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“LORD FEATHERSTONE ISN't here. How awful!” Amy whines, hiding her pout behind an ornate fan. “Who am I to dance with if the viscount isn't here?”
Amy's twin, who usually listens to her woes, is already on the dance floor. Only Rosalind is around to hear about her younger sister's plight. Our charge looks bored, but not half as bored as Ben, who looks more than ready for the ball to end—and we only arrived ten minutes ago. I'm out of my element as well. I have very little in common with rich people in fancy dresses.
“You could dance with Mr. Arkwright. I'm sure he's still smitten with you,” Rosalind suggests.
“Mr. Arkwright? Is he here?” Amy's pout morphs into a sneer that is even less endearing than the expression that preceded it. “He's sweaty and old and odious. He can be smitten all he wants, but I shall never give him the time of day.”
Ben leans toward our charge and says, “Hey... Rosalind. I've got some advice for you. Why don't you walk far, far across the room... as far away from your sister as you can possibly get?”
Unfortunately, Rosalind doesn't take his advice, and we're all subjected to more of Amy's chatter.
“Mr. Arkwright seems like more of a match for you, Rose,” Amy says.
Rosalind replies with a chuckle, “Why? Because I am also odious and prone to perspiration?”
“No. I made the suggestion because he's a bachelor who is actually older than you,” Amy replies. “As you advance in age, I'm sure that's gotten more difficult to find.”
“Listen to this girl!” Ben exclaims. “Why's she talkin' like her sister is ancient?”
“Because she's seventeen?” I suggest. “I don't like it either, but things were different in this time period. Ladies married young, and once women reached a certain age, their prospects dwindled. That's just the way it was.”
“Oh dear!” Amy cries. “Mr. Arkwright has spotted me, and I do believe he's coming toward us! Will you stand in front of me, Rose? Perhaps he will feel compelled to ask you for a dance instead of me?”
“I'm sure there's little chance of that,” Rosalind says. “When he asks you to dance, you could always decline. Tell him you're unwell.”
“If I do that, I won't be able to dance with anyone else!” Amy's throat makes a dramatic squeak, as if dancing with Mr. Arkwright is the most dreadful thing in the world. “Why do I have the world's worst luck? Lord Featherstone isn't here, I lost my favorite ribbon, and now Mr. Arkwright won't leave me alone!”
When I glance in Ben's direction, his face says it all. He's as disgusted by this girl's attitude as I am. I'm just glad Rosalind is our charge, not Amy.
The intolerable twin puts on a pretty good performance when Mr. Arkwright arrives. She stops whimpering, fakes a smile, and exchanges pleasantries like a pro. She even manages to sound delighted when he asks for a dance.
“Good riddance,” Ben says as Amy is led to the dance floor. “I couldn't stand her voice. I was about to manifest some ear plugs.”
“She was... distracting,” I reply—which is the nicest thing I can think to say about her. “Anyway, now we can focus on finding a guy for Rosalind. Who looks like a match for her?”
“You're actually asking for my opinion? I'm surprised. Last time, you decided it would be Angelica and Isaiah all the way, and I didn't get a vote.”
How many times do I have to explain this to Ben? Ugh. “The difference was, Isaiah was specifically interested in Angelica. Rosalind doesn't have a preference, she just wants a husband.”
Ben is getting on my nerves, so I suggest parting ways so we can gather information on our own. I wander around the room and spy on gossiping ladies, which is the best way to get the scoop. They like to talk about who's eligible, who's not, and who's courting who. After some deliberation, I decide on a target: a man who's just as shy as Rosalind.
I don't want this to end up like the Isaiah mission, so I should get Ben's opinion before I move forward. When I find him, he's standing next to a young man with some of the longest sideburns I've ever seen.
Ben shouts at him, “Do you see that girl over there, the one with the brown hair? Her name's Rosalind. You should ask her on a date!”
My face dives into the palm of my hand. “Ben... people don't really do dates in this time period. He can call on her, court her, or ask her to dance, but dating wasn't really a thing.”
“Okay... then ask her to dance,” Ben corrects himself. “I think you should ask her to dance, bro. She's kind of cute, right?”
“I don't know how well a man in this time period would respond to bro, either,” I lecture Ben. “You should try to match their manners and speech. Say something like, that young lady over there, Miss Rosalind Banks, would be amenable to a dance partner.”
“Screw that! Could you really imagine me saying something like that?”
While Ben and I are talking, sideburns guy takes off and asks a different girl to dance. I can't say I'm disappointed. I like my choice better.
“Ben, do you see that guy over there? The one who's standing by himself?” I direct my student's attention to Thomas Weston, the male equivalent of a wallflower. “I've spent the night gathering information on him. He's thirty-seven years old, he's never been married, and he's only here because he's chaperoning his niece. People think he's shy, charming, and he spends most of his time with his elderly mother. I think he'd be the perfect guy for Rosalind.”
Thomas is handsome, but not in a way that's immediately obvious—kind of like Rosalind.
I continue, “Before you freak out, I know he's a little older than her, and that was one of the reasons why you didn't like Isaiah and Angelica, but—”
“You can do whatever you want,” Ben interrupts. “I was probably being a jerk on the Isaiah mission. It's not like I'm the world's greatest matchmaker or anything. Girls are usually better at this kind of thing.”
“We are,” I agree. “Anyway... I'm going to talk to Thomas. Do you want to come with me?”
With bored eyes and silent lips, Ben follows. Just when I think he doesn't care about this mission, he screams at Thomas, “That young lady over there, Miss Rosalind Banks, would be amenable to a dance partner!”
Pointing at the goosebumps on Thomas' neck, I explain, “That's what happens when a spirit is a bit too forceful. You don't have to shout as loud as that.”
“Oh.” A bit more quietly, he repeats to Thomas, “That lady over there, Miss Rosalind Banks, would be amenable to a dance partner.”
A moment later, Mr. Weston is on the move. He dashes over to Rosalind and introduces himself with a smile.
“I believe we've met before, Miss Banks,” Thomas says. “My mother was a friend of your father.”
“Yes, of course! How could I not remember that?” Rosalind asks. “But they were more than friends, weren't they? She jilted him.”
“I'm afraid so.” Thomas is chuckling, but his eyes are wincing. “I hope you will not jilt me when I ask for a dance?”
“You... want to dance with me, Mr. Weston?”
“That is what I'm asking, yes,” Thomas says. “If you decline, I'll think you're getting revenge on behalf of your father.”
“What revenge? What happened between our parents is ancient history. We are both old now.”
“We, Miss Banks?” Thomas chuckles again. “You're far from old, but... I'm afraid my own youth is behind me.”
Rosalind accepts a dance, but she warns him it's been ages since she's had a partner. He claims it's been twice as long for him, and she should expect him to tread on her toes. Arm-in-arm, they head to the middle of the room, where they line up for a dance called a “quadrille.” Ben's head shakes as he watches them.
“Can you imagine a modern guy dancing like that?” Ben asks. “Hell no. The ladies in this time period must have really had men wrapped around their fingers if they can get them to prance around like that.”
“I think it's kind of cute,” I disagree.
“Would you like to dance?” Ben asks. “With me, I mean.”
“The quadrille? No thanks. I wouldn't really know how to—”
Ben suddenly pulls me closer and wraps his arms around my waist. Before I know it, we're slow dancing.
“I think you're really pretty, you know,” Ben whispers to me. “You're way prettier than any of the ladies in their fancy dresses.”
I'm not sure how to respond to that—I'm not even sure why I'm letting this dance happen. I could pull away from him, but I don't want to.
“Thomas, he, uh... he...” Ben has me so flustered, I can't get my words out. “He doesn't have to be our only option. We can keep looking for other prospects.”
Ben ignores me and says, “You do this thing sometimes where you scrunch up your nose when you get mad at me. It's really cute.”
“Did you even hear me?” I ask. “Ben!”
“Yeah. We can keep looking for other prospects,” Ben repeats, verbatim. “Also... you can lay your head on my shoulder if you want.”
My head's not going anywhere, but I do wrap my arms around him—and I wish I hadn't, because it makes him grin. This boy drives me crazy in all kinds of ways, and there's a part of me that likes it.
Resisting Ben Worthington is my secret mission.