“Yes.” A genuine smile revealed that fetching dimple, and Ambrose suddenly felt it turn hot outside. Was he sweating? He needed a drink. Cordelia turned her gaze from him again and he thought she was finished speaking. After another prolonged pause, she began again, “I should like to have a friend. I know very little of polite society, nor do I know how to dance well. Honestly, I would rather blend in to the wall than be seen by anyone.” She leaned dreamily against the same large tree. “If they see me, truly see me, they will judge me. I would rather spare myself that pain.”
Usually when women spoke of such personal feelings, Ambrose felt the sudden urge to get foxed or run in the opposite direction, yet now his body shook. Again, the undeniable urge to protect her washed through him. It took hold of him with such force he felt he would snap.
Gathering himself before he made a complete fool of himself he finally answered, “That, my dear, Cordelia is not what I would call living. I will admit to some truth in it. Yes, you will indeed be judged. You will be watched, and yes, it is terrifying.” Her face fell. Unable to stop himself he tenderly stroked her hand. “But I am a firm believer in living life to its fullest. Hiding your beauty underneath wretched garments, protecting your heart standing by plants, and allowing others to pass judgment on you without knowing you is unjust. It is not right. You have my word. You will thank me at the end of the Season, for our friendship will be that of legends.”
She still seemed unsure, so he pushed further. “Do you want to be alone the rest of your life? Living out your days as a spinster or a governess to some bratty children? Or do you want more?”
“More,” she squeaked, still flushed and unable to meet his gaze.
“Do you trust me?” he asked.
“No.” She giggled, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, but I do not.”
“Well, you are a very intelligent girl.” He laughed along with her. “Will you let me help you?”
He waited, and in his mind it felt like days. She was so still and quiet. Then, ever so slowly, she nodded.
“Then take my hand,” he instructed.
She did so without pause. He held her dainty hand as they walked across Hyde Park until they reached his waiting curricle. A more eerie experience he’d never had. For it seemed that the whole of Hyde Park had frozen in place to watch him hold hands with the wallflower in public.
The horses moved them down the street. He noticed a new look of admiration in some of the young men’s eyes. One thing was for certain, the girl would have more gentlemen callers than she would know what to do with. He suddenly grimaced when he thought about her dress from the night before. If they were to go to Almack’s, she needed something other than that horrid, putrid color she had worn the night before.
“Cordelia?”
“Yes?”
“How do you feel about the color blue?”
Chapter Four
The Waltz
“Can you believe our good fortune?” Lady Trowbridge crooned to her husband as she took his proffered hand and stepped down from the carriage, her eyes wide and scoured the building before her. “Vouchers for Almack’s! I’m overcome with emotion. Truly!”
Cordelia stepped down behind her aunt. Dread enveloped her as she scrutinized the well-known social club. She swallowed the lump in her throat. The building itself was unimpressive—nothing like she had imagined it would be based on its reputation among the ton. But it wasn’t the building that mattered. It was the prestige of acquiring a voucher.
Her aunt and uncle had never applied for them before; they were too worried they would be turned down and so seal their fate to be doomed to a mediocre social standing. Lady Trowbridge’s excitement was understandable. Even Cordelia was duly impressed… that is, she would have been, if she wasn’t so overwhelmed by the day’s instruction from Lord Hawthorne.
So many things to remember! Deciphering the fan signals alone was enough to keep her mind swimming for days. What if she got confused and told someone he could approach her when what she meant to say was she just wanted to share a greeting? The proper etiquette, proper posture, proper topics of conversation. Cordelia was dizzy as she walked through the doors, and her stomach churned within her.
She scanned the room for Lord Hawthorne the moment she entered, but he was nowhere to be found. Traitor.
Many guests had already arrived, and everyone seemed to be staring at her. Her aunt and uncle strode away from her to greet their friends, leaving her standing alone without a thought for her fears. Her breath caught in her throat, and before she knew what she was doing, she gravitated toward the corner were the plants were, trying desperately to shrink into the background. So much for a friend to offer his support.
Her hands trembled against her will as she reached into her reticule to withdraw her fan. Focusing her attention fully on her task, praying silently the night would end soon. A suave tenor voice interrupted her phylacteries. “Find what you’re looking for, my lady?” Her head jerked up with a start.
“Good evening, Lady Cordelia.” Sir Wilde stood beside her with an odd smirk spread across his face.
“Sir Wilde,” she greeted him and swallowed back her nervousness. Lord Hawthorne had instructed her on the fine art of conversation, how to smile but remain aloof, how to feign interest. Every bit of his direction flew right out of her mind in that moment and the fear paralyzed her.
“How are you this evening?” he asked his eyes focused intently on her.
“Fine, thank you.”
“How do you find Almack’s?”
“It’s lovely.” He stared at her for a moment, as if he expected her to elaborate. She searched her mind for something else to say. Anything else to say. But it was blank. Her tongue felt like sand in her mouth. She could feel the blush burning her eyes, face threatening to give away her mortification, so she looked down at her reticule.
“Would you like some lemonade, Lady Cordelia?” he finally asked. She nodded. He offered his arm. Taking it, she thanked God she was able to manage to walk in a straight line as he led her to the opposite end of the large assembly hall. "I want to give you fair warning. The lemonade is watered down and by the time you drink it, I fear, very warm indeed, but it should ease some of your nerves." Sir Wilde gave her a blinding smile then reached for two cups of the liquid.
Shaking, she took the cup in her hand and ventured a long sip. In horror, she realized it was ready to come back up the instant she swallowed the vile contents.