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Chapter Five

I t was Friday, and Geny resisted the urge to go to the orphanage, although not without a struggle. There was no rational explanation for what had come over her that she should have such an overwhelming desire to see Mr. Rowles—one that was almost impossible to master. But it would behoove her to gain a better grip on her flights of romantic fancy. Nothing was more absurd than the notion that she should show interest in him. After all, he might look the gentleman, but his status was questionable. Besides, was she then to throw herself at his feet? Surely, she was the only one who experienced such forceful—and inexplicable—emotions when they were together. He likely felt nothing, which was even more embarrassing.

She was working on another set of curtains when the sounds of a visitor reached her in the drawing room. The butler came in to announce Miss Buxton, and Geny looked up with a smile. “What an unexpected pleasure. You are usually too tired from the prior night’s party to come and visit me.”

“Oh, I am tired.” Margery plopped herself on the sofa in an unladylike manner, which she only allowed herself to do in front of Geny. Never in public, of course, and never in front of her mother.

“However, I have come to bring you an invitation to a ball that we are to attend tomorrow night. I thought you would like to come because some of those who donate to the orphanage will be there. You will be able to thank them in person.” Her demure smile almost hid her look of mischief. “And encourage them to give more. It is at seven o’clock.”

Geny sent her friend an appreciative look. “You know me well. That is precisely what I would like to do. However, my father would not approve unless I am to be escorted.”

“I have already spoken to my mother on the subject, and she will be happy to have our carriage come and pick you up. Will you indeed come then?”

“You may count on it.” The event would be just the thing to take her mind off the asylum’s new steward. “Can you stay for a while? I will call for tea.”

Margery shook her head. “I am tempted, especially with your cook’s delicacies, but I dare not. Besides, I have already eaten more than is good for me today.”

Geny chuckled at this. Her friend loved to eat, but any resulting plumpness only seemed to serve to her advantage for it went where it was supposed to. “Well then, I will expect you at seven o’clock tomorrow night. Where is it?”

“You remember Mrs. Sookholme, do you not? She was an early donor with her husband, and when we approached her to ask if she would extend you an invitation, she almost stumbled over herself in her pleasure to do so. I daresay you’ve never been to her house as it’s in Southwark, but she has a very nice residence and a large ballroom.”

Margery stopped and puckered her lips. “It is a shame that the ton is so particular. There are many who would appreciate such a fine ballroom, and she lays out superior refreshments. ”

“Well, I am not particular,” Geny said. “And I shall look forward to it.”

The next evening, Geny had her hair styled with a softer, curled chignon in the back and little curled tendrils near her face. She knew it became her more than her usual severe style, but she found the latter more practical; most days she was not out to impress anyone. She wore her gown of blue silk threaded with gold but left off overt signs of wealth, despite the fact that tonight’s guests would likely comprise an affluent set. Instead, she settled for a simple strand of pearls. I will adorn myself with benevolence and warmth instead .

On the hour, the Buxtons’ carriage pulled up to the front door, and their footman stepped down to open it and help Geny in.

Mrs. Buxton acknowledged her with a bow of her head from where she sat. “Why, you look very fine, my lady.”

Margery’s mother insisted on formality, although she had known Geny since she was young. She never tried to overstep her bounds, which was likely why Lord Goodwin put up with her, despite the fact that they hailed from the merchant class. Geny’s mother, however, had respected Mrs. Buxton, and that would have been enough for Geny even without having Margery for a best friend.

In a sudden jerk, the horses started forward at a trot, and Margery and her mother began to discuss the guests they were likely to see at the party.

“You will pay special attention to Mr. Thompson, now that he has returned from Wales,” Mrs. Buxton said. “He is a kind gentleman and well set up in the world besides carrying on the same trade as your father. Honestly, it is not as though I push you toward men who are sixty, or who have strange peccadilloes. I only present you to ones whom I know will take care of you and whom you could love.”

“You are very good, Mama. I shall do my best to be interested.”

Geny stifled a smile at Margery’s outward meekness. The Buxtons’ dynamic had not changed since she had known them. Although they pretended to be opposite on many matters, there was no shortage of affection. It cheered her to see their mother-daughter relationship thriving, although she no longer had one of her own.

They arrived at Mrs. Sookholme’s house, and Geny lifted her eyes to take in the magnificent residence with candles blazing in all of the windows.

“It is lovely.” Geny smiled at Margery and sent an expressive glance toward the ballroom which was visible from the street through the windows, adding in a whisper, “ Much nicer than Almack’s.”

Margery grinned at her. She had voiced more than once that she was glad she was not required to attend Almack’s above all the other parties her mother dragged her to. They would never be given vouchers for it.

“Here we are, my lady.” Mrs. Buxton gestured to the people filing into the house, leaning in to whisper, “I am fairly confident that the guests here will not embarrass you in any way or offend you with their vulgarity.”

“I believe I may trust that,” Geny replied with a straight face, although she wished to laugh again, conscious of a giddy sensation she did not usually have. Where this came from, she did not know. Besides, anyone who volunteered in an orphanage was not particularly concerned with escaping all that was considered vulgar.

They followed the others inside, where she was introduced to the hostess. “Thank you for your invitation, Mrs. Sookholme, especially one so kindly extended at the last minute. ”

“We are honored that you’ve graced us with your presence,” Mrs. Sookholme replied with an unaffected smile. She then turned to Mrs. Buxton. “I must remain in place to greet our guests for some time. I hope I may count upon you to see that Lady Eugenia is comfortable?”

“Of course, you may.” Mrs. Buxton smiled and led Margery and Geny into the throng.

Mrs. Buxton was a well-liked woman and was soon drawn into conversation, so it was left to Margery to point out the guests she assumed Geny would most like to meet. Mr. and Mrs. Butteridge were expected to come, but she did not see them yet. There was Mr. Harris who had made a significant donation to the orphanage this past year, although Mr. Biggs had explained that the asylum was expensive to run and it was difficult to see the fruit of it. His wife had also donated clothes. When Margery asked if she would like to meet them, she nodded.

“Mrs. Harris?” Margery curtsied when the woman turned to her. “May I present to you Lady Eugenia Stanich? She is daughter to the Earl of Goodwin and takes a keen interest in the orphans’ welfare. She wished to make your acquaintance.”

“I am honored by your notice,” Mrs. Harris said with a curtsy, appearing surprised at the introduction.

“I wished to thank you in person for everything you’ve done for the orphans, Mrs. Harris. I am aware of your husband’s donation, and I received the basket of clothing and other items you had sent for the orphans through Mrs. Buxton.” Geny paused for breath and finished by saying, “I must express how thankful I am to meet like-minded people in society who care about those who have so little.”

Mrs. Harris smiled warmly at her. “I am not sure everyone would agree with your saying I am a part of society, but it is true that I cannot help but think that nothing prevents any one of us from finding ourselves in an unfortunate situation except chance. If I can alleviate their suffering…if I can bring them just a little peace and comfort, then I am quite content.”

“I am of the same mind,” Geny said, her heart thrumming to hear her own thoughts spoken aloud and to know she was not alone. “As was my mother.”

“Will you tell me what sorts of material things are missing?” Mrs. Harris continued. “I know others who are willing to volunteer items, even if their husbands are not yet persuaded to give financially. It is not the case for everyone, of course. Some husbands are as wonderful as mine.”

She glanced over at a tall, stocky man who appeared to be engaged in passionate discussion with another gentleman that bordered on a friendly argument, then brought her gaze back to Geny.

“There are some women whose hearts are large but who have little means to give because they must abide by their husbands’ wishes. They would be pleased to know that other donations are welcomed.”

“There are many things we would find useful,” Geny replied and proceeded to list some of the items that were most needed. They spoke for a few moments longer, with Margery waiting patiently at her side, until Geny noticed that Mr. Harris had finished his conversation and appeared to be looking for his wife. She took leave of Mrs. Harris, adding, “I hope you will extend my gratitude to Mr. Harris also.”

She and Margery walked to the edge of the ballroom. There was a row of private alcoves all along the peristyle, each containing a couple of chairs, that reminded Geny of a honeycomb. Margery slipped her arm through hers.

“With such a warm heart as you have, you should not be surprised at finding that there are others like you. Although I do think you are the best of them all.”

Geny laughed with the words, “you are biased,” on her lips, but they died unspoken on her tongue. There, in front of her, stood Mr. Rowles. He wasn’t speaking with anyone in particular, and indeed was looking a little out of place as he searched the crowd. Because she saw him first, she was able to witness his reaction when he discovered her presence.

He started in surprise as soon as he caught sight of her, then turned more fully to face her. She could not tell if he was happy to see her or not and feared it made no difference to him. Then he smiled, and it sent the giddy feelings soaring that she had been keeping at bay. Although she returned his smile, she was distressed to have had the reaction of a schoolgirl—and here she was, a young woman of twenty-three. With that smile of his, she could only assume that, gentleman or not, Mr. Rowles was very successful with women. The thought made her pinch her lips and rein in her outward display of enthusiasm.

He came before her and bowed. “Lady Eugenia, what a surprise to see you here. Truly, I did not expect it.”

“Nor I you, Mr. Rowles.” She noticed his glance at her side and remembered Margery’s presence. “Please allow me to present you to Miss Buxton. She is a friend of mine.”

“A pleasure, Miss Buxton.” Mr. Rowles bowed, then turned back to Geny as though she had absorbed his entire interest. The small gesture reassured her because she knew that Margery was very comely. He could have been forgiven for staring.

Margery returned the greeting, then touched Geny’s arm. “Would you excuse me for a moment? I can see my mother sending me looks from here, which means she wishes to speak to me.”

“Of course,” Geny said, and Mr. Rowles bowed again as Margery left.

“How do you know Mrs. Sookholme?” Geny asked before an awkward silence could come between them. She feared it—and feared he would find her uninteresting.

“I was only just introduced to her. A friend had me invited to the party since I am…new to this area. I do not have many acquaintances here.”

The fact that he stumbled on his words made her think that he was about to say something else, but she put it out of her mind. She nodded and smiled inanely, a slight panic rising within as her own conversational arts seemed to have fled. Then Mr. Rowles caught her gaze and held it, which steadied her.

“And how do you know our hostess?” he asked. “Have you come with your…family?”

Once again, he hesitated in his speech, and she wondered whether he could be equally as nervous around her. His regard that evening seemed more purposeful than when they had first met. It was as if their brief time together visiting the orphanage had given them cause to become friends. She hoped she was not imagining it.

“I have only just met Mrs. Sookholme. And I came with Miss Buxton, to whom I’ve just introduced you. She spoke to me of the ball yesterday and secured an invitation for me. There are many people here who have in the past contributed to the finances of the asylum, and some are supporting it still. She thought I might like to meet them and thank them in person.”

He studied her, and once she stopped talking, she felt the weight of his regard even more. It made it difficult to breathe or know where to look.

“You are an extraordinary woman, my lady. You truly seem to care for the asylum as though it were the central-most part of your life. Do you not attend parties for pleasure?” He left unspoken what she could only assume. Did she mingle with people of her status?

“I attend Almack’s almost every week because my father wishes me to.” She stopped suddenly, wondering if he knew what that was. “It is a place where people gather on Wednesday evenings to dine and dance.”

Laughter sprang to his eyes, and she did not know the cause for it but suspected she had committed a social solecism. It should have made her feel more unsure of herself as though he were laughing at her, yet it did not seem as though he were. It also made his expression more approachable.

“And do you attend the opera and other parties?” he asked, making no further reference to Almack’s.

“Oh, yes, of course. I frequently attend the opera and am often invited to the musicals held by certain members of society, along with the balls, the routs, the card games. All the usual things.” She was rambling.

The laughter faded from his eyes, but his smile was warm. “It is even more impressive, then, that you are so devoted to the orphans. I could not help but notice that it is not a simple duty to you, as though you are doing a good work. I have the distinct impression that nothing could keep you from giving your time there. I do not know many such people.”

She turned to him. “Are you not? I would think that the simpler people are, the more they would be concerned with benevolence.” She frowned as soon as she spoke the words, realizing too late that she had insulted him by declaring the people he frequented were simpler.

“What I think is that there are good and benevolent people in all spheres of society, whether simple or elevated. And there are, unfortunately for us all, dastardly people in those spheres as well. Those who behave in an ignoble fashion and who set out to deceive others can be found in the Upper Ten Thousand as easily as they can in the merchant class or a village of tenant farmers.”

She raised her brows. “You sound as though you are speaking out of experience.”

The dark look that had come over him disappeared, and his smile returned. He shook his head. “Forgive me, my lady. I was speaking out of experience. But let us set our minds on the people who are good. Like you. ”

She laughed that he would think it. “Good enough, I suppose. I do not think about goodness or trying to achieve such an impossible standard. It is much better to focus on attempting to love.”

Strains of music sounded from the far corner of the ballroom where a small orchestra was seated on a raised dais, and she turned toward it, then cast her eyes to the people setting up for a quadrille in the center of the floor. She hoped he would ask her to dance, and this caused her to return her regard to him where she caught his expression. There was an intensity there, and she wondered at it until the echo of her words rang in her mind.

…attempting to love. Good heavens! She had been talking about the orphans. Not romantic love. But had he assumed she was speaking of that? Or making allusions to himself? Suddenly she was flustered and could feel a deep, burning heat rise up in her cheeks. It was both merciless and flattering, then, that he held her gaze until she blinked and looked away.

“I fear this is presumptuous of me, given the difference in our status,” Mr. Rowles said, “but would you do me the honor of dancing with me, my lady?”

Geny held on to every bit of her rigorous upbringing to keep her feelings from springing out in all directions and returned a careful, gracious curtsy. “I would be delighted to dance with you, Mr. Rowles.”

He held out his arm, and she slipped her hand around it. As they walked to the floor, she smelled his scent that was like wood smoke, and citrus, and…and grass. Was that it? Did he use a soap like that, or was that just his natural scent? She felt the firm muscles of his arm, so unlike other suitors who offered to escort her—or when Mr. Dowling offered his slender arm. Mr. Rowles was likely a man accustomed to hard labor, she reminded herself, attempting to use this as an excuse to forget about any possible future with him. This endeavor was singularly unsuccessful, for she could only think about how much she would like to be wrapped in those strong, protective arms.

She had heard the expression, love at first sight, but the words had been foreign. Now, it felt like she had been given the key to the language. She only hoped the surge of accompanying feeling would not steal her speech.

Unaware of the direction of her thoughts, for which she was fervently grateful, Mr. Rowles led her to an open place on the floor and turned to face her.

“I must tell you that meeting you here is likely to prove the happiest moment of the evening.”

This caused her smile to bloom. She could feel it, could feel her lips stretching and her eyes glowing. She had not thought herself so easy to read, but she must be if he could speak such familiar words to her. And she could only be grateful that he thought their meeting happy, for it matched her own sentiment.

He led her in the first steps of the dance, and the routine of them brought her back down from the cloud she had been floating on. She knew practically nothing about him.

“You dance very well, Mr. Rowles. Where did you learn the steps?”

“Even the most uncivilized of men can be taught, I suppose,” he said smoothly, coming to turn around her. “It was through a dancing master, of course.”

The dance gave them little time to continue the conversation, and they did not attempt it. After some time, they found themselves on the side waiting for their turn.

“Did you have a dancing master, then?” she asked. This surprised her. She did not know much of the lives of tradesmen and those of his ilk, but she supposed if they had the money and wished to mingle in society, they would have to hire all sorts of tutors and masters and people proficient in the arts and studies.

“Yes, when I was young,” he replied, then laughed. “These were my least favorite hours spent, I confess. My brother felt the same, although such instruction was necessary for a young man’s education, of course.”

“Where does your brother live?” She wanted to know everything about him and hoped he would not be put off by her questions.

It was their turn to rejoin the dance, and the steps separated them again before he could answer. It was not until they were reunited that he said, “Gregory lives in West Riding. He is married and serves as rector there.”

“That is not an easy position to obtain without connections,” she observed, thinking that his brother was lucky to have been granted the living. It made her wonder again about Mr. Rowles’s status. Perhaps he was a gentleman—son of a doctor or clergyman. “I am sure he must be valuable to his parish.”

There was a strange twist to Mr. Rowles’s features that was gone in an instant, and she wondered if he and his brother did not get along. Or perhaps he had been offended by her bringing up his lack of connections. She would need to be more careful with her speech, for she truly did not wish to alienate a man she liked so well.

“He is very valuable, indeed. Even his wife serves the poor and organizes relief baskets. She pays the services of the midwife for those who cannot do so. She is…much like yourself.” The dance brought them apart, and when they were rejoined, he hastened to add, “As much as a woman who is beneath you in station can be like you.”

She settled for a smile until the steps gave her the chance to respond. “You, yourself, said there are good and bad people to be found in both simple and elevated spheres. If she is good, then I am honored by the comparison.”

“She has certainly made my brother happy.” The first dance of the set had ended without them having rejoined it, and he led her to the edge of the dance floor. “Have you no siblings? No, I believe you once mentioned you have a brother. ”

“Yes. Matthew. We are as close as he will allow me to be. But I confess that he goes off to Eton quite happily without sparing a thought for his poor elder sister who misses him terribly.”

“He is fortunate to have you and will realize it when he is just a little older,” Mr. Rowles assured her, his lips turned upwards in a way that chased away her breath. “May I procure something for you to drink?”

Geny looked toward the double doors where servants entered bearing trays with glasses upon them. “Yes, if you please. I am thirsty.”

She watched him walk away to retrieve them, as her heart continued to beat a strange rhythm and the candlelight created a warm halo around him.

I understand what it means now to fall suddenly in love. This thought was quickly followed by a second. And yet Father will never approve. Oh, heavens. What am I about?