Read Online The Waltzing Widow by Gayle Buck - Free Book Online
Authors: Gayle Buck
Tags: Romance
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happen, she thought hopefully.
Her decision made. Lady Mary got into bed. She blew out the candle on her bedside table and settled herself against the soft pillows. She was tired and quickly fell asleep. But her night was not entirely restful, being disturbed by half-formed dreams of flashing bayonets and the ominous rolling of drums.
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Chapter 7
That fortnight, while all Brussels waited to hear what Bonaparte was getting up to, the Spence ladies adjusted to their new surroundings. Abigail had never been in such an exciting place, and never in her life had she met so many different people.
Brussels society was truly international in character. Though a surprisingly large number of Belgians spoke English, they heard just as much French and Flemish as well as a heavy sprinkling of German, Spanish, and Russian. There seemed to be a representative of royalty from every European country on the map in residence in the city. During a particularly long introduction of royalty at a ball, Abigail whispered to her mother, “Fancy! I had no notion that those with royal blood in their veins outnumbered their subject populations.'’ Though Lady Mary hushed her impertinent daughter, she could barely stifle a gurgling laugh as the ballroom company again dipped low like so many swaying grasses at the entrance of yet another royal personage.
Lady Mary and Abigail quickly found their feet in society, and they could count a great many cordial acquaintances among the English, many of whom recalled Lady Mary as a pretty, well-bred girl and had welcomed her back to her proper place in the ton. The Spence ladies had also a lesser but growing number of friends among the congenial Belgians, whom they had found as a people to be especially courteous, having an incorrigible habit of shaking hands upon meeting or departing.
The ball that evening was hosted by the du Boises, a prominent Belgian family.
Lady Mary had made the acquaintance of Madame Helen du Bois while out shopping only a week previously. Madame du Bois was an Englishwoman who had married a Belgian gentleman of consequence. Lady Mary had immediately liked the lovely and sociable Madame du Bois, and her liking was reciprocated in full. The two ladies promised to visit more formally and exchanged directions.
That same afternoon Madame du Bois had come to call, accompanied by her daughter. Mademoiselle Michele du Bois was of an age with Abigail. She had not inherited her mother's pale English loveliness, but instead was a striking brunette. Her black curls, her heavily lashed and sparkling midnight-blue eyes, her elegant hourglass figure—all served to intimidate Abigail, who felt pale and childlike by comparison. But Michele's ease of manner and complete lack of condescension quickly reassured Abigail, and within minutes the two girls had become instant friends, each having discovered a kindred spirit in the other as they talked animatedly of parties, lovely gowns, gentlemanly admiration, and romantic ideals.
Lady Mary had regarded the two girls, one head gold and one shining black, as together they looked over a book of fashion plates. The girls animatedly debated the merits of a certain lace for an evening gown, completely oblivious of the older women's more staid conversation.
Lady Mary smiled as she glanced over at her visitor. “I am glad Abigail has found someone of her own age so soon. I had feared that she would be horribly homesick for her old friends at first,” she said.
"I am also glad that the girls have hit it off so well. Michele needs someone besides myself with whom she can practice her English. I infinitely prefer that a young lady such as Abigail become her constant companion rather than one of these dashing young officers,” Madame du Bois said with a laugh.
Lady Mary laughed also and nodded. “The young gentlemen are rascals, are they not? Abigail has heard nothing but compliments since we arrived, and her head is quite turned
Her decision made. Lady Mary got into bed. She blew out the candle on her bedside table and settled herself against the soft pillows. She was tired and quickly fell asleep. But her night was not entirely restful, being disturbed by half-formed dreams of flashing bayonets and the ominous rolling of drums.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 7
That fortnight, while all Brussels waited to hear what Bonaparte was getting up to, the Spence ladies adjusted to their new surroundings. Abigail had never been in such an exciting place, and never in her life had she met so many different people.
Brussels society was truly international in character. Though a surprisingly large number of Belgians spoke English, they heard just as much French and Flemish as well as a heavy sprinkling of German, Spanish, and Russian. There seemed to be a representative of royalty from every European country on the map in residence in the city. During a particularly long introduction of royalty at a ball, Abigail whispered to her mother, “Fancy! I had no notion that those with royal blood in their veins outnumbered their subject populations.'’ Though Lady Mary hushed her impertinent daughter, she could barely stifle a gurgling laugh as the ballroom company again dipped low like so many swaying grasses at the entrance of yet another royal personage.
Lady Mary and Abigail quickly found their feet in society, and they could count a great many cordial acquaintances among the English, many of whom recalled Lady Mary as a pretty, well-bred girl and had welcomed her back to her proper place in the ton. The Spence ladies had also a lesser but growing number of friends among the congenial Belgians, whom they had found as a people to be especially courteous, having an incorrigible habit of shaking hands upon meeting or departing.
The ball that evening was hosted by the du Boises, a prominent Belgian family.
Lady Mary had made the acquaintance of Madame Helen du Bois while out shopping only a week previously. Madame du Bois was an Englishwoman who had married a Belgian gentleman of consequence. Lady Mary had immediately liked the lovely and sociable Madame du Bois, and her liking was reciprocated in full. The two ladies promised to visit more formally and exchanged directions.
That same afternoon Madame du Bois had come to call, accompanied by her daughter. Mademoiselle Michele du Bois was of an age with Abigail. She had not inherited her mother's pale English loveliness, but instead was a striking brunette. Her black curls, her heavily lashed and sparkling midnight-blue eyes, her elegant hourglass figure—all served to intimidate Abigail, who felt pale and childlike by comparison. But Michele's ease of manner and complete lack of condescension quickly reassured Abigail, and within minutes the two girls had become instant friends, each having discovered a kindred spirit in the other as they talked animatedly of parties, lovely gowns, gentlemanly admiration, and romantic ideals.
Lady Mary had regarded the two girls, one head gold and one shining black, as together they looked over a book of fashion plates. The girls animatedly debated the merits of a certain lace for an evening gown, completely oblivious of the older women's more staid conversation.
Lady Mary smiled as she glanced over at her visitor. “I am glad Abigail has found someone of her own age so soon. I had feared that she would be horribly homesick for her old friends at first,” she said.
"I am also glad that the girls have hit it off so well. Michele needs someone besides myself with whom she can practice her English. I infinitely prefer that a young lady such as Abigail become her constant companion rather than one of these dashing young officers,” Madame du Bois said with a laugh.
Lady Mary laughed also and nodded. “The young gentlemen are rascals, are they not? Abigail has heard nothing but compliments since we arrived, and her head is quite turned
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