not interested in anything that no-account had to say, not by a jugful.”

“You’ll be interested in this,” Narcissa whispered.

“From what I could hear, it appears that Tennant has been arranging for you to dance with the most odious partners he could find all evening so that you’d end up a spectacle.”

Mattie’s heart began to race as Narcissa continued.

“It was he who asked that clumsy Baron Haywhithy to partner you, and he found that young man who sneezed all over the place, and the one who was so rude about Americans.”

Now Mattie was as red as the carpet on which she sat. “Confounded, mangy skunk. Land sakes, why couldn’t he leave things be?”

“I’m afraid several people overheard Mr. Gordon,” Narcissa said with a rueful look. “The story will be all over the place.”

“Faster than a prairie fire in a hot wind.”

Mattie chewed her lower lip, her face hot with misery at the thought of these highfalutin blue bloods laughing at her. There were plenty of jealous debutantes and irritated mamas who would enjoy her embarrassment, embellish the story, and make sure it was all over London by the end of the week.
She had to give them something else to talk about. Mattie put her slippers on and stood.

Narcissa stood up, too. “What are you going to do?”

“Do you think Mr. Tennant has danced with Lady Hortense yet?”

“No, they’re engaged for the next galop.”

“Good,” Mattie said. “I never did like Lady Hortense. She dismissed her lady’s maid for burning a gown with an iron. I know how heavy irons are, and a second’s inattention can get you a bad burn. It can happen to anyone. Fussy old cow.”

Mattie lifted her skirt and withdrew a small packet of brown paper from where she’d lodged it in her garter.

“What’s that?”

“Boot blacking.” Feeling guilty, Mattie went on, “I kinda suspected I might need it.” Giving in to her devilish streak, she grinned. “You ever notice how Mr. Tennant always stands real straight and stiff, like he was a soldier in a parade? Never looks at himself, like he’s sure he’s neat and proper.” Mattie whispered her plan in her friend’s ear.

Narcissa gave her a startled look, then giggled. “All right. Give me a few minutes.”

Mattie passed the time applying gobs of boot blacking to the inside of her gloved fingers and palms. Then, taking care not to touch her dress, she went to the ballroom. She craned her neck to peer over the heads of the guests and spotted Narcissa talking to Lancelot Gordon. Standing with his back to his
friend was Cheyne Tennant. Mattie skirted around the dancers on the floor until she approached the group. Part of her knew she was descending to childishness again, but she couldn’t seem to resist the desire to get even.

Slowing down, she walked past Narcissa and winked. As she came alongside Gordon, Narcissa moved quickly, appearing to stumble against Mr. Gordon. Gordon lost his balance and knocked Tennant into Mattie’s path. Mattie cried out and dropped to the floor at his feet.

Tennant recovered his balance and looked down, his eyes wide. “What happened?” Recovering from his surprise, he seemed to remember his manners and knelt beside her. “Are you all right, Miss Bright? You’re not hurt?”

“No, I’m quite all right, thank you. I just slipped when you stumbled against me.”

“Please, allow me to assist you,” he said with formality.

Mattie gave him her most charming smile, the one she used to beguile a reluctant motorcar into starting. “Thank you, my lord.”

She held out her gloved hands, and he grasped them. Beneath the skin-tight kid she felt the tensile strength of his hands. He lifted her effortlessly, but kept hold of her hands as she met his gaze with her smile. His own gaze faltered, then returned hers as if finding something new and unknown, something foreign and fascinating. A moment passed in which the music and din of the crowd faded.

Stray, dazzled thoughts flew about Mattie’s head.
He could pick me up without any effort at all. When he’s not sneering and scowling, his eyes are the color of wild hyacinth
.

Cheyne Tennant blinked, stepped back, and released her. His features smoothed into a chilly mask.

“I do beg your pardon again for my clumsiness, Miss Bright. Pray excuse me.”

Jolted out of her magical trance, Mattie hardly heard Narcissa’s solicitous remarks. She was too busy giving herself a scolding.
Serves you right
, she told herself.
Think a man as pretty and elegant as that’s going to notice you when he’s got all the golden-headed English ladies he wants? I bet he likes the kind that cling and droop and prattle. He probably measures a lady’s refinement by how many times she faints in a day. The skunk
.

Mattie glanced over her shoulder to see the skunk bowing to Lady Hortense. Waltz music began. “Excuse me, Narcissa.”

She hurried to a corner behind a giant silver font filled with punch. Stripping off her soiled gloves, she dropped them in an ancient Chinese vase and pulled on a new pair she’d concealed in the same manner as the bootblack. Then she returned to Narcissa, who was talking to Mama.

“There you are, Matilda,” Mama said. “Here is Lord Isidore Chelmer come to claim his dance.”

A fence-post-thin man bowed to Mattie. He wore his hair in the new style, slicked down with scented pomade, and since his forehead was as prominent as his eyes, the effect was as if he wore a hair hat too small for his head. When Chelmer straightened from
his bow, Mattie saw with dismay that he was several inches shorter than she was. He offered his arm, and they stepped onto the dance floor. When they came together, Mattie realized too late that Chelmer’s eyes were level with her chest.

A gentleman would have kept his gaze fixed on her face, but Chelmer stared straight ahead, transfixed by Mattie’s bosom. Mattie could have endured the rudeness had it not been the fashion in Society for ball gowns to have extremely low necks. The rose silk and spangles barely covered her, and the longer Chelmer goggled at her chest, the more uncomfortable Mattie grew. As they swept around the ballroom her face, neck, and chest turned the same rose color as her gown. At each turn in the waltz she glimpsed people watching and concealing smirks behind gloved hands.

She could endure a little embarrassment, but this particular incident struck at a sore spot. Ever since Mattie had begun to mature, she’d been warned by Mama that she had an “embarrassment of riches” in her figure. While rejoicing in her daughter’s good fortune, Mama constantly warned her of the evil intentions that men harbored toward women with such endowments. The result had been to make Mattie wish she’d never matured.

After Mama’s remarks, Mattie began to notice how men stared when they thought themselves unobserved. After a few months of this, she realized that to some men she would never be more than her endowments.
A black melancholy ensued from which it took her a long time to recover. It took even longer for Mattie to learn to ignore the stares. Isidore Chelmer’s stare, however, was impossible to ignore.

Mattie clenched her jaw. “Excuse me, my lord.”

Chelmer remained oblivious, enchanted with her bosom.

“My lord.”

Chelmer swallowed and pointed his nose at her chest, evidently in order to get a better view.

“Isidore Chelmer, you lummox! You keep gawking at my chest, and I have a mind to knock out your teeth and stuff ’em down your throat.”

Chelmer dragged his gaze upward, and Mattie held his stare with one that would have singed the metal fenders on her Panhard-Lavassor. A few seconds passed before Chelmer looked down. This time Mattie stepped on his foot. He yelped and fixed a stare over her shoulder.

It was Tennant again. He’d sent this crude ass her way deliberately.

The waltz seemed to last hours, with Chelmer dropping his gaze to her bosom and Mattie retaliating with a stomp, a pinch, or a threat. At last the music stopped. Mattie turned her back on Lord Chelmer and swept off the floor.

As she went, she heard Lady Hortense giggle and say in a nasal voice, “Really, Cheyne, you are too bad.”

Cheeks flaming, Mattie turned and approached Cheyne Tennant and Lady Hortense. “Dear Lady
Hortense, I couldn’t help noticing your gown is soiled.” Mattie turned her tormentor around and pointed to the black smears on the lady’s pearlstudded dress.

Hortense shrieked as though she’d been stabbed. “My gown! And my gloves. What—who—where …?”

Guests crowded around to watch as Hortense tried to see the back of her gown. She twisted her neck and turned around in circles.

“Careful,” Cheyne warned and caught her arm before she tripped over her train.

Hortense squawked, jerked her arm free and tried to wipe off the black smear that had resulted from his touch. “It’s you! What have you got on your gloves? Look at me.”

Mattie moved out of the crowd as Cheyne turned his gloves over and examined them. His expression of disbelief and chagrin assuaged Mattie’s humiliated soul. She grinned when Lady Hortense inadvertently touched the front of her gown with a soiled glove and blackened it even further.

Taking a seat beside Mama, she removed the dance card from her wrist. Mattie hummed to herself as she proceeded to mark off all the strange names on her list. For the rest of the ball she was going to dance only with men she knew. They might be fortune-hunting dogs, but at least they wouldn’t stare at her chest. Mattie stopped humming and grinned. Lady Hortense bleated recriminations at Cheyne Tennant so loudly that the musicians behind their screen of foliage at the other end of the room
began to chuckle. The group around the couple scattered, leaving Cheyne to face the furious lady alone in the middle of the dance floor.