Daisies and Devotion Page 4

  The dance ended, and she lost sight of Timothy as dancers stepped off the floor and new dancers stepped on, her and her partner included. Once in position with Mr. Fetich, Maryann scanned the crowd yet again, her mouth nearly falling open as she watched Timothy escort Genevieve Crawford onto the floor. Genny was the forerunner of the debutantes this season. Diamond of the first water, they called her. A paragon. She was a lovely girl, but her father was a gentleman farmer, and Genny had only been able to come to London through the graces of a family friend. Genny was the oldest of seven children, and there was no doubt she’d been sent to London in hopes of making a match that would work in favor of herself as well as her younger brothers and sisters. Not only was Timothy not in a position to give her such security, but Genny could not give Timothy what he had confessed he needed in a match—money.

  The orchestra began, and Maryann forced herself to meet Mr. Fetich’s eyes. She would not be so rude as to be distracted by another man, but her chest prickled with questions and irritation.

  Not only did Timothy not ask Maryann to dance, he was only within her vicinity long enough to share a simple hello before moving off to another corner of the room to converse with yet another of the leading set of debutantes this season. To cover the pain of her unrealized expectations, Maryann adopted her most inviting smile and made eye contact with every man she could, ensuring that she danced every set of the night, flirting with more ardor than was her usual habit. Through it all, she kept her eyes on Timothy, who moved from blonde to blonde like a bee at a honeysuckle bush.

  By the time the ball ended and she was seated in the carriage across from Deborah and Lucas, she was a complete muddle of pain. Her feet were throbbing, and her chest was filled with irritation, frustration, and . . . regret. Had she been so out of sorts that day Timothy had come to see her that she’d put him off? Had he left believing that she was not a woman he could spend his life with, while at the same time, she was believing he might be the very man she’d come to London to find? What of his insistence that he would not court women he could not expect to marry?

  “What a lovely event,” Lucas said. He reached for Deborah’s hand and raised it to his lips, holding her eyes as he kissed the back of her hand.

  Maryann looked away from the affection; Deborah and Lucas had been married just over a year, and their lovebird habits were nauseating tonight. She’d have been happy to walk home, pinching slippers and all, but it was dark and London was not safe at night. Still, she longed for some cool air to help with her temper, and a solitary walk might have helped her work through some of her feelings.

  “Do you agree, Maryann?”

  She looked up at her brother-in-law and forced a smile. “Yes, it was a very nice evening.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Very nice?” He turned to Deborah. “I believe she said the same thing about last night’s fish.”

  “Yes,” Deborah confirmed, watching Maryann closely. “I do believe she did.”

  Maryann sighed dramatically and lifted one foot. “My feet are all but numb from these blasted shoes, and I am very tired.”

  “I am sure both of those things are true,” her sister said. “But that is not all, is it?”

  Maryann refused to meet her sister’s eyes as the carriage bounced and bumped along the cobbles.

  “Perhaps you did not notice, my dear,” Deborah said, addressing her husband, “but Timothy barely said hello to Maryann tonight.” She leaned toward Lucas as if to whisper, though she spoke as loudly as ever. “I believe that has set Maryann’s back up a bit.”

  “Really?” Lucas drawled.

  Maryann felt like she were on stage as both of them stared at her. She let out another breath and straightened. “Yes, I had expected he would say more than ‘Good evening, Maryann’ before running after the next blue-eyed beauty like every other lovesick buck in this town.”

  The silence that followed was fierce, and she felt the blood rush to her cheeks. Had she just opened her mouth and let out these petty words to bounce off the walls of the carriage like frogs? She cleared her throat and opened her mouth to apologize, but Deborah spoke first.

  “‘Blue-eyed beauty’?” Deborah repeated, embarrassing Maryann even further because of what those words really said. I am not blue-eyed nor am I a beauty.

  “Never mind,” Maryann said, shaking her head and wishing she’d not made a habit of blurting out things like this. She was behaving much as she had when Timothy had visited her and she’d put him on the spot to define his motivations. Was there something about him that made her forget manners and polite behavior?

  “Only, I thought . . .” She stammered. “I thought Timothy was interested in other things.”

  “He is.” Lucas knit his eyebrows together. “I had not noticed it in the ballroom, but you are right. He danced with all the belles, didn’t he?”

  Maryann growled low in her throat but was not sure if that was because Lucas had confirmed what she’d seen, or because apparently everyone knew who the belles were—and that Maryann was not one of them.

  I do not care for such things, she told herself.

  Deborah chimed in. “I think what Maryann was most aware of was that he did not dance with her. He had all but promised her a dance at this ball.”

  “He promised me nothing,” Maryann defended.

  “I think that he did,” Deborah said.

  “He didn’t!” She was too loud, adding one more layer to her embarrassment. She covered her face with her hands and forced herself to take three deep breaths before lowering her hands and speaking again. “He danced with me at the Guthries’ ball some weeks ago. That was what he’d promised, and it is fulfilled. He owes me nothing, so let us be done with this conversation. As I’ve said, my feet hurt and I am so tired I clearly cannot control my tongue, therefore I should not use it at all.”

  “But I think—”

  Lucas took Deborah’s hand, silencing the rest of her words. “Let us do as Maryann says and speak no more of this tonight, dearest.”

  Maryann appreciated his help, but she did not thank him because she was determined not to speak for the rest of the night in hopes of preserving some measure of dignity.

  She knew Deborah would pick up the thread again, but Maryann had a reprieve for tonight at least. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the seat, letting it bounce on the cushion in time with the movement of the carriage. He can dance with whomever he likes, she reminded herself. And yet, she had so wanted him to want to dance with her.

  Timothy was admiring the carved marble mantelpiece when Miss Morrington entered the drawing room. The detail of the mantel was remarkable, and he told her so after he bowed over her hand and complimented her appearance. She wore a straw bonnet with lavender ribbon that matched the small flowers on her cream-colored dress. Her pelisse was yellow, which made her look like springtime, except for the slight tightness of her smile. If she hadn’t wanted to go for a walk, he wished she’d have responded and said as much. Truly, she was one of the harder females of his acquaintance to read, but he hoped to understand her in time. He generally liked a challenge.

  “Are you ready then, Miss Morrington?” he asked, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

  “Yes, Mr. Mayfield.”

  He put out his arm, which she took, and they turned from the room together. Once on the street, walking toward the west entrance to Hyde Park, he asked if she was feeling better since their last visit some two weeks earlier.

  “I am, thank you,” she said. “And how was the visit to your uncle? Does he live in Norfolk? I think that is what you had said.”

  Timothy could not keep from smiling broadly, as he did each time he thought of his visit to Uncle Elliott’s estate and how his life had changed since then. “The visit was nothing short of exceptional,” he proclaimed. “Exceedingly so.”

  “Exceedingly exceptional?” s
he repeated, looking at him but not smiling, though he thought she probably should since she was obviously teasing him.

  “Exactly,” Timothy said with a nod.

  She faced forward again, and they took a few steps in silence. “And since returning to London? Have you been enjoying yourself?”

  He heard the dash of judgment in her tone, and it was his turn to look her direction without a smile. “I always enjoy London,” he said. “Is there something wrong?”

  “Oh, no, nothing,” she said in that tone particular to women who were put out with a man. Unlike many women, however, she was not missish, so she could probably manage him confronting her on it.

  They were approaching the park entrance, and he waited until they were within the green before he spoke again. “That, Miss Morrington, is not true. I can see right through your words because of your tight ears.” He leaned close enough to bump her shoulder playfully. She glanced at him quickly. “So, tell me why you are put out? Is it with me in particular, or some overall complaint with life that has turned your thoughts away from such a lovely day as this?” He waved his hand at the blossoming trees around them. A breeze would now and then send a flutter of petals into the air—it looked like pink snow. They passed two women and nodded in greeting, but didn’t stop to converse. Timothy silently sighed in relief. Some ladies he walked with made a point of talking to everyone they passed. Hours could go by when one walked that way.

  Maryann remained silent even after they were “alone” again. Acting on impulse, he reached over and pulled at one of the ribbons of her bonnet, unraveling the bow beneath her chin.

  She let go of his arm in order to catch the ribbon before the knot came undone too, then she turned wide eyes to him. She had lovely eyes, golden-brown with flecks of green near the center. “Mr. Mayfield!”

  He laughed at the scolding. It was too lovely of a day to be serious.

  Other girls would likely cry if he teased them such, but Miss Morrington merely glared at him, though he felt sure he could see the beginnings of a smile. She attempted to retie the bow, but her gloves apparently made the task awkward without a looking glass, so he lifted his own hands and pushed hers away.

  “I am sorry. Let me fix it.” He poked his tongue between his teeth as he concentrated, making sure each loop was equal to the other. His sister, Donna, had taught him to tie a bow, and he felt sure she would have been proud of her little brother’s accomplishment on Miss Morrington’s behalf today—though she would have scolded him for untying the bow in the first place. He was close enough to Miss Morrington that he could smell the scent of her perfume—a very nice blend of florals and musk.

  When he finished the bow, he met those golden-brown eyes again and realized she’d been watching him. The awareness gave him a shiver. She didn’t look away as the moment stretched a bit longer than necessary. And then a bit longer still. He was the one to step back, clearing his throat and fiddling with the cuff of his coat to give him reason to look away from those lovely eyes that had captured him.

  Once he’d recovered from the odd . . . connection, he put out his arm again, smiling brightly at her. She was still watching him but took his arm after a few moments. They resumed their walk through the park.

  “Now, you have reason to be put out with me, Miss Morrington.”

  “Perhaps I had reason to be put out with you before you attempted to upend my bonnet on the street.”

  He imagined if that had actually happened and her bonnet had been blown from her head and they’d spent five minutes chasing the thing. That would have been hilarious! But that wasn’t the point, and he returned his attention to the discussion at hand. “I suspected as much, but when I asked what was wrong you said ‘Nothing.’” He said the last in a falsetto voice and celebrated when she pinched her lips together to keep from smiling in response. “Come now, Miss Morrington, we are friends, are we not? If you are upset with me, I would prefer you tell me.”

  She sighed, then opened her mouth to speak. Timothy saw a couple approaching from down the way and steered Maryann to the side of the path, bowing politely as the couple passed. Privacy was restored soon enough, and Maryann took a deep breath. “All right, Mr. Mayfield, since you want to know my mind, yes, I am a bit put out with you.”

  He put his free hand on his chest. “I am wounded. Whatever have I done to earn your put-out-ed-ness?”

  “You have been back from your uncle’s for almost two weeks, and I have seen nothing of you.”

  “Not true,” he defended, raising his hand to stop her. He held up one finger. “First, I saw you at the Harrows’ ball, and then at the Sorensons’ garden party, Almack’s on Wednesday, and then, today, I came to take you on that promised walk.” He wiggled his four fingers for emphasis before lowering his hand. She did not seem impressed.

  “I was frankly surprised you remembered having promised it at all.” She looked past him, at a bird or some such distraction, but the color was high in her cheeks and her intent was pointed. This was not an exaggerated feeling, she truly was upset with him.

  “Obviously, I did remember. I believe I deserve credit for following through, not criticism.”

  “I do commend you for following through on your promise, but you cannot blame me for questioning your attention since you barely spoke to me at the other events you mentioned.” She fiddled with the string of her reticule. “Could we walk again, please?”

  He obliged, and after a few steps, he spoke again, “I am genuinely irritated by your determination to accuse me of neglect, Miss Morrington. I greeted you at each and every event.”

  “Yes,” she said with a nod, her chin high and confident. “You greeted me and every other person there.”

  So many young women were soft and sweet all the time, but he liked feeling that Miss Morrington did not hide any portions of her nature from him.

  “I should not have greeted you? Or should I have not greeted the others?”

  She sighed, and he sensed a weariness in her as she looked at the ground. “There is no need for me to be vague any longer, is there?” She took a breath. “I had felt, before you left town, that you and I had reached a certain understanding of one another, and yet now, upon your return, I can’t help but feel as though you are avoiding me.” She stopped, and he turned to face her on the path. “Are you avoiding me, Mr. Mayfield? Because if you are, you need not have followed through on this engagement today. I do not need your pity nor your attention if it is not wholly given.”

  “So,” he said slowly, moving through his thoughts as though picking his way in the dark of night. “You are upset with me because I asked you for this walk?”

  “I am upset with you because you have all but ignored me at every other engagement.”

  “I am unsure what you expect, then, Miss Morrington, since we have both agreed that I did speak with you at each of those events.”

  “Did you ask me to dance?”

  “Well, no,” he said, only now realizing the truth. Dancing was a perfect way to introduce himself to the debutantes he had not let himself get to know before his situation changed. “But in my defense, there are far more ladies than sets, so I did not dance with most ladies.”

  She cocked her head to the side and dropped his arm. “Just say it out. Have you been avoiding me?”

  “No,” he said with a laugh. The idea was ridiculous. He spread his arms wide. “Am I not here, right now, attempting to walk with you in Hyde Park? If I were avoiding you I certainly would not have done that, now would I?”

  “No, I suppose you wouldn’t.” Her tone held confusion, and perhaps some embarrassment. He felt she deserved to feel the latter, but maybe not the former. They agreed that he’d promised her this walk and that he’d delivered on that promise and that he’d not ignored her at the other events. He prayed that would be the end of it.

  Only, it wasn’t the end of it because
now he was reviewing how he’d interacted with her at those aforementioned events and could see why she had made the conclusion she had. He had not given her any special attention, which apparently, she had expected. Was he responsible for that expectation?

  “Right. Might we continue?”

  She nodded and took his arm yet again, sheepishness replacing her defensiveness.

  They walked in silence while Timothy reviewed the day he’d visited her in her father’s drawing room. It was reasonable that his boldness that day—and hers—would create an expectation different from what she had of other men. Men who flattered her and . . . were after her money. Was that the root of her insecurity? Did she see him as just one more man after her fortune and therefore not to be trusted? But he wasn’t one of those fortune hunters. Not anymore. She did not need to be wary of him or attempt to interpret his every action or every word. It must be exhausting to have to suspect every relationship with every man who approached her—poor girl. The realization made him glad he had kept his unexpected financial boon to himself so that he might not face the same fate as Miss Morrington when the town learned of it and changed their treatment toward him.

  “I am sorry it seems as though I have been avoiding you, Miss Morrington,” he finally said. “That was not my intent.”

  She was quiet for a few steps, seeming to be looking at the trees and flowers that decorated the park. “I am glad to hear it, but I wonder what changed. Your . . . intention at these events has been different than it was before you left.”

  He imagined her watching him during those balls and dinner parties, expecting him to give her some attention while instead he lavished it on women he had only been cordial with before because he could not risk engaging his heart.

  “Don’t hear what I’ve said wrongly,” she added. Was that repentance in her tone? “You owe me nothing, Mr. Mayfield. Our connection is chiefly due to your friend and my sister’s marriage and—”