Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

For all my complaining, the ball was quite enjoyable. Mrs. White, a pitiful substitute for my dearly departed mother, introduced me to several older ladies in attendance, including our hostess, Lady Waterford, who, in turn, presented a number of eligible gentlemen to me.

As soon as I was able, I broke free of Mrs. White and found Cassie, who in turn introduced me to her godmother, Lady Katherine Winchester.

My goodness. What a beauty, even for a woman whom I judged to be in her mid-thirties. She was exceptionally attractive and a number of young men made no secret of admiring her.

Her husband, Lord Thomas Winchester, needed only to give the gawkers a stern look and they scampered off.

I liked Lord Winchester very much. He was an American and hearing him speak without a hint of an English accent made me feel as though I was back home.

"They're a stuffy bunch, the British," he said to me while Cassie and Lady Katherine were talking, "but there are plenty of good people among them." It was very sweet of him to offer me some reassurance, particularly since my own father had not bothered to do so.

My father would be most vexed if he knew he'd missed an opportunity to rub elbows with Lord Winchester, but he had fobbed me off on Mrs. White and seemed unconcerned about anything else as it related to me.

This made me more sad than I cared to admit, but it could not be helped. Perhaps once I married and Mrs. White was sent along to harass some other poor girl, Father and I would be able to regain our once warm relationship.

But no matter, this night was about dancing and meeting the proper people. Between Mrs. Waterford, my hostess, and the Winchesters, I was introduced to a head spinning number of ladies and gentlemen.

Soon, my dance card was full. The evening passed agreeably. Several of my partners were rather dull, and reminded me of Lord Winchester's words about the British being a stuffy bunch. Why did they bother seeking my company if they were going to spend the entire dance glancing about the room instead of attending to me? To my credit, I did not actually say as much to any of them.

One or two of my partners were worthy of mention. Lord Puffington, a handsome man with delightful dancing skills, charmed me. He complimented my gown, an utterly divine creation of layer upon layer of lace and satin pinched in at the waist by a corset pulled extra tight by Mrs. White. I complained of the restriction, but my determined trainer insisted.

She insisted more than she ought, but she answered to Father, not me.

The Puffington family was much envied, so my warden relaxed a bit once Lord Puffington appeared taken with me. He brought me lemonade then we sat chatting for a few minutes. Nothing of great consequence was said, but at least he did not comment on my accent, putting him head and shoulders above most of the young men I have met since my arrival in London.

While chatting with Lord Puffington, I happened to see Cassie passing by. She smiled and gave a slight nod behind Lord Puffington's shoulder which only I could see, thereby signaling her approval. There was much about Lord Puffington to merit approval, that was for certain.

My next partner claimed me and I did not see Lord Puffington again for quite some time, but I did notice him dancing with Cassie and she looked pleased. They made a handsome couple and I felt a twinge of envy.

I would never want to be the type of young lady who allowed jealousy to mar a friendship. Having been taken from my homeland and brought to a strange country, I was well aware of the value of friendship.

Suitors, well, they could be found everywhere. And so I chastised myself and wished Cassie well.

During a break in the dancing, Cassie and I got caught up on how our evenings had gone. She was most excited and her eyes sparkled. "I am having a wonderful time, I hope you are as well."

"Yes," I replied honestly. "I am."

The smile vanished from her face when Cassie saw something over my shoulder. "Oh no. The Borden sisters."

"The ones you told me about?"

"Yes," she whispered, her whole countenance wilting. "No doubt they will have something cutting to say."

I dared not turn to look but based on the expression on Cassie's face I could tell they were headed in our direction.

Suddenly, a force impacted my shoulder and I nearly tumbled to the floor. Startled, I looked around to see what had happened.

One of the sisters, I did not know who was who, had bumped into me. Intentionally.

"Oh," she said, "I did not see you there."

Then they kept walking, without so much as an apology or inquiring after my well being.

"They are beastly," Cassie hissed once they were absorbed by the crowd. "Did she injure you?"

"No," I replied. "It will take more than that to knock me down."

"Good," Cassie said. "They are not worth our notice."

The music started up again and we were each engaged in the dance, the hateful Borden sisters forgotten.

Later in the evening, while standing near an open window seeking fresh air, I overheard a man—I had no reason to believe him a gentleman—maligning Americans as nothing more than the bastard sons of the devil.

Well, I could hardly allow something so offensive to go unchallenged. After the rudeness of the hatchet-faced Borden sisters, this was more than I could stomach.

If Father had heard him, he would have boxed the young upstart's ears, but since the honor of my country was left to me to defend, I did my part.

I tapped the blowhard on the shoulder. "Pardon me, sir."

When he turned, I struggled to keep my composure, as he was without a doubt the most strikingly handsome man in all of either America or England. My breath caught in my throat as his dark eyes peered down at me. The corners of his mouth turned up in a sly smile.

"How may I be of service to you, miss?" His sultry voice wafted over me until I nearly forgot my pique, but seeing the mischievous twinkle in his eye reminded me.

"You forget, sir, the Americans, who are the ‘sons of the devil' as you say, also bested your country in two wars."

"We only sent hired soldiers to fight the bloody Americans. An army of real British soldiers would have done the job handily."

"What a thing to say. Have you no respect for your countrymen who died at war?" I glared up at him with a bounty of Yankee scorn.

Finally, he laughed. "My, you are not afraid to speak your mind, now are you? Hardly surprising. Americans are an untamed lot who do not know how to train their women either."

He smiled down at me. Perhaps he meant to be funny.

In no mood for his humor or insults to my country, I stomped on his toe. Hard. Though my petite feet were only ensconced in dancing slippers, he winced. Whether from pain or surprise, I did not know.

Thereupon, the scoundrel took me by the arm and led me—very unceremoniously, I might add—onto the terrace.

"What are you doing?" Straining not to show my alarm, I glanced over my shoulder at the other guests, but they were engaged with the dance. No one seemed to notice us, not even the ever-vigilant Mrs. White, who, it turned out, spent more than her fair share of time sipping brandy instead of lemonade.

However, while being escorted outdoors, that woman was the least of my concerns.

This stranger, who had not even been polite enough to introduce himself, put his hand at the small of my back, guiding me to a bench on the far corner of the terrace. Unaware of his intentions, I knew being there with him— alone— was highly improper. Yet the scorch from his touch above my bottom compelled me to comply without protest.

What spell had he cast over me?