“Perhaps she will at that, because presenting Mr. Townsend with a society failure, along with a newly minted assistant matchmaker, will certainly have Miss Cordelia Lowe, even with a black eye, showing to greater advantage than ever,” Adelaide returned.
“That’s the spirit, dear,” Phyllis said as Adelaide surprised Gwendolyn by entwining her arm with hers.
After Phyllis told them she’d be waiting with bated breath for their return, Gwendolyn strolled with Adelaide into motion, a comfortable silence settling between them as they moved across the room—until Adelaide stopped ten feet from where Mr. Townsend still held court and released a sigh.
“Is something the matter?” Gwendolyn asked.
“I’ve just noticed that Miss Suzette Tilden is engaged in conversation with Mr. Townsend. She’s been out two Seasons, and at the end of last Season, she stepped on the train of my evening gown, which sent me lurching forward, knocking Mrs. Newbold over. Unfortunately, given Mrs. Newbold’s stout figure, it took four footmen to get her back on her feet.” Adelaide shook her head. “Mrs. Newbold has yet to forgive me, even though I’m relatively convinced Miss Tilden stepped on my train on purpose.”
“That’s dreadful.”
“As is Miss Tilden, who is known for pranks designed to make her look favorably and others—those who are odd like me—look clumsier than we actually are. Nevertheless, I suppose there’s nothing to do but join Mr. Townsend’s group even with Miss Tilden present since Mother is anxious for me to speak with him and you need to try to interrogate him—which, if nothing else, may amuse me. I’ve never seen a matchmaker in action before.”
“Don’t get your hopes up. I’ve not seen any action yet, and my attempts may turn into an unmitigated disaster.”
“Something to look forward to for certain.”
Exchanging grins, they made their way closer to Mr. Townsend, who took that moment to stop speaking with Miss Suzette Tilden and lift his head, his eyes widening ever so slightly when he caught sight of Gwendolyn. His gaze lingered on her, but then he blinked and switched his attention to Adelaide, which had his eyes widening even more. To his credit, he then settled a warm smile on Adelaide right as a lady squeezed her way closer to him, bumping into Suzette Tilden, who was holding a crystal glass brimming with red punch.
It came as no surprise when Suzette began lurching about, but what was a surprise was how Suzette’s gaze suddenly sharpened on Adelaide, and to Gwendolyn’s disbelief, she reversed course and began staggering toward them, wobbling about in an exaggerated fashion before she aimed her glass directly Adelaide’s way.
As the contents of the glass began splashing about, disbelief, paired with a hefty dose of temper, had Gwendolyn stepping in front of Adelaide before she reached out and knocked the glass out of Suzette’s hand.
As the sound of glass shattering against the marble floor reached her ears, Gwendolyn’s gaze followed the trail of brightly colored punch splattered about, apprehension settling over her when she lifted her gaze and discovered that, while some of the punch had spilled on the floor, the majority of it was now drenching the front of what had been a pristine dinner jacket worn by none other than Mr. Walter Townsend himself.
Four
For the briefest of moments, Walter Townsend found himself frozen in place, having no idea how to react to a dousing by fruit punch at the hands of a lady who’d captured his attention the moment she’d stepped into Mrs. Astor’s ballroom.
There he’d been, speaking about the weather to Miss Tillie Wickham, when he’d glanced up . . . and there she was, a vision dressed in ivory—and one of the most beautiful ladies he’d ever seen.
He’d been struck speechless at the sight of the exquisite redhead, feeling as if the air had been sucked out of the room, which left him feeling light-headed, an unusual circumstance for him. He’d only started breathing again when Tillie took hold of his arm, gave it a shake, and demanded to know if he’d suddenly taken ill.
He hadn’t known how to answer, because he’d never experienced being unable to speak or breathe before. Thankfully, Mr. E. J. Boettcher joined them and asked Tillie if she’d heard about an upcoming storm. Just like that, Tillie abandoned her questioning to answer E. J., leaving Walter free to return his attention to a lady who’d, quite frankly, mesmerized him.
The longer he’d watched her, the more he’d begun to realize it wasn’t merely her beauty that captured his notice, it was the way she held herself as she moved through the crowd, confidence in her every step. She also seemed oblivious to the admiring glances she’d drawn from every gentleman she passed, although, curiously enough, none of those gentlemen tried to speak with her.
The reason behind that was explained when, after Tillie’s dance partner came to claim her, Walter asked E. J. to perform an introduction and learned the lady wasn’t out in society but was in the employ of Mrs. Parker as a paid companion. E. J. then mentioned how unfortunate that circumstance was, given how beautiful the lady was, and then reminded Walter he had a responsibility to his family name and, as such, couldn’t pursue a woman who wasn’t suitable to take up the role of the next Mrs. Walter Townsend.
Regrettably, Walter knew E. J. was right, so he’d tried to ignore the beautiful redhead from that point forward, spending his evening speaking with a variety of other ladies but unable to keep from seeking her out every now and again. . . .
“You’re dripping,” Mrs. Oelrichs whispered, pulling him from his thoughts as she handed him a handkerchief, which he immediately used to dash away the punch dribbling from his chin right as the redhead responsible for the dribbling stepped his way, wincing as her green eyes traveled over him.
“Forgive me, Mr. Townsend,” she began, handing him a handkerchief of her own. “It was not my intention to drench you in punch, some of which seems to be in your hair.”
Before Walter could respond or attend to his apparently punch-drenched hair, Suzette Tilden stepped forward, her eyes blazing with temper.
“What were you thinking, Miss Brinley?” Suzette demanded. “I can only assume you’ve taken leave of your senses, because why else would you accost me in the midst of Mrs. Astor’s grand ballroom?”
To Walter’s surprise, Miss Brinley, apparently, beamed a smile as she moved Suzette’s way, which was brave of her considering Suzette was bristling with animosity.
“My dear Miss Tilden,” Miss Brinley began, “I would love to be able to offer you a sincere apology for knocking aside your drink, but since you and I both know what your true intentions were, I’m unable to beg your forgiveness. I will, however, encourage you to beg Miss Adelaide Duveen’s pardon, seeing as how she was supposed to be the recipient of the contents of your glass.”
Suzette seemed to swell on the spot. “How dare you suggest I had nefarious intentions. I assure you, I had nothing of the sort. As everyone here can attest, I stumbled. Punch has a habit of spilling when a lady loses her balance.”
Miss Brinley inclined her head. “True, but I don’t believe that was the case in this particular instance. It’s been my observation that sabotage by “accidental” beverage spills is all the rage this Season. And before you argue the point, I suggest you tuck your indignation away, because I highly doubt you want me to voice my suspicions of what truly happened for everyone to hear.”