Secrets of a Spinster Page 8

  “He is the epitome of elaborate, my dear. Quite ridiculous.”

  She gave Derek a long, speculative look. “I don’t believe you. I think you are toying with me for the sake of our long acquaintance, and trying to influence me for your means.”

  Derek grinned, looking a little surprised. “Would I do that? When it is something so important as potentially finding your future husband and securing for you the incomparable joy of matrimony?”

  “God save me,” she muttered in a dark tone. “This whole venture was supposed to be a laugh, and the first night I find myself more irritated than anything else. It’s not encouraging. They just want me to stand there and look demure while they shower me with flattery.” She closed her eyes briefly. “I’m so bored.”

  Derek chuckled softly. “That is because no one has danced with you yet. Present company excluded, naturally.”

  Mary gave him a suspicious glance as she passed around him in a movement of the dance. “Is this why you’re dancing with me, Derek?”

  “Precisely. Someone had to show off your talent for dancing, and what better person than myself?” He smiled broadly and Mary couldn’t help laughing.

  “But I have to confess,” Derek said on a sigh as he turned her, “that was not my only reason for coming over to you.”

  Mary wrinkled her brow in confusion. “What was the other?”

  Derek took her elbow as the dancing finished and pointed discreetly over at his wife, who was smiling at her. “Kate. She thought you needed a reprieve. Actually her words were, ‘Go save her before she kills someone.’”

  “Your wife has remarkable perception.”

  “I am well aware of it, I can assure you.”

  He led her over to his wife, who smiled up at him proudly. “Thank you, darling.”

  “Of course, my love,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek, then striding away towards the card room.

  “What in heaven’s name was that all about?” Mary murmured as Kate linked their arms.

  Kate laughed and glanced in the direction where her husband had just disappeared. “I’m not entirely certain. He’s been attentive and sweet and adoring for the last several days. I think it might have something to do with Nathan and Moira having little Robert last week, but he won’t tell me anything. Not that I am complaining, mind you, but it’s very odd.”

  She shrugged a little and began to walk with Mary around the ballroom slowly, nodding at various people, who whispered excitedly.

  “How are you enjoying yourself, Mary?” Kate asked, as she smiled at Lady Greversham tightly. “Or are you enjoying yourself?”

  “It’s difficult to say,” Mary replied, choosing her words carefully. “I think the shock of so much attention is preventing me from feeling anything but anxiety at the moment.”

  Kate patted her hand and sighed. “I think you’ll have to get used to attention if you’re going to pull this off. Use it to your advantage. I don’t know your sister well, but I hope she hasn’t been attempting to mold you into someone else.”

  “No, Cassie seems to want me to remain myself under this costume, but it still feels strange and unnatural to act like this.”

  “I know,” Kate murmured, looking over at her. “Change is a painful process. Balancing who you are with who you wish to be is a never-ending struggle. But you can do it, Mary, and I trust you can do so with more poise than I had.”

  Mary smiled softly in response, remembering when she had met Kate during her own transformation, though she had been a witness to the old Kate, or Katherine as she always was, and the difference was truly profound.

  “I think you had grace and poise enough for royalty, Kate.”

  That seemed to take Kate by surprise, and she smiled in return, though her eyes grew a little misty. “Thank you, Mary. That means a great deal.” She blinked rapidly and laughed. “Well, do you think we have done enough parading for one evening?”

  “Is that what this was?” Mary asked as she carefully looked around. Dozens, if not hundreds, of eyes were on the two of them, and she found herself wondering just how many had been watching them the whole time.

  “A bit, but I really did want to talk with you alone. And if I could do that while showing you off, all the better!” She grinned rather grandly, which made Mary chuckle.

  “You are conniving, Lady Whitlock.”

  “A marchioness with an attractive friend in need of suitors must be, my dear Miss Hamilton.” Kate softened her smile and looked beyond Mary for a moment. “Now, Geoffrey is coming to save you, so I will just kiss your cheek and be on my way.”

  “So many saviors, so little time,” Mary sighed as Kate kissed her cheek and winked.

  Kate squeezed her hands. “Don’t blame us for liking you,” she whispered. “We can’t help it.”

  Mary shook her head in amusement as Kate walked away, no doubt to speak with people of great importance and spreading her influence far and wide.

  Derek was lucky to have such a wife.

  “Well, I certainly am a fortunate man to finally catch you alone, Miss Hamilton.”

  Mary rolled her eyes and turned to face Geoff with a severe look. “It wouldn’t have been so difficult if you had simply come over, Mr. Harris. I was not so surrounded that there was not room for you.”

  Geoff grinned and inclined his head towards her. “Are we pretending again or are you being serious?”

  “A debutante never reveals her true intentions, Mr. Harris,” Mary told him, quoting her sister to a tee, and fluttering her eyes a little. “She leaves a man guessing right until the very end.”

  “Ah, so she does,” he replied, bowing smartly. “Will you consent to a dance, then, Miss Hamilton? I so desire to have further opportunity to guess at those intentions of yours.”

  Mary had to refrain from giggling, and very calmly placed her hand in his. “It would be a pleasure, Mr. Harris.”

  He led her out to the dance floor proudly, the pair of them remarkably composed for the laughter threatening to explode at the whispers behind them.

  “Bravo, Goose,” Geoff whispered. “You are better than I thought.”

  “It is Cassie’s lessons,” she murmured back as they moved into position.

  “Lessons? Really?”

  “Yes, really,” she told him with a smile. “One cannot become a debutante overnight. It takes lessons and practice and learning to be long-suffering to perfect one’s self.”

  “Well, you are in fine form tonight, Miss Hamilton,” he said a bit louder as the dance started.

  “I hardly think it appropriate for you to comment on my form, Mr. Harris,” she scolded.

  He shrugged. “I’m not nearly as appropriate as people think me, Miss Hamilton, and I frequently comment on things I shouldn’t.”

  “How very shocking you must be, then! How should I reply?”

  “You might say something shocking in return.”

  She lifted a brow rather imperiously at him as he crossed in front of her in the dance. “I have nothing shocking to say.”

  “Oh, I doubt that very much, Miss Hamilton,” he said with a bit of a wicked grin. “I know you. You always have something shocking to say.”

  “Perhaps you don’t know me as well as you might think.”

  It was now his turn to offer a lifted brow, daring her to continue.

  “A lady never says shocking things, Mr. Harris,” she informed him as she crossed. “She merely thinks them very loudly.”

  He closed his eyes, struggling not to laugh. Mary was having no less trouble, but she forced herself to not bite down on her lip.

  The dance continued without much opportunity to converse further, but they said a great deal with their eyes, and it made the act of not laughing that much more difficult. When it was done, Geoffrey led her to a different side of the room than she had been previously.

  “Let’s see if we can’t get you some more appropriate fops on this side, shall we?” he murmured as he escorted her.
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  “I doubt it, but why not?” she laughed, feeling a bit breathless from the dance. “That was the most fun I have had in a while, Geoff. Thank you.”

  “I would dance with you more, but I think a line will be forming in about forty-two seconds.” He laughed to himself as he looked around.

  “Oh, my poor feet,” she moaned.

  “I wouldn’t worry for them. They are quite perfect, you know.”

  “My feet?” she asked with a laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. Nobody has seen my feet.”

  He smiled rather devilishly. “I have. Therefore, I feel expressly qualified to comment on their perfection. Each and every toe.”

  She blushed a bit, which made him chuckle. “Is that your favorite part of me, then?”

  He shrugged and bowed low. She returned it with a deep curtsey.

  “Don’t cause a scandal now, Goose,” he whispered, still smiling.

  “You first,” she replied.

  He acknowledged her comment with a slight tilt of his head, then walked away, still smiling.

  Insufferable man, she thought viciously as she watched his retreating back.

  “Miss Hamilton,” no less than three male voices said at the same time.

  Mary sighed inwardly, cast one more very brief, slightly longing glance in Geoff’s direction, then slipped into her debutante form again with a polite smile and turned once more to her newfound admirers.

  Chapter Eight

  Mary sat at the edge of her bed, still in her nightgown and wrap, hair blissfully ignorant of its current woebegone state, and rubbed her tender feet with a wince. She had arrived home very late last night, or this morning, rather, and until she had removed her shoes, she’d had no idea how sore they were. A restless night’s sleep was not helping matters.

  This was what she should get used to? She would never survive.

  She groaned and closed her eyes as she gripped a particularly tender part of her foot. She danced nearly every dance last night, which she’d never done. It had never happened in her entire life, and she couldn’t honestly say that she was sorry for it. But she also couldn’t deny that the change was… rather nice.

  Cassandra had crowed the entire carriage ride home about Mary’s victorious entrance and how lovely she looked and who stared the most, who said the vilest things, and who was most likely to begin to court her first. Mary had ignored her as her head throbbed and her toes begged for a reprieve. Geoffrey had said nothing either, but he did watch her. Not in the way that the other men at the ball had, but with a sort of concerned amusement.

  “Geoffrey,” she’d said sternly as she closed her eyes, “staring is rude.”

  “You had fun.”

  One eye pried itself open and glared. “Is that so shocking?”

  He smiled his favorite, most mischievous smile. “No denial? You must have had a grand time indeed.”

  Cassandra clapped her hands and squealed. “I knew you would! I simply knew it.”

  “Cassie, do shut up.”

  Her sister smirked and sat back, looking rather satisfied.

  “You did have a good time, didn’t you?” Geoff asked, leaning closer.

  Mary gave him a bit of a smile. “If you promise not to say anything…”

  “On my life and that of my greyhound.”

  “…I had a good time,” she admitted with a small smile. She yawned and covered her mouth with the back of her glove. “But must it go on so long? I could have been in bed hours ago.”

  Mary shook her head with a smile now as she remembered. Geoffrey had been a rather good escort the night before, excluding his ignoring her plea for help. He had danced with her twice, the second being a true rescue as she was nearly forced to dance a third time with Mr. Newton, who, while semi-attractive, was also notorious for his ability to bore cattle.

  She regretted not being able to converse with Mr. Burlington any further. Despite Derek’s rather weak warning, she was curious. He had been rather polite with her, hardly superfluous, and someone she’d expect Derek and Geoff to approve of, elaborate waistcoat notwithstanding. Burlington had maintained a safe distance from her most of the night, despite always watching, and had done nothing to make his intentions known. Provided he had any intentions at all. She could hardly imagine he had when she had no proof.

  One night in and already she was having grand assumptions.

  “Keep your head, Mary,” she scolded herself. “Pretend the debutante, don’t become one.”

  A soft knock came at the door, and Mary jerked. “Come in.”

  Mrs. Evansdale, their sweet and overprotective housekeeper, entered her room with a confused look on her face. “Miss Hamilton, I believe you have company.”

  Mary felt her brows shoot up to her hairline. “At this hour? I haven’t even had breakfast.”

  “I know, Miss. I’ve told them such, but they are insistent.” Mrs. Evansdale shrugged, then started wringing her hands together.

  “If Diana and Kate expect me to behave this season,” Mary huffed as she quickly pulled out her plait and got to her feet, “then they ought to wait until after I am fed before starting an inquisition.”

  “Erm…” Mrs. Evansdale hummed anxiously, her fingers nearly clawing at each other.

  Mary looked over with concern. “Are you all right, Mrs. Evansdale?”

  The plump woman bit her lip, cheeks as red as her hair. “It is not Lady Beckham or Lady Whitlock, Miss.”

  Mary folded her arms and peered at her. “Then who is it?”

  Mrs. Evansdale stepped aside and waved behind her. Josephine entered, bobbing quickly, looking far more delighted than the housekeeper. Her bright eyes sparkled with excitement.

  “Winston says it is gentlemen, Miss,” Josephine whispered gleefully.

  Mary rolled her eyes and turned to the wardrobe. “Oh, bother, don’t tell me Geoffrey is calling for a ride this early. I won’t venture out of doors at all until I…”

  “Pardon, Miss, but it is not Mr. Harris,” Mrs. Evansdale interrupted as she pushed Josephine over in Mary’s direction.

  Mary froze and met her maid’s eyes. “Then…”

  “He only said gentlemen, Miss,” she replied with a shrug.

  “Wait. Men? As in… plural?” She clutched at her throat, which suddenly had constricted and become very dry.

  “Indeed, Miss,” Josephine said with a happy nod as she began helping Mary out of her night things.

  Mary took an unsteady breath and released it slowly. This was all part of being a true debutante. Callers would come, and they ought to be informed that she wouldn’t take calls before breakfast. Some things she would not bend on, and they needed to know it.

  Josephine dropped a dress over her head and helped it on, and Mary looked at herself very calmly in the mirror. She caught sight of Mrs. Evansdale by the door, still looking uncomfortable.

  “How many?” Mary asked slowly.

  Mrs. Evansdale met her eyes in the mirror, suddenly terrified. “Wh… what, miss?”

  “How many gentlemen?”

  “Oh, we can’t say for certain,” Josephine said absently as she did up the buttons. “How many gentlemen do you think can fit in the sitting room?”

  Three minutes later, Mary slipped carefully down the stairs, keeping her back to the wall the entire time. Thankfully, the sitting room happened to be situated directly off of the staircase, so she should be able to sneak a peak in without too much of a risk of being seen. But having never attempted to sneak anywhere in her own home before, she had no idea if it was even possible. Did her stairs creak? Were her slippers soft enough to avoid making noise? Would the door to the room hide her enough to allow her more than a cursory glance?

  Her buttons scraped against the wall and she froze, hoping against hope that the sound, horrendously loud in her ears, would be indistinguishable to others amid the sounds of whomever was in her sitting room.

  No sounds other than the low murmur of voices were heard, and she relaxed, ever so slig
htly and kept moving. Total relaxation was not possible at this point, not when there was a roomful of men downstairs.

  At last, she reached the bottom stair and she drew in a long, silent breath. Then she very carefully leaned forward and peered into the room as surreptitiously as she could.

  Josephine had not exaggerated.

  Mary could see almost a third of the room, as well as the gaudy mirror her mother had put in that room years ago. She had never been so grateful for something she hated in her entire life. In her line of sight, there were at least six men. In the mirror, at least four others were visible. They all seemed preoccupied, whether with their own attire, hair, or teeth, or with discussing important topics, horses it seemed, and so she was unnoticed in her observations.

  She felt her heart pick up its pace and her breathing followed suit. She couldn’t do this. She could not do this.

  Forgoing her previous desire for silence, she raced up the stairs. Already panting, she turned the corner down the hallway, threw open Cassandra’s bedroom door, and slammed it behind her as she entered, plastering herself against it. Cassie was still in bed, but stirred at the sound, blearily opening her eyes.

  “Mary?” she mumbled sleepily. “Wha-er you doing?”

  “Men,” Mary gasped.

  Cassandra blinked in confusion, rubbed her eyes, then pushed herself up to a sitting position. “Maybe I was too hasty to push you out into Society so early. You have clearly lost your mind.”

  Mary shook her head quickly, swallowing. “There are men in the sitting room.”

  “Really?” Cassie said slowly as a sly smile crossed her face. “How many?”

  “Ten.”

  A deep furrowed formed between Cassie’s brows. “That’s all?”

  Mary looked at her in disbelief. “That’s all? That’s ten times what I have ever had put together! There’s no room for them all to sit down!”

  “No, nor should there be.” Cassie yawned, stretched, and got out of bed, padding barefoot over to her mirror. “Sitting down makes them more comfortable. Maybe we ought to remove one of the sofas,” she mused as she sat down and began undoing her plait.