A challenge flashed in Mrs. Banfield’s eyes as she turned her cool gaze on Mina, and again, Mina was transported back to yesteryear and all those little triumphs that woman had scored again and again. Was even her daughter a pawn in her machinations?
“No one desires your company, Mrs. Banfield, so leave us be,” said Simon.
Mrs. Banfield’s brows rose, and she shifted her shoulders in a subtle move that made the already low neckline of her gown slip into scandalous territory. Though Simon’s gaze never left her face, his eyes narrowed until Mrs. Banfield straightened her shoulders, drawing the décolletage back into its proper place.
“You think no one desires my company?” Her smile became cloying sweet as she attempted to hold Simon’s gaze, though he dismissed it by looking out at the dancers.
“Our husbands are not desperate men looking for a quick romp,” said Tabby with narrowed eyes.
Mina sputtered at that, while Graham and Simon’s eyes widened, but their reaction paled to that of Mrs. Banfield, who dropped the mantle of seductress to gape at Tabby’s audacious statement. Mina didn’t know if she’d ever seen the woman so discomposed, but she stood there like a landed carp, gasping for air while wondering what had just happened.
Straightening, Mrs. Banfield collected herself and turned an appraising eye to Graham, who merely gave a huffing chuckle and dismissed her with a casual glance away.
Though Mrs. Banfield had altered some over the years, growing more overt in her lures since her youth, Mina was startled to realize that gone was any subtlety. Every word and movement left her companions in no doubt that she would welcome either Graham or Simon into her bed. For a moment, Mina wondered what had wrought that change in her.
“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” said Mrs. Banfield, turning a tight smile to Tabby.
“Nor do I wish to be.” Tabby’s tone and smile were so sweet and genteel it was a long moment before Mrs. Banfield’s gaze darkened, her eyes narrowing. “I suppose I could stand here exchanging subtle jabs, meeting each biting comment with a parry of my own, but I’ve no patience for such ridiculous posturing. I lost my pretensions long ago, and being married to a naval man, I’ve found I prefer a more direct approach. So, I will simply warn you that Mrs. Kingsley is not without friends, and I will not stand by and allow you to treat her shabbily. If you wish to spar, then I am more than willing to go a few rounds, but it will not end well for you.”
Mrs. Banfield looked Tabby up and down, her brows pulled together as though trying to decide if the lady spoke figuratively or literally and calculating her chances of victory. Then, giving a haughty raise of her head (as though that would save her dignity), Mrs. Banfield turned on her heel and swanned away, leaving Mina all the lighter for her absence.
“Well done, my love,” said Graham, placing a kiss on Tabby’s knuckles.
***
This wasn’t her first evaluation of the ball’s gentlemanly offerings. Nor the second. Victoria stood to one side, scouring the crowd once more for any option to pursue. Yet not a one held any appeal. The few with fortunes were claimed, and the others of her generation were far too young to have amassed an income to meet the Caswells’ needs. To say nothing of their lack of conversation and ambition.
Yet there had to be some possibility.
Victoria was well aware of one. Likely the best one. A gentleman who met her and her family’s needs, and though he would never compare to a certain gentleman who was beyond her reach, Victoria felt their marriage would be successful. That knowledge poked and prodded her, pestering her with all the unwavering annoyance of a child wishing to get his mother’s attention, begging her not to waste any more time.
But the same conscience that demanded she do what needed doing for her family’s sake quivered and shook at the thought of approaching him. Though to all appearances Victoria looked at ease with the world, she felt as though her corset was laced too tight and the ballroom was a sweltering jungle. The doors were open wide, yet not a single trickle of fresh air reached her to calm the sweat beading at her temple.
Mr. Dixon understood her motives. She knew that. Even now, he seemed ready to honor his previous statements, accepting that her actions were not from callousness or selfishness. Yet her heart warned her that such a step might hurt him irreparably. It was one thing to flirt with one of the young gentlemen, but Mr. Flemming was Mr. Dixon’s employer. His mentor. As much a father figure as the man who’d raised him. Could Mr. Dixon hold onto his equanimity if she pursued Mr. Flemming?
A group of ladies and gentlemen were gathered around her, but Victoria did little more than nod and smile at intervals, her thoughts traveling across the ballroom to where Mr. Dixon and Mr. Flemming stood, deep in debate with a few of the other politically minded. Their conversation would be far more diverting than that which surrounded her, but Victoria did not trust herself to approach. Not yet.
Surely there must be another option. Victoria’s gaze traveled to Mr. Dixon, and she marveled at his profile. Perhaps some ladies would not see the beauty there, but she could not imagine a more handsome figure. Even his ears, which had the unfortunate tendency to stick out beneath his shaggy black hair, added to the appeal. Victoria had never thought ears handsome before, but they were on Mr. Dixon.
Victoria’s corset constricted, the boning and lacing digging into her skin. With shaky breaths, she forced air in and out, her muscles tensing, and she fought to keep her expression calm.
This was the only way. That thought ought to calm her racing heart, but it only seemed to cinch her wretched gown tighter. If there were any other choice, she would gladly take it. There was none.
But Mr. Dixon. Elijah…
It was silly to dither. Indecision was a weakness of character, and Victoria couldn’t remember the last time she had allowed herself to be so torn. And what good was to come from avoiding the inevitable?
As if she needed another reminder of the stakes at hand, Miriam swept by in the arms of some gentleman. Her sister beamed, batting her eyelashes like hummingbird wings as the pair moved through the dance steps. For Miriam, she would do it.
Victoria gave another vague answer and a smile as someone prodded her about some subject or another, but her gaze rarely left Mr. Flemming. As the current dance ended, several of his set wandered off in search of their dance partners, while others wandered off in search of other pursuits. Then it was just Mr. Flemming and Mr. Dixon standing together, their hands tucked behind them as they watched the dancing begin anew.
And though she knew she had no right to such a blessing, her silent prayers were answered, and Mr. Dixon nodded at his employer, striding off to some other corner of the ballroom, leaving Mr. Flemming alone. Giving a hasty goodbye, Victoria left her companions before her courage failed her. With unhurried but purposeful steps, she wound her way through the crowd and slipped into the space beside Mr. Flemming.
“Miss Caswell,” he said with a nod.
“Good evening, Mr. Flemming. Are you not dancing?” Victoria’s insides twisted at the bold question; though subtle in wording, it had been used by so many ladies to prod a gentleman into a dance to be anything but pointed. No gentleman would misunderstand the subtext shouting at them.
Mr. Flemming’s graying eyebrow drew upwards. “I fear I’ve lost my taste for it.”
