The girl placed a hand on Gemma’s arm. “Please come. Please don’t stay away. You are one of us. And I need you.”
“I will think on it.”
“Thank you.” The words were heartfelt and then in a swirl of muslin as light as air, Clarissa left the room. A second later the door tinkled as it was closed.
And Gemma was alone. Hiding.
It wasn’t very brave of her.
Her mood began to shift. Two months ago she’d come to Maidenshop with a determination she, herself, at Clarissa’s age didn’t know she had possessed. Today she was a member of this strong little community. Sooner or later she had to face Ned with Clarissa. She had to stop pretending to hide. Why, she’d see him tomorrow and probably her friend, as well.
Gemma walked to her bedroom. On a wall peg hung the dresses from her former life. Three dresses from when she’d been a rich man’s daughter.
The time had come to shed her black, to stop moping about what could not be changed. She needed to be strong for herself.
Gemma reached for a dress of the deepest blue in a figured silk. It had been her father’s favorite. He’d claimed it had been well worth the cost and she hadn’t worn it since his death. She also hadn’t been able to part with it.
If she was going to live in Maidenshop, Gemma knew she had to make her peace with Ned’s marriage to Clarissa.
That meant finding the courage to go to the dance.
The old barn where the Cotillion was held had apparently been a donation to the church a century or so ago from one of Mars’s ancestors. Mars claimed it had to be a penance offering for some past lord’s black soul. Whatever the reason, the village had held all important celebrations here ever since.
Last year’s dance had dissolved into a brawl that would never be forgotten. The men had thought it good sport and the matrons were determined such a disaster would never happen again.
Therefore, they had stationed members of their group around the room, the doyennes of proper conduct in the village—and Ned, dutifully standing beside Clarissa, didn’t know if he was sorry they were there. Or annoyed.
He resented the matrons, even though it had been his own damn empathy that prompted him to step up and offer for Clarissa. On one hand he could see reason, on the other, he felt trapped.
For her part, Clarissa appeared lovely. She was in a dress that brought out the green in her eyes. Many had looked at her covetously, and yet, she seemed oblivious, even toward him. She stood smiling and poised and he didn’t have one idea of what was going through her head. Or a care to find out.
The Balfours had chosen not to attend. Baby Anne was doing well and they acted content with their simple life. Who knew when anyone in the village would see them again?
Meanwhile, everyone else was either on the dance floor, stomping to their heart’s content while musicians churned out one lively tune after another, or standing in clusters grousing about the lack of a significantly strong punch this year. Apparently, last year’s punch was blamed for the fight that broke out. It was no secret the lads had laced last year’s punch with strong spirits, and now the matrons were guarding the bowl as if it were one of the crown jewels.
Mars came up beside him. The tall earl always cut a fine figure in his black evening dress. Most of the men were dressed more like Ned—they wore their best but they were country men, meaning polished boots and a clean jacket were fine.
“This place is as deadly boring as Almack’s.” Mars referred to the famed club in London known for its insipid punch and rigid rules.
“I wouldn’t know. The hostesses of Almack’s wouldn’t let me past the door,” Ned answered.
“You aren’t missing anything. And I don’t think I am missing anything here.”
Clarissa pinned him with a look that would make a governess proud. “Instead of complaining, why don’t you ask someone to dance, my lord?”
“I’ve already let Miss Nelson trample on my feet. And the Moncrieff chit has been stalking me as if I was a deer she’d set her sights on.”
“She wouldn’t if she knew you better,” Clarissa answered.
The ghost of a smile crossed Mars’s lips. “Perhaps you will enlighten her.”
Clarissa grimly smiled her response.
Mars wiped that smile from her face by drawling, “Your training as a matron is advancing splendidly.”
“What does that mean?”
“That I feel I’m caught between two children,” Ned answered. Then realizing how petulant he sounded, he suggested instead, “Let us dance.”
