“Miss Perkins,” Tristan said, inclining his head since he couldn’t very well lean over the table to take her hand.
“Mr. Bridewell,” Miss Perkins said, blinking rapidly at him. Oh, she was fluttering her eyelashes at him. That was unexpected. “I’m so glad your brother obliged to extend an invitation to me. I was visiting my cousin in town, and I have not quite acclimated to the fast-paced city life.”
“I’m grateful to my brother as well, Miss Perkins. I do hope you enjoy your stay here at Cloverbee.” The smile she gave him seemed far more than a polite one. The urge to flirt wasautomatic, but it somehow felt wrong all of a sudden, so he kept himself from winking or giving an overly large smile.
Ophelia, Bad News, and Eleanor arrived at the top of the stairs, flush from their croquet match. It caused Tristan to straighten, feeling caught out in talking to the beautiful Miss Perkins. Flattering as it was to be the target of a young lady such as her, it felt predatory in the same way that walking backstage at the opera did. But backstage, the give and take was clear: money for companionship. Both parties held some kind of power. Here, Miss Perkins was assessing him in a way he wasn’t sure he liked. Almost as if she might ask to see his teeth next.
He saw Eleanor stop short. She was surprised to see him for some reason, but he couldn’t fathom what. His brother owned the place, for God’s sake. His presence at a house party was mandatory. He started towards her, only to find her sitting abruptly down with her parents, appearing to all the world as a dutiful daughter. And not avoiding him at all.
Inwardly, he cringed. He deserved that. After all, he had literallyrun awayfrom her after kissing her. Not exactly gentlemanly. And if she knew anything of his reputation, she’d think him a proper scoundrel. Which... maybe he had been deserving of in the past, but not now. And not with a young lady like her. Even if he did think she was a bit beneath him, which he thought only because it was true. But he would absolutely still treat her with the utmost respect, of course. Even if they were not supposed to be fraternizing within the expedition.
Thiswas why they separated men and women. Because sometimes, it was awfully hard to keep one’s lips to oneself.
*
Eleanor fought thepounding of her heart. She’d gotten the experience of purposely trying to regulate the speed of it duringthe long morning runs of the prior week. She wasn’t terribly good at it yet.
Standing on the threshold of the ballroom, decorated as it was with spring dogwood blossoms and hothouse flowers, Eleanor desperately tried to reconcile the different pieces of her life. The person who could run, dodge tree roots, and regulate her heartbeat, and the other who felt peculiar and small in the worst of ways, and extremely out of place at balls.
Her mother had bought her a new gown for the occasion—a striking frock of emerald green, with cream-colored underskirts draped for contrast. Gold thread glinted in the accented embroidery, which matched the golden necklace her mother had brought. The off-the-shoulder neckline kept Eleanor very aware of her posture, not wanting to hunch and strain the fabric.
All the other ladies made appreciative noises about it, even Prudence, whose cherry red dress was simple, yet stunning. Only a widowed woman could carry off a gown so daring. She looked sleek and dangerous in it, neither of which Eleanor would have ever associated with the American. She was far too friendly.
Ophelia was still in her overly feminine pale pink ruffles—possibly to counter any gossip of her masculine-seeming hobbies. And Justine was clad in a violently purple dress, bright and arresting. With her slim waist and ample bosom, she looked like a barmaid about to fall out of her corset. Even Justine noticed it, and huffed as she tried to stuff the offending anatomy back into the gown.
“It isn’t my fault,” Justine had said through gritted teeth. “If I could wear a sack cloth and not have cleavage, I would do it.”
The four of them were quite the ensemble, entering the ballroom. All colors of the rainbow, all different styles, all women determined to conquer the Matterhorn.
“Are you excited?” Ophelia asked all of them.
“I like dancing,” Justine admitted.
Was Eleanor excited? She wouldn’t say that, exactly. She wanted to dance with Tristan more than anything, but she also didn’t want to be disappointed when he acted blasé about their kiss. Or if he made things worse and gave a stiff apology, promising to never do it again. She wanted to dance with a man who was so enamored with her that he kept on dancing after the music finished. A man who might entreat her to introduce him to her parents, though, she supposed, Tristan had already met hers. She made a noise that could be interpreted either way. Mostly because she caught sight of Tristan.
He’d been devastatingly handsome this afternoon on the veranda, wearing a white linen suit so casual and so stunning amongst the sober colors of the other gentlemen. His flaxen hair had glinted in the sunlight, and she had stopped short, her brain short-circuiting in the face of his handsomeness. It hadn’t been fair—she’d been off minding her own business, and here he was traipsing about, looking like Alexander the Great come to life.
Now in his formal evening wear, black jacket and black trousers like every other man, he managed to somehow seem extraordinary here as well. The tailoring of his suit was perfect, showing off a slim waist and broad shoulders. He was smooth and easy in his demeanor, born to this way of life. It made Eleanor feel all the more vulgar and silly.
“No time like the present,” Prudence said, with all the determination of a military overture.
Eleanor steeled herself and stepped forward. Being a country house party, there was no majordomo to announce them, no formality of a receiving line. They were just... there. Many other guests had already come down, elegant and twirling in vibrant hues.
Two women approached, which obliged Ophelia to introduce them. They were Lady Emily Welburton and Miss Sophia Perkins. Lady Emily seemed to be a long-time friend of Ophelia,though while she and Justine were acquainted, Lady Emily didn’t seem as warm with her. Miss Sophia Perkins was new to all of them, which at least made Eleanor feel as if they were on more equal footing.
They dashed off to meet the next group of guests, and Ophelia leaned over and said, “Lady Emily has been hoping to marry Arthur for ages. I’m not sure what exactly is standing in the way of it all, but she seems well-nigh desperate for it. I suspect Miss Perkins is here as a distraction for Tristan.”
A sudden burst of bile came into Eleanor’s throat. Someone for Tristan? Miss Perkins was far prettier than Eleanor, and being cousins with a lady definitely made her of better family than Eleanor’s.
Justine snorted, given that it was just the four of them standing together. “She’s no match for Eleanor. Pretty hair, but what does shedo? Eleanor can tie knots like a sailor.”
Eleanor blushed at both the praise and the idea that hertendrefor Tristan had been caught out.
“It’s fine, Eleanor. You don’t have a tell.Hedoes,” Justine said. “That man goes around wearing his thoughts on his shirtsleeves like the bloody village idiot.”
Eleanor couldn’t see it, but then, she hadn’t known him for as long, so she supposed reading Tristan’s facial expressions would become a talent in time? “Oh,” was all she could manage back.
The music struck up, and none of them had dancing partners. There weren’t nearly enough men to go around, but the ratio wasn’t terribly off. Surprising, considering that it was Lord Berringbone inviting guests. Though, technically, it was his mother, Lady Rascomb hostessing this party.
