March 25, 1819
Dear Reggie:
I am writing to caution you, do not come down for this year’s Season. I am sending a similar warning to Roland and Potts. I have been here a week with Charles, and it is an absolute terror. You remember last year’s crop of wallflowers, the dozen or so we enjoyed mocking, laughing at their dull appearances. Well, they seem to have banded together with this year’s batch of nature’s unfortunates to entrap gentlemen into dances employing a fiendish number of ruses and ploys.
My first engagement after arriving in Town was a ball in the Coopersville’s splendid dance palace. Everyone who was anyone attended, including many of this year’s beauties. But who did I dance with first? Miss Hildegard Mayweather. You remember her, the tall, horse-faced gel who always stooped when standing. I was wandering the ballroom getting my first glimpse of this year’s crop of debutants, when three of those wallflowers passed me. Miss Mayweather tripped on my foot, falling to the floor. Well, don’t you know, the geese had to honk at this.
With at least twenty guests watching this comedy, I helped Miss Mayweather to her feet. She reported no injuries, and there were the required introductions all around. Her companions, Amelia Peeny and Juliet Waiffleton, (note those names!) in so many words, intimated I was at fault and suggested that a suitable apology would be a dance. With everyone listening, what could I say? To avoid a scene, I danced with Miss Mayweather.
After that tedious experience, I spied Tommy Brents and Oliver Sidley speaking with a beauty, Miss Roselyn Carruthers, and begged an introduction. When I asked her to dance, she declined, saying she desired a rest after five sets. As quick as you can, Miss Carruthers turned and drew a chit from behind her, none other than Miss Peeny, saying, “However, if you desire a dance, I believe you have been introduced, and she is an excellent dancer.” If I didn’t know better, with my title, estates, and fortune, I would suspect Miss Carruthers of using the wallflowers to shield her from less desirable beaus.
What could I say? To avoid ruining my chances with Miss Carruthers, I graciously acceded to her suggestion and danced with Miss Peeny. I own, that girl smirked the entire set.
The evening was well on its way to being a complete damper. I spied the lovely Lady Penelope Hansworth, who we all had been introduced to last Season. I made a trot in her direction but was waylaid by some ‘Bartholomew baby,’ a homely, fubsy chit in the gaudiest pink dress I have ever had the misfortune of seeing. My eyes have yet to recover. She calls me by name, “Lord Essington, well met.” I swear I have never seen the woman before. I think I would remember such a flounce-swathed creature. When I asked, “Have we been introduced?”, she laughed loudly, drawing undo attention, saying that we were introduced last year at the Earl of Farnsworth’s May party. I tell you, it never happened, yet this Lady Prudence Stout had all the particulars and shamed me for not remembering that another paragon of beauty, Miss Caroline Bedlington, had done the honors. You remember her, we all lusted after Miss B’s blond proportions last Season. Well, Lady Stout hits me with her fan and says that Miss Bedlington will be shocked to hear I don’t remember the introduction but says—If you can believe it—that she won’t say a thing to Miss B. if I did a waltz with her.
If Miss Peeny was a nightmare, waltzing with Lady Stout was inhuman torture. I swear she trod on my toes on purpose a dozen times.
It is no exaggeration when I write I spent the entire ball dancing with these sorry creatures, wallflowers all. It is no happenstance. Charles related the same harrowing tales, same traps, and new ones, the next night at Lady Template’s assembly. That same Wednesday last week, Almack’s proved far worse for me. The refreshments were bleak as usual, but try as I might, I could not avoid being snared into dancing with the premier drabs of the evening, particularly when the mothers joined the schemes. Unnerved, I left early to avoid any more of these Cheiranthus cheiri torments.
I hesitate to attend any upcoming balls, soirees, or any other Season function which involves dancing. I tell you, it is a Plot among all the women, radiant and dull, young and old. The wallflowers are out to ruin our Season, relentlessly trap us into dancing with them, if not snare us into marriage.
Be Warned,
Willy
Fifteen: A Cautionary Tale: Wallflower Stratagems for Securing a Dance.
