"My father has been down with the flu for the past week," George said with a gloomy, regretful smile. "It is my first time coming to London alone to greet all my father's friends and business associates. It is such a daunting experience, I can tell you."
Maggie laughed.
"I certainly feel the same!"
"But I saw you, you managed everything very well," George praised her sincerely. "I haven't even spoken to half as many people after I arrived, and I have been here last year! Imagine if it were my first year! I might just hide behind a potted plant and hope that no one sees me!"
They broke into laughter in unison. Maggie wiped a tear from the tail of her eye.
"You are exaggerating," Maggie chuckled. "Oh, but it is so refreshing to joke around with someone. Thank you."
"Since we are already here, what about a dance?" George beamed at her.
Maggie blinked, surprised by the sudden invitation. A flicker of warmth, a longing she hadn't quite acknowledged, danced in her chest, but then there was something else that sparked the hesitation in her heart. "Oh," she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe just a little later? Truthfully, I'm quite worn out from all the introductions."Understanding flickered in George's eyes. He had, after all, witnessed the entire parade. Lady Bloomsbury was very energetic for her age. "Of course, perfectly understandable," he assured her, his voice warm. "May I fill in my name on your dance card, then? Perhaps for the next waltz?"A faint blush crept up Maggie's cheeks. "Yes, of course," she murmured, fumbling slightly as she unhooked the fan-shaped card from her wrist.
George Bentley was the first to ask her for a dance, thus he had the privilege to pick which song to dance to.
"Done. Don't leave me out in the cold, Lady Blanchard," he winked at her with a smile after he filled in his name. After returning the dance card back to Maggie, he disappeared into the crowd, presumably to chase after certain prominent ball attendants he still needed to greet.
Maggie nursed her drink, her gaze drifting across the ballroom. A pang of disappointment tightened her chest. The Marquess of Canterbury was nowhere to be seen. Nor was Lord Locksworth.
She was unable to explain the tightening in her chest, but she had harbored a hope to save one dance for the elusive gentleman who had taken such good care of her all this time.
But perhaps he was preoccupied with weighty matters of Parliament, or entangled in some other obligations in London. Besides, in his own words, he found the affairs between men and women awfully tedious.
A string of gentlemen followed George Bentley's departure, each vying for a turn on the dance floor with Maggie. With a weary smile, she rose to accommodate each invitation, her feet gliding effortlessly across the polished wood. Yet, her gaze couldn't help but flit across the room, searching for a single absent figure who had become a persistent presence in her thoughts.
The Debutante Ball ended on a high note. Before long, guests started pouring out of the opulent ballroom, not without congratulating Lady Bloomsbury on yet another successful event.
Exhaustion weighed heavily on Maggie's eyelids. The carriage ride home, even amidst the gentle rocking and rhythmic clip-clop of the horses' hooves, couldn't compete with the insistent tug of sleep. By the time they reached the charming townhouse she rented in a quiet corner of London, a light doze had already claimed her, leaving a dreamy echo of the eventful evening in its wake.
"My Lady?"
The footman swallowed hard as he caught a glimpse of the sleeping young lady.
"Ahem... Young Lady?"
Maggie was startled awake by the footman's louder voice.
"We have arrived."
"Ah, yes..."
With a tired sigh, Maggie accepted the footman's extended hand. Her body, pleasantly ached from a whirlwind of dances, leaned gratefully against the firm support as she descended the carriage steps.
The elaborate debutante gown, once a constant reminder of the Debutante Ball, pooled at her feet as Maggie wrestled it off her slim figure. Drowsiness quickly settled over her as she slipped into her nightdress and collapsed onto the welcoming embrace of the bed. Sleep claimed her instantly, washing away the memories of the exciting evening in a single tide.
The days following the Debutante Ball offered a welcome respite. Aches and exhaustion lingered in their joints and swollen limbs, keeping most debutantes in a state of blissful slumber until noon. Social engagements wouldn't resume for at least three days, and no gentleman was expected to call upon them until at least a week had passed.
Maggie did not have any special plans for the day, other than settling before a desk and writing several thank-you notes for the people she met at the ball last night, including Lady Bloomsbury. The graceful hostess of the ball had kindly dragged her across the ballroom to introduce her to various people, opening doors for her in an instant.
Beyond mere courtesy, Maggie held a secret hope in every letter she wrote. Perhaps these thank-you notes would blossom into a string of correspondence, a chance to forge genuine connections in the future.She was in the middle of writing her third note when a hired maid knocked at the door and curtsied before her.
"Yes, Isla?"
"My Lady, a gentleman is here to see you," the maid informed her.
Maggie furrowed her brows.
A gentleman?
A call, so soon?
But who could it be?
Aside from George Bentley, whose wit and charm kept her engaged, Maggie found most of her dance partners to be a monotonous blur. As she did not find them exciting, she doubted that they took a liking to her, definitely not enough to call upon her the day after the Debutante Ball.
It turned out that it was not any of her former dance partners at all.It was Nicholas Cunningham.
"Hello, Maggie," the man greeted her with a hesitant smile as he rose from the sofa.