Fancy explained the news her brothers had shared.
“That’s jolly good to hear, although I had confidence in you and knew you wouldn’t need the bribes,” Gillie said.
“I appreciate your faith.”
“Hand over your card, let us claim our dances,” Mick said.
“No.” She gave them a gentle smile to lessen the harshness of her decision. “I’m not dancing with anyone tonight to whom I’m related. I’ll make exceptions for your friends or your families”—she looked at each of her siblings’ spouses—“but I’m not dancing with you four gents. I’m quite certain I’m going to need those dances for other gentlemen.”
Gillie gave her a hug. “I like your confidence.”
Taking a deep breath, she slowly released it. “Let’s see how long I can maintain it.”
To her surprise, it wasn’t at all difficult to maintain her confidence. Once her family wandered off, gentlemen began to approach her and within five minutes she had half a dozen dances claimed. She’d even been introduced to two lords who had not attended Gillie’s ball.
The Marquess of Wilbourne was the first to take her on a turn about the dance floor. She was grateful for the waltz because it allowed them to speak more intimately. She told him about her bookshop and her efforts to teach adults to read. “An investment in the future.” She didn’t ask for a donation. Instead she asked his opinion on how she might expand her programs, where he thought she might have success teaching in other areas of London.
She gave her undivided attention to each lord who asked her for a dance. One gentleman was silver-haired and slightly bent over, a walking stick propping him up. Rather than sweep her over the floor, he barely moved her from the spot where they’d begun, but when the tune drifted into silence, he patted her hand. “I’d heard you were a delight, Miss Trewlove. Thank you for indulging an old relic.”
She smiled warmly. “It was my pleasure, Your Grace.”
“Ah, if I were but forty years younger.”
As he shuffled her off the dance floor, she didn’t rush him. Her next partner commented on her graciousness in dancing with the elderly duke. “I didn’t do it for the praise. I simply find that it’s not that difficult to be kind.”
She had been dancing for nearly two hours when she finally found herself with an unclaimed dance and actually welcomed a moment to sit for a bit and rest her feet, but on her way to the wallflower corner, the flaxen-haired trio stopped her.
“My goodness, Miss Trewlove, but you’re popular tonight,” Lady Penelope said. “I’ve been dying to have a word ever since we arrived, but you’ve been on the floor the entire time.”
“I think I’m still a bit of a curiosity.”
“Are you implying they’re all cats?”
She laughed. “No. I’m just not quite sure what to make of their interest.”
“Have any gents called on you?” Lady Victoria asked.
“Two. Lord Beresford and Mr. Whitley.”
Each of the ladies grimaced.
“Wet-mouthed Whitley,” Lady Alexandria said, and then she brightened. “Oh, that’s how I can remember his name.”
“You already remember his name,” Lady Victoria pointed out.
“Yes, but if I should ever forget it...”
Lady Penelope rolled her eyes. “Has he ever kissed your hand, Miss Trewlove?”
Fancy nodded. “Yes.”
“He’s very nice but the... spittle not so much. I wouldn’t settle on him, if I were you.”
“I don’t know that we’d suit. He doesn’t read.”
“He’s in fine form, though. Very good at polo.”
She was vaguely aware of the music drifting into silence again and then spotted Lord Beresford striding toward her. “It’s been a pleasure, ladies.”
