A Match to Fool Society
Auteur
Laura Martin
Lezers
17,2K
Hoofdstukken
24
Chapter One
‘I do declare, it has been a thoroughly successful year,’ Lady Mountjoy said to the group of women gathered round her. ‘And we have still got the main round of balls and events ahead of us.’
‘How many matches have you secured?’
‘Four. Four out of five of the debutantes I brought from Somerset are now married.’
Jane took a step back, wondering if there was any way she could fade into the background. Never was there a time she liked to be the centre of attention in a ballroom, but right at this moment she would have been happy to blend into the wallpaper. If any of the women in Lady Mountjoy’s circle turned and saw her, there would be exclamations of pity and reassurances that she too would find her match. Even though that would be painful, it wouldn’t be as bad as Lady Mountjoy’s eyes turning to her in that affectionate but calculating way.
‘What about number five?’ one of the companions asked.
Number Five took a step to the left, wondering if she might make it to the door without attracting any attention.
‘Miss Ashworth is a fine young lady and I have no doubt that we will see her happily married before the Season is out.’
Shuffling her feet, Jane inched towards the door and freedom from the inquisitive stares. None of this had seemed so bad when her friends had been there to experience everything with her, but now she was alone and exposed to the glare of curiosity without anyone to shield her.
Jane continued to shuffle, all the time wondering if she would be better to stride away, then all the group of matriarchs would see would be her squared shoulders and head held high.
Nearly at the door, she risked a look back, catching a snippet of the conversation.
‘The quiet, mousy ones...’
For a moment she stiffened, allowing the frustration to course through her, revelling in the fire it stoked deep inside her, before she took a deep breath and banished the defiance that burned bright. Turning, she made the last two steps to the door quickly, already rejoicing in her smooth escape as she rushed through, looking over her shoulder to see if anyone had noted her exit from the ballroom.
Her body collided with something solid and, before Jane could even look round, she flew back through the ballroom doors, her arms spread wide, trying to grasp on to anything she could. There was a moment when she thought she might regain her equilibrium and keep her feet, but it was short lived, and instead she slipped anew on the shiny floor and landed with a hard bump on her bottom.
Every pair of eyes in the ballroom turned to her. Hands raised to mouths and smiles were suppressed. No doubt there were even a few genuine gasps of sympathy.
Quickly Jane leaned to tug down her dress. It had puffed up as she had tumbled backwards and the hem now sat just below her knees, giving everyone a glimpse of her practical white stockings.
Hating the way the blood rushed to her cheeks and the tears pooled in her eyes, threatening to spill out onto her lashes, Jane pressed her lips together in an attempt to maintain her composure.
‘My apologies,’ a deep voice said, stepping into her line of vision and offering her his hand.
Jane regarded the man for a moment, realising this was the solid form she’d so disastrously bounced off. He was smiling, although she didn’t get the impression he was laughing at her, as many of the other guests were.
There wasn’t anything to do but take his hand and allow him to pull her to her feet. She stood quickly, a little too quickly, and her body bumped against his before she could take a step back and put some distance between them.
‘Are you hurt?’ His concern seemed genuine, although the hint of a smile was still tugging at the corner of his lips.
‘No,’ Jane said abruptly. She turned to move away, surprised when the man caught her hand, stopping her from fleeing.
‘You’re in a hurry, Miss...?’
‘Ashworth. Yes, I am.’
‘Miss Ashworth,’ he said, looking her over appraisingly. ‘So, where is the guest of honour of tonight’s ball running off to so fast?’
Closing her eyes for a moment, Jane tried to ignore the sideways looks they were getting from a group of young ladies Jane vaguely knew. Silently she dug her fingernails into her palms and summoned a tight smile. It was no use trying to flee now anyway. All eyes were on her. She had missed her opportunity to slip away unnoticed.
‘Ah, Miss Ashworth, I wondered where you had got to. Did you injure yourself in your fall?’ Lady Mountjoy hurried over and Jane turned to the older woman. Despite her penchant for match-making the countess was kind, warm and motherly and Jane knew her concern was real. ‘Whatever happened?’
Jane’s eyes flicked to her companion, wondering if he would let it slip that she had been fleeing the ballroom.
‘Carelessness on my part, I am afraid, Lady Mountjoy,’ he said, inclining his head in greeting. ‘I wasn’t looking where I was going and barrelled into Miss Ashworth.’ He smiled at her and Jane felt the full force of his charm. ‘A thousand apologies, Miss Ashworth, please forgive me.’
‘Of course,’ Jane murmured.
‘Have you been introduced to Mr Stewart? No?’ Lady Mountjoy beamed, and Jane felt as if a lead weight was sitting in her stomach. ‘Miss Jane Ashworth, this is Mr Stewart. Mr Stewart, this is Miss Ashworth, one of the young ladies who accompanied me to London this year.’
‘Delighted to make your acquaintance.’ Something sparkled in his green-blue eyes as he looked at her and Jane got the impression he found everything in life a little amusing. There was a certain warmth to his smile that sought to draw one in and an air of merriment she hadn’t come across often.
‘We are honoured to have you attend tonight, Mr Stewart, I have not seen you at one of these events for a long time.’
Jane’s curiosity was momentarily piqued, and Lady Mountjoy must have sensed it, for she propelled Jane forward a few steps with a light touch on her lower back.
‘Miss Ashworth is free for the next dance if you would care to take to the dance floor.’
‘Miss Ashworth?’ Mr Stewart murmured, showing no chagrin at having been so deftly manoeuvred into offering a dance.
‘I have somewhere...’ Jane began, choking back the response as Lady Mountjoy elbowed her gently in the ribs. ‘I suppose a dance would be pleasant. Thank you.’
With an amused expression on his face, Mr Stewart held out his hand and led Jane to the dance floor where the other couples were beginning to assemble. As the music began for the dance, Jane sent up a silent prayer of thanks that it wasn’t a waltz. She wasn’t the most skilled at dancing, but the lively steps of a quadrille or cotillion were much more forgiving to disguise the odd misstep or stumble.
‘You are frowning, Miss Ashworth, do you not like the dance?’
Jane looked up and missed a step, grimacing as she planted her foot on Mr Stewart’s toes. He barely reacted, and his face remained impassive, but he couldn’t suppress the flicker of surprise in his eyes.
‘I like the dance,’ she said, focussing on the numbers in her head as she counted her steps.
‘Perhaps it is the company you find taxing?’
She stumbled again and Mr Stewart effortlessly caught her elbow and whisked her into the next turn. A chain of uncharitable thoughts started to run through Jane’s head and she had to swiftly silence them. It wasn’t Mr Stewart’s fault he was attractive, charming and good at dancing. Some people were blessed in the endeavours that society found important, others were not. Usually it did not bother Jane that she found the idle chit-chat at balls difficult to engage in, and that her dancing wouldn’t have anyone madly clamouring to partner her, but today she wished she had just a little more grace.
‘I have to count my steps,’ she said through clenched teeth. ‘And I frown when I concentrate.’
‘Ah. What happens if you don’t count your steps?’
‘I wouldn’t be able to dance.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘You think I’m here counting steps and treading on your toes for fun?’
Mr Stewart laughed, throwing his head back and letting the laugh rip through him. Jane looked around uncomfortably. People were beginning to look. Nothing about this evening was going to plan and Mr Stewart was not helping.
‘Come,’ he said, waiting for her to meet his eye once he had stopped laughing. ‘Clear your head of all those numbers and all the nonsense your dance tutors taught you and feel the music. Feel how it flows through you and then put your trust in me.’
‘I barely know you. Why would I trust you?’
‘I am asking you to trust me with a dance, Miss Ashworth, not your life.’
She grumbled under her breath but realised the quickest way to get rid of Mr Stewart and his enthusiasm was to play along. Soon the dance would be finished and, if at that point he realised what a truly terrible dancer she was, she was hopeful he would leave her alone. Then she would find a way to slip away and find some peace in the rest of the house.
‘Fine. My head is clear.’
‘You’re lying.’
Her eyes shot up to meet his and she saw the determination there underneath the sparkle of humour.
Leaning in closer, he spoke quietly, his breath tickling her ear and sending shivers down her spine. ‘I can see your lips moving.’
It took all of her self-control not to clamp her lips tightly together.
‘Close your eyes, empty your head of all your thoughts and trust me.’
‘Fine.’
They covered a few feet of ballroom floor before Jane panicked about the lack of control she had over her movement. In the same instant, her feet became tangled and she fell forward, this time thankful for Mr Stewart’s solid form to stop her from tumbling from the floor.
‘Whoa,’ he said softly, allowing her to recover her own balance. Jane looked around, realising many of the people gathered around the dance floor were watching them, and that she had brushed far too close to a man she did not know.
Thankfully the musicians quietened, the couples stopped their lively movements and Jane was spared any further embarrassment.
‘Thank you for the dance,’ she said quickly, turning away before Mr Stewart had time to answer. She doubted he would ask her for another, not unless he secretly enjoyed getting his toes stomped on.
‘Setting your cap a little high, aren’t you, Miss Ashworth?’ Mrs Farthington said as Jane hurried past. Mrs Farthington had started the year with Jane as one of Lady Mountjoy’s debutantes, but had recently married the insipid Mr Farthington. Jane still thought of the woman as ‘snide Miss Huntley’, and found it difficult to believe she was now married. It was an odd match, with Mr Farthington rather in awe of his young bride. He boasted a fortune and a kind heart, but was rather a hapless soul, and nowhere near sharp enough to keep up with his fiancée. Even now he hovered close by as if not sure whether to stand with his new wife or not.
‘I’m not setting my cap at anyone,’ Jane snapped.
‘Everyone saw that not-so-subtle stumble into his arms. I’m not sure you’re his type, though.’
‘I’m not trying to be his type.’
‘Good. I hear he has a wicked reputation.’
Jane glanced back over her shoulder, catching a glimpse of Mr Stewart’s dark hair as he bowed over a young lady’s hand. He was attractive. Even she could not deny that. He had an air of confidence about him that seemed to pull people in, to make them want to be part of his circle. Then there were his eyes, that deep mix of blue and green that was adept at making you feel as if you were the only person in the room.
‘Enjoy the ball, Mrs Farthington,’ Jane said as she swept away, the effect rather ruined as she tripped on her hem and stumbled, but thankfully this time did not lose her footing entirely.
