The Discreet Charm of Lady Mary (A Howertys Novella)

Chapter 4: Welcome to the Party

Mary grabbed John's arm a little tighter as they walked down the stairs towards the ballroom. What could they expect to find? She didn't like the feeling of not knowing what to expect, and it made her skin crawl. When her grip must have become uncomfortable, John put his hand over hers. It warmed her cold fingers even through the thin layer of her silk gloves. Glancing up, she caught him giving her an encouraging smile, but there was an uneasiness to him she could relate to all too well.

A few moments later, they entered the ballroom and she could only hope that no one saw her slack-jawed staring before she closed her mouth and schooled her features into some semblance of a lady experienced in these things. The lighting was sparse, leaving the room in an intimate semi-darkness with just enough light to see the main areas, but leaving plenty of dark corners for whatever deeds one might consider. There were the usual trappings characteristic of a ball; a quartet playing music, a refreshment table, flowers and decorations, but that was the extent of items she was used to.

The guests milling around the room were not the polished people of the ton who would politely ask her about her family. Giggles and raucous laughter filled the space. Instead of a quadrille or country dance, a few couples were dancing the waltz, but much closer to each other than even the most accepting of hostesses would have allowed.

Compared to the other ladies present, her dress looked almost demure. Many looked to be wearing nothing but their shifts and stays, or stays and petticoats. A handful had dresses similar to her own, so at least she wouldn't stand out too much. The men's garb varied from nearly fully dressed, like John, to a couple of men wearing no shirts. As much as she'd been interested in seeing shirtless men, she had to admit that the two older gentlemen with their hairy backs and extended bellies did nothing for her.

"What do we do?" she asked under her breath while plastering a pleasant smile on her face.

"I don't know." John sounded as lost as she felt.

They took a few steps into the room, and she tried to see if she could recognise her sister behind any of the colourful masks of the other guests, but couldn't see anyone that looked like Jane.

"You must be new!"

She nearly jumped out of her skin at the loud exclamation. A tall man with fiery red hair approached them. He was not wearing a waistcoat or jacket, and the top buttons of his shirt remained undone, revealing a light dusting of hair.

"Yes," John said as the man stopped in front of them. "It's our first time. Are we that obvious?"

The man—who Mary assumed was the infamous Mr Hayes since his hair was his most distinguishing feature—grinned. "Ha! In the spirit of honesty... Yes. But fear not. Everyone looks equally lost and shocked on their first visit." His grin widened as he swept an arm out over the room. "Welcome to the house party. Make yourselves at home. Do what pleases you. We do not judge here. All we ask is that you treat everyone the way you would want to be treated. If someone doesn't want to play with you, respect their wishes and move on."

Mary nodded. That was a rule she could appreciate. She wasn't sure she was up to playing with anyone.

"And, naturally, if you recognise someone here, pretend you didn't and never mention their name. Most importantly, never tell anyone about what goes on here." Hayes put his hand on John's shoulder and turned around to look out over the room with them. "The rules are that simple, really. If you prefer to spend your first night only watching, that is not uncommon."

"I..." John cleared his throat as their gazes fastened on a man and woman on a nearby upholstered bench.

They were kissing, and the woman sat astride on the man's lap as if riding a horse. Mary couldn't stop watching them as the man slid his hands over the woman's back and down to grab her bottom. Was this what married couples did in bed? She had never seen anyone kiss like that. Her parents never shared more than chaste kisses on the cheek, and other than walking in on her married friends sharing a kiss with their husbands occasionally—honestly, could they not even wait until they were alone?—she had seen nothing else.