Read Online Belle of the ball by Donna Lea Simpson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Donna Lea Simpson
Tags: Trad-Reg
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catching them.
And she had released many a gentleman fish, only to see them swim almost directly into the nets of another fisherwoman. Lord Sweetan, her would-be fiancée from the previous year, was already engaged. He was said to be in London, but they had not yet chanced to be at the same event. She could only be glad; their last interview had not been pleasant. She drifted over to the chaperone's area and joined her mother. Lady Swinley was magnificent in dark plum satin—last year's dress, just as Arabella's was—and wore an ostrich plume in her turban.
Just as she was about to speak to her mother, someone touched her elbow and she whirled, her heart thudding. It was Lord Pelimore, and she felt foolish for the hope that had leaped into her heart. She knew he was not coming that night; had not Eveleen already told her that?
"Miss Swinley," the aging peer said, with a bow, "I do not often dance, as you know, but if there is a space on your card free, I would be most pleased if you would sit one out with me."
Lady Swinley's eyes shone with triumph, and she said, "My daughter would be delighted, sir. Your gracious condescension has undone her, thus her silence. In fact, her next dance is free." She nudged Arabella with her elbow.
"Uh, yes, my lord. As a matter of fact, I do have this dance free, the only free one on my card, I fear." It would not do to look too available. No man desired what no other man wanted. They were competitive beasts, like dogs eyeing a bone. Each wanted the choice bits, and the choice bits must be what everyone else wanted. My, but she was utilizing animal metaphors of late! She smiled and curtsied, and Lord Pelimore took her arm and escorted her to a seating area in an alcove behind a marble pillar, out of sight of most of the crowd. Arabella felt faintly uneasy, but the gentleman released her arm and sat wearily down. It appeared all he wanted was some peace and quiet.
"Hot in here," he said, mopping his brow with a handkerchief. He blew his nose in it, then retrieved his snuff case, offered her some, and when she refused, took a great snort himself. He sneezed repeatedly and blew his nose once more before putting away the handkerchief. His nose was a little bulbous, and threaded with red veins.
Snapping open her fan and waving it languidly to hide her repulsion, Arabella murmured, "Yes, it is a trifle warm."
"How those young gels do giggle," he said, critically, gazing at a gaggle of seventeen-year-old girls, all in white as befitted them so early in their first Season.
And I suppose I am ancient, Arabella thought crossly, suddenly feeling old. She was three-and-twenty, and being courted by a man old enough to be her grandfather.
There was silence for a moment, and when Arabella stole a glance sideways it was to find Pelimore staring at her. She smiled.
"Won't beat about the bush, m'girl. Not getting any younger. Not that I'm as old as that Lord Oakmont. Friend of m'father's, b'lieve it or not. Have you heard the news?"
Bewildered, Arabella shook her head.
Pelimore pulled at his breeches and shifted uneasily on the marble bench. "Oakmont," he continued, "he's ninety-four, I b'lieve. Going to stick his spoon in the wall any day, it's said. Frantic search for the heir. Some great-nephew has come forth. Don't want that to happen to me. Been thinking about that ever since m'son Jamie up and died last year. Thirty-eight, and he dies b'fore his pa. Ain't right. Not at all. So, I'm in the market." He gazed at her with squinted eyes, as he would size up a prize bit of horseflesh. He nodded once. "I'm in the market for a wife, y'see."
Arabella fidgeted in her chair. It almost sounded like he was going to make her an offer right then and there! She should be grateful for this blunt approach, since she wanted no sweet words from the elderly man, but she was not ready for the proposal yet. Desperately wanting to put off the moment, she picked up the subject, settling her skirts around her and
And she had released many a gentleman fish, only to see them swim almost directly into the nets of another fisherwoman. Lord Sweetan, her would-be fiancée from the previous year, was already engaged. He was said to be in London, but they had not yet chanced to be at the same event. She could only be glad; their last interview had not been pleasant. She drifted over to the chaperone's area and joined her mother. Lady Swinley was magnificent in dark plum satin—last year's dress, just as Arabella's was—and wore an ostrich plume in her turban.
Just as she was about to speak to her mother, someone touched her elbow and she whirled, her heart thudding. It was Lord Pelimore, and she felt foolish for the hope that had leaped into her heart. She knew he was not coming that night; had not Eveleen already told her that?
"Miss Swinley," the aging peer said, with a bow, "I do not often dance, as you know, but if there is a space on your card free, I would be most pleased if you would sit one out with me."
Lady Swinley's eyes shone with triumph, and she said, "My daughter would be delighted, sir. Your gracious condescension has undone her, thus her silence. In fact, her next dance is free." She nudged Arabella with her elbow.
"Uh, yes, my lord. As a matter of fact, I do have this dance free, the only free one on my card, I fear." It would not do to look too available. No man desired what no other man wanted. They were competitive beasts, like dogs eyeing a bone. Each wanted the choice bits, and the choice bits must be what everyone else wanted. My, but she was utilizing animal metaphors of late! She smiled and curtsied, and Lord Pelimore took her arm and escorted her to a seating area in an alcove behind a marble pillar, out of sight of most of the crowd. Arabella felt faintly uneasy, but the gentleman released her arm and sat wearily down. It appeared all he wanted was some peace and quiet.
"Hot in here," he said, mopping his brow with a handkerchief. He blew his nose in it, then retrieved his snuff case, offered her some, and when she refused, took a great snort himself. He sneezed repeatedly and blew his nose once more before putting away the handkerchief. His nose was a little bulbous, and threaded with red veins.
Snapping open her fan and waving it languidly to hide her repulsion, Arabella murmured, "Yes, it is a trifle warm."
"How those young gels do giggle," he said, critically, gazing at a gaggle of seventeen-year-old girls, all in white as befitted them so early in their first Season.
And I suppose I am ancient, Arabella thought crossly, suddenly feeling old. She was three-and-twenty, and being courted by a man old enough to be her grandfather.
There was silence for a moment, and when Arabella stole a glance sideways it was to find Pelimore staring at her. She smiled.
"Won't beat about the bush, m'girl. Not getting any younger. Not that I'm as old as that Lord Oakmont. Friend of m'father's, b'lieve it or not. Have you heard the news?"
Bewildered, Arabella shook her head.
Pelimore pulled at his breeches and shifted uneasily on the marble bench. "Oakmont," he continued, "he's ninety-four, I b'lieve. Going to stick his spoon in the wall any day, it's said. Frantic search for the heir. Some great-nephew has come forth. Don't want that to happen to me. Been thinking about that ever since m'son Jamie up and died last year. Thirty-eight, and he dies b'fore his pa. Ain't right. Not at all. So, I'm in the market." He gazed at her with squinted eyes, as he would size up a prize bit of horseflesh. He nodded once. "I'm in the market for a wife, y'see."
Arabella fidgeted in her chair. It almost sounded like he was going to make her an offer right then and there! She should be grateful for this blunt approach, since she wanted no sweet words from the elderly man, but she was not ready for the proposal yet. Desperately wanting to put off the moment, she picked up the subject, settling her skirts around her and
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