Waltzing with the Wallflower(8)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

"What is this?" she sputtered without thought.

Sir Wilde laughed, drawing more attention than she would have liked, before answering, "In my defense I did give you fair warning, did I not?"

She smiled. "I suppose so."

Sir Wilde grinned from ear to ear. "I believe it is that time, my lady."

"What time?" she asked, confused and still lamenting over the fact that her taste buds would never again be the same.

"Time to dance and set tongues to wagging. After you, my dear."

She could hardly say no. His manners, even his way of speaking, put her completely at ease. Unlike Hawthorne, there was nothing smooth or calculating about his presence. In fact, she imagined he would make a great ally if it was possible for her to speak at least once in his presence.

He led her to the floor for a quadrille and grinned when she managed a small smile.

People glanced their way, but all in all, no outrageous staring occurred. Finally at ease, she was able to enjoy the dancing for what it was. Simple dancing, meant to be fun and exhilarating. She hardly noticed when it ended.

That is until she felt a warm presence behind her and saw Sir Wilde’s eyes gleam with pleasure.

"Ah, Ambrose, it is about time you show up."

Should she turn around? Acknowledge him? Laugh? For his presence was too much for her, too confident, too charismatic. He said he wanted friendship but it didn’t seem… right.

“Thank you for taking care of Lady Cordelia for me, Wilde. I believe I can handle things from here.” The twinkle in his eyes as he held his arm out to her sent the heat burning into her ear lobes again. The sensation of eyes boring into her back seemed to scorch through her light blue gown.

He turned to her and bowed over her hand. “Good evening, my lady,” he offered with a wide bright grin, then brushed his lips across her gloved fingers.

“My lord,” she answered, focusing her gaze on her own hands.

“Shall we take a turn around the room?”

Cordelia glanced back to her corner, her safe harbor, hidden behind the potted plants. She longed to return there. Anything rather than putting herself on display with the most watched gentleman in the hall. She could feel her body slump inwardly, trying to make herself smaller and hence, less noticeable.

Hawthorne offered her his arm again, and she took it. She had no alternative but to trust him, though it took every fiber of her being to keep herself from running screaming from the hall, the club, the city, the country—all the way back to France, safe in Madame Tremaine’s dress shop, where she understood the social expectations. Design. Cut. Sew. Create beauty.

No need to speak to anyone.

“My lady,” he addressed the Countess of Jersey, “may I present Lady Cordelia, the niece of Lord and Lady Trowbridge.”

Cordelia curtsied without incident. Her heart beat wildly in her chest. The woman held her glasses to her eyes and scrutinized Cordelia carefully.

Hawthorne nudged her ribs almost imperceptibly. “How do you do, my lady?” she offered with a genuine sweet smile.

“Lovely, my dear. Hawthorne, are you going to ask the lady to dance?” Lady Jersey asked after finishing her perusal of Cordelia and apparently finding her acceptable.

“It is the next item on my list, my lady.” He glanced at Cordelia with a sly grin, followed by a bedeviling wink.

“Then you should greet Lady Levien. I understand the waltz is up next.” She nodded towards the woman in question standing on her other side.

“Thank you, my lady. We will do that.” He stepped to his left and bowed to Lady Levien. Cordelia followed him, clutching his arm for support. Her palms were sweating again, and she hoped the moisture hadn’t made it through her gloves.

“Lady Levien, may I present Lady Cordelia? The niece of Lord and Lady Trowbridge.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed as she surveyed Cordelia with a slow, deliberate gaze, taking her in from head to toe. She seemed to be sizing her up and considering the gossip she had heard at the same time. Cordelia could feel her judgment falling like a heavy millstone, weighing her down.

“My lady.” Cordelia curtsied in a low, smooth motion. She hoped the patroness would not notice her trembling hands.

“Trowbridge you say?” Lady Levien measured her appearance once more, and then leveled her gaze on Cordelia’s eyes. “Your mother was a dear friend of mine, child. I was sorry to hear of her downfall.” Her voice softened to a whisper for the latter, and Cordelia was grateful she hadn’t drawn more attention to her family’s scandal. She nodded and cast her gaze to the floor. The music started up again.

“Thank you, my lady.”

Then as if to save her from further humiliation, Hawthorne took her hand and lifted it into the air slightly. “With your permission?”

Lady Levien nodded and turned her attention to another guest.

As they sauntered onto the dance floor, Cordelia realized she had been holding her breath and allowed a low sigh of relief to escape her lips.

Hawthorne raised an eyebrow in her direction as he wrapped his left hand around her waist and took her hand in his right. She tensed. Would she ever get used to such close contact?

“Were you worried?” he asked, leading her through the steps.

“I was petrified,” she answered, which seemed to amuse him. He chuckled.

“Is something funny, my lord?”

“Your honesty. It’s rare and refreshing.”

“Weren’t you worried?”

“Not at all.”

“Not even a little?”

“Well, I must admit, I was relieved you didn’t fall into Lady Jersey’s lap as you curtsied.”

A giggle pushed it way through her throat. The very idea was both hilarious and mortifying at the same time. She had to admit it was a relief to her too.

“Can you just imagine? My aunt would drop dead from the embarrassment. And I would never hear the end of it.”

“And I probably would lose you to the plant corner for the rest of your natural life.”

Choking on the unexpected laugh, Cordelia replied, “I do love foliage.”

She peered up at his golden emerald eyes in time to see him blink in surprise and stare back at her. “Lady Cordelia, I believe you have been holding out on me. You have quite the quick wit.” He smiled at her with admiration.

“Let’s keep it our little secret, shall we? We wouldn’t want the ton to get the idea I have a personality.”

“Agreed.” A jovial grin spread across his lips, and he chuckled under his breath at the private joke. When the dance came to an end, Hawthorne escorted Cordelia from the floor. He bowed to her as they separated. Cordelia curtsied and stood for an uncertain moment before turning back towards her plant corner. The comfort of concealment beckoned to her, and she stepped in that direction with a sigh of relief, happy to be finally out of the line of people’s vision.