His brows lifted. “Why doubt yourself so much?”
“It's not doubt,” Rachel said deprecatingly. “It’s truth. I know little about life outside of my home that it is mortifying when I come to London. Despite that my parents want me to marry, I am a bit hobbled when it comes to that because I know so little.”
She smiled. “Thank you for the wonderful dance. I hope you have a great evening.”
Turning away to the seats, Rachel felt his eyes on her back as she walked away. She liked him, but it was evident that he did not feel the same. How could she when she was as outdated and old-fashioned and passé as her clothes?
Seated, she trained her gaze out the window to the garden beyond it. This was a mistake; she could feel it. This world was as unfamiliar to her as if she were a fish trying to live on dry land. And it was all because of her parents. How could they raise her in seclusion and then shove her intole beau mondeas if she could magically integrate herself into it?
From the corner of her eyes, she spotted two ladies, debutantes, she supposed, from their full white clothing, giggling to each other. Aside from the debutants, another set of ladies in colorful silks, spoke to two lords without hesitation and inelegance. A twist of resentment rested heavy on her heart.
I have no friends to speak with, nor do I have the social elegance I should have to speak with the men.
She stood to find her mother. This farce had gone long enough, and she wanted to go home. Finding her mother in a drawing-room, she calmly asked her to speak privately.
With them standing at the window away from the rest of the ladies, she said, “I want to go home, Mother. This was a mistake, coming here.”
“Why?”
“I do not…” she paused. “I cannot fit in with any of these ladies or lords, Mother. I am lost when they talk about current fashions or happenings in the city. I do not know a thing about what they are talking about, and I just stand there, unable to offer anything. It is humiliating, Mother, and I wish to leave.”
Lady Mary did not look pleased. “Have you tried?”
“I have, but it does not matter is if I have tried or not,” Rachel stressed. “I do not fit in with these people, Mother, and I am sick of trying. I want to go home.”
“I will have the carriage carry you home as I am still engaged with some ladies here,” her mother said.
It was not what Rachel had thought would happen, but she was not complaining. At least, she would not be hearing her mother’s nitpicking at her for not trying hard enough.
With her mother beside her, they left for the foyer where Rachel donned her coat and waited while her mother sent a footman to call the carriage. She waited quietly with her mother, until the vehicle came around and she was helped into the bed.
“We will talk in the morning,” her mother promised.
While dreading that discussion, Rachel let herself unwind a little from the tension she had held all through the ball. Bittersweetly, she thought about Lord Strathmore. He was handsome and brilliant, she supposed, but she knew that she would never see him again.
Probably for the best. We might come from the same class but from far different lifestyles. We would never match…
But the question that lingered in her mind: who was her match?
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Chapter 10
A full day had passed with little sight of Rachel. William wondered what she thought of the picture he had coerced her maid Miss Colton to slip into her room the night before. Now, with another night passing with her absence, William found himself in the early morning wondering what she thought about and if he would see her that day.
Rousing from the bed as the rose-golden rays of dawn came through the unadorned window, he passed to the window and glanced out briefly. He was looking to see if Rachel was outside in the hazy, mystic mist of dawn. He did not see her, so he went to wash up for the day.
He dressed in a loose saffron shirt and loose brown buff trousers before donning his boots and left for his morning meal. There would a few hours before his session with Rachel—if there was going to be one that day—but went back to his room to prepare for it anyhow.
He gathered his material, took the folio with the unfinished drawing to the library, and set up the easel. In the meantime, he began to peruse the shelves and saw books on history, some on law and art, and French grammar. There were no storybooks, nothing on philosophy or sciences. No biology, mathematics, or astrology.
I suppose with their devout faith, astrology, using the stars as a guide, would be heretical.
He meandered to another shelf and spotted more of the same. No wonder Rachel knew little of the world beyond what was taught to her. It became clear why she wanted to leave to see more of the world because she knew so little of it.
The door's opening had him coming back to the front and did not hide the wide smile at seeing Rachel and her maid there.
He bowed. “Good morning, My Lady. How are you this morning?”
