Page 64 of Always the Chaperone

Chapter Eighteen

It was impossible.No matter how hard he tried, William was unable to prevent himself from yawning.

“The hem itself is…Your Grace. Your Grace, I am not boring you, am I?”

Innocent eyes stared at him from the woman who had been lecturing him on the infinite number of materials used to construct her gown. Her mother stood a few paces behind her, a respectable distance to ensure nothing untoward occurred.

William sighed. It was not her fault, of course. These girls, they were taught nothing of use. Sewing and crocheting and embroidery, dancing and music, horse riding if they were lucky, and long, heartening walks in the rain if they were not…

It all led to an accomplished lady, he was sure, but interesting?

No.Miss Coulson had been introduced to him the moment he had entered Lady Romeril’s second ball of the Season, and he had been unable to rid himself of her or her mother for the last hour. Chester had been throwing him envious glances, and he wished he could palm her off on him.

But no, Miss Coulson evidently wanted to be the future Duchess of Mercia, and so William was trapped by the wall near the card room, unable to free himself to play a hand or join the dancers.

Instead, he was being rewarded—if you could use that term—for his gentility with Miss Coulson by being distracted from thoughts of Charlotte.

Goddamnit. Now he was thinking about Charlotte.

“No, I assure you,” he said to Miss Coulson, whose shoulders immediately relaxed. “I never realized before how much skill and artistry goes into creating such a masterpiece as that gown. Please, do go on.”

She beamed. “Well, you are in luck, Your Grace, for we have come to perhaps, nay, certainly the most interesting part. As I was saying, the hem…”

William scratched his nose in an attempt to hide his next yawn, for it was impossible to stifle. Ye gods, he should never have come. All he wanted was to ignore the world for allowing him to have fallen in love with Charlotte when he did not deserve her.

John was right: he was a fool.

Now he was paying the price for his stupidity, stuck with one of the most boring debutantes who had entered society, and it served him right.

The dancers flew past them in a speedy English country dance, and Miss Coulson took a brief look at them before continuing, “I know what you are going to say. They could not possibly have stitched each individually, but if you look here…”

William bowed his head to examine the sleeve. This will teach him not to be so easily flattered. He had heard Lady Romeril hosted but one ball a Season, which had been a few months ago. When the invitation for a second ball had arrived, it was considered unprecedented, and no one had managed to pry the reason from Lady Romeril’s lips.

Even Mrs. Bryant, the renowned gossip of Bath was none the wiser—and this had whipped the intrigue into a frenzy. By the time it had come to respond to the invitation, William had allowed his curiosity to get the better of him.

Trust him to be introduced to the most boring woman in the room. The trouble was, he had stood for so long and feigned interest so well, he was not entirely sure how to extricate himself from her tiresome company. If matters did not resolve themselves, and quickly, he could find himself trapped with Miss Coulson for the remainder of the evening.

“But the hair, the hair is something else quite entirely,” said Miss Coulson, raising an elegant hand to gesture towards the pile of curls entangled with pearls. “You see, while you may think you need to begin with the curling irons, you must instead…”

William’s eyes slid from the piled hair upon Miss Coulson’s head to the lady walking leisurely past them. Dark hair, bedroom eyes, and a lingering look.

Miss Emma Tilbury, famed companion to the Earl of Marnmouth, winked as she passed him and cast an amused eye at Miss Coulson.

William smiled, despite himself, and waved her away. So, he was not the only one who had noticed Miss Coulson’s rather unfortunate interest in dressmaking. He should have known Miss Tilbury would do something as wild as winking at him in a ball—but then, if Marnmouth was to believed, there was little Miss Tilbury would not do.

Unfortunately, the interaction between him and Miss Tilbury had been noticed by a trio of ladies who had returned with glasses of punch.

William froze.Oh, Christ. Don’t tell me they’re all going to be at it.

But his fears were confirmed when the other two ladies walked past him as Miss Coulson chattered on, winking mischievously.

The marriage market was hell on earth. How did anyone manage to navigate it—and why did they bother? It was full of traps and snares for the innocent, and many women entered it without any of the right tools. Take poor, Miss Coulson. Unless she was able to find a tailor, she might end her days as a chaperone.

His stomach tightened. Even he had slipped into that horrendous way of thinking. No wonder Charlotte hated being a chaperone so fiercely; there was no better way for a woman to be considered useless and unmarriageable than to describe her as a chaperone or spinster, and even he had fallen into that habit.

Charlotte.Even thinking her name was painful, but he knew she was lost to him. There was no chance in hell she would even consider him as a dance partner now, let alone a partner for life. In all honesty, he could not blame her.

“For once in my life, I am not going to fade into the background of other people’s lives!”