The Seduction of a Spinster

Chapter 4 Part 2- The Apple

When the resounding applause of the crowd dimmed to a dull rumbling Victoria grasped for the nearest handrail to hasten towards the door. Aunt Beatrice was close on her heels unsurprisingly given that any post play social interaction was likely to be as entertaining as the play itself. Impeccably attired members of the ton spilled out from every door and the heat in the corridor rose along with the voices of self-proclaimed aficionados of theatrical performances. Lace fans beat back and forth as plans were laid for the next salon or party to visit that night.

Victoria felt consumed in the crush of people. If she had wanted to meet the duke, not that she did, there was no possible way to extricate herself from her aunt who it seemed was determined to continue the night in the fashionable way.

To her dismay Aunt Beatrice caught the eye of the Countess of Wickham and walked steadily towards the older lady while Victoria dragged behind as if by some invisible thread. There was no one she dreaded more than the woman who took one glance at Andrew molesting her in the garden and proclaimed her a harlot. If she had simply halted her judgement until she had all the facts she would have seen the relief in Victoria's eyes to have had any excuse for Andrew to stop his unwanted advances. But halting judgement was not the hallmark of matrons of the ton.

Victoria stared at the satin of her slippers and squared her shoulders for the inevitable abuse.

"Countess, it is lovely to see you tonight."

"Mrs Thompson, a pleasure to see you." Victoria heard the emphasis on 'you'.

"Did you enjoy the performance?" Aunt Beatrice smiled as if oblivious to the tension radiating from their small circle.

"Yes." The countess responded with a look that contradicted her statement in the extreme.

"Shall we see you at the Savoy tonight?"

Victoria tried not to grimace as her aunt pressed on. Aunt Beatrice was too respectable to be given the cut direct but certain people amongst the ton would never truly accept her when she was painted with the same brush as her niece.

The countess blinked twice. "It seems we must." She turned to a friend standing beside her who shared her haughty disapproval. "Apparently they will admit anyone now."

Victoria prided herself on being the epitome of grace and manners that young debutantes are rigorously trained in, but she felt her eyes pop open at the insult and her reticule slipped from her wrist. Victoria stooped to pick up her purse and was met with a pair of legs in motion. Her fall was cushioned by the beautiful folds of a voluminous mustard gown of the softest silk.

The owner of the gown vaulted forwards and they became entangled on the long patterned runner that stretched over the floorboards. A burst of laughter echoed between the columns of legs that surrounded them and Victoria met the amused grey eyes of the Duchess of Bexley.

"Your Grace! Oh my, I am so sorry. Here, let me assist you." Victoria tried to extricate herself while creasing the duchess's beautiful dress as little as possible.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Miss Hastings. I fall over my own feet at least twice a day with very little assistance from anyone. It was right on schedule if you ask me." The Duchess of Bexley grinned conspiratorially. "And to be quite honest, I was reaching to aid you with your reticule. If I hadn't been so hasty I am sure you would have managed the whole matter quite well without my assistance."

"Still, Your Grace, I must apologise." Victoria blushed so deeply she thought her face would match her dress.

"Nonsense." The Duchess of Bexley insisted. "If my own reticule hadn't set me off balance I might have been fine but despite my husband's assurances that I can survive a night without something to read I always find it is useful to have a book tucked away just in case. It is vastly diverting at times albeit a touch heavy on the wrist." The young duchess whispered with sparkling vivacity as if they were old friends.