Mary Balogh - A gift of daisies

"How many neckcloths did your poor valet wreck before he could come up with this piece of sheer artistry?" he had asked.

"Only four," Algie had replied, turning the whole upper part of his body in David's direction in order not to have his cheeks punctured by the sharp points of his shirt collar. "He was more careful than usual tonight."

David had shouted with laughter. "Perhaps if you could train yourself to sleep absolutely motionless on your back all through the night," he had said, "you could make the same creation serve for a whole week, Algie. It seems a shame to waste all that artistic effort on one evening's entertainment. Perhaps someone of some significance will be absent this evening and not even see it."

That was when Algie's feelings had become ruffled. He had pretended to take offense, anyway. David would not have been feeling so cheerful if he thought he had seriously hurt his cousin. He turned his thoughts to the evening ahead. It had been a long time since he had attended anything quite so frivolous as a ball. And a London ball at that. He quite looked forward to the experience. He would be no match for the splendor of the other guests, of course. His gray knee breeches, silver waistcoat, and blue evening coat had served him for all formal occasions during the previous two years. And he had not even tried to coax his neckcloth into anything but the simplest of knots. His coat was not particularly tight across his shoulders. He knew for a fact that Algie's valet had had to summon a footman to help him squeeze Algie into his.

But he did not particularly care about his slightly unfashionable appearance. After being away from society for some time, he viewed with amusement the more extravagant and impractical trends of fashion. Why look as if one had been poured into one's coat when afterward one was quite incapable of moving? Why view the world languidly through a quizzing glass when one had perfectly good eyesight? Why wear corsets and make every indrawn breath a torture? And if he considered the ladies, he could feel even greater amusement. Tiny lacy parasols that did nothing to keep the sun away from the complexion. Saucy little bonnets that were certainly not designed to keep the elements away from the head. He could go on and on.

Take that little neighbor of Algie's, for example. She was very pretty and very charming, but altogether a little bundle of frivolity. Poor Algie if he did have a tendre for her. Algie had his frivolous side too, but there was far more to the man. He took his responsibilities as landlord seriously. And he was a kind, unassuming man despite the affectation of his dress when in town. David hoped there was more to Lady Rachel Palmer than met the eye. But he very much doubted it.

She certainly had her fair share of vanity. She loved to be noticed. Of course, one could hardly blame her. She was undoubtedly good to look at if one was content to let one's eyes go no farther than skin-deep. Very good to look at, in fact. But her mother should certainly have taught her that one did not solicit the hands of gentlemen as dancing partners on the public streets. Especially not those of strangers to whom one had just been introduced.

It struck him suddenly that if a wedding between Algie and Lady Rachel ever did take place, she would be the leading lady of his parish socially. He would have to learn to deal with her himself. It was not entirely a pleasant prospect. The other girl, now, was different. She had neither looks nor character to attract during a chance meeting, but there was a great deal more to her than met the eye. He had sensed that she might be worth getting to know. And he was to waltz with her this evening.

"I don't know about you," Algernon said as the carriage slowed to join the back of the line of conveyances approaching the entrance to the Simpson residence, "but I plan to disappear into the card room as soon as I may."

"But you have promised two dances," David reminded him.

"True," Algernon sighed. "And the Simpsons are usually niggardly with the waltzes. Bet there will be no more than three or four altogether. We can play cards between times, David, and still fulfill our obligations. Rache is a marvel. She can dance the night away and still look as fresh as a daisy on Bond Street the next morning." He chuckled. "She likes being twirled in the waltz, just as if one were turning corners every moment. You were best to remember that, m'boy."

David laughed and peered out through the window at the impressive sight of liveried footmen helping ball guests from their carriages onto the red carpet that had been laid out for the occasion.

Rachel was trying to stand very still. Why did it happen to her far more than to any other young girl that her gown needed repair during balls? This ball had not even started yet and she had caught the hem of her pink underdress on the edge of a chair and torn such a gash in it that she had had to retire to the withdrawing room for repairs to be made. A maid was busy with needle and thread while Rachel stood patiently talking to Celia.

"It really will not show," Celia told her. "Be thankful that it was not the lace that tore. The gown really does look glorious."

"Well, so does yours," Rachel assured her magnanimously. "I told you, did I not, that that dark blue shade would be fare more becoming than the light color you picked out?"

"Yes, I think you are right," Celia said, glancing at her reflection in a mirror, pleased. "You always are. You have a far better dress sense than I."

"It is a matter of common sense, really," Rachel said. "You have pale coloring, Celia, and light hair. It is perfectly obvious that your clothes must be in vivid colors. And of simple design. Those small flounces are just the thing. I do hope Algie will be on time tonight. He almost never is. The first waltz is the second set of the evening. I would hate to have to dance it with someone else. I do feel quite embarrassed about what happened this morning, by the way."

"It comes of your habit of speaking before you think," Celia said without trying to comfort her friend. "You know I do not like other people to solicit partners for me, Rachel. All the time I am dancing with them I think that they would probably rather be anywhere than with me. Lord Rivers is a perfect gentleman, but still I have heard him say that he does not particularly enjoy dancing."

"Oh," Rachel said, biting her lower lip and looking even more guilty, "you mean my asking Algie if he would dance the second waltz with you. But how silly, Celia. He will not mind in the least. He knows that you are my particular friend, you see."

"But still, Rachel," Celia said firmly, "no more, please. I had rather sit among the chaperones all evening than have a single gentleman coerced into dancing with me."

"Well, Mr. Gower was not coerced," Rachel pointed out. "He asked you of his own free will."

"More to save me from some embarrassment, I think," Celia said. "But what was it that you were feeling embarrassed about?"

"Asking Mr. Gower to waltz with me," Rachel said. "How dreadfully forward of me, Celia. What must he think of me, do you suppose?"

"He probably thinks that you are a rather giddy young lady," Celia said mercilessly.

Rachel grimaced. "I was afraid so," she said.

Indeed since the morning she had recovered her senses to quite a marked degree. She had been presented to a perfect stranger in the middle of a public street and she had both fallen in love with him and solicited his hand for a waltz at a ball that evening. What a dreadfully lowering admission to have to make to herself. How vulgar! And how ridiculous when it had turned out that the stranger was a clergyman and the new vicar of her own parish to boot.

He really was dreadfully handsome, of course. But no, it was not his looks merely that had had her reacting so foolishly. It was that character she had detected behind his face and his eyes that had attracted her. But still, she did not know him. Not at all. It was more than stupid to think of being in love with him. And what would she do with such an infatuation anyway? She could never look on the man as a prospective husband. She was going to make a dazzling match when she married. Or failing that, she was going to marry Algie.