Puck and Prejudice

Chapter Twenty-Two

The Crawfords’ ballroom gleamed with mirrors strategically positioned to catch and amplify the dance of five hundred candles.

Beyond the mirrors, glass, crystal, and polished metals worked in concert to light up the space, each reflective surface sparkling

for the evening’s festivities. In every gap, hothouse flowers burst in vibrant colors. The blooms not only added pops of natural

beauty but also carried a sweet fragrance, masking the exertion from the lively dancing. Excited waves of chatter flowed and

ebbed through all corners of the room.

“You’ll relax if you have a glass or two of punch,” Lizzy murmured, nodding toward a bewigged servant in a coral-colored velvet

jacket making his way in their direction, a silver tray gripped tightly between his gloved hands.

“I’m going to need something that hits harder than kiddie punch.” Tuck tugged his cravat for the third time in as many minutes,

peering up at the musicians on the balcony.

“It will be fortified with rum, brandy, and wine. I can assure you that it’s no beverage for children.” She had to lean in

to speak. There was noise. Gossip. Laughter. Music. Heavy breathing.

The dancers whirled in muslin and taffeta to the cotillion, everything gay, light, and airy until you looked closer and realized the dance floor was a battlefield, and each glance carried the weight of intrigue. Henry flew past, red-cheeked, sweat sheening his forehead as he appeared to gulp a breath and disguise it as a chuckle.

“Dancing is hard work,” Tuck observed. “I don’t know why, but I never pictured it to be so strenuous.”

“Oh, yes, my legs are always sore for days after a ball. But if a woman wants to dance, she must say yes to whoever asks.

If you tell a gentleman no, that’s it—you are not able to dance the rest of the night unless you’re willing to risk your reputation.”

“That’s bullshit. What if you don’t want to dance with the person?”

“Then you get to be called Lizzy Wooddash, and welcome to what is known as my life.”

“Not anymore.” He fixed her with such a stare, too perceptive by half. It felt as if the room grew degrees hotter as people

turned in their direction with curious stares, as if to say, Yes , that’s him, the American from Baltimore. I heard she married him after a courtship in Southampton. Indeed, it’s all very

sudden. He is in a trade of some sort. Dry goods or something equally dull.

If Lizzy strained her ears, she’d be able to hear the cogs turning in their brains, gazes cast toward her middle, rooting

out any telltale sign of pregnancy. Alas, all they were going to notice was the poached salmon with dill sauce and fruit tartlet

she’d enjoyed for lunch.

“Go on, ask me another question. I’m positive you have them. And that keeps me distracted from the fact that we are clearly

a topic of minor interest.”

“People have been staring since we entered. What is that card women keep pulling out of their bags for men to sign?”

“Bags? Oh, you mean their reticules. Ah, yes, those are dance cards,” Lizzy remarked, crossing her arms with an air of authority. “Returning to my earlier point, that’s the proper manner to request a dance.”

“Okay, I get that. And then who are these people on the side watching and not talking?”

“Chaperones. Silent guardians of virtue, observing like undercover agents. Their presence ensures that while love is in the

air, it’s kept strictly within the boundaries of propriety.”

“And so everyone stands around and gossips if they’re not dancing?”

“It’s a perilous business. Conversational choices could secure alliances or lead to a polite but firm dismissal. One must

choose words as if crafting a masterpiece. And on the dance floor, restraint is the cornerstone of your choreography. Be close

enough to converse or flirt, but avoid scandalous contact as if your reputation depends on it—because, rest assured, it does.”

“Why is there chalk all over the floor?” He pointed at the heavenly bodies, the sun, moon, and stars drawn across the wood.

“That’s very fashionable. Of course, by the end of the ball it will all be gone, but that’s not the point, is it? It’s there

now and rather lovely. Plus, it helps people not to slip.”

“And what’s over there?” He pointed to a space hidden by screens and palms.

“That clandestine hub? That’s the women’s retiring room, a den of more gossip and strategic retreats. Light refreshments are

the snacks of espionage. The retiring room is where social maneuvers unfold like a covert operation.”

“Do men ever, I dunno, take one of the ladies’ fans and go somewhere quiet to wait for them to come to them? That’s what I’d

do.”

“You’re not the kind of man who would ruin a woman. Present company excluded, of course.” She took another sip. That was when it hit her, and she realized with a jolt of alarmed observation that she’d drunk too much punch.

“Don’t look now,” Tuck muttered, “but there’s a man across the room who has been staring at us for more than ten minutes.”

Lizzy glanced over to spot a man with dappled silver hair and pointed sideburns. He noticed her gaze and quickly busied himself

with examining his fingernails.

“I said don’t look,” Tuck admonished.

“I never promised to obey. I’ve seen the man before, though. He is a history scholar of some type. I believe he is at Oxford.

Or is it Cambridge? I can’t recall the specifics or his name. But if you’ll excuse me, I must take leave to freshen up.”

Tuck jerked in alarm. “You can’t leave me here.”

“Well, I can’t take you into the women’s dressing area either.” She petted his head. “You must be brave. And do not put your

name on another woman’s dance card because I’ll become quite jealous. If anyone is going to have the pleasure of you trodding

on their toes, it should be me.”

He snorted. “Very well. I’ll try to memorize a few steps while I watch.”

Lizzy made her way to the ladies’ room. It was already half full of acquaintances needing to freshen up from the dance. It

didn’t take long for them to turn their attention to her.

“Married? Lizzy Wooddash—or is it Taylor now?” Cornelia Witt said, turning to adjust a curl in a mirror her lady’s maid held.

“Isn’t this unexpected? What secrets you keep! Everyone is quite abuzz.”

Cornelia was Lizzy’s age but had been married since she was eighteen and had already given birth to two children. Though amiable at social functions, their connection lacked intimacy. Nevertheless, they found pleasure in brief exchanges.

“I was wondering about your rush to wed until I laid eyes on the man. My goodness. American or not, who gives a fig about

his reputation when he’s got a form like that?”

“Where is he?” inquired Dorothea. “I am curious.”

Theodosia, her twin sister, pointed toward a large potted fern. “If you peer through the foliage, you’ll have a splendid view.

His chin is by far the most distinguished in the room. It could cut precious jewels.”

“Goodness. Let me see again too!” Cornelia laughed, craning her neck.

“You know what they say about men with big chins, don’t you, Lizzy?” Dorothea said.

“I thought that was regarding hands,” Theodosia added. “Or feet.”

“Well, it feels like a silly debate because his hands and feet appear sizable as well.”

“Poor dear.” Cornelia turned to Lizzy with a knowing look. “Was the wedding night difficult? After mine, I couldn’t cross

my legs for a week. Frank had been so shy during our courtship. I didn’t expect him to bed me like a castle he needed to storm.”

“Got you with the battering ram, did he?” Dorothea fanned herself faster, shoulders shaking with merriment.

“I’m still a bit mad for it even with two children,” Cornelia continued. “But you, Lizzy. You waited so long. What’s he like?”

“A bit quiet,” Lizzy said carefully. “But he notices a lot.”

“Perfect qualities in a lover.” Theodosia’s comment earned knowing nods from the others in the room.

That wasn’t what Lizzy meant, but she knew better than to try to make a correction. These women all assumed she had carnal knowledge of her husband. And of course they would. It wasn’t the normal way of things for women to fake-marry men from the future to ensure a life of happy widowhood.

“It’s... it’s...” The women were hanging on every word. Damn it all. Why must they be so nosy? “It’s a very tight fit,

but perfectly adequate.” That seemed about right based on what she’d read in that book from the Gretna Green trip, plus the

length of Tuck against her. Even if he’d had it clothed, she knew it wasn’t going to go in with one fell swoop.

“Oh, darling.” Dorothea handed her a glass before filling it with champagne, the yellow bubbles popping up to a head of foam.

“Drink up. It won’t be so uncomfortable if you’re foxed.”

“Don’t listen to her.” Cornelia poured her own cup. “You get used to it. And the better it gets, the easier it is. Why, sometimes

my muff gets so wet that Frank falls right in when he comes to tup me.”

“Honestly,” Theodosia chastised her, scandalized. “We have a new bride in our mix. What will she think with all this muff

and tupping talk?”

“She will think, I am glad to know such honest and forthright women . Plus, she has a muff and gets tupped, don’t you, Lizzy?” Cornelia’s voice was thicker and held an edge of a slur. She was

tipsy in a happy way.

Lizzy beckoned to a servant. “Please see to it that Mrs.Witt there gets a glass of water. As big as you can manage, thank

you.”

“Oh, poo,” Cornelia said. “One should enjoy oneself at a ball. On the way home tonight, I might let my husband do a bit of

a bum fiddle and—”

“I have very satisfying tupping,” Lizzy blurted, ears burning. What if Mamma entered during all this talk? Did she ever discuss her muff or tupping with other women? Unlikely. Mamma had probably only ever been tupped twice in her life, to make Henry and then herself.

“Have you tried riding a dragon like St.George?” Cornelia asked, giggling behind her hand.

“I—I don’t think so?” Lizzy realized she had never needed to bother with that book at all, not when these ladies were willing

to give her a Cambridge-style education in the finer points of bedroom antics.

“Here is how you must proceed.” Cornelia leaned in conspiratorially. “Tonight, when you return to your chamber, straddle him.

Let him take you that way. He’ll recline and admire your bouncing charms, then shower you with praise fit for a queen. How

else do you suppose I acquire all my better jewels?”

“Sounds like quite the adventure.” Lizzy’s voice squeaked. She hadn’t been intimate in most ways, let alone riding dragons

with her modest assets. She doubted she had large enough charms for any significant bouncing.

Occasionally, talking to her married acquaintances felt tedious, but now she had to admit that maybe she’d been overly prejudiced.

Of course, they couldn’t ever discuss carnal relations with an unmarried woman who wasn’t even related. But now she’d entered

into the secret club.

“Of course, you could gallop along like you’re on horseback, but that’s missing much of the pleasure.” Theodosia glanced over her shoulder to ensure no one else was entering their space. “For me, it’s best when he’s either propped up by pillows or we’re on a couch. That gives you the best angle to pleasure yourself. I use the back of the couch or his shoulders for support, and while it can take time to find your perfect spot, when you do, it’s off to the races.”

Lizzy gulped her champagne, grinning at the bubbly sensation that spread across her tongue, then buzzed down her throat. “One

more, if you please.”

“For courage.” Dorothea clapped her hands.

“For courage.” Lizzy held out her crystal flute as Cornelia refilled it.

“Tip it back and go get him,” Theodosia said.

Lizzy wasn’t ever going to be close friends with these three social butterflies flitting from one event to another, delighted

to see and be seen, but a new enjoyment had been unlocked. Except for the fact that she was very much still a maiden.

If her husband was going to make her a widow, she’d better be certain to bed him first.