first set.
She accepted with a shallow curtsy, smiling at him, then glanced back to give Emily, who invariably ended up the wallflower once more, an apologetic smile. Emily was the shy type, too quiet, but as she had only come out this season, she was still finding her place in society.
Mary looked back to see if Emily had found another companion to speak with, and caught her mother watching. The look in her eyes resembled the one in the drawing room that morning. Her father’s eyes glistened in the candlelight when she looked at him.
They thought she carried a torch for Lord Farquhar and he for her.
Mary turned away.
Lord Farquhar carried his torch for her good friend Lady Bethany Pope.
Oh heavens , lying never brought any good. It was always found out. The only time she’d lied in her childhood was when she’d accidently broken her mother’s perfume bottle. She’d hidden the broken bottle and claimed no knowledge of it. They’d known because she was the only one who smelt of the perfume.
She’d been in more trouble for lying than for breaking the bottle.
She’d never lied again – until the day of the Jerseys’ garden party.
Lord Farquhar’s eyes twinkled with good humour as he led her on to the floor. She liked her friends. She’d formed a good set last season. She glanced back at poor Emily. She was sure Emily would become settled, her friends were loyal, happy people, and generous in nature, all of them – yet none of her male friends carried an air of mystery, as Lord Framlington did. She selfishly wished for a life that was more exciting than this.
Her heart ached with a bitter sweet sadness. Lord Framlington made her long to unravel all the things he kept hidden. He was exciting…
Yet she had not even known his given name until she’d been about to leave him in the glasshouse.
The image of his eyes as he’d asked her to say his name aloud caught in her memory.
He was… vital… consuming heat… danger – and mystery. All other men were bland compared to him. How could she carry a torch for a bland man when there was Lord Framlington to compare to?
She would probably never marry, and then if she never married her whole life would be dull.
“You do not look quite the thing this evening, Mary. You look distracted. Is anything wrong?”
Lord Farquhar’s fingers gripped hers as they passed each other in the format of the country dance.
She had not even spoken to him since they’d walked on to the floor. “Nothing is wrong. But thank you for asking. I am merely tired, I have attended too many entertainments…”
“You can never attend too many…Are your shoes pinching? You may have too much dancing if your shoes are pinching…”
Mary laughed at his attempt to cheer her but stupidly it sent her tumbling into the doldrums.
If she never spoke to Lord Framlington again she would have to endure an entire life of dullness?
“I should be honest. It was not I who noticed. Bethany did. She sent me to cheer you up.”
“Ah.” Mary glanced at Bethany, who now stood beside Emily, then she looked back and smiled at Lord Farquhar.
She must cease longing for Lord Framlington. This was enough to make her happy. It had to be, and happiness was enough. Even if inside she spent her life screaming for excitement.
When the dance drew to an end Lord Framlington entered the ballroom, as her group swapped partners then formed the next set.
He walked with a group of men. They stopped and looked about the ballroom.
One gentleman’s gaze passed over her, then jolted back, stopping on her for a moment before he turned to the man next to him, his lips tilting in a smirk. Then they all looked at her.
She turned away.
Lord Framlington had spoken of her to his friends, then. What had he said? She hoped he’d not told them anything.
“Mary?” Philip Smyth took her hand and pulled her into motion as the music began. She was one step behind everyone, her heart racing as nausea tumbled in her
She accepted with a shallow curtsy, smiling at him, then glanced back to give Emily, who invariably ended up the wallflower once more, an apologetic smile. Emily was the shy type, too quiet, but as she had only come out this season, she was still finding her place in society.
Mary looked back to see if Emily had found another companion to speak with, and caught her mother watching. The look in her eyes resembled the one in the drawing room that morning. Her father’s eyes glistened in the candlelight when she looked at him.
They thought she carried a torch for Lord Farquhar and he for her.
Mary turned away.
Lord Farquhar carried his torch for her good friend Lady Bethany Pope.
Oh heavens , lying never brought any good. It was always found out. The only time she’d lied in her childhood was when she’d accidently broken her mother’s perfume bottle. She’d hidden the broken bottle and claimed no knowledge of it. They’d known because she was the only one who smelt of the perfume.
She’d been in more trouble for lying than for breaking the bottle.
She’d never lied again – until the day of the Jerseys’ garden party.
Lord Farquhar’s eyes twinkled with good humour as he led her on to the floor. She liked her friends. She’d formed a good set last season. She glanced back at poor Emily. She was sure Emily would become settled, her friends were loyal, happy people, and generous in nature, all of them – yet none of her male friends carried an air of mystery, as Lord Framlington did. She selfishly wished for a life that was more exciting than this.
Her heart ached with a bitter sweet sadness. Lord Framlington made her long to unravel all the things he kept hidden. He was exciting…
Yet she had not even known his given name until she’d been about to leave him in the glasshouse.
The image of his eyes as he’d asked her to say his name aloud caught in her memory.
He was… vital… consuming heat… danger – and mystery. All other men were bland compared to him. How could she carry a torch for a bland man when there was Lord Framlington to compare to?
She would probably never marry, and then if she never married her whole life would be dull.
“You do not look quite the thing this evening, Mary. You look distracted. Is anything wrong?”
Lord Farquhar’s fingers gripped hers as they passed each other in the format of the country dance.
She had not even spoken to him since they’d walked on to the floor. “Nothing is wrong. But thank you for asking. I am merely tired, I have attended too many entertainments…”
“You can never attend too many…Are your shoes pinching? You may have too much dancing if your shoes are pinching…”
Mary laughed at his attempt to cheer her but stupidly it sent her tumbling into the doldrums.
If she never spoke to Lord Framlington again she would have to endure an entire life of dullness?
“I should be honest. It was not I who noticed. Bethany did. She sent me to cheer you up.”
“Ah.” Mary glanced at Bethany, who now stood beside Emily, then she looked back and smiled at Lord Farquhar.
She must cease longing for Lord Framlington. This was enough to make her happy. It had to be, and happiness was enough. Even if inside she spent her life screaming for excitement.
When the dance drew to an end Lord Framlington entered the ballroom, as her group swapped partners then formed the next set.
He walked with a group of men. They stopped and looked about the ballroom.
One gentleman’s gaze passed over her, then jolted back, stopping on her for a moment before he turned to the man next to him, his lips tilting in a smirk. Then they all looked at her.
She turned away.
Lord Framlington had spoken of her to his friends, then. What had he said? She hoped he’d not told them anything.
“Mary?” Philip Smyth took her hand and pulled her into motion as the music began. She was one step behind everyone, her heart racing as nausea tumbled in her
Similar Books
