Some weeks ago I introduced you to one of the lead protagonists of the ‘Of Social Standing‘ series, Mr. Emmett Rosland. The self-assured, spirited young legal professional, with an unsatiated appetite for social contact is the antithesis of his younger brother, Edward Rosland. Below is a little sneak peak of this unassuming fellow from book one in the series, Lady Dixon’s Niece. I hope you enjoy 🙂
Unlike his brother, Edward was quite happy to fade into obscurity. He loathed social outings. Without fail the room would fill and the heat would be stifling. He would sweat profusely for the evening and the music would ring his ears. He always went home with a headache. It was too difficult to sustain a conversation once the musicians started playing and he wasn’t inclined to dance. Scratch that, if he was being honest, he couldn’t think of anything more daunting. This was precisely why he preferred to stay hidden away at the back of the ballroom.
As the night progressed, the chatter of the women would grow louder, and the men would sit in silence drinking… one slurp leading to the next. Inhibitions would be loosened and scenes unpleasant always arose. He much preferred not to bear witness to these hedonistic displays, but it was impossible on this occasion for his mother insisted upon his presence. Perhaps he could sneak away after the musician’s first set? That should be just enough hours accrued to avoid his mother’s consternation.
‘For God’s sake Edward, slap a smile on that face, and ask a pretty girl to dance.’
Edward chose to ignore his brother’s demands and watched on as he gracefully moved across the polished floor, keeping all the young ladies in suspense as to who would be picked as his chosen partner to open the dance. He was expecting Miss Price to be selected. His eye kept getting drawn to the twinkling of her diamond necklace. He was sure this would not escape the notice of his brother either. She even looked quite confident too, poised to take position under the crystal chandelier in the centre of the room. But they were both wrong. The younger brother’s eyebrow’s arched as Emmett floated past her and extended his hand to Boxmoor’s newest arrival, Miss Schmidt.
Edward’s eyes drifted towards Louisa Price once again. That necklace truly was exquisite, twinkling in the light of the evening sun. Her face had reddened. She feigned a smile as the two glided past her on the dance floor. He observed her self-conscious glances around the ballroom, to ascertain if others were watching her. She was no doubt mortified at her own presumptuous blunder. Luckily, all eyes were firmly on the host and the mysterious blonde figure in his arms.
Edward couldn’t help feeling sorry for Miss Price. Did his brother even realise the slight he had made? Probably not. Nor would he care. She appeared at a loose end as couples took to the floor. Everyone had assumed the host would single her out for the first dance. The men had already committed to other ladies’ dance cards. They couldn’t just abandon their dance partners at will. Had Emmett filled out her dance card? No. That would not be his style. He’d not be shackled to conventions. Best avoid commitment of any sort!
His mother’s unrelenting lectures about never leaving a lady alone on the dance floor circled around in his brain. If he were not so plagued by a fear of dancing, he would at that instant do the decent thing and ask her to dance. He’d be a poor consolation, of course, but it would lessen the blow of rejection. The dance concluded. He stood up with intention as the guests applauded. A good man wouldn’t let a small foible, such as an aversion to exhibitionism, stand in the way of chivalry. He ought to do the right thing after all it was his brother that had injured her and amends must be made.
Feeling emboldened, he approached the lady. Wait! He stopped abruptly, showing signs of retreat. In his haste, he hadn’t even considered what to say to her. How should he phrase it? He couldn’t make it obvious that he had seen her face redden or that he was taking pity on her. This would require some crafting.
His attempts to return to his seat were thwarted by Mrs. Winters, who had watched him make his way towards the dancing. ‘How good it is to see you getting up to dance. You are a good sort supporting your brother so,’ she beamed. He nodded obligingly. He could not take his seat now. He would have to continue with his original spur of the moment plan. The audience were still applauding. Ever the showman, his brother was bowing graciously and looking rather pleased with himself.
‘Miss Price,’ he croaked. Instantly regretting not clearing his throat before attempting to speak. She turned around with a surprised expression. It was unusual to see Lord Bovingdon’s youngest son in the vicinity of the dance floor. She looked at him expectantly as his eyes lifted towards her shimmering necklace, before fleetingly looking up at her. A lump formed in his throat and he swallowed uncomfortably. The music was starting up again. Time was of the essence. If he didn’t act now, he need not bother.
He grappled with the words he had practiced in his head but they wouldn’t come out. Drat! A wave of panic washed over him. Speak you fool! Why was she wearing that jewellery? It was distracting. Didn’t she know that men would be leering at her chest all night? He took refuge in staring at the ground. Now just spit it out you nincompoop! The muscles in his neck tensed. ‘Mi…mi…mi… mi.’ He wished that the ground would swallow him up. ‘Miss Pr…Pr… Price‘. She smiled magnanimously. They said that Helen was the face that launched a thousand ships but Miss Price’s radiant beam could ascend a man to heaven. She always gave that generous smile and it always made him feel at ease. ‘Would you do me the honour of .…’
Before he could finish (and quite strongly at that), his artful sibling swooped in with an egotistical grin, wrapped his arm around the lady in question and whisked her across the floor for a tango. ‘dancing the next dance with me,’ he continued pointlessly. His words tapering off as his eyes followed them around the dance floor. He’d very much like to have used an expletive in that moment but restrained himself from admonishing his brother in public. It was clear to him that Emmett had merely used Lady Dixon’s niece as a pawn to make Miss Price jealous. No doubt, a tactic he employed to keep her keen on him.
Chele Crawley 