A thrill rushed through Matilda. She’d learnt so much in her first few minutes. She could name half a dozen members of the ton, most of whom were here tonight. She’d seen the May Queen, who would be selecting seven maidens fair during some sort of crowning ceremony. She’d glimpsed Mr. Radford, the man who owned the botanical gardens, speaking to the woman in charge of the cakes.
And she’d learned she herself was functionally invisible, despite standing within arm’s reach of the plates.
Doubt and embarrassment warred within her. Matilda stood taller. Her objective in life was to have a grand adventure. But her greatest fear was that she was too insignificant for even a tiny one.
Aunt Stapleton had made a point of explaining that this festival catered to people of all walks of life, from the haut ton to the local farmers. And yet, Matilda still received less notice than a fly upon the wall.
Which only made her reconnaissance all the more important. She was determined to make these people like her—even if most would not fully accept her. The only way to succeed was to first figure out just what she was up against. She soaked in every overheard snippet like a sponge. If someone asked her where to find the follies or the Cork & Cupid tavern, she could answer perfectly, despite never having clapped eyes on either sight. She knew the flavor of every available cake, could name the songs in every upcoming set, and had learnt the Marquess of Creslow had contracted the services of a matchmaker.
All she needed was for someone to ask her something. It needn’t be one of the details she’d overheard. She’d be happy to provide her name, for example. Or exchange a simple, “How do you do?”
If her shy guardian succeeded in shuttering Matilda away, she’d lose any chance for adventure. This could be her one and only opportunity to mingle with society. Here. Now.
She straightened her shoulders and pasted on a welcoming smile, hoping against hope that someone—anyone—should ask her to dance, even if doing so would quickly give her position away. The experience would be worth it.
Besides, Aunt Stapleton wouldn’t cause a stir until after the set ended. Matilda would at least have one memory of how it felt to dance before an orchestra. And in a fashionable crush, like this one!
But so far, it wasn’t as simple as turning up and accepting a dance. No one offered her so much as a polite greeting. At this point, she’d gratefully accept a smile—or even a fleeting glance.
Country life had been simple. Losing her parents and surviving the subsequent year of mourning had been terrible. This was something else entirely. Matilda had never expected to be a debutante. She was too old, for one. Most of these young women would’ve been “out” for three or four seasons by the time they were on the cusp of turning twenty-one.
It wasn’t just that Matilda didn’t fit in. No one wanted her to. No one wanted her.
Or so they thought.
If her brush with death and the loss of her family had taught her anything, it was that life was a gift that could disappear at any moment. The best anyone could do was make as much as possible of the days God granted them. Matilda intended to befriend the whole world by sheer force of will.
She popped another piece of candied peel into her mouth. Orange. Delightful. Everything seemed possible, no matter how unlikely, when one sucked upon a delicious piece of—
She felt the weight of his gaze before she saw him. It wrapped around her like a warm blanket on a… well, on an already humid and stuffy night. She didn’t need to be warmed up. She needed adventure.
And the stranger’s heated gaze felt like it might be a good one.
Slowly, Matilda cast her own gaze about as subtly as she could until she found the source of the shiver-inducing sensation. It didn’t take long. He was two arm-lengths away, on the opposite side of the row of potted ferns. Watching her from their shadows, rather than from the brightly lit dance floor.
Or perhaps he preferred shadows. Despite the patchwork of scars covering half of his face, he was breathtakingly handsome. In a hulking, razor-sharp, terrifying sort of way. A beast amongst sheep.
She liked his mystique. She already liked him.
Adventure? He was the very definition.
“—with the Earl of Gilbourne?” said one debutante to another as they reached for a glass of lemonade.
Matilda gasped and stepped back against the shadowed wall herself, as if this stranger saying the name of her new guardian aloud should be enough to conjure him from the air. She wasn’t ready to be whisked away. Not now, when things were starting to happen.
“Marry him?” The other debutante gave an exaggerated shudder. “He never smiles, he never laughs, and he looks like—”
The girls turned away from the table, and the orchestra swallowed up the rest of their gossip.
Heart pounding, Matilda kept her spine against the wall until her breath slowed. False alarm. She could not imagine being as famous as an earl. Gilbourne’s name was on everyone’s lips, and he wasn’t even here.
Or was he? Was that why the debutantes had mentioned him?
Matilda scanned the ballroom for signs of her great-aunt. If the Earl of Gilbourne were here, Aunt Stapleton would be deep in conversation with him by now.
But there was no sign of her great-aunt. Perhaps she was still in the retiring room, waiting for her great-niece. Matilda tamped down a pang of guilt. She loved her great-aunt, and was resentful she was being passed along like outgrown rags. Especially if the gossips were right.
The Earl of Gilbourne never smiled, never laughed, and never left his home? What a prince. Matilda could already tell he would be a thorn in her side.
