The Apothecary's Daughter Part 8

"Christina, please," Lilly admonished. Christina's imitation was spot on, but Lilly did not wish to injure the man's feelings or reputation.

"What is he doing here?" William asked.

Christina shrugged. "He all but begged an invitation, and Mother hadn't the heart to refuse him."

Mr. Oscar Alban was educated, mild-mannered, and patient. He was also short, balding, and wore thick spectacles and ill-fitting clothes. It was little wonder parents trusted him with their daughters.

Mr. Alban bowed before Christina's parents, who now stood conversing with Lilly's aunt and two older couples. "Mr. and Mrs. Price-Winters. Thank you for your generous-s-s invitation. I cannot remember when I've enjoyed mys-s-self more."

Mrs. Price-Winters was reserved in her reply. "You are welcome, Mr. Alban."

The tutor turned to those a.s.sembled around his host and hostess. "I had the privilege of instructing Miss Price-Winters s-s-some years ago. And now Miss Has-s-well also. It as been a rare honor indeed to teach two s-s-such fine and gifted ladies."

"Thank you, Mr. Alban."

"Miss Has-s-well's progress with the romance languages has s-s-surpa.s.sed every expectation, although Miss Price-Winters can proudly claim the s-s-superior accent."

"That is Christina," Mr. Price-Winters interjected. "Our little myna bird."

"But Miss Has-s-well has memorized French and Italian vocabulary more quickly than any s-s-student I have ever had the pleasure of teaching."

William leaned near Lilly and teased quietly, "Bluestocking."

"I s-s-suppose her background and her familiarity with Latin-"

Aunt Elliott interrupted abruptly. "Mr. Alban, why do you not dance with my niece? I am sure she would benefit from instruction there as well."

"Ah a well a I do not claim to be a dancing master. But, of course, I s-s-should be pleased to dance with Miss Has-s-well." He turned toward her. "If she would oblige me."

Lilly forced a smile. "Of course."

As he escorted her to the dance floor, he asked quietly, "What was it I s-s-said to offend?"

"Please forgive my aunt, Mr. Alban. It is only that she prefers as little as possible said of my background. Not everyone sees knowledge of Latin and physic as a credit to accomplished young ladies."

"I s-s-see."

"I ought not to have mentioned my past to you. It was just a you struggled so to account for my progress, and I didn't want you to think "

"That I am a more gifted teacher than I truly am?" he wryly supplied.

"No! I did not mean-"

"There, there Miss Has-s-well. I understand. Do not fret -I shall take all the credit for your amazing progress from here on."

When the dance ended, Lilly excused herself from Mr. Alban and rejoined Christina and her brother.

"And where is Mr. Bromley this evening? " Christina asked.

"I have yet to see him," Lilly said. She still held out hope for this suitor. Roger Bromley did not seem put off by her lack of t.i.tle or sizeable income. But then again neither he nor his parents likely knew her father was in trade, nor were they aware of her mother's disgrace. Lilly wondered how long his interest would last once they knew.

"I see the swell," Will said, "there by the door."

Lilly followed Will's gaze and saw Mr. Bromley, stylishly dressed in black tailcoat and white waistcoat. He stood before a willowy blonde in blue satin with an overdress of white netting. "Who is that he is talking to?"

"Susan Whittier a" Will breathed, staring.

Lilly stared as well and felt a stirring of dread. "I have never seen her before."

"She was away much of last season," Christina explained. "Touring Italy, I believe."

"She is very beautiful," Lilly acknowledged, and swallowed a lump of envy.

"Is she?" Will said innocently. "I had not noticed."

Lilly was unsuccessful in restraining her sarcasm. "And neither, I see, has Mr. Bromley."

With a dismissive wave, Christina said, "Oh, he tried to engage her affections two years ago but was soundly rebuffed. You have nothing to fear from her, Lillian."

Had she not? Lilly saw Mr. Bromley's awestruck expression and did not feel rea.s.sured.

As they watched, Roger Bromley offered Miss Whittier his arm. She patted it as though it were the head of a child, laughed, and twirled away in a flutter of blue satin. Even from across the room, Lilly could not miss the man's crestfallen countenance.

He glanced their way.

To pretend they had not witnessed his rejection, the three quickly feigned engrossed conversation. By the time Bromley had crossed the room and stood before them, a bright smile had transformed his handsome face.

"Price-Winters, you old hound," he began. "Monopolizing the two handsomest ladies in the room, I see. The missus would not approve." He bowed to Christina. "Miss Price-Winters."

"Bromley."

He turned toward Lilly. "And Miss Haswell. What a delight. I do hope you have saved at least one dance for poor me?"

She answered warmly, "Of course I have."

Mr. Bromley had become one of her most frequent partners. He was an elegant, slim young man of middling height and excellent bearing. Straight brown hair framed cla.s.sic English features. He was also the only son of a wealthy family, as her aunt often reminded her. As though Lilly needed reminding.

"Excellent," he said. "Then I shall have the next and the last and as many as I can in between, when the chaperones aren't looking."

She smiled at him, and his answering smile almost reached his eyes. She studied his face, wondering just what was between him and the lovely Miss Susan Whittier.

At the end of the evening, Lilly found herself alone, surrept.i.tiously searching the crowd for Mr. Bromley, who had requested the last dance with her. The first notes of a slow, ceremonious minuet began.

William Price-Winters hurried by. Seeing her, he paused. "Miss Haswell. Not sitting this one out, I hope? Oh, that's right. Bromley claimed the final. Where is that chap?"

"I do not know."

At that moment Roger Bromley and Susan Whittier walked past and joined the dance.

Will saw them too. "Oh. Well, I say."

"She has agreed to a dance after all," Lilly said. "How nice for Mr. Bromley."

Will was not fooled. "I am sorry, Miss Haswell. My wife is waiting, or I "

"Think nothing of it, Mr. Price-Winters. I have enjoyed a great deal of dancing this evening."

"Wait," Will said triumphantly. "Graves here will dance with you.

"Really, I am fine-"

Will grabbed the arm of a nearby man she had never seen before and turned him around to face her. And a very handsome face it was. Thin nose. Pale blond hair swept over his right temple. A faint moustache, not in present fashion, shadowed his upper lip. "May I present Adam Graves. We were at Oxford together. This is Miss Haswell. Most sensible girl in the room, I a.s.sure you." Will winked at her. "Even if she is my sister's friend."

Lilly curtsied to the newcomer. When she looked up, the blondhaired man still stood as he was, stiffly staring at her with startled blue eyes. After a tense moment, he gave a jerky nod.

Will clapped Graves on the shoulder. "Good man." Will walked away to find his wife, who had finally made an appearance.

Still the man made no move. Did not offer his arm nor open his mouth. An awkward silence followed, and Lilly felt her cheeks burn. How mortifying.

She turned slightly so that she was facing at an angle between Mr. Graves and the dance floor. Blindly, she gazed toward the other couples moving gracefully through the delicate steps of the dance.

"It is all right, Mr. Graves," she said without looking his way. "You needn't dance with me. Mr. Price-Winters was only acting the part of protective brother. I do not mind sitting out."

"Graves! " Will hissed as he and his wife stepped near, then away again.

Finally, Mr. Graves woodenly offered his arm. "Will you dance?"

She had long ago promised herself never to reject a man who'd gathered his courage to ask for a dance. The automatic response, "I'd be delighted," would not come forth, however. She took a deep breath and forced out a quiet, "Very well."

They joined the minuet in progress. He led her to an open s.p.a.ce in the ballroom and took up the movements with stiff, minimal precision. She tempered her own steps accordingly. He kept his gaze averted.

She sighed inwardly. Throughout the previous season and now this new one, she had danced with dozens of gentlemen she secretly found disagreeable or unappealing. But never, she hoped, had she made her disinterest as plain as Mr. Graves made his now. Everyone in the room undoubtedly saw how loath he was to dance with her.

She discreetly glanced around at the other dancers. There at the front were Roger Bromley and Susan Whittier. Roger beamed at his partner, though Susan stared aloofly off in the distance. Miss Whittier and Mr. Graves ought to be dancing together, Lilly thought, since both appeared to be enjoying themselves equally.

Suddenly, over Roger's head, Lilly glimpsed a familiar profile. She started, drawing in a breath and turning her face away quickly. There was no mistaking that imposing figure nor those sharp features. Roderick Marlow? Here? Now? To witness her humiliation? To reveal, to her aunt and uncle's mortification, her ident.i.ty as an apothecary's daughter, which to most in attendance, granted her the status of a mere shopkeeper's daughter?

On the next turn of the dance, she stole another glance. Roderick Marlow stood talking to Mr. and Mrs. Price-Winters. On his arm was a stunning woman with splendid maple-leaf-red hair. Mr. Marlow glanced up and his eyes narrowed. Again she averted her face. Had he seen her?

As the musicians reached the final stanzas, Lillian stepped closer to her partner. "Please excuse me, Mr. Graves. I fear I must take my leave."

He stopped dancing and stood there. He opened his mouth, but she was already turning away. She was several yards away from him when his "Of course" reached her ears. Normally she would have hated to be so rude, but in this case she a.s.sumed her partner would be relieved to be free of the duty to escort her back to her place and falsely thank her. She again glimpsed Mr. Marlow's face above the heads of the crowd. She could not be certain, but was he trying to weave his way toward her? She walked quickly away to the safety of the ladies lounge.

Her aunt found her there several minutes later. "There you are, my dear. Are you all right? "

"Yes. Merely tired."

"Your uncle and I are ready to depart, if you are certain you do not wish to remain longer?"

"I am ready."

Gathering their wraps, they made their way to thank their hosts near the door. A man's hand touched her gloved arm and she started. But it was only Will Price-Winters. His usually cheery face was serious. "Miss Haswell, I hope you will not take my friend's reluctance as an affront toward your lovely person. Graves is the most reticent chap I know."

She quickly skimmed the crowd around them. "Think no more of it. Good night, Mr. Price-Winters."

He eyed her closely. "You are certain you are all right?"

"Quite, I thank you. Do say good-bye to Christina for me."

"I shall."

On the carriage ride home, Aunt Elliott squeezed Lilly's hand. "Well done, my dear."

"Pray what do you mean?"

"Roger Bromley favored you with more dances than any other lady present."

Perhaps not by choice, however, Lilly thought. "Yes, he was very kind."

"More than kind, my dear," Aunt Elliott said. "He is evidently quite taken with you. And as a gentleman of means, Mr. Bromley is under no compulsion to find a wealthy wife of the ton. I know we were disappointed last season, my dear, but I trust we shall prevail this time."

Lilly only smiled meekly. She had thought so, too, before tonight. Before she had seen the way he looked at Miss Whittier. Had her aunt not noticed? Had she seen only what she wished to see?

Ruth Elliott continued, "I was a little concerned when I saw you dancing with that fair gentleman at the last."

"Were you. Why?"

"Chap with the moustache, you mean? " Uncle Elliott interrupted. "Someone ought to tell him it isn't all the crack, no matter what some officers seem to believe."

Her aunt continued undeterred, "Have you met him before?"

"No. Christina's brother introduced us. A Mr. Graves, I believe. They were at Oxford together."

"Ah a Graves," her uncle said. "Mr. Price-Winters told me he is awaiting licentiateship in the Royal College."