The rhythmic sound of wheels against cobblestone lulled Daphne into a light doze. She noticed when the carriage stopped, but thought little of it until Willem called down.
“My lady, we’re here. Want me to walk you to the door?”
She glanced up to the small window framing Willem’s face and grimaced. “I’ll be fine. Just call back for me in two hours. I’m not sure I’ll last that long.” With a small gasp, she felt heat rush into her face. “I didn’t mean that…well, I did about the time.” Shaking her head, Daphne gave up. She’d become much too comfortable with Willem during their morning sessions but that was no call to be rude to Penelope even where the other girl couldn’t hear her.
He climbed down and opened the door for her, bowing as she stepped out of the carriage. “It’ll be fine, my lady. You’ll see,” he whispered, giving her a small measure of encouragement.
Daphne glanced his way with a shaky smile before straightening her spine and marching up the steps, determined to survive this encounter.
The large, carved door swung inward as she approached and an intimidating butler held out his hand for her card. Daphne smiled as she fumbled in her reticule for the cards her mother had offered as identification since Daphne was too young to have her own made.
The butler stared down at the card then raised one eyebrow. “Lady Scarborough?” Doubt colored his tone.
Daphne raised her chin and looked him in the eye. “Her daughter, Lady Daphne. I’m expected.”
The harsh demeanor cracked for a moment into an approving smile. “Lady Daphne. Of course.” He stepped back to let her through. “They’ve gathered in the front salon. Just follow me.”
They? Who else could she expect to see at this gathering? She walked the seven feet down the hallway, her shoulders tensing with each step.
He opened the door and a burst of laughter came from the room beyond.
“The Lady Daphne Scarborough,” he announced, waving her forward.
Daphne crossed the opening to find a large group of both men and women, each staring up at her. A half smile tugged at her lip as she realized how right her mother had been about the need to dress. She took the fresh material of her new gown in her hands, hoped she had no carriage lines pressed into her face, and curtsied as best as she could.
“Oh do come and sit down,” an older version of Penelope declared, pointing to an unoccupied corner of the sofa.
Grateful as attention turned back to Penelope’s sister, Daphne slipped into the seat, trying to mimic the posture of the other ladies present. She managed to hide another yawn as she turned to admire a landscape hanging from the wall next to the sofa but when she turned back, no one was paying any attention to her anyway. She opened her mouth to comment on the painting when one of the young men spoke.
“Oh you can’t seriously be mourning his loss, can you?” the man said, his voice strident. “Do you really miss him looking down that long nose of his at you?”
Penelope’s sister laughed and touched the man’s sleeve with her fan. “Now, Filbert. It’s not very gentlemanly for you to speak ill of the man. Jealousy is such a weak emotion.”
The young man frowned, carefully rearranging the lace extruding from his coat sleeves. “While I can’t deny he’s a handsome chap,” he said in a tight voice, “for a leader in the ton to seek a bluestocking is beyond the pale. He fails to appreciate the finer things well-bred ladies such as are represented here can offer. He seeks instead the kind of discourse better reserved for gentlemen’s talks over cigars and brandy.”
Several of the ladies gave him approving looks, but Daphne felt her interest piqued. Who was this remarkable man?
“You can’t fault his support of the arts though, Filbert. He’s kept more than one personal eye on the most entrancing of stars,” another young man broke in, this one seated on a stool near Daphne.
“Bernard, you watch your tongue,” a young lady next to Penelope’s sister said, the laughter in her voice undermining her scold. “We don’t talk about such things in mixed company.”
He flushed, gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before he recovered. “I only meant he patronizes many different art forms, music, theater, even dance.”
The lady who had chastised him shook her head before turning away. “Even if some of us go masked to see the same performances,” she added as though he had not spoken.
“Not that his preferences matter any longer. Rumor has it his mother chose the poor man a bride. I doubt she’ll share any of the characteristics he might value, but maybe she won’t shame the Pendleton name either.”
The others nodded at the pronouncement from Penelope’s sister and turned to talk about other members of the ton. Daphne sank back against the seat, her interest fading at the sound of his name. If ever she could have found a man she would have been willing to tie her life to, one who appreciated knowledge and enjoyed the arts seemed to have a chance. And yet, the name told a different story. He was her sister’s choice, or at least the one their parents had found for her.
“Daphne, I was so surprised when your mother said you’d like to come,” Penelope burst out, having emerged from whichever corner her sister had tucked her in. “Which is not to say you aren’t welcome because you are. Just a surprise. Here, move over a bit and we’ll chat.”
Pushing closer to the woman on her left, Daphne made room for Penelope, a slender, nervous young girl who never seemed able to slow down at all.
“So, have you all your gowns picked out? My mother’s dresser came up with a glorious plan to color my white dresses while not offending any of the grand ladies. I’ll have patterned underskirts with just enough color to show through.” Penelope clasped her hands together in her lap. “It’s so marvelous. I can’t wait for my first ball. It seems forever until the spring comes again. I just don’t know why my parents couldn’t have done my coming out this year. It’s been a full season since my sister’s and she’s dangling several offers. She only has to choose. It’s not like I’d interfere or anything.”
Daphne tried her best to nod at the right places as Penelope’s fierce whisper drowned out what the older people were saying. A headache began in the bridge of her nose. She struggled not to reach up and pinch it.
“Are you all right?” Penelope asked, breaking up a constant stream of information about the planning for her coming out. “You look a bit peaked.”
Managing a wan smile, Daphne shook her head. “I’m fine. I just had a late night and an early morning.”
“Oh you poor dear.” Penelope patted Daphne’s arm in a clear imitation of someone older. “I can’t imagine what would drag you out of bed with the sun lower than the sky’s height. Wait a moment and I’ll be right back.”
The other girl bounced up and raced across the room in quick steps until she reached the pull cord. Deep in the house, Daphne heard a gong sounding.
Penelope’s sister glanced over at the movement. “Oh, be a dear and get tea for the lot of us. Run along and ask cook for some sandwiches. We’re all famished. It’s been hours since breakfast.”
Daphne smiled, recognizing the origin of Penelope’s imitation as her sister sent her off on an errand. Grace had always been her friend and confidant. Clearly, Penelope did not share the same closeness with her sister.
“And you are again?” the young man who had spoken of the arts before said, raising a monocle to stare at her.
She stared back, startled by the sudden attention.
“Oh, yes. The Scarborough girl. Younger, I presume? You look nothing like your sister.”
Daphne blushed under the sharp gaze, knowing full well she lacked her sister’s elegant looks. Her rounded cheeks and wide smile took away all chance of being considered a beauty, but she didn’t need a stranger pointing it out to her.
“I’m surprised you’ve ever met her,” Daphne shot, her tone as sharp as his look. “I can’t imagine my father allowing her to associate with those who’d speak so about the arts.”
He jerked back, the monocle falling to the end of its chain as he stared at her for a long moment, suffering the reminder of his earlier indelicacy. Then he laughed, a sharp bark of sound. “And unlike her, you have bite. Well, well, it’ll be an interesting season once you’re allowed out of those whites.”
Daphne twisted one of the colored ribbons between her fingers, finding both his comment and his regard uncomfortable.
The young man smiled, softening his expression until he seemed almost approachable. “No need to undo the careful curls in that ribbon. I won’t bite back. I like a woman with a little spice to her sweetness.”
Dropping her hand away, Daphne looked to the others, only to find them focused on different conversations. Penelope hadn’t returned from her errand, leaving Daphne to fend for herself.
“You’re so young,” the man said, suddenly seeming other than those gathered around Penelope’s sister. “You don’t really understand men at all, do you?”
He paused, but she said nothing, unsure what she could say.
“Never mind. Let’s choose a safe conversation, shall we? You can practice your wiles and I can get a break from dissecting the latest gossip. Did I detect an interest in Lord Pendleton?”
Daphne blushed, shaking her head in silence.
“Now that’s a pity. He’s managed to capture the heart of one not even offered on the marriage mart and he’s already claimed.” The man raised his monocle again and looked her over most intently. “What could have piqued your interest, I wonder. It couldn’t be the bluestockings. After all, as young as you are, I wonder if you can even read, much less so much that you worry about things well beyond your ken.”
“I read what I please,” Daphne muttered, suddenly tired of being examined as if a bug under a lens, especially when he seemed to take her for a child.
He smiled. “And what does please one such as you?”
Daphne’s thoughts flew to her dancer’s book, now tucked safely under her pillow, but she suppressed the memory. “Plato and Homer,” she said instead, her tone defiant. Her father had let them read whatever they wanted to from his personal library, though none had captured her attention as thoroughly as the dancer’s life.
A crow of laughter shook her out of her musing. The man stood up, pulling her with him. “Behold, I have Pendleton’s bluestocking. A self-professed reader of Plato, she’s pleasing enough to the eye and has a cutting tongue to keep him on his toes.”
Daphne pulled away, heat suffusing her face. She wished herself anywhere but here, among those who thought such nasty games a sign of sophistication.
“Oh, Bernard,” Penelope’s sister said reprovingly. “Leave my sister’s little friend alone. She probably read the names off books on her father’s desk. You are so gullible at times. Besides, he has his own debutante already and probably gets more from the deal than any bluestocking could offer.”
Bernard laughed again. “It’s all just in fun, you know. No harm intended. She’ll have to develop a thicker skin if she’s planning to hang about here.”
Daphne watched as he strode across the room toward another knot of people, grateful to see him leave. She couldn’t imagine Lord Pendleton being such a brute. Maybe if she had to marry, he’d be able to find someone of like mind. She couldn’t imagine being thrust in among ones like these for the rest of her life. At the very least, she’d want a husband she could talk to.
Shaking her head at how quickly she’d been turned from her true path by all this talk of coming out, Daphne pushed to her feet. She didn’t want a husband, and she did not want to stay here any longer.
At just that moment, Penelope reentered the room, leading a seemingly endless stream of servants bearing tea and small sandwiches for them to share. She stopped suddenly when she saw Daphne on her feet, almost bringing the whole parade to a crashing halt.
Penelope cut across the room, giving no thought to the chaos she’d caused, and approached Daphne. “You’re not leaving so soon?” she asked, her worried gaze scanning the two ladies who had shared the sofa with Daphne. “Can’t you stay at least for tea now that it’s here?”
Daphne opened her mouth to deny the request, but something in the other girl’s eyes made her change her mind. If she’d felt out of sorts in this company, who’s to say how Penelope had been treated.
Another flood of details from Penelope, ranging from the list of acceptable balls for first introductions to the possibility of small, private gatherings before, soon undermined her good intentions. When the butler came to announce the arrival of her carriage, Daphne felt a wave of gratitude toward Willem for the rescue. She said her goodbyes as quickly as she could and escaped before any additional arrangements could be made.
“Sorry I’m so late, my lady,” Willem said as he bowed her into the carriage. “Your mother would not hear of me returning so soon and so sent me on numerous errands I had to complete before coming for you.”
Daphne looked up at the sky, surprised to find that dark had fallen, though in summer the sun sank quite late. “I guess she saw no bother in me staying out so long,” Daphne murmured to herself, letting her shoulders slump as reaction to the crowded room and deliberate teasing swept over her. “And why should she? This is what all girls my age want to be doing.”
The bitterness in her tone surprised even Daphne. How could girls stomach such gatherings where the sole purpose seemed to be to tear people apart, both those poor victims present and those who did not grace the proceedings? At least her sister’s betrothed did not seem the type to participate.
Daphne’s head slumped against the seat cushion, and she fell asleep, her mind drawing pictures of an exceedingly handsome man, arm curled around her back as they spoke of the arts and philosophy.