Again, the movement up and down the line rescued Frances temporarily from hearing the conclusion of Oswald Keeton’s repugnant sentiments. He knew very well how uncomfortable his words made her. She had told him bluntly enough when she first came out and they began to encounter one another at social events. In time, Frances realized that Oswald enjoyed making her squirm and her protests only incited him to greater indelicacy.
As the reel came to an end, Frances almost groaned her relief and prepared to fly quickly from the dance floor before Lord Mulford could continue his ungentlemanly addresses.
“Enjoy the rest of the evening, Lord Mulford,” she said shortly, with a small curtsy, as the other ladies gave to their partners.
“You cannot go yet, Frances,” he chuckled. “I cannot allow it when the next dance is to be a waltz.”
Whether Oswald Keeton intended to touch her inappropriately, or only to take hold of her for the waltz, Frances did not know. She only knew that the pressure of his hand in small of her back caused a violent reaction through her body.
Almost without thinking, Frances brought the heel of her shoe down hard on his toes, causing him to jump back with a cry of pain and surprise. Thank God she had chosen these formal court shoes tonight and not satin dancing slippers.
“I am sorry, Lord Mulford, how clumsy of me,” Frances said loudly and sympathetically enough to explain the situation tocurious eyes. “I really must sit down and rest after that reel. Do excuse me.”
Oswald glared at her furiously, unable to do anything now to prevent her departure. As Frances turned away, his handsome features were twisted almost to ugliness by some strong and unpleasant emotion. Not for the first time, she wondered whether he liked her or hated her. It was increasingly difficult to tell.
“Did you enjoy your dance, dear?” asked Lady Scovell as she and her daughter entered the supper room arm in arm.
“Not really, no,” Frances admitted with a long sigh. “I never enjoy dancing with Lord Mulford, but he will keep asking me. I only accepted because I knew you wished me to dance. Please do not make me dance with him again.”
After stamping on his toes, Frances hoped that Oswald Keeton would at least stay away from her for the rest of this ball. The thought briefly flashed through her head that she wished he would fall under some galloping horse. As her conscience pricked her, she amended this to wishing only that he would fall in love and marry some other young lady and leave Frances alone.
“Dear me, I suppose Oswald is too familiar to think of him as a desirable partner, in dancing or anything else,” remarked hermother cheerfully, being unaware of the truth of their neighbor’s behavior towards Frances.
Frances had always doubted whether either of her parents would believe her if she told them the truth of Oswald. He was ever polite and charming in their company and she suspected this was part of his game.
“No, I could never, ever consider Lord Mulford as any kind of partner,” she told her mother emphatically.
Had Oswald Keeton always been so dreadful? No, Frances thought not. When they were very young, they had fun together in the woodlands and waters of both estates. She remembered Oswald then as merely boisterous and sometimes naughty, as boys of that age often are.
The change had begun with his mother’s death, when he was fourteen. Or had it been the previous summer after that awful day at the folly..?
Frances drained her flute of champagne and put down the glass, refusing to let her mind stray onto images of that distressing scene so long ago.
“I didn’t think so, but I wanted you to be seen on the dance floor,” Helen Harcourt explained her earlier encouragement of Frances’ dance with Oswald. “If a girl never dances with anyone, people see her as a wallflower and a likely old maid. Dancing shows off grace and beauty like nothing else and then people see her in a different light.”
“Mother, I am a wallflower and a likely old maid, and quite content to be so,” Frances asserted, helping herself to salmon and salad from the long platters at one of the buffet tables.
“Not at all, dear,” Lady Scovell tutted with a smile, as though Frances had just expressed a fear rather than a preference. “The right husband for you will be out there somewhere. You just haven’t met him yet and…”
“If you say so, Mother,” sighed Frances, too weary to argue this point yet again. “Would you like some of this sauce with your salmon?”
“…and that is why I have spoken to a matchmaker for you,” her mother completed her sentence with another warm smile. “You have been so weary and disengaged this season, and never dance any more, or even try to make conversation. I could see that you needed some help.”
Speechless, Frances had to lay down her plate on the buffet table to stop herself from dropping it. She had been quite deliberately disengaged, refusing dances, refraining from eye contact and hoping that all potential suitors would finally leave her alone now that she had attained the grand age of three-and-twenty.
Her mother really still thought that Frances was trying and failing to find a husband! Did no one in the family believe a word she had ever said to them about never wishing to marry? Evidently not.
“So, you see, there is no need for you to worry at all,” continued Lady Scovell, patting her daughter’s hand affectionately. "We are going to find you the perfect husband this season. All you have to do is meet a few suitors recommended by the matchmaker, and maybe fall in love with one of them.”
Frances swallowed and tried to control her features in the face of this astonishing plan. Her mother was doubtless well-intended but this was the last thing Frances wanted. Still, she supposed, she could refuse suitors recommended by a matchmaker as well as she could refuse almost every dance at a ball. There was only her parents’ disappointment to be managed.
“I don’t believe I could ever love a man as my husband,” Frances told her mother impulsively as she picked up her plate again. “You must know that.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that, dear,” Lady Scovell returned. “Love often grows in time with the right partner. It is not good to be alone forever, you know. I have had a happy life with your father…”
This last statement was like a knife twisting in Frances’ heart and she wished she could clap her hands over her ears like a child. She did not want to hear her mother praising her father, when Frances knew how undeserving he really was of such devotion.
“Tell me about this matchmaker,” Frances said desperately, leading the way to some empty chairs at a table. “How did you find them?”
