And yet she still found herself lingering along the sidelines of the ball, watching people dance about to the minuet. She loathed that dance. She was graceful enough; after all, she could play the piano quite well. But no one ever asked her to dance. Ever.
In fact, she hadn’t been asked to dance for the last three balls, and if Stone didn’t solve her dilemma, she would have to take drastic steps to find a wealthy man.
She did not have the luxury of being a permanent wallflower.
And Stone, who had promised to ensure that she would find a match? The good duke had yet to arrive.
Could he truly succeed as promised when no one seemed interested at all?
Well, almost no one. Except for Lord Drexel.
She winced inwardly at the recollection of that man. It was true, she had the one suitor, but that man was not to be borne. Not even in her desperation, at least not yet.
From first glance, he seemed the ideal solution to her dilemma.
Lord Drexel was wealthy. He was even handsome for a man of forty. There was no questioning it, but there was something about him that made her stomach tighten in a most unpleasant way. He stared at her as if she was a sherry trifle to be gobbled up. And the very idea of being eaten by him was… She shuddered.
“My dear, you have the oddest expression.”
Jack blinked and forced a smile. For she did not wish her wonderful mother to worry for her. “Forgive me, Mama.”
“I know it is difficult, my love,” her mother said gently, waving her dark blue fan before her face. The movement sent her silvering curls fluttering about her lined face, a face which had aged considerably with worry in the last year. “But you must arrange your countenance or no one shall ask you to dance.”
She nodded. “Forgive me, Mama, I just had the most appalling thought.”
“Would you care to share your cares?” her mother asked, her russet brows rising ever so slightly with concern.
“’Twas nothing, Mama,” she assured her swiftly. “It is already gone.”
Her mother reached out with her free gloved hand and gently touched her cheek. “You are a wonder, my dear, if you will but let others see it.”
She beamed back at her mother’s love. How could she not? In the face of all that had befallen them, her mother’s love and kindness had never wavered.
Jacqueline did her best to rearrange her features into a pleasant countenance.
The truth was, even when pleasantly arranged, her general countenance did not induce men to ask her to dance. She had proof of it after all. Balls and balls of proof.
It must’ve been the way that she stood or behaved. Men would not approach her no matter how she smiled at them or waved her fan or cocked her head to the side, allowing her curls to drape against her neck. A host of girlish laughter did nothing to move them.
She never thought she was a social pariah, but now that she had absolutely no funds, what was there to induce a man to ask her to marry? There was her family name, of course.
But right now, the family name was more of a hindrance than a help.
Perhaps they were lucky that Louise had married at all. Maybe none of them would be able to find matches, and they would all be ruined.
They’d lose their houses and have to live in a cottage somewhere in the far-flung corners of remotest Yorkshire.
Such a thing would not be so terrible, except for the fact that she would have to give up her pianoforte. And she would have to give up any hope that one day…
She drew herself up, refusing to succumb to such dreary thoughts.
The Duke of Stone would produce a miracle. Of that she was certain. He’d been so confident about it in his rooms. And that’s what it was beginning to feel like—a miracle.
Her mother snapped her fan shut. “My dearest of dears, that expression is back again, only it’s slightly more frightening than the one before.”
She frowned. It seemed beyond her, the ability to control her face. “Forgive me, Mama, again, but I must confess that I find this to be positively intolerable.”
Her mother nibbled her lower lip, clearly perplexed herself. “I can take you about the room my dear and introduce you to several gentlemen.”