Poppy had darned the white pair of kid gloves she wore, no earbobs adorned her ears, and only a single strand of pearls encircled her throat. Surely that envious tone from her sister was misplaced.
“It was a gift from Richard on my one and twentieth birthday,” Poppy said politely, smoothing down the front of her simple but elegant icy blue ballgown with its ruffled sleeves, cinched waist, and scalloped neckline. “Tonight is my first chance to wear it.”
“Well,” Lavinia said brightly, “See that you adjust the other dresses I sent to you for other outings. They are far more fashionable even if they are last season’s wear.”
Rebecca heaved a long sigh. “It is the earl we should be speaking about! I am a bit nervous not knowing anything about him.”
“I’ve heard that he treats everyone with bored indifference but owns the right amount of charm to not make him a person non grata,” Lavinia said, smiling at Rebecca. “He was a bit of a devil before he inherited the title and had even made Captain in Her Majesty’s army!”
Rebecca brightened. “Did you find out why he does not like to attend balls?”
“Some speculate it is to avoid the parson’s trap, but he is careful to accept the more notable invitations to keep his connections with notable lords and ladies current. Lady Sarah told me the last three balls he attended, he only danced with his sister. Many hearts were left disappointed. I cannot imagine why he would be so disagreeable at all,” Lavinia groused with a sigh.
Poppy lowered the carriage curtains. “Perhaps he does not want to marry.”
“Not marry?” Rebecca cried, aghast. “Poppy, your ignorance of high society shows. Every lord needs an heir. Hence a wife! And I will make him a most splendid countess.”
Rebecca’s excitement plucked at buried dreams inside Poppy’s chest and reminded her of a time when she had lain in her bed and dreamed of meeting a beau at a country ball. Or even at church. “What if he is an ogre?” she said to Rebecca, “Deciding whom to marry should require careful consideration. Is he kind? Will he be thoughtful and loving?”
Her sister slanted her an annoyed glance. “It only matters that I’ll be a countess! Can you imagine? All of the other debutantes will be so jealous of me!”
Irritation flashed in her stepmother’s eyes. “Do not fill your sister’s head with ridiculous notions. In time, affection will grow between her and the earl.”
The carriage rumbled to a halt, and they quickly descended with the aid of the footman. Several ladies and gentlemen formed a queue inside the front door of the lovely townhome. Unbridled excitement rushed through Poppy. Her very first ball. And such an elegant one too. It mattered not that her role tonight was that of a chaperone; once again, an observer, she was pleased to be a part of the music and gaiety.
They were quickly shepherded inside and into the large ballroom. The number of people packed inside the room was astonishing. She followed at a careful pace behind her sisters as Lavinia and the hostess, Viscountess Balfour, introduced Rebecca to several guests. As expected, a stir went through the throng when they noted her ravishing beauty.
Poppy turned in a slow discreet circle, letting the din of music, laughter, and chatter wash over her senses. Ladies twirled in some of the most beautiful gowns she had ever seen. How elegant they all appeared in their fineries, and with diamonds, rubies, and sapphires winking at their throats. Her senses did not feel overwhelmed but intoxicated with excitement. Ladies and gentlemen milled in every direction, seeming to fill all the public rooms of Lady Balfour’s home.
“Oh Poppy, we know it is your first London ball, but please do not appear so gauche!” Lavinia said with a mocking laugh.
“It is rather lovely,” replied Poppy with a mild smile as she surveyed the fluted column ballroom ahead of her. Each of the classical columns was wreathed in flower garlands bound by primrose ribbons. Matching drapes were hung around the walls, with floral depictions of woodland scenes. The drapery and primrose theme looked especially good against Lady Balfour’s straw-colored dress trimmed with bunches of brighter jonquil ribbons. It did not look so good against the purples and red of the matrons of society, but the paler colors of the gowns of younger ladies were shown off to advantage.
The ballroom was crowded with the floor filled with elegant couples, dancing with such grace that Poppy wished she could join in. She regretted that her position as chaperone and lack of dance training meant that was impossible.
Poppy stood by the sidelines, near a refreshment table and several chaises which seated a few ladies. They appeared much older than the dancing crowd though no less elegantly dressed or beautiful. It did not take long for a few gentlemen to make their way over and seek an introduction to Rebecca, who appeared so natural and lovely as she flicked her fan and responded to their request for dances. She displayed no nerves and radiated with lovely confidence.
“You are doing wonderfully,” Poppy said, stepping closer to her sister.
“I am so excited,” she said with a light and airy laugh, flicking her fan with studied elegance. “I do believe I might make the match of the season.”
Poppy smiled. “I daresay it might be possible. I never knew a Town ball would be such a wonderful crush. How many dances have you accepted?”
Bright blue eyes landed on Poppy. “Four so far. I am saving the waltz for Lord Kingsley.”
Poppy glanced over at the milling crowd. “Is he in attendance?”
“I do not know! I am waiting for Lavinia’s signal.”
“And what signal might that be?”
“She will open her fan, and the direction she waves it in will be the earl.”
Poppy laughed. “The place is overcrowded. Is it not possible for the viscountess to make an introduction?”
“Things are done differently here than in the country! It is perfectly permissible for the earl to seek an introduction, but it might be frowned—” with a dramatic gasp, her sister stopped speaking.
“Lavinia has unfurled her fan!”
Poppy glanced in the direction the fan presumably pointed and rolled her eyes. There were several ladies and gentlemen, and none seemed—her thoughts crashed and shattered into a thousand pieces. Was that Mr. James Delaney?
Poppy was barely aware of her stepmother and Lavinia appearing by their sides.
“I believe he is coming our way,” Lavinia said breathlessly. “Lift your chin Rebecca and square your shoulders. Smile, but do not show all your teeth!”
Poppy’s heart raced as a most handsome gentleman drifted closer. It was indeed Mr. Delaney. She took an involuntary step forward and faltered. It might be inappropriate for her to approach him, and it might create a stir and a scandal. And what would she say?
“I think the earl is indeed coming over to us,” her stepmother said. “I knew you would attract his attention, Rebecca, where all others have failed so far. Now, remember dear to command an air of mystery when you speak and dance with him.”
“Yes, mama!”
Poppy frowned, scanning quickly for the earl. The only gentleman currently walking in their direction was Mr. Delaney—who appeared so perfectly handsome in a black evening jacket and trousers, a white undershirt with a dark blue waistcoat to match his eyes, and an exceptionally tied cravat. His hair seemed in want of trim, for it curled above his forehead and at his nape in black waves. He looked slimmer than when she had last seen him but somehow harder, as if life experiences had aged him. What had not changed was his raw handsomeness, one that was almost beautiful. He possessed in every languid step the confidence and elegance of a gentleman of stature, of a man fully aware of his privileged position in society and how to wield that influence.