Chapter 1
Spring 1836
Bentmoor, Devon
Aball was a magical thing, for it was there that hopes and dreams seeped into reality, coloring the world in rosy hues. It was unlike any other place, and though some might see only the crush of bodies filling the space with noise and scents that weren’t wholly pleasant, to Marian Wakefield it was a fairyland from her childhood—complete with a prince. Though not as handsome or dashing as the stories claimed such gallant heroes to be, Mr. George Finch was a prince of the highest order.
The steps of the gallopade led them along at a frenzied pace as they spun about the floor, and even if Marian had wished to stifle the laugh lightening her spirits, her partner’s utter lack of decorum would’ve made it impossible: Mr. Finch’s joy rang out as a broad grin filled his face. The fellow’s expression always had a hint of impishness about it, begging those around him to join in the fun, and Marian’s smile grew in response.
“You have such a lovely smile, Miss Marian. You ought never to hide it,” he said as the hopping steps carried them around the ballroom.
Marian’s heart thumped against her chest, erasing all rational thoughts and words, and though she tried to hide it beneath a calm exterior, there was no controlling the grin on her face: his compliment only served to grow it. Surely there was no paradise greater than this.
Even though her lungs and legs longed for a rest, Marian hated hearing the final bars of the music. The steps were so invigorating, and she would give anything to remain so comfortably situated. With a final bow, Mr. Finch offered up his arm and led her from the floor.
“I forgive you,” he said.
Marian’s brows furrowed. “For what?”
“Trodding on my toes. Need I remind you that only one of us may use them at a time?”
With a huff, she stuck her nose into the air. “If anyone requires forgiveness, it would be my partner, for he nearly steered us into several collisions.”
Mr. Finch gave a put-upon sigh. “He is a bounder of the worst sorts.”
Though he pointed them towards the area in which their friends congregated, Mr. Finch took a circuitous route, allowing them a few moments of privacy to speak whilst they had the breath to do so.
“I may not offer up my forgiveness for your performance, Mr. Finch, but I will bestow a heaping portion of gratitude for your rescue. When my younger sister entered society, I had hoped Mama would be too preoccupied with securing her and Lorena partners to notice me, but I fear she is still determined to toss at me any bachelor who passes too closely. This will keep her at bay for a few sets.”
Mr. Finch slanted a look in her direction. “You do not wish to dance with the fellows?”
“Not when it is clear they are only doing so under duress. I do not wish to be a charity in which men donate their dances.” Marian’s tone was far drier than intended, though entirely accurate to her feelings on the matter. “It is impossible to enjoy myself when everything from my partner’s lack of conversation to his strained expression testifies he is only standing up with me to keep my mother from browbeating him further.”
“I am certain not all of your dance partners resent your mama’s efforts.”
Marian let out a huff and shook her head, though she offered no further explanation. As an heir, he had little understanding of such things; Mr. George Finch could be a hideous beast and ladies would vie for his attention. And he was no beast. He may not have the sort of features that drew the eye in a crowded room, but the gentleman was arresting with his prominent nose and the hint of red that shone in his fair hair.
Pulling her to a stop, Mr. Finch faced her. “You may feel it is charity, pity, or some other sentiment motivating them, but I assure you that is not the case. You have much to recommend you, Miss Marian. Do not sell your charms short.”
Mr. Finch’s words swept through her, filling her as no others could, and Marian’s lips trembled; she forced them to remain still, but it was difficult not to be overwhelmed by such a declaration, especially when spoken with such earnestness. The truth of it shone in Mr. Finch’s eyes, demanding she see the truth as he did, and Marian adored him all the more for it.
Experience was a stern taskmaster, and it had taught Marian well. Her dowry was not large enough to attract gentlemen when her face and figure were unable to do so, and no man had bothered to establish enough of an acquaintance to see past the surface enticements she lacked. Until Mr. Finch. And now, he stood there, proclaiming his truth with unwavering faith as though it was an unassailable fact.
Wretched emotions! How was a lady supposed to maintain her dignity when her heart leapt straight out of her chest? Heavens above, Marian wanted to close the distance and press her lips to his.
Her Mr. Finch. Dear George. Friends they may be, but it was entirely improper for her to think of any gentleman in such intimate terms; however, Marian couldn’t help herself. Not at times like these. Her dear George.
His brows rose in challenge, as though expecting her to argue, and Marian patted his arm with a smile.
“You are too good to me, Mr. Finch,” she said as they continued their meandering path to their friends.
“I do not think that possible, Miss Marian.”
Yet again, Marian knew the truth, but she didn’t wish to argue with him. Not tonight, and not over such a fine compliment.
The pair took their time as they wound through the Huttons’ ballroom, stopping for brief moments to exchange a few pleasantries with passersby, but all the while, they chatted with and teased one another. Marian had never known she could speak to a man in such a manner, and she lapped up every word of it, dreading the time when the rest of their party would intrude and steal George’s attention.
It was easy to pretend the other guests greeted her solely for her own merits and not her companion’s. Or to imagine he and she were not merely two friends meandering about the ballroom.Mrs. George Finch. Marian forced herself not to think such things, for it did nothing to help her nerves. But thoughts were a funny business; though one was ostensibly in control of one’s own mind, they crept in when one was not expecting it, and once there, they were near impossible to banish.
