“Who is he?” Gladys whispered back, unable to tear her eyes away.
“Reuben Medford,” answered one of the other wallflowers. Her eyes widened at the blank expression on Gladys’s face. “You’ve never heard of Reuben Medford?”
Gladys didn’t want to admit that the only balls she’d ever attended were here at this public festival—and that she’d never met any man, Mr. Medford or otherwise. “I haven’t had the pleasure.”
The first wallflower snorted. “Ironic. You’re certain you haven’t heard the gossip?”
Gladys had no one to gossip with. Her best and only friend was her little sister, and neither was allowed to read the newspaper or scandal sheets for fear it might give them unladylike notions. They were too poor to entertain, which meant there were no adult conversations to eavesdrop upon at home, either. She and her sister weren’t even allowed to read novels, due to Mother’s fear the content might corrupt their impressionable minds and somehow make them unmarriageable.
The only thing Gladys had to draw on were fairy tales. Mr. Medford certainly seemed the embodiment of Prince Charming. Gladys would give anything for a fairy godmother to place her in his arms.
“I don’t gossip,” was all she said aloud. “But… I don’t mind if you do. Tell me about him. Please.”
“If you want my advice? Forget you ever saw him. Reuben Medford is heir presumptive to his uncle Viscount Oldfield, and therefore far above our humble status.”
“Medford is also well off in his own right,” another wallflower added. “If he already possessed a title, he’d be the most eligible bachelor of the ton.”
Gladys’s eyes widened in awe. Even a man like that must resort to a country matchmaking festival to find a bride? But of course he must be here for that reason. No unmarried gentlemen attended this matchmaking festival unless they were explicitly and actively hunting for a wife.
No problem at all, Mr. Medford. Gladys would happily nominate herself for the position. The trick was figuring out how to place herself in his path. And look approachable. And be biddable. And keep his attention.
Gladys’s shoulders slumped. That was too many tricks to perform at once. Especially since she’d never successfully managed any of them.
The other girl tilted her head at the dance floor. “He must be ready to take a wife at last.”
“Normally, Medford doesn’t attend these sorts of events, whether polite society or otherwise,” explained the other wallflower. “He could have his pick of the richest, prettiest, sparkliest diamonds in England. But the truth is, Reuben Medford is primarily known for—”
“There you are!” Gladys’s mother said loudly, as if finding her daughter wilting amongst a wall of wallflowers had involved keen investigative skills.
“Mother, I swear I was…” The words faded from Gladys’s throat. Her mother was not alone. There was a strange man standing next to her.
A man looking at Gladys.
“Mr. Alsop,” Mother said with syrupy sweetness, “it is my absolute pleasure to present my beloved daughter, Miss Bell.”
“The pleasure is mine,” Mr. Alsop said absently.
He was no longer looking at Gladys, but he hadn’t run off screaming. The orchestra’s reel had long since given way to a country-dance, which was just now coming to a close. Time stretched on uncomfortably.
Probably Gladys should say something. Anything at all. But she had never been in this position before. All her prior interactions with men had either been with relatives, paid tutors, or clergymen. Conversing with a real-life gentleman had, until this moment, still been wholly theoretical.
Mother cleared her throat with portent.
“Ah.” Mr. Alsop tilted his head as though listening to the change in music. “La Boulangere. A new set is beginning. Dare I hope you are free to join me?”
“Yes,” Gladys blurted out.
She lurched away from the stiff wainscoting that had been digging into her back and grabbed Mr. Alsop’s arm with unbecoming eagerness before he could change his mind and rescind the offer to dance.
“Enjoy yourselves.” Mother smiled at Gladys. “I’m going to find your father. I suppose there’s a card room somewhere he’ll have wandered off to.”
No mention of Kitty, which likely meant her dance card was already full for the rest of the evening, and she no longer required her mother’s assistance.
“I’ll enjoy myself,” Gladys babbled. “Yes. Already enjoying. Thank you, Mother.”
And thank the heavens for the matchmaking festival, which this year was apparently every bit as magical as it had been advertised to be.
She tried not to preen as he led her to the dance floor. Mr. Alsop was nothing like the gentleman Gladys had been ogling—no other man held a candle to the dashing and out-of-reach Reuben Medford—but absolutely nothing could dampen Gladys’s euphoria at having finally captured a man’s attention for the first time in her entire life.
