A niggling thought prodded her, and Evelyn brushed it aside. No man was perfect, and Mr. Townsend would have flaws like all the rest. There were far more important things than whether or not a fellow would succeed in his given profession. Money was not everything.
“Mr. Townsend is good to me. He is very kind and…” Evelyn sought the right word to finish that compliment, though she couldn’t settle on one. “This is far different than those other gentlemen.”
“I didn’t mean to upset you, Evelyn,” said Bridget. “I simply wish to caution you.”
“This is not like the others, Bridget,” said Evelyn.
Robin dropped a hand on his wife’s knee, forestalling his wife’s argument, before saying, “I am certain it is not, but keep in mind that courtship is like a bruising ride. It’s exhilarating, but you must always keep a firm hand on the reins lest you lose control and end up unseated.”
Evelyn nodded, for it was good advice, and though she bristled at the implication, she wasn’t so foolish as to turn away good counsel when offered to her. Even if she wished to. Mr. Townsend was perfect for her, and she replayed each conversation with him as the carriage rolled along. Bridget and Robin continued chatting about all the little nothings of their days while Isaac remained silent at Evelyn’s side, and Evelyn turned her gaze to the window, studying the passing shadows as she considered the fellow at the forefront of her thoughts.
Why did she care for Mr. Townsend? Evelyn had heard her parents ask that question so very many times. It was their cure-all for questions of love. When in doubt, list the reasons why her heart stirred at the very thought of him. Yet that faint doubt wriggled deeper into her thoughts, pricking at her as she considered how little she knew about Mr. Townsend.
But that was of no consequence. Their acquaintance had only just begun. It was not even a sennight old, so there was no reason she ought to know him so well. He was a kind man, and that was enough for now.
Evelyn’s foot bounced in place, and she wished she had a pocket watch and light enough to see the face so she might know how long they’d been traveling. Had the roads lengthened? But as her thoughts began to whine about that very thing, the lamp lights glimmered in the window, signaling that their destination was drawing near.
Once the carriage stopped, her brother and brother-in-law helped the ladies out, and Evelyn forced herself not to scurry through the doors and scour the assembly rooms for her quarry. That thought stopped her short. Figuratively, at least.
It would not do to appear eager. Plenty of gentlemen were frightened off by ladies, and too many preferred coquetry to honesty. Heavens above, she’d seen gentlemen flee when she’d shown her preference for them, so it was best to be circumspect. Evelyn may welcome his attentions, but if she showed too much eagerness, Mr. Townsend’s interest may wane. If her family knew her feelings, it was not so great a leap to think others might suspect, no matter how Bridget assured her otherwise.
So, Evelyn took a breath and allowed her brother to lead her in, rather than tugging at his arm to make him move faster.
There were finer assembly rooms in any number of places. Evelyn had heard of the grand spaces found in London and Bath, and she wagered many towns and cities across their fair country boasted high ceilings, luxurious decorations, and great gaping windows with dozens of chandeliers chasing away the darkness. No doubt those who frequented such settings would look down upon Bentmoor’s quaint atmosphere, but Evelyn thought it a fine sight.
The room itself was little more than a rectangle. Large enough to allow for the more rigorous country dances or gallopade and for a small smattering of people to watch from the edges, but only if they did not expect the whole of the area to attend. Luckily, they rarely did.
No decorations adorned the walls except a few sconces, and the only nod to aesthetics was the musician’s platform at the head of the room. Swaths of dark green fabric were draped from the ceiling and down the wall, framing their place of honor. But to Evelyn’s thinking a room such as this required no ornamentation. The draw of the evening was the dancing and socializing, and beyond the brief moment of awe that struck at the sight of a well-bedecked room, little notice was given to it when the guests threw themselves into the thick of things.
For her part, Evelyn gave the room only a passing glance, for her attention was fixed on finding a certain gentleman. It required little looking, for her eyes were attuned to his face. Though mixed among the crowd, Evelyn noticed him in a trice and reminded herself of her resolution. It was well and fine to be amiable, but as much as she wished to hurry to his side, she would not be so bold.
Isaac mumbled something, though Evelyn paid it little heed as her brother deposited her to one side of the gathering. Running one hand down her skirts, she opened her fan with the other, hoping to ease the heat from her cheeks. Her family was only a little late to the gathering, and the room was nowhere near as warm as it would get after a few sets. If she was already feeling flush, she would be in dire straits as the evening wore on.
So, Evelyn stood there, fanning herself and pretending not to watch Mr. Townsend while being vastly pleased about standing alone. Her gaze drifted to those around her; there were plenty of people of varying ages scattered about. Having spent her entire life in the area, Evelyn was familiar with most of them, but no amount of familiarity could get her to move from her present position.
It was foolish. Evelyn knew it. She fully understood that approaching others was not something that bothered most, but it always felt as though she were imposing. They never sought her out, so clearly, they did not desire her company. And though many may not begrudge such boldness, Evelyn knew too well that some did. And so, she stood there, waiting and hoping that someone—especially a certain someone—would seek her out.
And for the first time in her life, Evelyn did not have to wait long. Mr. Townsend turned away from his companions long enough to notice her there, and he smiled. An actual smile. Not some polite but dismissive thing that held little warmth, but a truly pleased grin. Was there any better feeling than realizing a man was eager for your company? Perhaps it was such a commonplace thing for other ladies that they gave it little notice, but Evelyn struggled to keep from beaming like a fool as he wove through the crowd to come to her side.
“I had hoped you would attend tonight, Miss Finch,” said Mr. Townsend with a quick bow. Then, with a motion towards the others, he added, “Please, you must join us.”
And with those few words, Evelyn knew tonight would be wonderful.
*
A lady did not fan one’s underarms. Of course, most ladies refused to acknowledge that such a thing was necessary, but Marian couldn’t deny that she was, indeed, perspiring to an alarming degree. This was why she did not bother putting so much effort into her toilette: it placed far too much significance on an evening. When so finely arrayed, one expected attention. One expected compliments. One expected a gentleman to notice. That was quite a lot to expect from an evening.
Her gown was a sight to behold, though Marian wasn’t certain if it was a glorious one. Rachel was far too keen on the frilly, overly ornamented gowns that werede rigueur. The cream color was lovely, though perhaps a tad too light for her coloring; champagne or muted gold might do better. And then there were the lace flounces on her decolletage, sleeves, and hem. The lines of the gown were to Marian’s liking, but the seamstress had added and added and added until all the inherent beauty was hidden.
Despite Rachel and her maid’s best efforts, Marian’s hair would not curl, and they had compensated with so many flowers that a veritable garden was sprouting from her coiffure. Though many others wore similar floral explosions, between the gown and the coiffure, Marian felt inordinately overdone and entirely not herself—even if Rachel thought her the picture of perfection. Her sister-in-law had done her level best to overcome Marian’s natural shortcomings and give her a proper footing among the society ladies, yet Marian stood alone at the edge of the gathering.
Most evenings, it was easy to blame her invisibility on her lack of outward enticements, but though Marian would not count herself among the loveliest, she felt certain Rachel and the maid’s extra effort placed among the middling ladies in attendance tonight; that was not such a great leap in possibility. With shallow reasons failing her, she had to face the reality that it was as much herself as it was her outward appearance that was abhorrent to men. It was far easier to ignore that possibility when she blended into the background of a gathering, but tonight, it slapped her in the face.
Marian fanned herself, though it did little to cool her flushed skin.
This would not do. Allowing such thoughts free rein did her no credit. If she wished to join in the conversation, she ought to do so. She could always sneak away once more if it grew too uncomfortable.
Gathering her courage and taking an especially deep and calming breath, Marian moved from the edge and silently slipped in beside Miss Bacon, smiling as though she had heard whatever droll thing Mr. Durrant had just said and nodding along with the others as though she had been there the entire time. From across the way, Miss Virginia Fernsby’s expression grew puzzled, though she said not a word as Marian settled into the circle.
