Page 80

“Oh, Martha. You look so lovely! I only wish Chippenham had a ballroom worthy of your splendor!”

Martha snorted a soft laugh as she finished adjusting the paste gems in her wig. “I have no doubt, Eliza, that I look a fashion plate, and will be gawked at like a strange-plumed pigeon.” She sighed at her appearance in the looking glass and fussed with the lace at her throat. “I trust that here, at least, my wearing a muslin will not be seen as lowering myself.”

Eliza gasped in outrage, her reflection showing Martha just how much. “Is that what they say about you?”

“They say all sorts of things,” Martha informed her, keeping her tone as light as possible. “But my distaste for silks is generally frowned upon.”

Her cousin made a sound of disgust. “I invite any of those individuals to look upon you in this exquisite muslin gown and find anything in it that could be improved upon in silk.”

It was a kind thought, and Martha was delighted by it. Looking at her reflection now, she felt only hope and panic. Hope that she looked as lovely as she wanted to for Benj, and panic that it would not be enough. That he would prefer the country-trudging girl to this more finely arrayed one. That her efforts would be in vain, and he would regret the kiss they had shared in the fields the week before.

But they had talked and laughed so much in the days following, particularly when they and Mr. Cummings, and a few others whom Mr. Cummings had brought along, had walked the boundaries of the Pontcaster estate, examining the rock wall. Benj and Martha had separated from the rest, which had enabled them to walk hand in hand. He taught her how to repair the parts of the wall they found, and she did her best to avoid ruining the process. According to Benj, she had done better than he expected, but that did not tell her much.

She wanted to be useful to him. She wanted to be beautiful to him. She wanted to be worth something to him. She wanted to be with him.

She had no idea what to expect from the evening, only that he would attend and had asked her to reserve a dance for him. Given she hadn’t met any other young men whom she might have considered for a dance, she doubted it would be any difficulty to ensure he could partner her for at least one of them. Were she in London, she would have entered the ballroom with nearly every dance spoken for, as her mother would have arranged everything.

Fortunately, Martha was fond of dancing, so it mattered little to her.

Tonight, however, it mattered very much.

Everything did.

Her gown was new, something she’d procured in London before she’d left and packed on a whim, and she could not have asked for more from a gown. Sheer layers of pale green muslin in a fashionable robe à l’anglaise style, embroidered with leaves and flower petals in gold wire laying over a deeper, rich green pleated-satin skirt that almost shimmered in the candlelight. Her sleeves were tight down to her elbow, then draped with gauzy white lace cuffs that would have reached nearly to her wrist, had they had fastenings. The neckline was fairly modest for her, though a differently endowed woman might have told another story. White, green, and gold ribbons and bows adorned the edges of her muslin as it lay over the satin skirts beneath, accompanied by matching bows at the sleeve edges, at the neckline, and along the train of satin-lined muslin that extended from her shoulders down to the hem, trailing a foot or more behind her.

It was an exquisite garment, far too whimsical for her London events, but perhaps not out of place in Chippenham’s assembly dances. Fashions allowed for less padding than she had worn the year before, and being in the country was more freeing as well, so she had chosen to only wear the minimal hip padding rather than the full false rump London would have required. That, at least, was a small comfort.

Martha already felt overly aware of her appearance. She did not wish to be uncomfortable in her attire as well.

“We must go, dear, or the dancing will be half over,” Eliza said softly, her tone full of unspoken understanding.

Nodding, Martha straightened, exhaling shortly. “I suppose this is the best I can manage.”

“Lord Hillier will find you exquisite, cousin,” Eliza assured her, extending a hand.

Martha turned in surprise, her cheeks heating, before she chuckled sheepishly. “Is it so obvious?”

Eliza’s smile was all too knowing. “Only to me, I think. Mr. Cummings told me all about how the two of you were together in the fields at Pontcaster. I’d think it a fine thing, should the two of you form an attachment.”

“Does it require both parties for an attachment to form?” Martha murmured as she came and took her cousin’s hand, covering it with her own. “I will not pretend to know what his lordship thinks or feels, but for my part, I think I am very much attached. Can such a thing happen in just under a month?”

“There have been stranger things.” Eliza winked at her and led her out of the room. “And I think you might rest easy on his lordship’s score. But his manner and expression this evening will likely tell you for certain.”

Martha barely managed a smile for that, her pulse pounding in at least five places in her body. That was what she was most afraid of at the present. One look at Benj and seeing some obvious sign of displeasure or distaste, some evidence that she was not the woman he thought, and her heart would be crushed beneath the dancing feet of the assembly guests.

Everything was easier when she had no emotion attached to an event, she decided. Perhaps that was why people of sense did not marry for love.

It was much safer for one’s heart to do otherwise.

They met Mr. Cummings downstairs and donned their cloaks before loading into the carriage. The drive to the assembly rooms would not be long, but every minute would bring additional anxieties for Martha. She could not stop thinking about the feel of Benj’s lips on hers, the pressure of his fingers curling against her own, the delicious tingling that extended from the top of her head to the soles of her feet when he smiled at her … It also did not improve the state of things that Benj was the handsomest man she had ever seen in her life, so any glimpse of him must be appreciated by a working pair of eyes.

And she would dance with him tonight.

It did not matter if he was a skilled dancer or not. The mere opportunity to turn about in his arms, however briefly, to press their hands together in a way that would not shock, to gaze into each other’s eyes in front of others rather than in secret—every aspect of the dance, whatever it was, that she had taken for granted in all other dances she had participated in were suddenly more important than she could have expressed.

The carriage pulled to a stop sometime in the midst of her whimsical imaginings, shaking her from them and making her throat clog with nerves. The assembly room windows were all alight, and the strains of lively music could be heard from within, though none of it brought great joy. A burst of excitement, perhaps, but with that excitement came the desire to retreat.

She could not retreat. Not now, not tonight.