blue-eyed man bowed from the waist. ‘Forgive me, Miss Teak, but I really should be moving along.’
‘Oh,’ was all she could think of say, as her spirits plummeted. Of course, a man like that was not going to stand around playing word games with the likes of her for any length of time. She might have amused him, for a moment or two. But he had eyes in his head. She was tall, she was ungainly and she had no dress sense. She didn’t think her face was actually ugly and her hair was the kind of silver blonde that men might go into raptures over, if it sprouted from the head of a smaller, dainty woman.
But she wasn’t. And it didn’t.
By the time she’d thought all those things, he’d vanished into the throng. Though she would have thought a man like him would be visible above the general run of people, being a full head taller than she was.
Her wretched eyesight. If only Grandfather would permit her to wear spectacles when she went out. But Grandfather didn’t hold with them. And she didn’t have the heart to defy him. He’d been generous enough to her over the years. Indeed, if it wasn’t for him...
She sighed, and, her cup of supposedly health-giving water held firmly in her hand, made her way back to the spot where she’d left Grandfather, holding court over a group of Bath widows and old cronies.
‘Who were you talking to, miss?’ Grandfather scowled at her over the rim of his cup as she handed it to him.
‘I have no idea,’ she admitted wistfully. ‘He didn’t give me his name.’
‘I should think not. In my day a gentleman waited to be introduced before speaking to a lady.’
‘Well, I did blunder into him and knock his cup of water out of his hand.’
‘Oh. I see. Like that, was it?’ And with that, he turned back to Mrs Hutchens and took up from where they’d left off gossiping, having clearly dismissed the entire incident.
Which was a bit depressing, actually. For a minute or two, Lizzie toyed with the idea of saying that, no, it wasn’t like that. That the tall, blue-eyed man had flirted with her outrageously. Showered her with compliments, then asked her to elope with him.
But saying any such thing would only have earned her a sharp reprimand. Grandfather knew she wasn’t the kind of girl that gentlemen ever flirted with. The only thing that might tempt a man to look beyond her gargantuan build, and her clumsiness, was an enormous dowry.
And Lizzie didn’t have a penny to her name.
Still, there was nothing to stop her from reliving the encounter in her mind. And imagining the expressions that might have been flitting across his face as they were bantering with each other. Why shouldn’t he have looked at her with admiration? Why couldn’t her dazzling wit have managed to chase the shadows from his eyes and make them twinkle with laughter?
Grandfather rudely interrupted her daydream by poking her in the leg with his cane.
‘Come on, girl, stop wool-gathering!’
It was time to leave.
‘Yes, Grandfather,’ she said meekly. But instead of trailing behind him, shoulders drooping at the prospect of facing the next stage in the daily round of Bath life, Lizzie imagined she was balancing a pile of books on her head. Because ladies were supposed to glide, gracefully, wherever they went.
And for once, Lizzie could see the point of trying to do so.
Because, who knew who might be watching her?
‘And of course,’ said Lady Mainwaring, ‘I told her...’
Lizzie kept her head tilted to one side, her eyes fixed in the general direction of Bath’s most garrulous widow, while her mind wandered freely. It was one of the benefits of having such poor eyesight. People didn’t expect her to look as though she was focusing intently on them when they cornered her and tried to interest her in the latest gossip.
She did make sure she smiled at Lady Mainwaring though, because the plump little woman was one of the least terrifying of the Bath set. Lizzie was certain that she gossiped about her the moment they parted company, but she never actually said anything unkind to her face, the way so many of the other dowagers did. Lady Mainwaring had never asked her why she didn’t smarten herself up, for example, or recommended modistes who would know how to counteract her faults, or sigh and pretend to sympathise with the difficulty of finding eligible young men in Bath these days. She was too keen on keeping Lizzie up to date with what everyone else in Bath was doing.
‘Excuse me,’ said the Master of Ceremonies, bowing to both ladies and making Lizzie jump. She hadn’t noticed him approaching, so intent had she been on convincing Lady Mainwaring she was listening to her account of her latest altercation with one of the other dowagers.
‘I have here a gentleman I would wish to recommend as a dancing partner, for you, Miss Hutton.’
‘For me?’ Lizzie couldn’t have been more surprised if he’d told her she’d just won the lottery. Especially since she’d never purchased a ticket.
‘Permit me to introduce Captain Bretherton, of His Majesty’s navy,’ said the Master of Ceremonies, smoothly ignoring Lizzie’s less-than-gracious reaction, and waving to someone who, presumably from the direction of the waving, was standing just behind him.
‘Captain Bretherton?’ Of the navy? She peered beyond Mr King’s shoulder and saw an immense figure loom up out of the golden candlelit fog. And her heart skipped a beat. It was the man from the Pump Room that morning. It had to be. For there surely couldn’t be two such tall, broad men in Bath at present.
‘Miss Hutton,’ said a voice she recognised at once. A voice that sent strange feelings rippling through her whole body. Making her feel a bit like a pointer quivering in the presence of game. ‘I am charmed to make your acquaintance.’
‘Eep!’ That was the noise which escaped Lady Mainwaring’s mouth as Captain Bretherton stepped closer and bowed over her hand. Which also, coincidentally, expressed exactly what Lizzie was thinking.
‘Captain Bretherton,’ said Lizzie, dropping into a curtsy. Causing Lady Mainwaring to stagger a little as Lizzie’s elbow caught her in the midriff.
She really ought to practise curtsying more often. She had never mastered the art of controlling her elbows. It was hard enough to get her knees to dip to the approved level, while keeping her balance. Spreading her elbows wide helped her not to stagger in the rising portion of the curtsy, she’d discovered. And Lady Buntingford, who’d been the one attempting to teach her all that a lady needed to know, had said that she supposed that at least it meant she could perform the whole manoeuvre relatively smoothly, even if nobody and nothing within range of them was likely to emerge unscathed.
‘Allow me to escort you to the ballroom,’ said Captain Bretherton, as a large, gloved hand swam into view.
She took it, grateful that she couldn’t see the expression on his face. The poor man must be regretting having asked her to dance, now that he’d seen how clumsy she was.
‘You are very brave,’
