Eight
The Patton ball was, to Sophie’s mind, very nearly indistinguishable from Lord Calmaton’s affair. Right down to both hosts being on the list Mr. Smith had given her. There were too many people; a frightening number of candles; too much silk, jewelry, and food; and not nearly enough air. And God forgive her, but she loved every dazzling bit of it.
“Sophie! There you are!” Mirabelle battled her way through the surrounding crowd to reach Sophie’s side. “Heavens, what a crush,” she breathed.
Sophie gave her friend a bright smile. “It is, isn’t it?” Mirabelle smiled back, then, craning her neck to peer around Sophie’s shoulder, frowned and asked, “Where is your cousin?”
Sophie shrugged. “In the card room, I imagine.”
“Already? I didn’t realize the gentlemen began so early.”
“No doubt my cousin, in the distance between here and the doors, convinced a sufficient number of men to join him.”
Mirabelle twisted her mouth into a disapproving grimace. “I know he’s your family, Sophie, and I’m sure he has a great many fine qualities, but he really is an appallingly bad escort.”
Sophie sighed. “I know, and to be honest, his performance in the role of cousin has left something to be desired as well. But as you said, he is family.”
Mirabelle nodded sympathetically. “I have family like that. My uncle is a complete boor. Unfortunately, he is also my guardian.”
“That is unfortunate.”
“Isn’t it? I’m very lucky to have Lady Thurston. She’s been uncommonly kind to me since earliest childhood. She positively insists on sponsoring my seasons here in London.”
“I’d be willing to wager that she finds the endeavor no great sacrifice,” Sophie stated, watching Lady Thurston speak with a rather handsome older man, a pretty blush lighting her face.
“Which is precisely why I continue to agree to the arrangement, and also why I don’t feel particularly guilty about being a flop on the marriage mart.”
“Flop?” Sophie asked incredulously. “The night we met, you sat out only two dances that I saw.”
“Be that as it may, I am an acknowledged wallflower.” Mirabelle stated the fact quite pleasantly for one admitting to a social standing regarded only very slightly above that of the dreaded “spinster.”
“I find it difficult to reconcile my experience with your statement,” Sophie murmured thoughtfully.
“Do you see that girl over there?” Mirabelle began by way of explanation. “The blonde in the charming ivory dress absolutely drowning in young men?”
Mirabelle waited for Sophie’s nod before continuing. “Her name is Elizabeth Tellijohn and she is what’s known as a diamond of the first water. She is beautiful, accomplished, well connected, well behaved, and enormously dowered. Men dance with her because they want either to seduce her or marry her or both. Men dance with me because they have to, which is a situation I am quite pleased with.”
“You wouldn’t care to be married or seduced?” Sophie asked.
“By the right man I might, but if I had to go searching for him in a mess like that…” Mirabelle waved her hand in the general direction of the young men surrounding Miss Tellijohn. “I think I might go mad.”
“What’s wrong with those gentlemen?”
Mirabelle shrugged. “Perhaps nothing. Perhaps everything. I don’t know, I’ve only ever danced with one of them, so I couldn’t say with certainty. I do know, however, that it says a good deal about a man if he is only willing to dance with a woman like Miss Tellijohn and not with a wallflower.”
“I suppose that makes a kind of sense.”
“It makes every kind of sense.” Mirabelle paused for a moment in thought before continuing. “If ever you happen to find yourself in search of a husband—and I do hope you’re not offended, but I rather gathered you’re not at the moment—I suggest you look closely at the gentlemen who dance with the wallflowers.”
Sophie’s expression must have asked her question, because Mirabelle nodded and continued. “Men who dance with the least popular girls do so for one of two reasons. The first being that they are compassionate enough to realize that every young girl longs to dance, even if she is trying her utmost to appear disinterested. Those are the very best and sadly, rarest, of gentlemen. The second reason gentlemen dance with wallflowers is because their mothers have pressured them into that particular act of chivalry, and there is much to be said for a young gentleman who will dance with a wallflower just to please his mama.”
“And from which of these two groups do your bevy of admirers stem?” Sophie inquired. “For a self-described wallflower you seem remarkably in demand.”
Mirabelle laughed. “Oh indeed. I have the rather dubious distinction of being London’s most popular wallflower.”