The Brahmin Ball (A Sweet Historical Romance Novella) (Brahmin Brides Book 1) (5 page)

Chapter Eight

Madeline watched the dancers stepping and twirling across the dance floor, and soaked in the music…and lack of nagging. It wouldn’t be long before their mother discovered them congregating on the far side of the dance floor, and ordered them to disperse and socialize.

“Oh, you’re here!” a voice piped up behind them.

The girls turned and found themselves face to face with the prim Eliza Canton, flanked by her two best friends, Viola Winthrop and Lucinda Lowell.

“Why wouldn’t we be here?” Madeline asked, assuming a pleasant mask.

Madeline loathed Eliza and her cohorts. They all came out the same year, and in rehearsals for the event, the three girls had been miserable wretches to her, for no reason whatsoever. They wielded the most power of the girls their age, and they enjoyed lording that power over others. Especially Eliza.

“Oh, it’s just that with all you’ve been through, and now your terrible situation…” Eliza bit her lip, obviously trying to stifle a grin.

“What ‘situation’ is that?” Grace asked.

Madeline sensed what was coming, and gripped Grace’s wrist at her side.
“Don’t,”
Madeline whispered, hoping they could end the conversation and escape with their dignity intact.

But it was too late.

“Why, your financial ruin, of course!” Eliza placed a hand over her heart. “I was just
sick
with concern when I heard about it.”

“I’m sure you were,” Clara muttered.

Madeline froze in horror, unable to utter a word.

“Thank you for your concern, Eliza,” Grace cut in. “It’s very kind of you.”

“Now, I don’t want you to worry. I heard that you’re losing your home on Beacon Street, but I wouldn’t dream of letting you live on the streets, like some kind of common strumpet…would I, Viola?”

The insinuation was so vile and insulting that one could not even address it without feeling vulgar.

Viola shook her head in response to Eliza’s rhetorical question, her lips pressed together to hide her mirth.

Eliza continued her verbal assault. “The Barstows are far too important in society…or…at least you
were
…to let that happen. So you be sure to tell your mother that if she can’t find a flat to rent, I can speak with my mother and see if you can live over our carriage house.”

At this, a titter escaped Lucinda’s lips.

“Now, it may be a little smelly from the horses below, but I’m sure you can adjust. We
could
put you in the house, but truly, that won’t do—we have some very important guests from time to time, and we certainly couldn’t put
them
in the carriage house, could we?”

Beside her, Madeline could sense Clara was about to explode, but the humiliation made her own head spin, and she was in no condition to intervene.

Much to Madeline’s relief, Grace took charge. “Enjoy your evening, Eliza.” Grace gave the three vile girls a curt nod, then took her sisters by the elbows and led them away.

“I will,” Eliza called after them. “I hope you all do, too. I know gowns are expensive, so this might be your last ball.” Her voice dripped with false sympathy, and her cohorts burst into rude laughter as they walked away.

“Everyone heard. They’re looking at us!” hissed Madeline.

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Grace soothed.

But there were unmistakable whispers and stares in their direction as they made their way through the crowded edges of the ballroom. Eliza’s display hadn’t been that loud, which could only mean the unthinkable.

The rumors had already spread.

Clara vibrated with anger. “That stupid Eliza. She’s so vulgar! I would never have been so cruel.” Tears sparkled in Clara’s eyes.

“Don’t let them see you cry,” Grace whispered. “We’re Barstows. The behavior of others doesn’t affect us. Let them gossip. We will hold our heads up high.”

“What’s the matter?” Miriam appeared before them. “Clara looks distressed.”

Clara blinked away the tears and morphed her lips into a strained, pleasant expression. “I’m fine, Mother.”

“She’s not fine,” Madeline muttered. “Nothing will ever be fine again. They
know
.”

“Oh, Madeline, stop with your paranoia…” Miriam sighed.

“She’s not paranoid this time,” Grace whispered. “She’s right. Everyone knows. Look around you.”

Their mother’s eyes flitted about the room. Though most people were still engaged in lively conversation or dancing, there were, sprinkled throughout the room, several people who were staring in their direction, speaking in hushed voices. Worry passed over her face, before she fixed her expression into a stony look of impassivity.

Miriam lowered her voice. “Then we have work to do, girls. Madeline, you need to find Mr. Ashby and get him to dance with you now. Charm him with everything you have, Madeline. Then try to get him alone and break the news on your own, in your own way. We have no choice. They’ll all know by evening’s end, and we have to get ahead of this disaster and somehow make it work to our advantage. Grace, you’ll do the same thing with Mr. Gladstone. Since he’s more of a man of potential than of actual high standing, it shouldn’t be too difficult to assuage his concerns. But Mr. Ashby is another thing.”

“Dalton Ashby has been in love with Madeline forever,” whispered Clara. “I can’t imagine financial difficulties would sway him now, when years of cold looks from you and Father never did. Besides, he has resources of his own. He doesn’t
need
more money, does he?”

“He’s nouveau riche, my dear. They have plenty of money, and making more every day, so their goal is always a higher place in society. You can’t achieve that by marrying a woman from a disgraced family.”

“We’re hardly disgraced, Mother. Embarrassed, perhaps, but not disgraced. We still have our connections…”

“You underestimate the cruelty of our kind,” Madeline snapped, her voice wavering. “They are much like ravening wolves, prowling through the night in search of the weakest animal to make their next prey.”

“I can’t let myself believe they’d be so cruel,” Grace whispered, her lower lip trembling.

“Was Eliza’s joke not cruel?” Madeline snapped, turning to Grace, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. “Do you not see that this is only the beginning?”

Grace had no response. Madeline knew her sister always wanted to believe the best of others, but as they watched the rumor visibly spreading, with one person leaning in to another, Grace would soon have to face reality. The news was infesting the ballroom, making its way slowly through the crowd like gangrene through an injured limb. There was no stopping it.

“We’ve no time to waste,” Miriam hissed. “Do as you’re told. And Clara, you watch your sisters. If you see anyone making a move to interrupt their conversations and possibly spread the news to either man, you must intervene somehow, and keep the offender occupied.”

The girls parted ways, each off to find their intended target.

After a brief search, Madeline found Dalton, taking a glass of wine from a servant’s tray.

“We meet again, Mr. Ashby.” Madeline said, assuming a pleasant expression. She hoped her eyes weren’t red-rimmed. She had barely held back the tears.

“It seems we do.” He took a sip, avoiding her gaze and looking out over the partnered couples on the dance floor.

She could scarcely take a breath, feeling as if her corset had been pulled too tight. “I…I would like to tell you about something. It’s not very pleasant, but…you’ll learn soon enough…”

Mrs. Ashby, his mother, passed by, flicking a stern glance in their direction before melting into the crowd.

“I’ve…uh…been meaning to tell you something as well.” He took an inappropriately large gulp from his glass, then blew out a breath. “I’ve been thinking, and I realized how unfair I’ve been to you.”

“Unfair?” Her knees went weak.
He knows!

“Yes. I’ve been taking advantage of your kindness, monopolizing your time, when we both know your mother doesn’t approve.”

“Oh, but she—”

He held up a hand. “It’s alright. You don’t have to be kind on my account. I apologize for taking up so much of your time, and depriving you of a more suitable match. I think it was is I took a step back and let other men have their fair shot.” Then his face softened, and he met her gaze for one brief moment. “I cannot express how very sorry I am.”

Her stomach roiled. He was
rejecting
her! She, Madeline Barstow, daughter of one of the most elite Brahmin families, was being rejected by Dalton Ashby, the son of a “new money” mill owner!

Madeline forced her smile wider. “How kind of you, Dalton, to take Mother’s opinions into account. I was just telling Mother what a kind and decent man you are.” She swallowed against the bile that rose in her throat, and gathered her pride, tilting her chin a little higher. “And of course, I’ll always consider you a dear friend, even after I’m married.”

“Married?” His brow furrowed. “I didn’t realize you were already engaged.”

She saw the blow it was to him, and some small-minded part of her took joy in that. “No, I’m not engaged. Not
yet
. But I think I’m tired of Mother saying ‘no’ to every suitor I encounter. It may be time for me to make a choice on my own.”

“You don’t say?” He paled, looking down at his drink.

The muscles in his jaw tensed, and Madeline knew she’d hit her mark. He’d be sorry, alright—sorry for losing his chance with the woman he had pursued for two years.

“Yes, indeed. I thank you so much for being so…forthright. It has made everything so much easier. Good evening, Mr. Ashby.”

“Good evening, Miss Barstow.”

She turned and walked away, drawing on every ounce of self-control to keep herself upright, head high, and walking at an even pace…rather than fleeing, as every fiber in her being wanted to do.

***

Grace made her way through the ballroom, searching the crowd desperately for Garrett. She spotted him on the dance floor, and reluctantly returned to her mother’s side to wait for another chance.

“He’s dancing.”

“Hopefully your sister is having better luck.”

Grace followed her mother’s gaze to where Madeline was speaking to Dalton in the corner. Clara hovered nearby, watching the room while she pretended to drink a cup of punch. A moment later, Madeline had returned, with Clara following close behind.

“He already knows,” Madeline announced, her tone flat and her gaze downcast. “I knew the moment he opened his mouth. He couldn’t even meet my eyes.”

“And?” Grace asked.

“He kindly apologized for monopolizing my time, and told me that he would be making way for other suitors who were more…
suitable
.” Her mouth puckered at the word.

“That fickle boy!” Miriam fumed.

“He was very polite about it. Very sorry. Very apologetic.” Madeline was bitter and resigned.

“Grace,” Miriam directed her attention with a surreptitious glance, “there’s Mr. Gladstone, leaving the dance floor.”

Grace’s heart thumped, and she steeled herself to do what she knew she must.

“Why put her through that?” Madeline interjected. “If he wants Grace, let him come to her. Don’t force her to humiliate herself. It’s unbecoming.”

“He might not have heard yet,” Miriam insisted. “There’s still time.”

“It’s too late,” Grace gasped. She felt lightheaded, like the wind had been knocked out of her.

Miriam followed Grace’s gaze, then scowled.

Across the room, Felicia Browning sidled up to Mr. Gladstone and whispered in his ear.

Chapter Nine

When Garrett managed to free himself from what he swore was the last young woman he would allow his aunt to coerce him into dancing with that night, he had one thought in his mind.

The only dance partner I want for the rest of this evening is Grace Barstow
. He looked over the heads of the clusters of guests and spotted her at the edge of the dance floor, across the room. He smiled, eager to make his way to her side.

Her face crumpled into a look of distress, and his breath caught.
I hope she isn’t unwell. Or perhaps she is uncomfortable in a room full of revelers so soon.
He knew it was only her second ball since coming out of mourning, and wondered if the shock of it all was weighing on her. He knew well just how disconcerting it could be to rejoin society after a period of mourning someone you loved.

He’d been taken by her beauty and charm all those years ago, and the advantages offered by her family name were certainly a plus, but it was their shared sorrow over losing a father that had really endeared her to him. He hoped that he could offer her a distraction from her melancholy thoughts.

“Garrett?” Felicia stepped in front of him, blocking his way.

“Miss Browning, hello! I’m afraid I’ve promised another young woman my next dance.” He couldn’t keep his eyes from drifting away from Felicia to where Grace stood.

Felicia followed his gaze across the ballroom. “Before you do, there is grave news I must unfortunately share with you.”

He forced himself to look at Felicia again. Worry marred her lovely, heart-shaped face.

Felicia isn’t one to worry needlessly.
It might be terrible of him to think it, but he hoped her news wouldn’t be too dire—he didn’t want anything to ruin his plans to get to know Grace better.