Winning the Wallflower: A Novella Read Online Free PDF Page B

“What?”
    Her mother’s face held an expression that would have suited a dragon appraising his gold. “Every dance,” she said triumphantly. “Every one. The next is a quadrille with Lord Chester; here he comes.” She bent to Lucy’s ear, under the cover of her fan. “If the men asking weren’t suitable, I informed them that you had no dances left.”
    “And Mr. Ravensthorpe?” Lucy asked.
    Lady Towerton wrinkled her nose. “He has not approached to offer his respects. If he has the faintest common sense, he’ll bow out with a word or two. I’m given to understand that our hostess informed him of your good fortune herself, which was rather brash, but quite useful. It will save you an embarrassing conversation, my dear.”
    “Mother,” Lucy said, a trifle sharply, “surely you do not think that I would jilt a gentleman such as Mr. Ravensthorpe without speaking to him myself?”
    “If he were a gentleman,” her mother said, but her eyes fell under Lucy’s glare.
    “You surprise me,” Lucy said. “If you will excuse me.” And with that, she rose to her feet, plucked the dance card from her mother’s fingers, and curtsied to Lord Chester. He was widowed and a good fifty years old, with four daughters and a rather large stomach. The idea of marrying him was slightly horrifying.
    She caught sight of Ravensthorpe as soon as she and Lord Chester began to progress down the room. He stood to the side of the dance floor, head bent, listening to something Miss Edger was telling him. Surely Miss Edger could not be her replacement . . . she was only the daughter of a baron.
    But on the other hand, Miss Edger was small and delicate and oh-so-pretty, with bouncing curls and a genuinely sweet character. Lucy ground her teeth and forced herself to smile again at Lord Chester.
    At length they advanced all the way down the side of the room and finally turned to come back up. Lucy was determined not to look again toward her fiancé. Surely he would seek her out, and she needn’t chase him, if only because he was the most formal—and mannered—of gentlemen.
    As the dance moved them closer and closer to Ravensthorpe, the buzz in the ballroom grew louder. Then, at a point only feet from him, a strange sound, quite near and suggestive of ripping, penetrated the music. Lord Chester abruptly pulled her out of the formation and, breathing heavily and with a look of profound dismay, said, “Miss Towerton, please forgive me. I’m afraid that I have suffered a wardrobe . . . a wardrobe calamity. If you would excuse me.” She would not have thought a man so stout could move so quickly, but before she could reply, he was gone.
    So she found herself standing beside Ravensthorpe and the winsome Miss Edger, much to the voyeuristic delight of everyone in their vicinity. Lucy recognized in the second before he bowed that her fiancé seemed neither anguished nor perturbed at the sight of her. Not in the slightest.
    Never mind the fact that she had sobbed when her mother dictated that their betrothal must come to an end . . . If his present demeanor was any indication, he hadn’t turned a hair.
    For some reason, that realization merely hardened her determination. She would make him hers. If he thought that she was just a speck of dirt that could be flicked from his cravat . . . well, he was wrong.
    She lifted her head and slowly, from under her eyelashes, met his eyes. There were very few men to whom she could give a coy look; men whose eye level was equal with—or below—hers were reluctant to flirt. And she’d never tried it with Ravensthorpe; she’d always been undone by shyness. Anger seemed to be an excellent tonic for that.
    “Mr. Ravensthorpe,” she said, dropping a curtsy. “Miss Edger.”
    Miss Edger was not only pretty, but perceptive. She gave a quick curtsy, murmured something about her dance card, and disappeared into the crowd. Which left a circle of ostensibly well-bred people amusing themselves by