Her movement wasn’t lost on Mr. Balfour. His step toward them paused slightly, almost in midair—and then he abruptly moved to join a couple beside them, speaking to the pair as if it had been his intent all along.
Which was a lie, she wanted to tell him. She knew he had meant to say something to her and the duke.
She had not dressed this way to be ignored.
And just like that, the music started. The dancers eagerly moved back to their places. Mr. Balfour found a partner and stood up for the set. The rest of the room save for several men who were already too deep in their cups to notice, followed her eagerly as Winderton led her to stand in a less conspicuous place.
The grand moment was over... before it had even begun. Kate felt decidedly flat, a bit annoyed at how much she had been anticipating locking horns with Mr. Balfour.
Her gaze went to the dance floor. This was definitely a country society, with no uniformity of dress or deportment. Some men wore pantaloons and their dancing shoes. For others, their two concessions to this being a special occasion appeared to be a clean shirt and a wash behind their ears.
In truth, Mr. Balfour stood out from all of them in his marine-blue coat and white breeches. She watched him move through the dance steps and she knew she wasn’t the only female to do so. He had definitely changed from the awkward young man who had once captured her heart...
The duke tugged on her arm. “Come, I wish to introduce you to my mother. I’ve spoken about you and I know she is looking forward to meeting you.”
“Perhaps this isn’t the right time?” She was starting to realize that Silas might have been right. She may have not thought this through. She’d made her statement but she wasn’t comfortable exposing this much of her chest for the rest of the evening. Her goal had been to teach Mr. Balfour that he could not and would not dictate to her. She’d envisioned a grand scene, the dialogue somewhat murky in her mind, in which he ended up being completely humbled.
Instead, she found herself in the middle of a charming country dance that appeared to celebrate all levels of its society. There were matrons gathered in one strategic corner of the room where they could watch over all the proceedings. Young men, some yeoman, some gentlemen, others tradesmen, crowded the punch table. They were under the watchful eyes of the local, blushing beauties dressed in their finest. The music was spirited and happy, the conversation loud, and the laughter a welcome respite to someone like Kate who too often felt like Atlas with the world upon his shoulders.
“Kate, there is no good time to meet Mother. We have already shocked her. Now I must introduce you to her so she knows I am proud to be with you.”
What could she do? She’d chosen this role and she’d best play it to the hilt.
Boldly, almost defiantly, Winderton led her through the crowded room. People stepped aside, gaping openly at Kate. There was no humor in the looks women sent her, their eyes narrowed in disapproval. They clearly saw her for the interloper she was, on the arm of the most eligible bachelor in the county... and one clearly many years her junior.
As for the men, there were a few randy, low-pitched guttural hums as she passed them. She was tempted to knock manners into them with her crook. Instead, noticing the color that crept up the duke’s neck, she distracted him with a compliment about how it was obvious everyone admired him. She had no desire to have a duel fought over her, especially when she was regretting her choice of dress.
But no one would know that. Kate knew how to brazen things out. She decided she had a role to play and she would play it well, adding an extra swish to her hips as she walked. She ignored the fluttering of fans and the buzz of furious whispers.
With game determination, the duke waded the two of them into a formidable gathering of older women who had watched them approach with looks akin to horror. There was no mistaking which one was the dowager duchess. She had the Balfour gray eyes, though she was not as tall as Kate had expected and her hair was as dark as her brother’s.
She appeared much older than Balfour, although the cut of the black gown was too matronly. Winderton had told Kate his father had died several years ago. That his mother was still in mourning spoke volumes about her character. This was not a woman who embraced change.
“Mother,” Winderton said almost with shy eagerness. “I wish you to meet Miss Addison. This is my mother, the Dowager Duchess of Winderton.”
Kate made her curtsey. She couldn’t go too low with it. Not with her breasts in danger of tumbling out. “Your Grace.”
No gloved hand was extended to her. The dowager barely murmured, “Miss Addison,” as if the name would choke her.
Kate thought of her parents, of the times that the local gentry, people very much like those at this dance, had shunned them because of their opinion of her mother. They’d ignored her father’s excellent family connections. He had been the youngest son of a duke, albeit a duke who had disowned him when he’d married the actress Rose Billoy. Their contempt had included the daughters of that marriage.
Still, Rose would not have approved of the way Kate was behaving this evening. Rose may have been an actress but she had been a woman of good taste and genteel demeanor. Kate had always thought of herself in the same fashion—and yet, here she was, dressed as the most common of tarts.
Still, it didn’t make sense to Kate, who truly adored her profession and prided herself on her accomplishments, that other women would frown upon her. Didn’t all women left without family or benefit of a husband have to survive? What was wrong with a woman supporting herself with Shakespeare and Sheridan? Why was being a governess or a dressmaker better than being an actress? How could they brand her as disreputable when she wrote plays about morality tales likeAesop’s Fables?
Instead, the matrons sat in their corner appearing scandalized. Their eyebrows hit their hairlines. They held their breath as if she tainted the air.
And poor Winderton was caught between his pride, his lust, and his mother. Kate debated between telling him she pitied him or to buck up.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Mr. Balfour’s deep, resonant voice. “May I beg an introduction, Winderton?”
In a blink, any regret Kate was feeling vanished, even as her heart beat faster. The moment was at hand. He had finally decided to engage.
“If you will excuse me, Your Grace?” she said to the dowager, not waiting for permission before confronting her nemesis with a small, very cold smile.
Winderton appeared relieved for the interruption. It was almost as if he had thought his mother, upon meeting Kate, would give her blessing to this match and had just realized the error in his thinking. Men could be amazingly naïve.
“Miss Addison, this is my uncle, Mr. Brandon Balfour. Uncle, may I present Miss Kate Addison, a very talented woman in her own right. She writes the plays her troupe performs. Of course, I believe the two of you met earlier.”
