“Whoare they, do you think?” Amy asked.
“It’syour ball,” Elizabeth said. “Do you not know?”
“I’lljust go see, then.” She flounced up and made her way to where hermother sat with the matrons. Elizabeth felt herself shrinking in herseat, hoping that no one felt the chivalrous need to come and speakwith her. She did not mind being a wallflower.
Fortunately,Amy flounced back soon enough. “I’ve gotten all the news of it fromMother. They are the Misters Wilde, brothers who’ve come into theneighborhood and have taken the lease at Lilies Park. Father met themin town and invited them, to introduce them to the neighborhood.It never hurts having more beaux among the number, yes? I imagineFather thinks to put them in my way.”
“Brothers?They don’t look anything alike.”
Indeedthe tallest of the men was fair; the shortest had a brown complexion,calling to mind the West Indies sun; while the middle had dark hair andstriking gray eyes.
Amyfurrowed her brow, an expression her mother was always complaining ofbecause it marred her features. “They don’t, do they? Ah well, who’s tosay?”
Themiddle one, with the gray eyes, caught her staring. She quicklylooked away, but knew he still studied her—she felt a focused attentionthat put her in mind of a hawk.
“Thatone there has his eye on you, I wager,” Amy said, her smile mischievous.
Withincreasing dread, Elizabeth watched the Wilde brothers make bows to thehost, who brightened after a moment’s conversation and turned towardher and Amy.
“Oh,you see?” Amy said brightly. Of course she was thrilled. New gentlemenmeant new attention.
“Dostay close,” Elizabeth said, clutching her friend’s hand.
“Ofcourse, but promise me that if he asks you for a dance, you willaccept? It’s only a dance and perhaps you will like him. Not all menare Mr. Foresters.”
Thatwas Amy—every gentleman deserved at least one dance.
Elizabethlooked up and met the gray-eyed gentleman’s gaze. This time, she couldnot look away, though she was sure she ought to. He held her fast, andher heart sped up, like that of a rabbit fleeing the hunt. He offered apolite nod of his head. She had forgotten to breathe.
Hewas intrigued by her—the same way she could identify arrogance andpity, she knew he was intrigued. But his interest would quickly fadeonce he actually spoke to her, surely. When she stumbled during theirinevitable dance.
“Truly,he will not ask me for a dance,” she said to Amy. “Will he?”
“Iam certain he means you no harm. Don’t be afraid.”
Shesteeled herself as if she were walking into battle. “Then I promise.Because you asked. I may even enjoy it.”
“Withthat one? Oh, please enjoy it!”
Atlast the gentlemen approached, and the ladies stood to make curtseys asMr. Brannock presented them.
Thetallest one was Vincent Wilde; the shorter, swarthy man was FrancisWilde; and the middle, dark-haired man was Edward Wilde. Amy’s fathersaid, “This is my eldest daughter, Miss Brannock, andher good friend Miss Weston.”
“Howdo you do?” Amy said for them both.
Mr.Brannock said suggestively, “Do you think the music is very good? Thequartet came highly recommended.”
“It’svery good,” Amy agreed.
“Indeed,”Vincent said.
Therewas only the slightest pause before Francis Wilde bowed again. “MissBrannock, will you grant me the next dance?”
Amy’strue feelings were as eager as her smile. “Thank you, sir.” She tookhis offered hand.
Thatleft Elizabeth standing before Edward Wilde, whose emotions were plainto her. Though the strangeness of it . . . the gentleman’s interest inher was, indeed, for her. Not her money, herfamily, or her brown curls. He might have been as intent as a huntinghound, but the attention was honest. This as much as anything startledher. Perhaps he simply had not been in the neighborhood long enoughto hear of her fortune or her oddness.
“MissWeston, I would not be left behind by my brother, if you will do me thehonor?”
Shedid not think twice before taking his hand. Yes, her stomach mightstill be roiling. But the feeling was not dread this time. EdwardWilde’s touch was light, as if he knew that any pressure on her handwould incite panic. If she wanted to flee, he would not hold her. Thiscomforted her to a degree that surprised her. In turn, Mr. Wilde’sfeelings also settled.
Shewould engage him in conversation, if she only knew what to say. She didnot have Amy’s open nature, alas. The benefit of dancing was that shecould pretend to be so engrossed in the music and where she placed herfeet that she need not speak.
Thecouples lined up; Elizabeth repeated steps to herself, watched othersfor the proper cues.
Mr.Wilde’s gaze kept drawing her. In spite of herself, she kept wanting tolook at him. To study him. To learn exactly why he was so differentfrom anyone she’d ever met. He and his brothers, really, but he was theone standing before her.
Ofcourse, she stumbled. It was the part of the dance where one crossedover with one’s opposite partner, and one was meant to look into hiseyes and not at one’s feet. She always feared losing her place orrunning into the other gentleman, and that was what happened—she took awrong step, saw herself about to collide, and quickly moved to avoidit, which meant she lost the rhythm of the entire sequence and ruinedthe figure for her partner and the other couple besides.
Mr.Wilde rescued her. He did so deftly and without fuss, when the next barof music came and it was his and the other lady’s turn to cross over,he touched her elbow and pressed her over while nodding to exactlythe spot she should have been, next to him, before the music told themto turn half a circle back to their original places. What was more,he did not express contempt or pity, as others before him had done whenthey tried to dance around her mistakes. He did not leer, did not rollhis eyes, and his emotion was . . . sympathy. If he smiled, it wasnot to laugh at her, but out of understanding, that there was nothingmore difficult than remembering where to put one’s feet while otherswere watching you.
Theother gentleman, however, chuckled, passing a mocking glance to hislady. The usual behavior that Elizabeth had come to expect.
AndEdward Wilde growled at him.
Shedistinctly
