Waltzing With the Wallflower (4 page)

Usually when women spoke of such personal feelings, Ambrose felt the sudden urge to get foxed or run in the opposite direction, yet now his body shook. Again, the undeniable urge to protect her washed through him. It took hold of him with such force he felt he would snap.

Gathering himself before he made a complete fool of himself he finally answered, “That, my dear, Cordelia is not what I would call living. I will admit to some truth in it. Yes, you will indeed be judged. You will be watched, and yes, it is terrifying.” Her face fell. Unable to stop himself he tenderly stroked her hand. “But I am a firm believer in living life to its fullest. Hiding your beauty underneath wretched garments, protecting your heart standing by plants, and allowing others to pass judgment on you without knowing you is unjust. It is not right. You have my word. You will thank me at the end of the Season, for our friendship will be that of legends.”

She still seemed unsure, so he pushed further. “Do you want to be alone the rest of your life? Living out your days as a spinster or a governess to some bratty children? Or do you want more?”

“More,” she squeaked, still flushed and unable to meet his gaze.

“Do you trust me?” he asked.

“No.” She giggled, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, but I do not.”

“Well, you are a very intelligent girl.” He laughed along with her. “Will you let me help you?”

He waited, and in his mind it felt like days. She was so still and quiet. Then, ever so slowly, she nodded.

“Then take my hand,” he instructed.

She did so without pause. He held her dainty hand as they walked across Hyde Park until they reached his waiting curricle. A more eerie experience he’d never had. For it seemed that the whole of Hyde Park had frozen in place to watch him hold hands with the wallflower in public.

The horses moved them down the street. He noticed a new look of admiration in some of the young men’s eyes. One thing was for certain, the girl would have more gentlemen callers than she would know what to do with. He suddenly grimaced when he thought about her dress from the night before. If they were to go to Almack’s, she needed something other than that horrid, putrid color she had worn the night before.

“Cordelia?”

“Yes?”

“How do you feel about the color blue?”

Chapter Four

The Waltz

“Can you believe our good fortune?” Lady Trowbridge crooned to her husband as she took his proffered hand and stepped down from the carriage, her eyes wide and scoured the building before her. “Vouchers for Almack’s! I’m overcome with emotion. Truly!”

Cordelia stepped down behind her aunt. Dread enveloped her as she scrutinized the well-known social club. She swallowed the lump in her throat. The building itself was unimpressive—nothing like she had imagined it would be based on its reputation among the ton. But it wasn’t the building that mattered. It was the prestige of acquiring a voucher.

Her aunt and uncle had never applied for them before; they were too worried they would be turned down and so seal their fate to be doomed to a mediocre social standing. Lady Trowbridge’s excitement was understandable. Even Cordelia was duly impressed… that is, she would have been, if she wasn’t so overwhelmed by the day’s instruction from Lord Hawthorne.

So many things to remember! Deciphering the fan signals alone was enough to keep her mind swimming for days. What if she got confused and told someone he could approach her when what she meant to say was she just wanted to share a greeting? The proper etiquette, proper posture, proper topics of conversation. Cordelia was dizzy as she walked through the doors, and her stomach churned within her.

She scanned the room for Lord Hawthorne the moment she entered, but he was nowhere to be found. Traitor.

Many guests had already arrived, and everyone seemed to be staring at her. Her aunt and uncle strode away from her to greet their friends, leaving her standing alone without a thought for her fears. Her breath caught in her throat, and before she knew what she was doing, she gravitated toward the corner were the plants were, trying desperately to shrink into the background. So much for a friend to offer his support.

Her hands trembled against her will as she reached into her reticule to withdraw her fan. Focusing her attention fully on her task, praying silently the night would end soon. A suave tenor voice interrupted her phylacteries. “Find what you’re looking for, my lady?” Her head jerked up with a start.

“Good evening, Lady Cordelia.” Sir Wilde stood beside her with an odd smirk spread across his face.

“Sir Wilde,” she greeted him and swallowed back her nervousness. Lord Hawthorne had instructed her on the fine art of conversation, how to smile but remain aloof, how to feign interest. Every bit of his direction flew right out of her mind in that moment and the fear paralyzed her.

“How are you this evening?” he asked his eyes focused intently on her.

“Fine, thank you.”

“How do you find Almack’s?”

“It’s lovely.” He stared at her for a moment, as if he expected her to elaborate. She searched her mind for something else to say.
Anything
else to say. But it was blank. Her tongue felt like sand in her mouth. She could feel the blush burning her eyes, face threatening to give away her mortification, so she looked down at her reticule.

“Would you like some lemonade, Lady Cordelia?” he finally asked. She nodded. He offered his arm. Taking it, she thanked God she was able to manage to walk in a straight line as he led her to the opposite end of the large assembly hall. "I want to give you fair warning. The lemonade is watered down and by the time you drink it, I fear, very warm indeed, but it should ease some of your nerves." Sir Wilde gave her a blinding smile then reached for two cups of the liquid.

Shaking, she took the cup in her hand and ventured a long sip. In horror, she realized it was ready to come back up the instant she swallowed the vile contents.

"What is this?" she sputtered without thought.

Sir Wilde laughed, drawing more attention than she would have liked, before answering, "In my defense I did give you fair warning, did I not?"

She smiled. "I suppose so."

Sir Wilde grinned from ear to ear. "I believe it is that time, my lady."

"What time?" she asked, confused and still lamenting over the fact that her taste buds would never again be the same.

"Time to dance and set tongues to wagging. After you, my dear."

She could hardly say no. His manners, even his way of speaking, put her completely at ease. Unlike Hawthorne, there was nothing smooth or calculating about his presence. In fact, she imagined he would make a great ally if it was possible for her to speak at least once in his presence.

He led her to the floor for a quadrille and grinned when she managed a small smile.

People glanced their way, but all in all, no outrageous staring occurred. Finally at ease, she was able to enjoy the dancing for what it was. Simple dancing, meant to be fun and exhilarating. She hardly noticed when it ended.

That is until she felt a warm presence behind her and saw Sir Wilde’s eyes gleam with pleasure.

"Ah, Ambrose, it is about time you show up."

Should she turn around? Acknowledge him? Laugh? For his presence was too much for her, too confident, too charismatic. He said he wanted friendship but it didn’t seem... right.

“Thank you for taking care of Lady Cordelia for me, Wilde. I believe I can handle things from here.” The twinkle in his eyes as he held his arm out to her sent the heat burning into her ear lobes again. The sensation of eyes boring into her back seemed to scorch through her light blue gown.

He turned to her and bowed over her hand. “Good evening, my lady,” he offered with a wide bright grin, then brushed his lips across her gloved fingers.

“My lord,” she answered, focusing her gaze on her own hands.

“Shall we take a turn around the room?”

Cordelia glanced back to her corner, her safe harbor, hidden behind the potted plants. She longed to return there. Anything rather than putting herself on display with the most watched gentleman in the hall. She could feel her body slump inwardly, trying to make herself smaller and hence, less noticeable.

Hawthorne offered her his arm again, and she took it. She had no alternative but to trust him, though it took every fiber of her being to keep herself from running screaming from the hall, the club, the city, the country—all the way back to France, safe in Madame Tremaine’s dress shop, where she understood the social expectations. Design. Cut. Sew. Create beauty.

No need to speak to anyone.

“My lady,” he addressed the Countess of Jersey, “may I present Lady Cordelia, the niece of Lord and Lady Trowbridge.”

Cordelia curtsied without incident. Her heart beat wildly in her chest. The woman held her glasses to her eyes and scrutinized Cordelia carefully.

Hawthorne nudged her ribs almost imperceptibly. “How do you do, my lady?” she offered with a genuine sweet smile.

“Lovely, my dear. Hawthorne, are you going to ask the lady to dance?” Lady Jersey asked after finishing her perusal of Cordelia and apparently finding her acceptable.

“It is the next item on my list, my lady.” He glanced at Cordelia with a sly grin, followed by a bedeviling wink.

“Then you should greet Lady Levien. I understand the waltz is up next.” She nodded towards the woman in question standing on her other side.

“Thank you, my lady. We will do that.” He stepped to his left and bowed to Lady Levien. Cordelia followed him, clutching his arm for support. Her palms were sweating again, and she hoped the moisture hadn’t made it through her gloves.

“Lady Levien, may I present Lady Cordelia? The niece of Lord and Lady Trowbridge.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed as she surveyed Cordelia with a slow, deliberate gaze, taking her in from head to toe. She seemed to be sizing her up and considering the gossip she had heard at the same time. Cordelia could feel her judgment falling like a heavy millstone, weighing her down.

“My lady.” Cordelia curtsied in a low, smooth motion. She hoped the patroness would not notice her trembling hands.

“Trowbridge you say?” Lady Levien measured her appearance once more, and then leveled her gaze on Cordelia’s eyes. “Your mother was a dear friend of mine, child. I was sorry to hear of her downfall.” Her voice softened to a whisper for the latter, and Cordelia was grateful she hadn’t drawn more attention to her family’s scandal. She nodded and cast her gaze to the floor. The music started up again.

“Thank you, my lady.”

Then as if to save her from further humiliation, Hawthorne took her hand and lifted it into the air slightly. “With your permission?”

Lady Levien nodded and turned her attention to another guest.

As they sauntered onto the dance floor, Cordelia realized she had been holding her breath and allowed a low sigh of relief to escape her lips.

Hawthorne raised an eyebrow in her direction as he wrapped his left hand around her waist and took her hand in his right. She tensed. Would she ever get used to such close contact?

“Were you worried?” he asked, leading her through the steps.

“I was petrified,” she answered, which seemed to amuse him. He chuckled.

“Is something funny, my lord?”

“Your honesty. It’s rare and refreshing.”

“Weren’t you worried?”

“Not at all.”

“Not even a little?”

“Well, I must admit, I was relieved you didn’t fall into Lady Jersey’s lap as you curtsied.”

A giggle pushed it way through her throat. The very idea was both hilarious and mortifying at the same time. She had to admit it was a relief to her too.

“Can you just imagine? My aunt would drop dead from the embarrassment. And I would never hear the end of it.”

“And I probably would lose you to the plant corner for the rest of your natural life.”

Choking on the unexpected laugh, Cordelia replied, “I do love foliage.”

She peered up at his golden emerald eyes in time to see him blink in surprise and stare back at her. “Lady Cordelia, I believe you have been holding out on me. You have quite the quick wit.” He smiled at her with admiration.

“Let’s keep it our little secret, shall we? We wouldn’t want the ton to get the idea I have a personality.”

“Agreed.” A jovial grin spread across his lips, and he chuckled under his breath at the private joke. When the dance came to an end, Hawthorne escorted Cordelia from the floor. He bowed to her as they separated. Cordelia curtsied and stood for an uncertain moment before turning back towards her plant corner. The comfort of concealment beckoned to her, and she stepped in that direction with a sigh of relief, happy to be finally out of the line of people’s vision.

Behind her a throat cleared. “Lady Cordelia,” came a familiar voice. “You wouldn’t be rushing off to tend the plants now, would you?”

Her heart fell.
Yes. That’s exactly where I’m going,
she thought. She spun on her heel and faced the other handsome twin. “Lord Maddox.”
Of course.
They weren’t going to let her sit one out this evening either apparently. Fighting the impulse to roll her eyes, she offered him a sweet smile instead. “I was just hoping for a short reprieve, my lord.”

“Nonsense. You must dance with me.”

“Must I?”

“Naturally. My brother and I are in competition, my lady. You must dance with each of us in order to judge the better dancer.” His wide grin made her feel at ease. He leaned close to add in a whisper, “I already know it is I, but you must make an official announcement.”

“I see. I will make an effort to be impartial.” She returned his grin.

“Not necessary, I assure you. However, I am so much better than he, you may wish to erect a statue in my honor when we are through.” At that, Cordelia couldn’t help but laugh out loud, and when she tried to fight it, the effort resulted in an audible snort, which set them both to laughing even more as Maddox whisked her onto the floor.

Chapter Five

The Rub