Page 8 of A Mismatch Made in London

“If you wish, I shall have my brother school him on proper manners toward a lady.”

“Oh no, please do not. I don’t wish to make a fuss.”

“Well, you shall be my particular friend for the evening, and I shall dare anyone to be rude to you.” She slid her arm through mine.

“You are so kind. Thank you. I don’t have nearly enough friends.”

I blushed. I needed to stop saying whatever came into my head.

Fear attacked me. Would my new friend shun me for being a missish country girl?

“You are in good hands with me. If that ungentlemanly lout should even get near you, I shall snub him with all my might.”

Her enthusiasm lifted my spirits. “Thank you for that. But do I look as if I’ve been crying? I shall be mortified if anyone guesses—”

“Not a bit. You look very pretty. Your dress is just the shade of pink that I like, and the ribbons in your hair are lovely.”

“Thank you. My aunt’s lady’s maid, Francine, did very well at managing my thick waves, but I probably shouldn’t have mentioned a servant. Oh dear. I should just refrain from speaking, for every time I speak, I say something wrong. The worse news is that I talk when I’m nervous.”

“Do not think so. It is refreshing to find someone who isn’t always trying to pretend in some way or another, engaging in artifice to manipulate people into believing they are somehow better than they are.”

The expression of my new friend—Juliet! That was her name, I remembered now—was so sincere and kind.Thank you, dear Lord God, for Juliet.

“I very much like the artless and friendly way you say what you mean,” she went on. “It’s delightful, and I hope you do not change yourself for any of these pompous people.”

No one had ever said such things to me before. And as we walked into the ballroom together, I felt much braver.

I introduced Juliet to my aunt, but as I’d forgotten her last name, Juliet had to supply it. Beaumont. That sounded familiar, but I didn’t have time to consider why.

My aunt seemed inordinately pleased to make her acquaintance. I was touched at how happy she was that I’d made a new friend.

Two young gentlemen approached us, and as soon as I was introduced, one asked Juliet to dance and the other asked me. Soon I was dancing and smiling—but not too much, for I didn’t want to seem too friendly and familiar and “countrified”—and enjoying myself as much as possible, even though I was still able to see Cornelius Fortescue. He was dancing with a most elegant woman. Her person, hair, and dress were all dripping with pearls, and she had the haughtiest countenance I’d ever seen. Even Mr. Fortescue looked a bit cowed.

I determined not to look at him again.

My partner was agreeable, though neither of us talked, but he gazed at me in a way that was quite flattering, and I saw his Adam’s apple bob up and down more than once as he swallowed. Though he was unusually thin, he was reasonably good-looking with a pleasant countenance. I was proud of myself for remembering his name, Mr. James Breckinridge, though it was not familiar and he had not been one of the desirable gentlemen my aunt had told me to flirt with. I was just glad someone had asked me to dance.

Juliet was a wonderful dancer, I noticed, and she smiled often at her partner, who was also pleasant and agreeable. How fortunate for us, to dance and feel admired, for her partner was gazing at her in much the same way mine looked at me.

What a relief it was to know, after the humiliation of Mr. Fortescue and his friends laughing at me, that not every gentleman was. And it was certainly comforting that, as much as we ladies were attracted to a handsome face, hide it though we all must, these gentlemen were attracted to us as well.

Perhaps London would not be so bad after all as I learned the rules. I simply had to behave as if it were a game of cards and not show my hand—my country manners. And perhaps someday I’d meet someone who didn’t mind them, who appreciated me forwhat Juliet had called my “artless and friendly” way of saying what I meant.

The next dance, I had no partner. At the last moment, a gentleman asked Juliet, but she told him, “I thank you, but I wish to sit and talk with my friend.”

The gentleman had to bow and walk away.

Juliet whispered to me, “What is it like to have so many brothers and sisters? You must never feel alone or want for someone to talk to.”

“Well, my brother Adam is only two years younger than I am, and he is a good friend to me and we talk a lot, but my nearest sister is eight years younger. We do talk, but not so much as we might if we were nearer in age. But there is always something I can do to help Mother and the nursemaid. I often care for my two-year-old sister, Diana. She is very sweet, but I’m the only one she wants to put her down for her nap, especially now that my little brother is here. He is six weeks old. And my brothers are always causing some kind of ruckus, with their wild playing and pretend sword fighting. But I am talking too much, and you don’t want to hear about all my brothers and sisters.”

I didn’t want to drive my new friend away with my dull, one-sided conversation.

But Juliet didn’t look put off by my long string of words. “That sounds lovely. When she was only a week old, I held my little niece while she slept. It was the sweetest feeling. And you shouldn’t think you are talking too much with me. I enjoy lively conversation, and I am not so stuffy and formal as some people.”

“Oh, that is a relief.”

Juliet laughed. “I like you very much, Amelia Moore. We are destined to be great friends.”