As he and Juliette hadn’t had the space to hold large gatherings, George had been spared receiving line duty for the last few years. He’d hoped to avoid it for some years to come, but as a member of the Finch household, he was expected to participate. The experience was not improved by the fact that George’s attention was more fixed on the doors than on his duty to his parents’ guests.
Surely the Wakefields would attend. As the Finches’ Michaelmas Ball was one of the foremost celebrations in the area, nothing short of serious illness would keep people at home—and for some, not even that would hinder them. George needed to see her.
Though he’d used “business” as an excuse to avoid Marian all week, the truth was that he hadn’t mustered the courage to see her again since… George wasn’t certain what to call that interlude they’d shared, for it was a mockery to kisses; had he done it properly, Marian would’ve been too busy swooning to run away.
And the look in her eyes. It seemed he and Marian must begin again once more. George pinched his nose, and Evelyn slid her arm through his, giving him silent support as he faced yet another guest.
“George,” whispered Mother with more than a hint of a laugh in her voice. “You shall worry yourself into the grave. Breathe, dearest. All shall be well.”
Evelyn gave his arm another squeeze, and George nodded. Clearly, he had surprised Marian with his embrace. It had shocked him as well. A friend didn’t steal kisses, but he hadn’t been able to let that moment pass; a man’s resolve could only be pushed so far before it crumbled.
Just as he was giving himself yet more assurances and forming more plans for the evening, Mr. and Mrs. Wakefield stepped through the door, their eldest son and daughter-in-law following behind.
And then there was Marian.
Her gown was a sight to behold. The gold hints of the dress complemented her coloring to perfection, giving a richness to the brown of her hair and eyes. Though other gowns utilized frills and flowers to an absurd degree, her dress typified understated elegance. The silk was the color of champagne, making up for the dress’s lack of ornamentation with the inherent beauty of the fabric. It swept down her skirts with nary a wrinkle or blemish besmirching the perfection, and the sheen caught the candlelight, setting her aglow.
Marian’s coiffure was equally lovely, combining several twisting braids and accented by a few stems of flowers. Not an explosion of greenery and blossoms, but an artful application that highlighted the rose of her cheeks. Enhancing, not overpowering.
George was not normally one to pay so much mind to a lady’s toilette, but this was no normal moment, and he knew that when lying on his deathbed many decades from now, he would recall how lovely Marian looked on this evening. His eyes caught every detail, etching her into his memory. The whole look gave a nod at fashion while being something altogether different. Rather like the lady herself.
As Marian followed her family through the entrance, her gaze found George’s and darted away, the pink of her cheeks deepening as the Wakefields took their place in the receiving line. George managed all the polite salutations required of him, though his smile strained when her father stepped before him. Forcing himself to relax, he reminded himself that Mr. Wakefield was no villain. Careless and thoughtless, yes. But that did not make the man evil, and as George hoped to be his future son-in-law, it was best to maintain civility.
Luckily, the line moved quickly enough that they were saved from having to make conversation. The younger Mr. Wakefield paid George as little mind as his parents, and though his wife gave a few added words, George’s thoughts were entirely on the final person in their party. Bless his parents, they stopped the elder Wakefields to engage them in far more conversation than a host and hostess ought.
Marian Wakefield stood before him, looking every inch the picture of perfection that had taken up residence in his dreams, even if she was staring at her toes.
“Did you receive my flowers?” he whispered.
Eyes darting up and down, back and forth, Marian nodded. George would’ve preferred to see a smile in her gaze or her expression lighten, but he contented himself with the knowledge that her eyes often drifted to his lips. Surely that was a good sign. Even if the lady fidgeted even more.
“Come, Marian,” said her mother. “Do not commandeer Mr. Finch’s time.”
George huffed, his shoulders dropping as Marian hurried to follow her mother’s instructions, though she cast a lingering look over her shoulder as they entered the throng. His heart shuddered at the sight of fear and uncertainty in her gaze, yet buried amidst the swarm of emotions, there was a glimmer of something akin to interest. Hope, perhaps? Or was that inferring something George only wished was there?
Leaning around Mother, Father frowned at his son and whispered, “Don’t just stand there, George. Follow her.”
George glanced at the other guests queued up for their hosts, but Mother brushed his concern aside and said with a hint of a laugh in her tone, “I assure you we can manage a receiving line without you, dearest.”
Needing no more prompting, George gave his mother and sister a quick buss on the cheek and hurried after Marian.
“Mr. Wakefield,” he called with far more determination than decorum. When the gentleman and his wife stopped and turned to face him, George slowed and attempted to gather his manners once more. “Might I be so bold as to ask if I might escort your daughter tonight?”
Marian dropped her gaze to the floor, her cheeks flushing.
“Certainly, my boy,” said Mr. Wakefield, his chest puffing like a peacock as he gave his daughter a triumphant smile, and George felt a strong urge to give the preening fellow a setdown for the heavy-handed treatment of his daughter.
Leaning closer, her mother whispered, “I told you, Marian, if you simply put forth more effort, gentlemen would take notice.”
Mrs. Wakefield spoke quietly enough that George pretended he hadn’t overheard, but Marian’s gaze flew to him with such mortification that he suspected she knew the truth. George offered up his arm, and Marian took it, though she hardly touched it as he turned to lead her away.
“You see, Marian. I was correct,” said Father, not bothering to muffle his words, and though George did not grasp his meaning, it was impossible to ignore how Marian stiffened at the implication. As much as George wished to ask her about her father’s meaning, he knew better than to dredge up that secret if she did not wish to offer it willingly.
So, with more haste than care, he hurried Marian away from her family, not stopping until they were situated in a quiet corner of the ballroom some distance away.
The discomfort in her posture and expression did not ease as they stood together, and George scoured his thoughts for anything that might alleviate her nerves. From the moment they’d met, conversation had flowed between them with the fluid ease of a summer brook, but at present, they were in a drought. There had only been one other notable time in which this had happened, and he supposed the solution would be the same. Equivocating would only strengthen the awkwardness. Confronting it was the best course.
“Did I offend you with my kiss?” he asked.
