‘Yes,’ Daphne answered, dropping her voice. ‘You would be surprised what trouble you can get yourself into by sending the wrong message.’
‘Like what?’ Miss Potts asked.
Daphne spread out her fan with a flourish, opening it fully, and fluttered it to cover her face except for her eyes.
‘That means “follow me”,’ William offered.
Daphne tilted the open fan to cover only one of her eyes and fluttered it again.
‘I am engaged,’ he supplied.
Miss Potts’s gaze widened. ‘That’s what those mean? I had no idea.’
‘Do you use a fan often?’ Daphne asked.
‘Never,’ she replied, a furrow creasing her forehead. ‘Perhaps a good thing. Who knows what I would have been telling people?’
Daphne chuckled and handed her and Millie a fan of their own. Millie struggled to open it at first, but then squealed in delight as it slid open in her small hand, which gripped it fiercely.
Miss Potts opened hers in a small ‘v’ and peered over it at him.
‘Do you love me?’ he blurted out.
Her face flushed and she froze. ‘Your Grace?’ she asked in confusion.
It was then he realised his error. It was his turn to feel his face flush with heat. He cleared his throat and stammered out. ‘My apologies. I did not mean…’ He paused and began again. ‘What you are doing now with your fan,’ he gestured, ‘it means “do you love me”, Miss Potts.’
Daphne giggled behind him and Millie joined in. He shot them a glance of annoyance.
Miss Potts had the good humour to join in the laugh as well. She snapped her fan closed. ‘Oh, my. Indeed, this is a weapon, is it not?’ She held the closed fan down by her side.
‘More than you know, Hattie. And here I was beginning to think this ruse was affecting you, Cousin.’ She gave him a wink.
‘Not yet,’ he answered, forcing a smile.
Millie tugged on Hattie’s hand again. She smiled down at his daughter. ‘I believe I can no longer postpone our afternoon stories. Can the curtsy practising wait until tomorrow?’ she asked.
‘Of course,’ he replied, eager to wrap up the awkward exchange. ‘Keep practising though, Miss Potts.’
She chuckled. ‘Of course. I will be perfection with my steps and be wary of my fan on Saturday…’ she paused ‘…just as Lady Penelope would be.’
And as he watched her walk out, swinging arms with his daughter, the pit in William’s stomach grew. If this Saturday’s ball didn’t go well, they all had a great deal to lose. He just wasn’t sure who would lose the most.
Chapter Thirteen
Violins and music cascaded up to Hattie’s chamber and her stomach flipped…twice. The night of the ball had arrived, and so had everyone in London, or so it seemed. She eased over to the east window of her bedroom chamber and peered out. Carriages lined the long drive, which was illuminated by lighted stakes at regular intervals to guide drivers as they approached Blithe Manor. She pressed a hand over her stomach.
Why had she agreed to this?
A steady flow of guests arrived in gowns, suits and jewels that glistened in the flickering glow of the lanterns as they climbed the steps with grace.
The chamber door of her room squeaked open.
‘Is all of London here?’ she asked Mrs Chisholm, who had gone to retrieve some additional necessity that Hattie couldn’t remember. Her mind was blanking from lack of focus and nerves.
‘Almost,’ Daphne replied with a chuckle and Hattie turned. Her heart soared with gratitude and relief to see her new friend arrive for support.
Lady Buchanan stilled at the sight of Hattie and stared briefly before bringing a hand to her mouth and lookingto Mademoiselle Dashiell who was making yet another ‘final adjustment’ to Hattie’s hem.
