One of the joys of being the hostess’s daughter was that Evelyn needn’t wait until supper to eat. At other balls, she was forced to hold off until the appointed hour before she could calm the rumblings in her stomach. As it was unlikely she would dance, she didn’t shy away from indulging before the ball, but standing about for hours on end gave her nothing with which to distract herself. At least when the ball was at home, she could sneak into the dining room and filch some bread or cold ham. A tartlet as well if she were lucky enough to avoid detection.
But still, it was a treat when the doors to the dining room finally opened, and the guests could avail themselves of the full array of food. Not only for the proper meal but because the seating ensured she would be surrounded by conversation and others might feel more inclined to speak to her than previously—even if it made it all the clearer that she was alone, as no gentleman waited upon her. Yet another reason to be grateful for being among the host family, for Mama did not feel the need to force a gentleman into escorting her daughter about.
And so, Evelyn sat at one of the tables situated throughout the room. Many continued to dance or play cards or entertain themselves elsewhere, but there were enough here that she was able to insert herself into a conversation without seeming rude.
Miss Wakefield sat a few seats down, and Evelyn smiled into her glass as she watched George hover at the lady’s elbow, eager to fetch her any morsel she desired with all the devoted eagerness a gentleman ought to bestow upon his dining companion. Far too many of the others at the table were more concerned with their own meal than fulfilling their duty to their dining companion.
The pair looked so well together. Though there were plenty of others whispering about the sight, Evelyn couldn’t fight the smile that grew as she watched Miss Wakefield blushing at George’s gallantry. No doubt they were well on their way to an understanding, and Evelyn raised a hypothetical glass in their honor. Good for them. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen George so happy, even if Miss Wakefield left him equally distressed at other times. A beau ought to be kept on his toes.
“I hope that smile is for me.” The sound of Mr. Townsend’s voice chased away Evelyn’s contentedness, and she forced herself to hold onto her equanimity. They had been friends, after all. And yes, he may have proven himself to be a bounder, but that did not mean she could not enjoy a bit of conversation nor would she allow him to ruin her good mood.
“I am not smiling because of you, Mr. Townsend. I was thinking of something entirely unrelated,” she replied with a touch more sauciness than intended, though she was pleased with the effect and the fact that her heart felt far lighter than it had in some time. However, that realization left her quite empty when she realized how little she must have cared for him if she was so easily rid of the affection. How had she allowed herself to get so worked up about a gentleman?
Taking the chair beside her, Mr. Townsend lifted a hand to his chest. “You wound me, Miss Finch. I had hoped for a pretty little blush and received a blow to my pride instead.”
Had this interlude happened just a sennight ago, Mr. Townsend would’ve received precisely what he sought, and as much as the fellow’s pride took some damage for it, Evelyn’s own strengthened in equal measure. Of course, some part of her still wriggled and writhed at the thought of what might’ve been, but the more time passed, the more she realized it was less to do with Mr. Townsend himself as much as the idea of finally having any beau and the future hopes that entailed.
“I am rather surprised you wish to speak to me at all.”
Mr. Townsend’s brows rose. “And why should you think that, Miss Finch? Are you jealous I haven’t danced with you?”
Chapter 36
The question carried far and wide. Though not everyone in the dining room would’ve heard it, the music and other conversations were too faint to cover Mr. Townsend’s impertinence (if the number of covert glances sent their direction was any indication). Evelyn’s fork had paused halfway to her mouth, and she hurried it forward, taking the bite and then dabbing at her lips with her serviette. Though his previous words hadn’t elicited the blush he demanded, this audacious question drew quite a pink to her cheeks, though not for the reasons he intended. With careful movements, she replaced the napkin and continued with her meal.
From the corner of her eye, Evelyn noticed her brother and Miss Wakefield paying far more attention to her than she liked. George’s gaze narrowed on Mr. Townsend, and Evelyn prayed the pair were far enough away that they hadn’t overheard, though she suspected it was a useless hope.
Giving George a quick smile that she hoped gave him some comfort, Evelyn turned to Miss Blythe across the way and said, “I understand your father bought you a new horse.”
The young lady beamed and nodded, launching into a description of the creature, and Mr. Townsend joined in as well, though he had nothing to contribute to the conversation, as he did little riding himself. Evelyn watched him as he spoke and wondered if he’d always been quite so sharp in his comments. Mr. Townsend joked and laughed a great deal, but there was a bite to his words that made them less witty and more mocking.
She studied her plate, poking at the goose and blackberry sauce. Had he altered some during their time apart, or had she simply never noticed it? Evelyn’s insides squirmed as she realized it was likely that she had ignored it altogether. Was she so desperate for a suitor that she would latch onto someone inferior? Her throat tightened, and she took a sip from her goblet, hoping to ease the pain there, but there was nothing to be done as the emotion squirmed through her.
“Might I say you look quite fetching tonight, Miss Finch?” Mr. Townsend’s voice was too close to her ear, and Evelyn leaned away.
“You are kind to say so,” she replied with a tight smile.
Mr. Townsend’s brows lowered, his gaze studying her, though Evelyn ignored it in favor of her roasted asparagus with butter sauce, which was one of her favorite vegetables. That and brussels sprouts. And if she were to be entirely honest, steamed cabbage was heavenly, though most viewed it as too common for fine tables. She felt his regard and feigned ignorance; vegetables were far more interesting than he.
Evelyn couldn’t understand Mr. Townsend’s changing moods or why he deigned to give her his attention as suddenly as he’d withdrawn it at the concert. That niggling question aside, she didn’t like the fellow well enough to be his plaything, and if he was hoping to bait her into liking him again, he was going to be sorely disappointed.
“All young ladies adore a ball,” he announced to the table as a whole. Though the others thought nothing of the announcement, Evelyn’s brows rose at that sweeping statement that showed how little Mr. Townsend knew ladies for he insisted on speaking of them as if they were of one mind. “I swear, my sisters spend hours primping and preening before a ball. Readying themselves in the hopes of entrancing some young buck enough that he might steal a kiss.”
Evelyn’s brows furrowed at the flirtatious tone he took, and she found herself wondering if he was actually listening to his words or simply spewing nonsense. She couldn’t imagine her brothers being so cavalier about her seeking out trysts. At present, George looked ready to pummel Mr. Townsend for merely suggesting such a thing (even if only through an insinuating tone).
As there was nothing to say to such statements, Evelyn remained quiet, keeping her attention on the meal, which was far more enjoyable than her companion.
“What about you, Miss Finch?” he asked with a smile that was likely meant to be sultry. “Have you readied yourself for a young man?”
Evelyn scoffed, nearly choking on her drink. Setting the glass back down, she dabbed at her mouth. The conversation around them had lessened, making his forward questions seem all the louder.
“I dress for my pleasure, Mr. Townsend, and not for anyone else’s.” Evelyn cast a glance to either side, and though no one looked at them, she felt their regard. Her thoughts whirled, trying to piece together Mr. Townsend’s meaning and motivation. Why was the fellow bothering her so? He ignored her one moment and then asked inappropriate questions the next. She preferred his snubs.
Mr. Townsend laughed. “Don’t be coy, Miss Finch. I’ve heard it said a ball isn’t complete without a kiss. Have you gotten yours yet?”
Straightening, Evelyn stared at him with brows pulled tight together. “That is none of your business, sir, but if you are so very eager—which your fixation on the subject has implied—you will have to find another young lady to oblige you.”
It was Mr. Townsend’s turn to straighten, and he did so, his eyes narrowing as he studied her. “You act all coy, Miss Finch, but everyone knows you’ve been madly in love with me from the moment we met. Practically throwing yourself at me.”
