“Lady Millie,” he replied, “a pleasure to see you again.”
“Likewise,” Millie replied. “May I present my cousin, Lady Charity Pembroke? She has just moved to London and is in desperate need of excellent company. So when I saw you standing there, I knew you were just the man to introduce her to. Charity, Lord Hancock is one of London’s most eligible bachelors. We are lucky to have caught him before the ladies swarm him.”
“You are too kind, Lady Millie,” the man said, then turned to Charity and bowed. “It is a pleasure.”
“Lord Hancock is also one of the most talented dancers of the high society, but I am sure you will experience this yourself,” Millie said. Charity was worried her cousin was being a little too forward, and when Hancock’s smile faded, she feared her suspicion was right.
“I do beg your pardon, Lady Millie,” he said, “but I am already engaged for the evening.”
“For the entire evening?” Millie asked, taken aback.
He looked at Millie, then Charity, and back at Millie before nodding. “Regretfully, yes. Perhaps another time,” he said before disappearing into the crowd.
“Oh, that was peculiar,” Millie said, but then, apparently undisturbed, she continued to walk around the ballroom. “Come, let us try again. You see that fellow over there with the gas-pipes?” She nodded at a young man with ginger hair and a pair of very, very tight trousers.
Millie sauntered off toward the man and the same scenario repeated. He was delighted to see Millie, less so to be introduced to Charity—and full of excuses once it was made clear Millie wanted him to dance with Charity.
This situation repeated multiple times. The excuses were numerous, ranging from already being occupied to having promised the next several dances to someone else. One gentleman even claimed to have stubbed his toe, only for Millie and Charity to see him dancing on the dance floor ten minutes later.
After the fourth gentleman declined to dance with her under dubious excuses, Millie exclaimed, “This is a little poked up—and inexplicable.”
“Poked up indeed. They clearly do not wish to dance with me. They must see me as some provincial girl. Perhaps because I’m in mourning... You know how seriously people take mourning. I told my mother it was too early.”
“I think not! It is not too early,” Millie insisted. “It is true we take mourning more seriously than they might have twenty years ago, but half-mourning is a perfectly acceptable time to be out dancing. I do not understand it. When I told people you were coming, there was such excitement. London gentlemen like nothing more than fresh blood!”
Charity grimaced. “I do not like being referred to as fresh blood, like a heifer at the market.”
“Oh, do not be silly! I meant someone new to dance with. Someone they do not yet know. Someone they can talk to and not know their entire story! You know exactly what I mean,” Millie said, exasperated. Then, she snapped her gloved fingers. “I know what we will do. There is my friend Peter Millbanks. He is not a lord; his father is a knight, but he is a good friend of mine. I will ask him to dance with you, and then the other gentlemen will see what a graceful dancer you are, and they will follow suit.”
The two walked toward a gentleman who was standing with his back turned to them. Charity tried to keep her irritation under control, which was more difficult than she'd anticipated because she was increasingly aware of people staring at her as they walked. It wasn’t the curious look one might get from someone seeing a person for the first time; no, there was nothing admiring in their glares—only disdain. She bit her lip and followed her cousin as she tapped her friend on the shoulder.
The young man turned with a bright smile, exposing a row of white teeth—not something often seen in their parts.
“Millie!” he said. “How lovely to see you!”
However, when his eyes met Charity's, the smile faded. “You must be Lady Charity,” he said politely, and she curtsied.
“I am. It is good to meet you, Mr. Millbanks.”
“Peter, I am so glad to have found you. The gentlemen this evening are dreadfully dull, and thus far, none have agreed to dance with my cousin, even though she’s clearly the second most beautiful woman in the house!” She chuckled, but Peter's smile seemed forced. “I thought perhaps you could do me a favor and take her onto the dance floor to show these fools what they are missing,” Millie implored.
To Charity’s horror, the man pulled his shoulders together as though preparing to shield himself from something.
“I think not, Millie. You know I would do anything for you, but I am afraid...”
What is wrong? Do I have pox? Have I committed a grievous breach of propriety without knowing it?
Why on earth did nobody want to dance with her?
“Peter, really! This is ridiculous.” Millie pressed. “For the sake of our friendship, will you please tell me why nobody wants to dance with my cousin?”
He looked around and then nodded, his chin tilted toward an alcove by the orchestra. Charity was about to follow them, but he turned and raised a hand. She stopped, put in her place like a small child.
Charity grabbed the material of her gown and crunched it between her fingers as she walked to the window, aware that everyone appeared to be looking at her. Heat rose to her face as she wished for the days of old when ladies would cover their faces in crushed pearl powder so no one could see the color of their skin beneath.
Failing that, she turned her back on the crowd and looked out the window at the quiet streets. Carriages moved up and down St. James, and yet more revelers were arriving at the front door.
An eternity seemed to have passed before her cousin returned, pale-faced. Millie stood beside her, their elbows touching, and dropped her voice.
