The Brahmin Ball (A Sweet Historical Romance Novella) (Brahmin Brides Book 1) (3 page)

“That’s happy news about your mother. And you have a new position here in Boston, already?”

“Yes, with Appleton, Curtis and White. They’re very prominent in the Boston legal community, and I’ve been assured that with my family connections, I can expect rapid advancement and large cases. Uncle Edgar believes that’s imperative for someone with an aspiration toward politics.”

“And have politics always been your aspiration?”

He pressed his lips together, aiming his eyes momentarily at the ceiling. “Wellll, I wouldn’t say that. I prefer
practicing
the law. And I want to settle down. I wouldn’t want a political career to infringe upon time with my future family. But Uncle Edgar insists that I at least consider my options. And I admit, having a direct hand in changing the course of American law does have its appeal.”

“It does sound exciting, when you put it that way.”

“And what have
you
been up to in the years since our first meeting, Miss Barstow?”

Grace’s chest tightened, and she averted her eyes. “There isn’t much to tell.”
Not much that I want to share, anyway.

“Oh, that’s not what I hear.”

Her heart pounded against her chest. “What do you mean?”

“I know your little secret.”

She kept her face a frozen mask, dreading the worst.

“Your charitable activities.”

“My…what?” She blinked, confused.

“Oh, come now. I know you’re modest, but don’t be
too
modest. Aunt Alice told me years ago that you were involved in the charity league, and that you were instrumental in raising funds for the poor widows. Are you still involved in that cause?”

Grace sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. He didn’t know.

“Yes, I did. I
am
, I should say. I haven’t participated very much in the fundraisers in the recent past, but I feel very strongly that we should take care of those who have lost their husbands.” It was an understatement; after what she’d been through, and after watching her mother lose her father, and all that followed, she was even more dedicated to the cause than ever.

“That’s a worthy cause indeed. I’ve witnessed first hand what losing a spouse can do to a woman—and my mother had a reliable income to fall back on, and no little ones to support. I can’t even imagine the incredible burden a widow must face when she’s left penniless and alone, to raise a young brood.”

Grace kept her eyes averted, afraid they would betray her thoughts. He was the first person she’d met who could even begin to understand all that she and her sisters had gone through. Not that their plight could begin to match that of a poor widow with young ones, but it was jarring nonetheless. He might not understand her situation exactly, but she felt he was a man who could at least empathize.

But
would
he? If he knew the full truth…if her secret was revealed…would he still be so eager to spend time with her?

As they careened past her mother and Madeline, she detected a rigid set to her mother’s jaw.
Please don’t try to ruin this for me, Mother
, she said with her eyes, but Mr. Gladstone whirled her away before she could tell if her mother understood her unspoken message.

They danced twice more, then retired for some punch and conversation. He was polite, well spoken, respectful, and engaging. She found herself again and again having to tear her gaze away from his dark eyes…they pulled her in, like a magnetic force. He seemed taken with her, for which she was grateful. Though several men had asked her to dance, she hadn’t drawn the kind of attention she once had, upon her coming out.

Would it always be that way? And would she, the eldest sister, have to marry far below her station because she’d missed her prime courtship years? Their father had always insisted they not marry before the age of twenty. He had made an exception for Winston only because he was an Endicott, and it was too good of a match to risk losing. Many girls her age were already engaged, and Grace found herself right back at the beginning, like a debutante.

She sipped her punch and listened to Mr. Gladstone speak about his work, but she was distracted as another man asked Madeline to dance. Clara still whirled around the dance floor with yet another partner, having only rested a few times between dances—and not for lack of partners, but to rest and partake of refreshments.

How could Grace measure up to any of the young girls newly “out” to society, much less her own beautiful younger sisters? Would he really be interested in her, when she found out she was fresh out of a year of deep mourning, and having been “off the market” for over a year before that?
I’m no longer the “belle of the ball” that Mr. Gladstone remembers.

“You’re distracted,” he said, pulling her from her thoughts. “I apologize, I must be monopolizing you.”

“No, not at all. I’m just—”

“It’s alright. I must make way for my competition, or risk being considered a lout.”

She desperately wanted him to remain with her, but it would be outside the bounds of decorum to admit it. “Perhaps I
should
mix a bit more. Thank you for the dances.”

He bowed his head. “The pleasure was mine. I do hope you’ll save me at least one more, as you promised.”

“I will.” She couldn’t hold back her beaming smile.

“Until then.”

She nodded, then turned and walked back toward her mother, feeling sure that he watched her retreat. Her heart fluttered in her chest, a sensation resurrected from her past—one she thought sure she’d never feel again.

She liked Garrett Gladstone, Esquire, very much indeed.

Chapter Five

Grace finished her punch, hoping someone else would talk to her. When no one did, she made her way back to her mother, knowing she’d demand a full report.

“Whom were you speaking with?” Miriam asked, her lips pursed. “He looks familiar, but I can’t place him.”

“Garrett Gladstone, Esquire.” Grace waited for the inevitable criticism.

“An
attorney?”
Miriam wrinkled her nose almost imperceptibly.

“Many of our society are attorneys, Mother, or have relations who are.”

“Yes, but
those
attorneys have political connections, fortune, or famous historical ancestors.”

A smile played about Grace’s lips as she revealed her secret weapon. “His father was Edgar Dwight’s brother.”

“
Edgar Dwight
is his uncle? Well, why didn’t you
say
so?” Miriam’s voice rose an octave, taking on an enthusiastic lilt.

“He also may have political aspirations.”

“May?”

“I don’t know if they’re truly his aspirations, or his uncle’s.”

“If they are Edgar Dwight’s aspirations, then they will be his, like it or not. Oh my dear!” Miriam clasped her hands together to contain her delight. “Mr. Dwight has no sons. That must mean Mr. Gladstone is the male heir.”

“I cannot say, Mother. I did not think it proper to ask if he was in the will.” She flashed her Mother a pointed look.

Yet Grace’s hopes were raised. For once, her mother’s desires matched her own, and life was so much easier as a Barstow daughter when that rare but happy coincidence occurred.

“That’s enough dancing for me,” Madeline breathed as she joined them. “I’m quite out of practice, and I feel as if everyone’s eyes are on me.”

“Why wouldn’t they be, my dear? You look lovely in that green dress. You’d look better in the wine color Clara has on, of course, but poor Clara was dying to wear something a
little
brighter.”

Madeline exchanged glances with Grace over their mother’s backhanded compliment.

“And who was that I saw you dancing with, dear sister?” Madeline whispered in Grace’s ear.

“Garrett Gladstone.” Grace brightened with the change of subject. “Apparently we met at the Winter Ball shortly after my coming out, though I’ve no recollection of it.”

“Not surprising, given that you only had eyes for…” Madeline’s voice trailed off, her eyes widening. “Oh, I’m so sorry—”

“Think nothing of it. You’re quite right, my attentions were elsewhere that night.” She pushed away thoughts of Winston, and the first night he had expressed a romantic interest in her. It was
he
who had monopolized her for much of that long ago night. Between Winston’s attention and that of several other young men, it was no wonder Garrett had been hesitant to approach her more than once.

An awkward silence followed as both ladies watched the dancers spin about the room before them. Mr. Gladstone whirled by with another girl, catching Grace’s eye as he spun past.

I thought he didn’t like to dance!
Grace’s stomach flipped, both with attraction to him, and jealousy over the pretty girl in his arms. He’d been reluctant to dance with her…yet there he was, smiling and happy on the dance floor with another girl. A girl who had true wealth and status in society.

A girl who would make the perfect politician’s wife.

“He’s dashing,” Madeline whispered.

“He is handsome, isn’t he?” Grace lowered her voice even more. “Mother is over the moon—can you believe it?”

“No! She actually approves of someone you chose?”

“He’s Edgar Dwight’s nephew.”

Madeline feigned shock. “How is Mother still upright? One would expect her to faint dead away upon learning such news. Edgar Dwight has no son of his own.”

“That’s what Mother said,” Grace tittered, engendering a sideways glare from her mother, who stood on the other side of Madeline.

“Shouldn’t you both be dancing?” Miriam prodded.

“Mother, I just came off the dance floor,” Madeline complained.

“Talking with your sister won’t get you any closer to a courtship.”

“Neither will glistening like a glass of iced tea in July. It’s steaming hot in here! Besides, I spoke with Dalton Ashby earlier.”

Grace couldn’t keep her giggle inside, earning her a second maternal glare.

“Yes, I noticed. Clearly you aim to vex me tonight, child. We are not yet so desperate as to entertain the likes of Dalton Ashby. He’s hardly a step above nouveau riche, and his fortune isn’t big enough to make one forget the fact.”

“He’s very nice, and rather handsome. Have I any better options right now?”

Miriam sighed. “Perhaps not. But must we start off the evening at the bottom of the barrel?”

Grace felt awful for Madeline. Dalton Ashby had been a persistent suitor of Madeline’s for years. Madeline liked him, but felt no romantic inclinations toward him. It was a terrible thing to be forced to choose a path for your life based on the needs of the family, and not your own desires. She’d dreaded it herself…until she met Garrett.

“Mr. Ashby is nowhere near the bottom of the barrel. Why, Grace danced with an
attorney!”

Grace’s sympathy melted away, and she scowled at her sister for dragging her into it.

“Fine. You’re right. He’s not all that bad. But I…I just
don’t
like him,” Miriam spat.

“Mother, I’ve had enough for one night,” Madeline said under her breath. “You insisted we come here tonight. I complied. You insisted we socialize. Again I complied. Now you’re criticizing the way I’m socializing?”

“I’m criticizing your choice of a conversational
partner
. And I don’t like your tone young lady. If you’d been compliant when I
first
asked you to attend balls, you’d be courting already.”

“I told you, I wasn’t
ready
,” she hissed. “I still don’t feel ready. It feels as if we just buried Father.”

“Mind your manners,” Miriam chided in a harsh whisper. “And stop playing the role of grieving widow. I lost my
husband
. Do you think I don’t feel his absence? Do you think I wouldn’t rather be home, than standing here, watching everyone laugh and have a good time, while having to goad you into taking responsibility for your future? Don’t pretend you’re so overwrought, Madeline. We all know you haven’t shed a single tear since the day your father died.”

Madeline’s jaw tensed, fire blazing in her eyes. Yet she remained silent, spinning on her heel and walking briskly toward the music room.

Grace gaped, appalled at her mother’s ruthless comment. “Mother, how could you?”

“Don’t start, Grace. That girl is pushing me to my limits tonight.”

“You know as well as I do that this has hit Madeline just as hard as it hit us. But
someone
had to take over. I couldn’t think straight, Clara cried day and night when out of the public eye, and you were nearly catatonic. It was Madeline who made most of the decisions for Father’s funeral, Madeline who greeted friends and loved ones who came to leave their calling card to extend their condolences, and Madeline who kept the house running for months when you were upstairs in your room, too distraught to even speak with the staff.”

Miriam lowered her head and heaved a shaky sigh. “It’s true, Madeline took the brunt of that burden,” she said, blinking back tears and turning away from the revelers to hide her emotions. “But why did she never shed a tear for the father who loved her so much?”

“She’s a Barstow, Mother. A well-bred daughter from the highest social caste. Aside from the need to maintain a brave face in public and the family expectations of decorum, I don’t think she
could
let herself feel anything. She was closer to Father than all of us, even you, in some respects. He was her hero. She was his favored child—we all knew that. And when he was gone, she did the only thing she
could
do—she took his place, shoring us up in whatever way we needed support. I think if she had let herself cry, she might never have stopped, and she wouldn’t have been able to carry on, and do what Father would have wanted her to do.”

Grace was worried about her sister. She’d become cold and sullen in the last year. Their rooms shared a wall, and while she herself, as well as her mother and Clara, could often be heard sobbing into pillows at night, Madeline’s room had remained as silent as a grave. It was as if a part of her died right along with their father.

“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” Miriam murmured. “You’re right, of course. She’s done everything Chandler would have done, and then some. Your father and I…the passion may have died away long ago, but I still loved the man. I suppose it hurt, seeing her so cold, never grieving. It never occurred to me that she might be holding it all in, for our sakes.” She stared after Madeline. “I should apologize.”

“Not now. You can talk with her tomorrow. Just don’t pressure her so much.”

“Darling, don’t you see? I
can’t
. I gave you all too much time. There’s no time to spare. We’re are losing our home—we must be out within the week. When we are staying with your uncle, someone
will
discover the truth, and once it’s out, a decent match will be impossible.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “If your father had lost our fortune merely through poor investments, or some terrible circumstance, perhaps we could hope for only a lesser match. But his friends warned him, and even loaned him money, which he defaulted on. It was the first time ever that Chandler had such a terrible run of bad luck with his investments, and I suppose once under pressure, he continued to make bad decisions. I can’t imagine what he was thinking, keeping it from us. And now the friends who helped him think that he behaved foolishly, and that our situation was entirely his fault. He left us with nothing, and instead of using the last of our money sensibly, he used it to keep buying us dresses and jewels and hosting an extravagant engagement party for you and Winston—”

Grace blanched at the name of her deceased fiancé, then looked away, blinking back tears.

“Oh, my dear, I’m sorry—”

“No, it’s alright. One can’t avoid talking about him forever. And really, I wouldn’t want to forget him.”

“I don’t blame you or Winston for the expense of the party…”

“I know. Father meant well, but it was a mistake to spend so lavishly, for all his friends to see, when he kept claiming he was too poor to pay them back. I’m surprised they’ve been willing to keep his secret.”

“Only two men who know the full truth, and our attorney has spoken with them both. Out of consideration for us, they’ve been willing to keep it quiet…on the condition that none of my daughters attempt to catch the eyes of their sons or close relatives.”

“What? You never told us that!”

“Keep your voice down,” Miriam shushed. “I didn’t want to stir up Madeline’s paranoia any more than necessary. She’s terribly afraid of the day we’re discovered. I can’t imagine the shame she’d feel if she knew she was banned from seeking the attentions of certain young men, all for her father’s actions.”

“Is that why you told me on the evening of Clara’s coming out that you didn’t want me dancing with—”

“Yes. Precisely why. Now hush up, here comes Clara.”