Page 24 of The Marriage Wager

“That’s not true, Aunt,” Constance said, striving to maintain her calm. “But as Lady Haughston was kind enough to favor us with an invitation to the party and to bring me here herself, it seemed only proper that I should remain with her during the ball.”

Aunt Blanche greeted this sensible reply with a disapproving sniff. “Oh, yes, very proper indeed—making a show of yourself. Dancing with half the men here. Acting as if you were a green girl instead of a grown woman. Dressing like that. I am sure that everyone was laughing at you, the way you are behaving.”

Constance’s cheeks flamed—whether from embarrassment or anger, she was not sure. “Aunt Blanche! You wrong me. How have I been making a show of myself? I was properly introduced by Lady Haughston to every gentleman with whom I danced. I am sure there was nothing wrong with my dancing with them if Lady Haughston approved of it. And as for my dress…”

She cast a glance down at herself, then looked pointedly at her aunt’s gown, which exposed more bosom than her own. “There is nothing indecent about my dress.”

“It is far too young a color for you,” Aunt Blanche said flatly. “You are not a girl anymore, Constance. A woman of your age dancing so, flirting with men the way you have been…well, it’s disgraceful.”

“I was not aware that one could not dance past a certain age,” Constance responded coolly. “I am sure there are a number of women on the dance floor whom you should inform of that rule.”

“I am not speaking of married women,” Aunt Blanche told her. “Of course, if one is married it is perfectly proper to dance with one’s husband or a friend. But for a spinster, it is simply not the thing.”

“Why?” Constance asked.

Her aunt looked startled. “What do you mean, why?”

“Exactly that,” Constance responded, her eyes flashing now with temper. “Why is it not the thing to dance if one is unmarried? At what age does a woman have to stop dancing if she has not married? Twenty? Twenty-five? And does that apply to men, as well? Are bachelors not allowed to dance?”

“Of course not. Don’t be foolish.” Aunt Blanche bridled. “There are no hard-and-fast rules. It is simply understood that if a woman has not married, she—”

“Ceases to exist?” Constance asked. “Really, Aunt Blanche, you make it sound as if a woman must retire from life ashamed if she has not caught a husband.”

“Well, if you have not caught one by your age, there is little likelihood you will now,” her aunt retorted, scowling. “You came to London to help me with Georgiana and Margaret, but instead you are—” She made a gesture toward the floor with her fan, apparently too overcome by emotion to speak. “You danced with all those men, and you introduced none of them to your cousins. Not a single one.” Lady Woodley had now, apparently, reached the crux of the matter. “You danced with the Duke of Rochford—a duke!—and you did not make the slightest push to bring my daughters to his notice.”

“Oh.” Constance glanced at her cousins, who were regarding her with pouting expressions, and she felt a twinge of guilt.

Her aunt was right in saying that she had not spared a thought for her cousins. She had been too caught up in her own excitement. She could have returned to her aunt’s side after dancing and introduced her family to the men with whom she had danced. It was not the girls’ fault, after all, that their mother stuffed them into dresses so bedecked with ruffles and bows that they resembled over-decorated wedding cakes. They would need every bit of help they could get, and Constance knew that she could at least have brought them into the proximity of some eligible bachelors.

“Yes, we would have liked to talk to a duke,” Georgiana whined.

“Jane Morissey would have been ever so jealous of us then,” Margaret added, and the two girls giggled together at that thought.

Of course, Constance reminded herself, bringing a gentleman within the girls’ orbit would scarcely guarantee them any success. A few minutes of Margaret and Georgiana’s vapid conversation was apt to send any gentleman with wit hurrying away.

“I am sorry,” Constance apologized. “I should have introduced you. I will introduce my next partner to Margaret and Georgiana. However, the Duke, Lady Haughston told me, is quite the confirmed bachelor.”

“Well, the man has to marry someday, doesn’t he?” Lady Woodley countered. “He has to have an heir. And it might as well be one of my girls as anyone else, eh?”

Wisely, Constance refrained from answering. It was this sort of baseless reasoning that was the hallmark of Aunt Blanche’s thought processes, and she had learned long ago that any attempt to point out the errors and inconsistencies in something her aunt said was not only useless but also tended to arouse her ire.

“It is a beautiful party, is it not?” Constance asked cheerfully, deciding that the best course of action was to steer the conversation in a new direction.

Lady Woodley looked as though she would have liked to pursue the subject of Constance’s neglect of her proper duty to her cousins, but after a moment she gave in to her even greater love of gossip and began to relate to Constance each influential member of the Ton whom she had seen tonight and what she knew about each one.

Constance listened with more attention than she normally did in an effort to placate her aunt, but it was not long before her thoughts began to wander. She cast a look about the room, hopeful that she could find something to distract Aunt Blanche.

It was with some relief that she saw Francesca strolling toward them, and she straightened, smiling at her. “Lady Haughston.”

Aunt Blanche turned and beamed at Francesca, her voice raised as she said, “Lady Haughston! I am sorry to have missed you earlier tonight. So many people, you know. Girls, say hello to Lady Haughston.”

Georgiana and Margaret obediently chorused a hello to Francesca, who acknowledged them all with a smile and a nod. “How do you do, Lady Woodley? It is so nice to see you again.”

They exchanged a few pleasantries, remarking on the warmth of the June evening, the excellence of the punch and the loveliness of the ballroom. Aunt Blanche, Constance thought, could go on all night about such commonplaces. However, when she reached the subject of her daughters’ gowns, calling upon Lady Haughston to note the fine French lace that adorned the bodices, Francesca cut into the flow of Lady Woodley’s speech.

“Has Constance told you that I have invited her to Redfields next week?” Francesca asked as Lady Woodley paused to take a breath.

Aunt Blanche looked at Francesca blankly. “What? Where?”