A man she didn’t recognize—one of the farmers or fishermen, she supposed—produced a battered violin. He put bow to strings and began sawing away, producing a wild country dance.
The other men wasted no time clearing tables and chairs to the edges of the room. In some cases, with the mortified ladies still seated upon them. The blacksmith approached their table. With a curt nod and an intense, silent look, the big man reached under their table with one hand, lifting the entire piece of furniture by its pedestal and carrying it aside.
“Oh my,” Diana said, as someone pressed a brimming flagon into her hand. She sniffed at its contents, then passed the drink to Minerva. “Is that ale, Min?”
She sipped at it. “Yes.”
Miss Kate Taylor was urged to the pianoforte. A few of the younger girls grabbed hands and fled, trailing some vow to fetch Miss Finch.
“We should leave,” Diana said.
“I don’t understand,” Charlotte said, raising her voice above the crescendo of music. “What’s happening?”
“Opportunity, my dears.” Their mother’s face lit up like a bonfire. “That’s what’s happening. And don’t think of leaving. We’re staying right here. Smile, Diana. Here he comes.”
Lord Payne cut a swath through the hubbub, making his way straight for their group. “Mrs. Highwood.” He bowed deeply, gifting the fair-haired sisters with a brilliant, gleaming smile. “Miss Highwood. Miss Charlotte. How lovely you look this evening.” Belatedly, he turned to Minerva and gave her a cool smile. “If it isn’t our resident giant-slayer, Miss Miranda.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “It’s Minerva.”
“Right. Did you come armed this evening? With something other than those dagger-sharp looks, I mean.”
“Unfortunately, no.”
“In that case”—he extended a hand to Diana—“Miss Highwood, I believe this dance is mine.”
When Diana didn’t immediately accept, their mother intervened. “What are you waiting for, Diana? Permission? Of course you may dance with Lord Payne.”
As the pair proceeded to the center of the floor, Minerva nudged her mother. “You cannot allow her to dance. Not like this. What of her asthma?”
“Pish. She hasn’t suffered an attack in ages now. And Miss Finch is always saying healthful exercise will do her benefit. Dancing is good for her.”
“I don’t know about dancing, but Lord Payne is not good for her. Not in any way. I don’t trust that man.”
One of the Bright twins stepped into her line of vision, drawing her notice away. He made a nervous bow to Charlotte. “Miss Charlotte, your hair is a river of diamonds and your eyes are alabaster orbs.”
Minerva couldn’t help but laugh. “Charlotte, do you have cataracts?”
The poor youth flushed vermillion and stuck out his hand. “Care to dance?”
With a brief glance toward their mother for consent, Charlotte launched from her chair. “I’d be honored, Mr. . . . Er, which one are you?”
“It’s Finn, miss. Unless I accidentally tread on your toes, in which case I’m Rufus.” He grinned and offered a hand. The two joined the dancers.
Minerva stared at her mother. “You’re letting Charlotte dance now? She’s barely fourteen!”
“It’s all in good fun. And it’s just a local dance, not a London ball.” Her mother clucked her tongue. “Be careful, Minerva. Your envy is showing.”
She huffed a breath. She was not envious. Although, as more and more couples paired off around her, she did begin to feel conspicuously alone. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sensation.
“I keep telling you, Minerva. If only you’d give your cheeks a pinch and remove those spectacles, you’d be—”
“I’d be blind as a bat, Mother.”
“But an attractive bat. They’re only spectacles, you know. You do have a choice whether or not to wear them.”
Minerva sighed. Perhaps she would like to catch a gentleman’s attention someday, but not one whose entire opinion of her could be swayed by a minor alteration of appearance. If she married, she wanted a man with a brain in his head and some substance to his character. No vain aristocrats for her, no matter how slick their words or how devilishly handsome their smiles.
It just rankled, to always feel rejected by men like Lord Payne without ever having the chance to reject them first.
She lifted the flagon of ale in her hand and took a long, unladylike draught. Then she rose from her chair, determined not to sit and play the wallflower.
“Where are you going, Minerva?”
“As you say, Mother. I’ve decided to take this unplanned interruption as an opportunity.”
Pushing through the increasingly raucous throng of dancers and drinkers, Minerva made her way to the exit. She’d left off in the middle of composing a most important letter that afternoon, and she might as well take this time to finish it. The members of the Royal Geological Society required adjustment in their thinking.
They were, after all, men.
Sixteen
Susanna raced from the house, picking up her skirts and dashing down the lane.