A gift of daisies

Chapter 2

David Gower was seated in Lord Rivers' very comfortable carriage later that evening on his way to the Simpson ball, his cousin opposite him. He was still feeling rather amused at the way Algie's feelings had been ruffled when he had teased him about the magnificent folds of his neckcloth.

"How many neckcloths did your poor valet wreck before he could come up with this piece of sheer artistry?" he had asked.

"Only four," Algie had replied, turning the whole upper part of his body in David's direction in order not to have his cheeks punctured by the sharp points of his shirt collar. "He was more careful than usual tonight."

David had shouted with laughter. "Perhaps if you could train yourself to sleep absolutely motionless on your back all through the night," he had said, "you could make the same creation serve for a whole week, Algie. It seems a shame to waste all that artistic effort on one evening's entertainment. Perhaps someone of some significance will be absent this evening and not even see it."

That was when Algie's feelings had become ruffled. He had pretended to take offense, anyway. David would not have been feeling so cheerful if he thought he had seriously hurt his cousin. He turned his thoughts to the evening ahead. It had been a long time since he had attended anything quite so frivolous as a ball. And a London ball at that. He quite looked forward to the experience. He would be no match for the splendor of the other guests, of course. His gray knee breeches, silver waistcoat, and blue evening coat had served him for all formal occasions during the previous two years. And he had not even tried to coax his neckcloth into anything but the simplest of knots. His coat was not particularly tight across his shoulders. He knew for a fact that Algie's valet had had to summon a footman to help him squeeze Algie into his.

But he did not particularly care about his slightly unfashionable appearance. After being away from society for some time, he viewed with amusement the more extravagant and impractical trends of fashion. Why look as if one had been poured into one's coat when afterward one was quite incapable of moving? Why view the world languidly through a quizzing glass when one had perfectly good eyesight? Why wear corsets and make every indrawn breath a torture? And if he considered the ladies, he could feel even greater amusement. Tiny lacy parasols that did nothing to keep the sun away from the complexion. Saucy little bonnets that were certainly not designed to keep the elements away from the head. He could go on and on.

Take that little neighbor of Algie's, for example. She was very pretty and very charming, but altogether a little bundle of frivolity. Poor Algie if he did have a tendre for her. Algie had his frivolous side too, but there was far more to the man. He took his responsibilities as landlord seriously. And he was a kind, unassuming man despite the affectation of his dress when in town. David hoped there was more to Lady Rachel Palmer than met the eye. But he very much doubted it.

She certainly had her fair share of vanity. She loved to be noticed. Of course, one could hardly blame her. She was undoubtedly good to look at if one was content to let one's eyes go no farther than skin-deep. Very good to look at, in fact. But her mother should certainly have taught her that one did not solicit the hands of gentlemen as dancing partners on the public streets. Especially not those of strangers to whom one had just been introduced.

It struck him suddenly that if a wedding between Algie and Lady Rachel ever did take place, she would be the leading lady of his parish socially. He would have to learn to deal with her himself. It was not entirely a pleasant prospect. The other girl, now, was different. She had neither looks nor character to attract during a chance meeting, but there was a great deal more to her than met the eye. He had sensed that she might be worth getting to know. And he was to waltz with her this evening.

"I don't know about you," Algernon said as the carriage slowed to join the back of the line of conveyances approaching the entrance to the Simpson residence, "but I plan to disappear into the card room as soon as I may."

"But you have promised two dances," David reminded him.

"True," Algernon sighed. "And the Simpsons are usually niggardly with the waltzes. Bet there will be no more than three or four altogether. We can play cards between times, David, and still fulfill our obligations. Rache is a marvel. She can dance the night away and still look as fresh as a daisy on Bond Street the next morning." He chuckled. "She likes being twirled in the waltz, just as if one were turning corners every moment. You were best to remember that, m'boy."

David laughed and peered out through the window at the impressive sight of liveried footmen helping ball guests from their carriages onto the red carpet that had been laid out for the occasion.

Rachel was trying to stand very still. Why did it happen to her far more than to any other young girl that her gown needed repair during balls? This ball had not even started yet and she had caught the hem of her pink underdress on the edge of a chair and torn such a gash in it that she had had to retire to the withdrawing room for repairs to be made. A maid was busy with needle and thread while Rachel stood patiently talking to Celia.

"It really will not show," Celia told her. "Be thankful that it was not the lace that tore. The gown really does look glorious."

"Well, so does yours," Rachel assured her magnanimously. "I told you, did I not, that that dark blue shade would be fare more becoming than the light color you picked out?"

"Yes, I think you are right," Celia said, glancing at her reflection in a mirror, pleased. "You always are. You have a far better dress sense than I."

"It is a matter of common sense, really," Rachel said. "You have pale coloring, Celia, and light hair. It is perfectly obvious that your clothes must be in vivid colors. And of simple design. Those small flounces are just the thing. I do hope Algie will be on time tonight. He almost never is. The first waltz is the second set of the evening. I would hate to have to dance it with someone else. I do feel quite embarrassed about what happened this morning, by the way."

"It comes of your habit of speaking before you think," Celia said without trying to comfort her friend. "You know I do not like other people to solicit partners for me, Rachel. All the time I am dancing with them I think that they would probably rather be anywhere than with me. Lord Rivers is a perfect gentleman, but still I have heard him say that he does not particularly enjoy dancing."

"Oh," Rachel said, biting her lower lip and looking even more guilty, "you mean my asking Algie if he would dance the second waltz with you. But how silly, Celia. He will not mind in the least. He knows that you are my particular friend, you see."

"But still, Rachel," Celia said firmly, "no more, please. I had rather sit among the chaperones all evening than have a single gentleman coerced into dancing with me."

"Well, Mr. Gower was not coerced," Rachel pointed out. "He asked you of his own free will."

"More to save me from some embarrassment, I think," Celia said. "But what was it that you were feeling embarrassed about?"

"Asking Mr. Gower to waltz with me," Rachel said. "How dreadfully forward of me, Celia. What must he think of me, do you suppose?"

"He probably thinks that you are a rather giddy young lady," Celia said mercilessly.

Rachel grimaced. "I was afraid so," she said.

Indeed since the morning she had recovered her senses to quite a marked degree. She had been presented to a perfect stranger in the middle of a public street and she had both fallen in love with him and solicited his hand for a waltz at a ball that evening. What a dreadfully lowering admission to have to make to herself. How vulgar! And how ridiculous when it had turned out that the stranger was a clergyman and the new vicar of her own parish to boot.

He really was dreadfully handsome, of course. But no, it was not his looks merely that had had her reacting so foolishly. It was that character she had detected behind his face and his eyes that had attracted her. But still, she did not know him. Not at all. It was more than stupid to think of being in love with him. And what would she do with such an infatuation anyway? She could never look on the man as a prospective husband. She was going to make a dazzling match when she married. Or failing that, she was going to marry Algie.

And that would sound dreadful too if she had put the thought into words, she thought, watching the maid cut the thread and smooth out the silk underdress and its covering of Brussels lace. There would be nothing whatsoever wrong with marrying Algie. He was a baron, perfectly well-set-up, quite respectable. She thought it entirely possible that she would marry him, and from choice too. She really did love Algie. It was just that marriage to him would not seem dazzling in any way. Comfortable, yes. Secure, yes. Dazzling, no.

Well, she thought, twirling before the mirror to make sure that the mended gown still fell perfectly to the floor, she was going to enjoy the evening. The first waltz with Algie. The second with Mr. Gower. She should not have asked him for that dance, but since she had, she was going to enjoy it, and she was going to show herself that he was merely an attractive man. She was not in any danger of losing her heart to him. Very far from it.

And the opening set was to be danced with the Marquess of Stanford. That had been a huge surprise. The man was known as one of the most eligible and elusive bachelors on the market. Not even on the market really. He must be well into his thirties already and showed no sign of giving up his single status, though he was wealthy, attractive, and charming, and had had mamas scheming for his capture for years. He very rarely singled out any of the young unmarried girls for any attention. And yet he had come up to her as soon as she had entered the ballroom, and before the accident with her gown, bowed and smiled, and entered his name on her card next to the opening set.

"We had better go, Celia," she said now, smiling her gratitude to the maid who had repaired her gown, "or we will miss the first set. Mr. Pope is to lead you out?"

"Yes," her friend replied. "And you are to dance with the Marquess of Stanford, Rachel? You will be the envy of every female at the ball."

"I do hope Algie arrives before the waltz," Rachel said. "And Mr. Gower for you, of course."

***

Lady Rachel Palmer was not difficult to spot in the ballroom, David found as soon as he and Algernon made their appearance halfway through the opening set. Perhaps it was because she was dancing with the Marquess of Stanford, a man who always seemed to draw all eyes his way. David remembered him from four years before when he had been in London last. Even at that time Stanford had been considered the catch of the marriage mart. He seemed able to combine those two fascinating qualities of warm charm and elusiveness. And it seemed he still wove his magic. David did not think that his were the only eyes on the couple.

There were Algie's, for example. He was actually watching them through a quizzing glass, a half-smile on his lips.

"Trust Rache!" he said with a chuckle. "Opening the Simpson ball with Stanford. She won't stop talking about it for a month."

David looked at her. Yes, even without her present partner, she would still draw eyes her way. She was extremely lovely, of course, as he had not failed to notice that morning. In the ball gown, about which she had boasted earlier, she looked exquisite, her figure, which he had been unable to judge beneath her pelisse, quite perfect. Everything was beautifully in proportion. It was not just her figure and gown that drew the eye, though. Indeed, there were many ladies present almost equally as lovely. It was not her dark hair and eyes either.

There was something else about Lady Rachel. It was the life and energy radiating from her. One had only to look at her to see that she was totally absorbed in her enjoyment of the scene and the activity around her.

Yes, a very attractive young lady indeed. He would doubtless have been smitten by her had he met her a few years before. At that time beauty and liveliness had been the only important attributes in a female. He had not looked for any greater depth of character. He now thought now it was a shame that girls such as Lady Rachel should be raised and educated in such a way that all their energies became devoted to the pursuit of frivolity.

David smiled to himself. He was at a ball, and what activity could be more frivolous? He might as well enjoy it. And indeed there was a certain delight in looking around yet again at a lavishly decorated room, heavy with the sight and scent of flowers, bright with the light from myriad candles, gay with the gowns and waistcoats and evening coats of fashionable dancers.

He looked around the room and located Miss Barnes, dancing with a young man he had not seen before. The waltz for which he was to partner her was next, he had learned. She looked quite pretty, dressed far more becomingly than she had been that morning. But she was not the sort of figure to draw attention. And yet she undoubtedly had far greater depth of character than her friend.

"Algie!" The set was over, Lord Stanford had already executed his bow and left Rachel, and a small cluster of her loyal followers was already hovering around her. She was hurrying toward the two of them, her face beaming with all the sunshine of her gaiety. "How fortunate that you spoke up for the first waltz earlier. My card is quite full already, and here is Sir Thomas Rey trying to persuade me to scrub out one name and insert his. I have been telling him how very naughty he is even to suggest such a thing."

David smiled when her eyes moved with a rush over Algie's shoulder and met his. Her flush of excitement seemed to deepen. "Good evening, Mr. Gower," she said. "Are you the one I must thank for getting Algie here on time? He has a dreadful habit of being late, you know. I was quite fearful that he would not be here in time for our waltz. I would never have recovered from the mortification of being a wallflower."

David bowed. "I believe you have his valet to thank this evening, Lady Rachel," he said. "The man was in top form and ruined only four neckcloths before achieving the creation you see before your eyes."

Rachel giggled and tapped her fan against Algernon's arm. "It is splendid, Algie," she said. "You look very distinguished."

David turned to Celia, whose partner had brought her to join the group. "Miss Barnes," he said, "how very charming you look in blue. Am I still to partner you for the waltz?"

She curtsied and blushed as she smiled back at him.

***

The second waltz of the evening was also the supper dance, Rachel had noticed as soon as she had consulted her program. She did not know quite if she looked forward to it or not. It was still dreadfully embarrassing to remember that she had asked Mr. Gower for the dance while on Bond Street that morning. And now he would not only have to dance with her, but he must also lead her in to supper and converse with her there until the dancing began again.

What if he had no wish to do either? What a dreadfully lowering thought! It would not normally have entered Rachel's head. She had grown to assume that most gentlemen sought out her company with some eagerness. But Mr. Gower was not most gentlemen. She rather suspected that he was quite different, in fact. And so she felt distinctly uneasy about the approach of the waltz.

He had not even glanced at her since greeting her at the end of the first set. She could swear it because, annoyingly, she had glanced at him a great many times. He had remained in the ballroom, unlike Algie and many of the other gentlemen, who disappeared quite frequently, probably into the card room, she suspected. And he had danced each set. He had talked almost constantly with Celia during the waltz. She had wondered what they had found to talk about. It was true that she had prattled almost nonstop to Algie, but then she always talked, while Celia rarely did.

And Mr. Gower had danced with several of those giggly girls who usually huddled together in groups. They must have been pleased. Several of them hardly ever danced. That was probably the reason they stayed so close to one another, and was also perhaps the reason Mr. Gower asked them, Rachel thought with a pang of guilt for the scorn she had often felt for those girls. Was the man teaching her a lesson in compassion?

But not a single glance at her. She did not know why she should feel chagrin at the fact. Plenty of other men had paid a great deal of attention to her. She was still feeling a glow of triumph at having danced with the Marquess of Stanford. And he was indeed charming. And attractive. He was possibly too thin, his face too angular to be called handsome. But definitely attractive. And he had looked at her appreciatively all the time they danced. He had made her feel as if she were the only lady worth looking at in the whole room.

Mr. Gower had looked at her in no such way. After making that one joke at Algie's expense, he had turned to Celia and focused entirely on a conversation with her. And Rachel had not failed to notice that he had given Celia quite as much of his attention as the marquess had given her.

She really did not want more for herself, did she? He just happened to be a very attractive man whom she had been unwise enough to admire before learning who he was. And even if she had not known this evening that he was a country vicar, she would surely have noticed that he was not the sort of man in whom it was wise to become interested. His evening clothes were not shabby by any means, but they were quite noticeably not new. And they were quite unadorned by fobs or chains or jewels. In fact, he looked plainly dressed in comparison with Algie.

And yet, she admitted to herself, it was understandable that she had become so easily infatuated that morning. He had a physique that made one scarcely notice his attire, and a face that could make one ignore both. It was his face that kept drawing her eyes against her will. He smiled constantly, yet not in that bright, artificial way of most people on such occasions. There seemed to be an enormous kindliness behind his smile. A great happiness even. But why should he not be happy? He was in London, in attendance at a grand ton ball.

Rachel frowned at the complexity of her own thoughts. It was not that kind of happiness, though. There was something about Mr. Gower that drew her, yet she really could not explain to herself what it was. All she did know was that she felt uncomfortable as gentlemen began to take their partners for the waltz. For once she did not know quite how she was to behave, what she was to say. Pointless to tell herself to behave naturally. Once one became aware of oneself, it was impossible to behave as one normally would.

She smiled gaily as she placed a hand in his and followed him onto the floor. "Are you not enjoying yourself immensely?" she asked, placing one hand on his broad shoulder and feeling the warmth of his hand against her waist. "I think there is no pleasure so exquisite as dancing. I always wish a ball would never come to an end."

"That would be all sugar with no bread and vegetables," he said with that smile that barely moved the muscles of his face. It was there behind his eyes and lurking at the corners of his mouth. "Do you not think that you would become weary after two or three days and nights of continuous dancing?"

She giggled. "I did not intend to be taken quite so literally, sir," she said. "Yes, I doubtless would be feeling rather footsore by perhaps the middle of August."

"But your sentiment was quite right," he said. "This is a lovely ball. The music is irresistible." And Rachel lost her breath for a moment as he twirled her unexpectedly in the middle of the floor.

"You are not a Puritan then?" she asked. "You do not frown upon such trivial pleasures?"

"I am here, am I not?" he said. "And dancing. It is not obligatory for a clergyman to walk around with a sober frown, you know. Indeed, if you know the Bible at all well, Lady Rachel, you will know that dancing has always been man's way of expressing exuberant spirits, even the spirit of praise and worship. Do you know the Psalms?"

Rachel grimaced. "Indeed, yes," she said. "The Bible is Papa's favorite book, and he tries constantly to make it everyone else's in his family."

He grinned. "Without much success?" he asked.

"Oh, I do think I would enjoy dancing before the Lord," she said. "I have always fancied that idea. Unfortunately, it is not Papa's way of appreciating the Bible. We more commonly sit soberly in the drawing room passing the book from hand to hand so that all may read a passage aloud for the edification of the others."

She giggled, and he smiled down at her.

"But what a very strange topic of conversation for a ball," she said.

"I find that people invariably feel obliged to introduce some pious topic into the conversation as soon as they know I am a clergyman," David said, a twinkle in his eye. "It seems we are seen as something of a race apart."

Rachel was disconcerted. She had no wish to give an impression of herself as a pious hypocrite. She smiled gaily again and set herself to chatter about trivialities for the remainder of the set. But why was it that she felt she had lost his attention? She had not. He looked at her and at no one else all the time they danced, and participated in each topic of conversation she introduced. His manner did not become either cold or distant. His eyes continued to smile.

But she knew that he had gone from her. For the first time she was conscious of her bright and artificial manner, of the essential emptiness of her conversation. Usually she talked and talked and never paused to wonder if she had anything of consequence to say. And gracious, she thought, that was the only way to be. One would trail through life in silence if one waited for something of moment to say.

What was it about David Gower? she wondered, puzzled, even as she continued to chatter with growing animation. And then she realized with something of a shock that what made him different from almost every other gentleman of her acquaintance was that he did not worship her. He was perfectly correct and courteous toward her. But there was nothing either flirtatious or openly admiring in his manner. To him she was just another dancing partner, even perhaps a rather tedious and silly one. It was a thoroughly lowering thought.

Rachel chattered on.