Bad enough that her aunt should make such a speech to another matron like herself, but to a young man like Mr. Edgerton? What was her aunt thinking? But that was the problem; she talked without thinking, oblivious to the impropriety of what she was saying.
Once again, it was their turn to promenade. Blindly, Julia took Mr. Atwater’s hand and let him lead her through the middle of the two rows of dancers. She tried to look straight ahead, as if nothing had happened, and pay attention to the steps of the dance. But a stone crowded her chest, and she kept hearing her aunt’s words, callously speaking of Julia being unable to attract a suitor, and of her aunt’s intention to cast Julia off to be a governess as soon as Phoebe was married.
Tears gathered in her eyes, but she could not humiliate herself by crying in a public assembly. A lady should always be able to govern her own feelings.
Only making things worse was Mr. Atwater’s halting way of dancing. He was worse even than Mr. Dinklage. Had he never danced before?
How painful to realize that her aunt did not consider her a member of the family at all, only a tool, a servant who would serve a purpose and then be discarded as unnecessary.
She was afraid to look at her partner, or to look anyone in the eye, and see her humiliation reflected back at her.
They changed partners in the course of the dance and she found herself with Mr. Langdon. She was captured by his deep-brown eyes before she had time to look away. But there was sympathy in them, in the gentleness of his expression.
He had heard what her aunt had said, and he pitied her. Her humiliation was complete.
Neither of them said a word as they went through the movements of the dance. His fingers were gentle yet firm as he grasped her hand. She was grateful he didn’t speak, but the hollow feeling came back into the pit of her stomach. How could Aunt Wilhern say such things about her at a party where so many others could hear?
Once she’d broken free from Nicholas Langdon’s gaze, she couldn’t bear to look at him again. God, please help me get through this ball. Perhaps she could hide in the card room, or near the refreshments table. Or under it.
She could feel Mr. Langdon’s eyes on her as he handed her back to Mr. Atwater, but she didn’t look up at him.
When the dance ended, Julia excused herself, saying she needed some air. She walked across the large ballroom. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Mr. Edgerton staring at her. He wore buff-and-brown-striped trousers with a waistcoat to match. With his larger-than-average height and build, his brown hair, and his wide-set eyes, Mr. Edgerton was considered handsome by some. But even though his was an old family, he had racked up considerable gaming debts and would need to marry someone with a fortune—which was why it was strange that he always seemed to seek Julia out at parties. She had long realized he felt a preference for her, but she assumed his debts would prevent him from pursuing her.
Julia forced herself to hold her head high as she slipped away and found a small sitting room. The window facing the street was not latched, so she crossed to the other side and opened it, letting the cool night air take the sting out of her cheeks.
Am I so alone and unloved? Destined to be a governess?
Beneath Phoebe’s station, her aunt had said. She felt her face grow hot again. No wonder few men asked her to dance and none ever came to call on her. No doubt their families had warned them about young women like her, without dowries, desperate to make a good match. Certainly Mr. Dinklage’s mother would make sure he did not pursue her.
Julia stared at the carriages going by on the street below. She pressed her hand against the window sash, letting the damp night air distract her. The lanterns and streetlights blurred as smoke from nearby chimney fires stung her eyes.
A tear rolled down her cheek. She quickly brushed it away and took out her handkerchief, dabbing at her eyes.
“Here you are.”
Julia twisted around to find Mr. Edgerton behind her, almost touching her he was so close.
“I didn’t hear you come in.” She tried to move away from him, but she was trapped between the window pressing into her back, the desk beside her, and Mr. Edgerton in front of her.
“Forgive me for startling you.” Mr. Edgerton’s face was mostly in shadow, but his white teeth flashed in the pale light. “Are you well, Miss Grey?”
“Yes, of course. Only getting a bit of air.” She tried to brush by him, but he moved closer and pressed her arm with his hand.
“You are upset about what your aunt said.”
“I—I am well. I am sure my aunt . . .” She intended to say, “I am sure my aunt meant well,” but that was not true. She did not think her aunt could have meant anything good by what she had said. She tried to think of something to say that would cause Mr. Edgerton to move out of her way, but the lump in her throat prevented her from speaking.
“I am very sorry.”